a notable duel followed by changes and plots.
every eye was riveted with admiration and curiosity on the young stranger as he approached.
“you have acquitted yourself well, young man,” said the king, “and it becomes us to invite you to our palace and to ask if we can serve you in any way.”
bladud had a deep voice, and, by way of increasing his chances of concealing his identity, he pitched it a note or two lower than usual as he replied.
“i thank you, sir, for your hospitality and gladly accept it. as to your offer to serve me, i would count it a favour if you will permit me to enter into combat with one of your friends.”
“indeed!” exclaimed the king, in great surprise, “that is a strange request, but i may not deny you. which of my warriors may it be?”
“it is none of your warriors, sir,” answered bladud, “but one of your guests who has, i am told, challenged whoever will to fight him for the hand of your fair daughter. i am here now to accept that challenge and to fight with gunrig if he will.”
“assuredly, young man, your ambition or presumption seems equal to your prowess,” returned the king with an offended look; “know ye not that this challenge was delivered to chiefs of this country, not to unknown strangers, and although i admit that your tongue seems well accustomed to our language, it has a foreign smack about it which does not belong to those who are home-bred.”
“i am a chief,” answered bladud, proudly, “and this is my native land.”
“what is your name, then, and where come ye from?” demanded the king.
“that i may not answer just now, but i am here, in your power, if what i say be not found true, you may do what you will with me. meanwhile i ask permission to accept the challenge.”
at this point gunrig, unable to restrain himself longer, sprang forward.
“grant him permission, king,” he cried. “if i were not ready to abide by my word i were not worth my salt. nay, indeed, whether you grant him permission or not i will fight him, for he has twice beaten me this day, and now insults me, therefore there is a deadly feud between us.”
“you were always a hot-head, gunrig,” replied the king, with a grim smile. “but have your way. only it does not follow that if you lose the day i will give my child to the conqueror.”
“be that as you choose,” said gunrig, “i am now ready.”
as he spoke the fiery chief grasped his shield, leaped down into the arena and drew his sword.
bladud was not slow to follow. in those days action usually followed close on the heels of purpose, and as the laws of chivalry had not yet been formulated there was no braying of trumpets or tedious ceremonial to delay the combat.
“oh! i do hope he will conquer,” whispered the princess hafrydda to her dark-eyed companion, “and save me from that horrid man.”
“i hope so too,” returned branwen, in a subdued voice, “but—”
she stopped abruptly, and a blush deepened the rich colour of her cheek, which she sought to conceal by drawing her shawl still closer over it. this was needless, for the clash of swords at the moment, as the combatants met in deadly conflict, claimed the exclusive attention of the damsels, and caused the entire concourse to press close around the barricades with eager interest.
“a strange way to mark his home-coming,” muttered captain arkal, thrusting himself as near to the scene of action as possible, closely followed by maikar, who, being little, kept easily in his wake.
“he knows well what he’s about,” returned the little man, whose admiration for bladud was great, and his belief in him unbounded.
maikar was one of those men—of whom there are no doubt thousands—who powerfully appreciate, almost venerate, and always recognise, the spirit of justice when displayed by their fellows, although they may not always be aware of the fact that they do recognise it—hence his belief in the prince.
“a good day for the land if that long-legged fellow slays him,” remarked one of the crowd.
“that’s true,” said another.
indeed, this seemed to be the opinion of most of the spectators; there was also a general expression of confidence that the stranger was sure to be victorious, but some objectors—of whom there are, and necessarily must be a considerable number in the world—held that gunrig was a stout man to tackle, and it was not always length of limb that gained the day.
such comments, however, were not numerous, for the concourse soon became too deeply absorbed to indulge in speech.
the fight that now ensued gave some weight to the objectors’ views.
at first the combatants rushed at each other with the ferocity of men who mean to settle a dispute by instant and mutual destruction, and there was a sort of gasp of excited surprise among the people as the two swords fell at the same moment with something like a thunderclap on the respective shields. feeling that neither could overcome the other by the might of a resistless blow, each, after one or two rapid cuts, thrusts, and guards, ascertained that his adversary was so nearly his match as to render great care needful. they retired a few paces, and then advancing, settled down to their work, point to point and foot to foot.
gunrig, although inferior in stature to the prince, was about equal to him in strength and weight, and, being a trained warrior in the prime of life, was possessed of a sturdy endurance which, to some extent, made up for the other’s superior agility. in other respects they seemed well matched, for each was highly trained and expert in the use of his weapons.
after a second onset, somewhat similar to the first, and with much the same result, the two went at each other with cut and thrust so rapidly that it was almost impossible to distinguish their swords as they flashed like gleaming flames in the sunshine.
suddenly gunrig drew back, and, springing at the prince with uplifted weapon, as if to cut him down, changed the attack into a quick thrust which, passing under the youth’s uplifted shield, went straight to his breast. but the quick eye of bladud detected the intention in time. leaping lightly backward, he caused the thrust to come short; at the same time he returned with a quick thrust at the chief’s right shoulder which took effect slightly. giving him no time to recover, he made a sweeping cut at gunrig’s neck, which, had it fallen, would have shorn his head from his shoulders, but the chief, instead of guarding it, suddenly stooped, and, as the sword passed whistling above him, returned with a thrust so fierce that it pierced right through the thick shield opposed to it.
here was an opportunity of which bladud was not slow to avail himself. although the arm which held it was slightly wounded, he gave the shield a violent and sudden twist, which not only held the weapon fast but nearly wrenched it out of the chief’s hand. an ordinary sword would have been snapped, but gunrig’s weapon was a big bronze one that had done service in many a fray, and its owner’s hand was strong. he held it fast, but before he could withdraw it and recover himself bladud cut him fair over the head. whether it was accident or design no one could tell, but the flat instead of the edge of his sword descended on the headpiece, and the blow which should otherwise have cleft his adversary to the chin only stretched him insensible on the field.
a great sigh of relief, mingled with wild cheers of satisfaction, greeted this effective termination of the fight, and the king was evidently not ill-pleased.
“pick him up, some of you,” he said, pointing to the prostrate gunrig, “and carry him to the palace. see that he is well cared for. go, branwen, and see that everything is properly done for him.”
branwen at once left the stand, and the king, descending into the arena, proceeded to congratulate the victor.
before he could do so, however, to his unbounded surprise, the queen also descended with her daughter and threw her arms round the prince’s neck, while hafrydda seized his hand and covered it with kisses.
“body of me! am i dreaming?” cried the king, after a few moments of speechless amazement.
“oh! bladud,” exclaimed the queen, looking up in his smiling face, “did you really think you could deceive your own mother? fie, fie, i would have recognised you if you had come with your face painted black.”
by this time the king had recovered, and realised the fact that his long-lost son had returned home. he strode towards him, and, grasping his hand, essayed to speak, but something in his throat rendered speech impossible. king hudibras was a stern man, however, and scorned to show womanly weakness before his people. he turned suddenly round, kicked a few courtiers out of his way, remounted the platform, and, in a loud voice, announced the conclusion of the sports.
great was the rejoicing among the people assembled there, when the news spread that the long-lost prince bladud had returned home, and that the tall youth who had defeated gunrig was he, and they cheered him with even more zest and energy than they had at the moment of his victory.
meanwhile gunrig, having been conveyed to the residence of the king, was laid on a couch. the palace was, we need scarcely say, very unlike our modern palaces, being merely a large hut or rude shanty of logs, surrounded by hundreds of similar but smaller huts, which composed this primitive town. the couch on which the chief lay was composed of brushwood and leaves. but gunrig did not lie long upon it. he was a tough man, as well as a stout, and he had almost recovered consciousness when the princess, returning from the games, arrived to assist her friend in attending to the king’s commands.
she found branwen about to enter the chamber, in which the chief lay, with a bandage.
“hast heard the news?” she asked, with a gladsome smile.
“not i,” replied branwen, in a rather sharp tone.
“whatever it is, it seems to have made you happy.”
“truly it has. but let us go in with the bandages first. the news is too good to be told in a hurry.”
the sound of their voices as they entered aroused gunrig completely, and he rose up as they approached.
“my father sent us,” said the princess in some confusion, “to see that you are well cared for. your wounds, i hope, are not dangerous?”
“dangerous, no; and they will not prevent me from speedily avenging myself on the young upstart who has appeared so suddenly to claim you for a bride. stay, you need not go so quickly, or toss your head in pride. i will stand by my word, and let him keep who wins. but i have a word to say to you, branwen. come along with me.”
wooers among the ancient albionites were not, it would seem, celebrated for politeness—some of them, at least! the chief seized the shrinking girl by the wrist as he spoke, and led her out of the house and into a neighbouring thicket, where he bade her sit down on a fallen tree.
“now,” he said, sitting down beside her, and putting his arm round her waist, despite her objections, “this young turkey-cock has fairly won hafrydda, and he is welcome to her for all that i care—that is, if he lives to claim her hand after our next meeting, for, since i’ve seen your pretty face, branwen, i would rather wed you than the fairest lass that ever owned to norland blood. what say you to take the princess’s place and become my wife?”
“oh! no, no,” exclaimed branwen, in great distress, trying to disengage his arm, “you love hafrydda, and it is impossible that you can love us both! let me go.”
“i’m not so sure that i ever really cared for the princess,” replied the chief; “but of this i am quite sure, that i never loved her half as much as i love you, branwen.”
the girl tore herself away from him, and, standing up with flushed face and flashing eyes, exclaimed—
“shame would crush you, if you were a brave man, for uttering such a speech. but you are not brave; you are a coward, and your late opponent will teach you that. be sure that i will never consent to wed one who is a disgrace to manhood.”
a fierce scowl crossed gunrig’s swarthy countenance, but it passed in a moment, and a look of admiration replaced it as he looked up with a smile.
“i like maids with your temper,” he said, still keeping his seat, “but you forget that if the king so wills it, you shall be compelled to accept me, and i think the king will scarce dare to thwart my wishes, especially now that another man has a right to the princess.”
“i defy you,” returned the girl, still at a white heat of indignation, “and if the king tries to force me to wed you, i will defy him too! the young stranger will be my champion—or, if he should refuse, there are other ways by which a helpless girl may escape from tyrants.”
she turned with these words and fled. gunrig sprang up to pursue, but, fortunately for the girl, a modest bramble, that scarce ventured to raise its branches above the ground, caught his foot and sent him headlong into a rotten stump, which seemed only too ready to receive him. extracting his head from its embrace, he stood up in a bewildered frame of mind, found that the light-footed branwen had escaped him, and sat down again on the fallen tree to recover his equanimity.
meanwhile the poor girl ran back to the palace, rushed into hafrydda’s room, threw herself on a couch, and burst into tears.
this was such an unwonted exhibition of weakness in branwen that the princess stood looking at her for a few moments in silent surprise. then she sought to comfort her, and made her relate, bit by bit, with many a sob between, what had occurred.
“but why do you cry so bitterly?” asked hafrydda. “it is so unlike you to give way to despair. besides, you defied him, you say, and you were right to do so, for my dear father will never force you to wed against your wishes.”
“i know better,” returned the other, with some bitterness. “did he not intend to make you wed against your wishes?”
“that is true,” replied the gentle hafrydda, with a sigh. “but i am saved from that now,” she added, brightening up suddenly, “and that reminds me of the good news. do you know who the handsome youth is who rescued me from this monster?”
“no, i don’t; and i’m sure i don’t care,” answered branwen, with a touch of petulance. “at all events, i suppose you will be glad of the change of husbands.”
“he will never be my husband,” returned the princess, somewhat amused by her friend’s tone, for she suspected the cause. “he is my brother bladud—my long-lost brother!”
the change that came over branwen’s pretty face on hearing this was remarkable.
“your brother!” she exclaimed. “no wonder that he is beautiful, as well as brave!”
a merry laugh broke from the princess as she kissed her friend. “well, but,” she said, “what will you do? you know that always, when i have been perplexed or in trouble, i have come to you for help and advice. now that things are turned the other way, i know not what advice to give you.”
“i have settled what to do,” answered branwen, drying her eyes, and looking up with the air of one whose mind has been suddenly and firmly made up. “your father, i know, will consent to gunrig’s wishes. if he did not, there would be war again—horrible war—between the tribes. i will never be the cause of that if i can help it. at the same time, it would kill me to wed with gunrig. i would rather die than that; therefore—i will run away.”
“and leave me?” exclaimed the princess anxiously.
“well, i should have to leave you, at any rate, if i stay and am compelled to marry gunrig.”
“but where will you run to?”
“that i will not tell, lest you should be tempted to tell lies to your father. just be content to know that i shall not be far away, and that in good time you shall hear from me. farewell, dear hafrydda, i dare not stay, for that—that monster will not be long in hatching and carrying out some vile plot—farewell.”
