The Hot Swamp by R. M. Ballantyne (latest novels to read .txt) 📖

It may be imagined that the return home of Prince Bladud was the cause of much rejoicing in the whole district as well as in his father’s house. At first the king, being, as we have said, a very stern man, felt disposed to stand upon his dignity, and severely rebuke the son who had run away from home and remained away so long. But an undercurrent of tenderness, and pride in the youth’s grand appearance, and great prowess, induced him to give in with a good grace and extend to him unreserved forgiveness.

As for the queen, she made no attempt to conceal her joy and pride, and the same may be said of the princess.

There was instituted a series of fêtes and games in honour of the return of the prodigal, at which he was made—not unwillingly—to show the skill which he had acquired from practising with the competitors at the Olympic games, about which the islanders had heard from Phoenician traders from time to time, and great was the interest thus created, especially when he showed them, among other arts, how to use their fists in boxing, and their swords in guarding so as to enable them to dispense with a shield. But these festivities did not prevent him from taking an interest in the search that his father and the hunters were still making for Branwen.

When many days had passed, however, and no word of her whereabouts was forthcoming, it was at last arranged that a message regarding her disappearance should be sent to her father’s tribe by a party of warriors who were to be led by the prince himself.

“I will go gladly,” he said to his sister, a day or two before the party was to set out. “For your sake, Hafrydda, I will do my best to clear up the mystery; and I think it highly probable that I shall find the runaway safely lodged in her father’s house.”

“I fear not,” returned Hafrydda, with a sad look. “It seems impossible that she could have made her way so far alone through the wild forests.”

“But she may not have been alone. Friends may have helped her.”

“She had no friends in the town, having been here but a short time,” objected the princess. “But do your best to find her, Bladud, for I feel quite sure that you will fall in love with her when you see her.”

The youth laughed.

“No fear of that,” he said, “many a pretty girl have I seen in the East; nevertheless I have, as you see, left them all without a thought of ever returning again.”

“But I did not say you would fall in love with Branwen because she is pretty. I feel sure that you will, because she is sweet, and merry, and good—yet thoughtful—wonderfully thoughtful!”

“Ay, and you may add,” said the queen, who came into the room just then, “that she is sometimes thoughtless and wonderfully full of mischief.”

“Nay, mother, you are not just,” returned the princess. “Her mischief is only on the surface, her thoughtfulness lies deep down.”

“Well, well, whatever may be the truth regarding her, I shall not trouble my head about her; for I have never yet felt what men call love, and I feel sure I never shall.”

“I like to hear you say that, brother,” rejoined Hafrydda; “for I have noticed, young though I am, that when men say they will never fall in love or marry, they are always pretty near the point of doing one or both.”

But poor Bladud was destined to do neither at that time, for an event was hanging over him, though he knew it not, which was to affect very seriously the whole of his after life.

For several days previous to the above conversation, he had felt a sensation that was almost new to him—namely, that of being slightly ill. Whether it was the unwonted exertions consequent on his efforts at the games, or the excitement of the return home, we cannot say, but headache, accompanied by a slight degree of fever, had troubled him. Like most strong men in the circumstances, he adopted the Samsonian and useless method of “shaking it off”! He went down into the arena and performed feats of strength and agility that surprised even himself; but the fever which enabled him to do so, asserted itself at last, and finally compelled him to do what he should have done at first—pocket his pride and give in.

Of course we do not suggest that giving in to little sensations of ailment is either wise or manly. There are duties which call on men to fight even in sickness—ay, in spite of sickness—but “showing off” in the arena was not one of these.

Be this as it may, Bladud came at last to the condition of feeling weak—an incomprehensible state of feeling to him. He thereupon went straight home, and, flinging himself half petulantly on a couch, exclaimed—“Mother, I am ill!”

“My son, I have seen that for many days past, and have waited with some anxiety till you should come to the point of admitting it.”

“And now that I have admitted it,” returned the youth with a languid smile, “what is to be done?”

The answer to that question was not the simple one of modern days, “Send for the doctor,” because no doctors worthy of the name existed. There was, indeed, a solemn-visaged, long-headed, elderly man among King Hudibras’ followers who was known as the medicine-man to the royal household, but his services were not often in request, because people were seldom ill, save when they were going to die, and when that time came it was generally thought best to let them die in peace. This medicine-man, though a quack in regard to physic, was, however, a true man, as far as his knowledge went in surgery—that is to say, he was expert at the setting of broken bones, when the fractures were not too compound; he could bandage ordinary wounds; he had even ventured into the realm of experimental surgery so far as to knock out a decayed back tooth with a bronze chisel and a big stone. But his knowledge of drugs was naturally slight, and his power of diagnosis feeble. Still, unworthy though he may be of the title, we will for convenience style him the doctor.

“My poor boy,” said the queen, in answer to his question, and laying her hand on his hot brow, “I am so sorry