Chapter VII: Part III: 50. The Doings at Home 139 (5)

Their preliminary inspection of the country in the morning had shown them only gently rolling plains, with patches of dense woods here and there, which seemed to be quite uninhabited, so it was a toss-up which way they should take. Vanderdecken had said that since they did not know the proper course to steer it was best to make one and stick to it; even if it led them away from the lost ones the same might be said of any course, and they had to go somewhere. So they selected sou’west-by-west and tramped it steadily for many hours, marvelling at the strange absence of natives or roads or houses. Nor were there signs of dragons or unicorns or other fierce fauna rumoured to be in the land beyond the river. The fiercest thing they saw was a huge rabbit, with claws; and all that it did was to make a nasty face at them and run away.

The course was changed after a midday rest and they went sou’east-by-south, Vanderdecken having given his opinion that since they had met with nothing to guide them in the search it would be best to go about on the other tack, which means to go zigzag. And so at last they came to the hill-top and saw the distant towers, deep in waving woods. The direction was taken, and they went down and through the trees, and another couple of hours’ march brought them to the same compact little stronghold in which, two days before, the wanderers they were searching for had made themselves so much at home.

THE MYSTERIOUS CASTLE AGAIN

King Merse did not leave things to chance. He sent Snergs ahead in pairs, as is advocated by militarists, and the main body came behind. The scouts reported that the castle, though prosperous-looking, did not appear to be a scene of activity. With the exception of smoke coming from what they thought (and hoped) was a kitchen chimney, there was no sign of life about it.

The Dutchmen re-primed their muskets and the Snergs got their bows ready, and all approached and halted by the door in the outer wall; then King Merse ordered his trumpeter to blow the horn which hung outside.

I may mention that it had been decided that, to save time and provisions, the country should be treated as an enemy country until the contrary was proved.

The trumpeter blew (not inaptly) the Snerg equivalent of “Come to the cookhouse door,” and after a brief interval a face appeared looking down at them from the wall. It was a fat, pompous face, to which all hands took an instinctive, but perhaps slightly unreasonable, dislike.

“What want ye, my masters?” said the face, looking contemptuously at them.

“It would take too long to tell all we want,” replied King Merse, “but just at this moment we want to come in and eat. We will tell you the rest later.”

“And that may not be,” said the man, “for my lord is away and he has given me strict orders to admit no one except on business.”

“But eating is right good business,” replied the King. “Come, good fellow, do not keep us waiting.”

“I fear you will have to eat elsewhere,” the man said. “This castle seems to be getting too popular with vagrants. But two days agone some scurril knaves came in my temporary absence and ate a few scores of eggs and a ham and left me to wash up after them. Be advised, therefore, and go before I become an angered.”

King Merse, who was not the sort to waste time in unprofitable chat, turned to his men.

“Burst me open this door,” he said.

“Nay, if you be so hardy in your ways,” cried the man with a sudden change of tone, “I’ll even open to you. But I warn you that my lord is terrible in his wrath.”

The door opened and there appeared before them a stout person, wearing a long gown and a chain and carrying a wand of office, who was evidently the steward of the castle. “Ay, terrible,” he went on. “If he comes back and finds you here--oh, well, if you won’t listen, you won’t.” He concluded on a peevish note, for the King and Vanderdecken were going ahead of their men towards the wide stone steps that led to the main door of the building, which stood open.

Within they found a commodious hall furnished with long tables and benches, and with a raised dais at the end on which was a table of superior finish and several carved arm-chairs.

“And now, good fellow,” said the King, after removing his steel headpiece and seating himself at his ease, “to whom does this castle belong?”

“To the famed Sir Bevis, Lord of the King’s marches,” replied the steward, who had followed him in and who now seemed to think this a case for discretion. “He guards the land against chance attack from the fierce and cruel Snergs, who live on the other side of the deep river. And now I must ask who you are and why----”

“And now tell me if you have seen two children wandering in these parts, or if you have heard of two children wandering here. They should be with a man of about my size.”

“I have seen no dwarf--I mean, no gentleman of your size. But I have seen two children this very morning.”

“Where?” demanded the King, starting up.

“In the woods, gathering berries. But perchance it were an error to call them children, for the youngest is sixteen and a stout varlet for his age, and the other is some two years older and has a slight beard. They are the sons of my gossip Hugh, the miller, and idle vagabonds both as I have often said to Hugh and advised him to try what rods will do, for if a child----”

“Forget them,” interrupted the King, seating himself again. “Now, good fellow, tell me where your ruler lives, and how far it is from here.”

“His Majesty, King Kul lives (as all men should know) at Banrive, which is a day’s march from here. And now I must insist----”

“Then we will rest here to-night and leave on that day’s march by dawn to-morrow. In the meantime we would eat.”

“Nay, fair sir, that I cannot allow. If my lord----”

“We will need,” said the King, “some good meaty matter (such as pork) as a groundwork. And as beans go well with pork let there be beans also.”

“And some beer,” suggested Vanderdecken.

“_And_ some beer of course. So see to it, for we would eat quickly, and rest. And talking of rest, where is your lord’s bedchamber?”

“It is here,” said the steward, opening a door and displaying a large room with two canopied beds in it. “But I fear I cannot allow you to use my lord’s best beds, for if----”

“You take that one,” said the King to Vanderdecken, pointing to the largest bed. “It looks very comfortable.”

“No,” replied Vanderdecken politely, “_you_ take it.”

“I should really like you to have it,” said the King.

“Let’s flip for it,” suggested Vanderdecken, producing a piece of eight. “Sudden death.”

“Heads!” said the King.

“Tails,” said Vanderdecken, displaying the coin. “Sorry, old chap.” He got into bed (with his sea-boots on) to see how it felt. “Very nice. We’ll have a good sleep to-night anyhow.”

They went back to their men and directed proceedings. Some men went out to fetch straw to sleep on, others went to the kitchen and instructed by Vanderdecken’s cook (whose soup was the cause of all these adventures) prepared some choice food (he was very good at sea-pie), and drew off many gallons of strong beer to wash it down. The steward followed them about with a pen and ink-horn and a piece of parchment, entering against each item taken what he conceived to be the highest tavern rates. A faithful fellow, but something of an ass.

When the meal was over sentries were posted on the walls and the others lay down on the straw. The King and Vanderdecken retired to their beds after giving orders that they were to be roused an hour before the dawn.

“I say, this _is_ comfort,” said Vanderdecken, plumping up a feather pillow. “By the way, let’s hope we find those youngsters pretty soon.”

“Yes,” agreed the King. “Because if we don’t, we’ll be forced to introduce battle, murder and sudden death into these parts, and I want to avoid that if I can.”

HOW GORBO GATHERED MANDRAKES

When at last Gorbo desisted from his damp job of looking for mandrakes, the dawn was breaking. It seemed to him that his back was breaking also, for he had stooped and stooped and pulled at roots almost without pause throughout the dismal night. He rested awhile on a fallen log and tried to rest his spine, taking quick looks behind him at intervals.

It _had_ been a night. Not only were the true mandrakes extremely rare--after hours and hours of search he had only got six that he was pretty sure of--but he had been worried by his surroundings. Leaving out the bats, who were troublesome enough, he had been in continuous doubt of the things that lurked in the black shade of the trees round about, things rather like men, but with little furious faces and big pointed ears and mouths that slobbered, who gibbered and pointed at him in the moonlight. There was one fat pale thing, who if he was not a ghoul was extremely like one, and he had come and sat under a holly bush, staring earnestly at him for hours and hours, and occasionally shrieking with laughter. Gorbo was not superstitious in the ordinary sense of the word, but the night had left him nervy, if I may be allowed the expression; especially as he had been warned not to speak while at the job and he wanted so much to relieve his feelings by saying things. In fact if cold fingers had touched him on the back of the neck while he was resting on the log, I think he would have jumped to quite a height; and I do not blame him, for I know that I should have done very much the same.

However, here he had six mandrakes in the basket and the night was past. He got up and made his way along the trail back to Mother Meldrum’s house, and hoped that part of his troubles were over, as she could now get busy with spells and the like, and so get the little doors open. There would be, of course, the wood of twisted trees to pass on the other side; but he had hopes that he would not find this too difficult, since he had learned quite a lot of common sense in the last two or three days and he would apply it. Let him but get to the other side of the river, he thought, and he would soon find a way to get the children safely home.

He called out for Sylvia and Joe as he came near the house; but there was no reply, no running of little feet to greet him. He went quickly to the kitchen door and pushed it open, but there was nobody there. He called again loudly and anxiously, and then a door at the side of the fireplace opened and Golithos came out, stooping almost double to get through.

“Hullo,” he said in an unfriendly tone, “what do _you_ want?”

“Where are those children?” demanded Gorbo, as soon as he had recovered from his surprise.

“Children? How should I know? I’m not a nursery-maid.”

Gorbo dropped his basket and switched his bow round to have it handy.

“Oh, leave that bow of yours alone!” cried Golithos, changing his tone. “You’re always making me nervous with the beastly thing. The little ones went away in the night along with the funny man, Mother Meldrum says, and _I_ don’t know where they are. How should I?”

“Where’s she gone to?” said Gorbo after a miserable moment. “Quick!”

“She ran out to look for them. Oh, do put it down! It’s not my fault, is it?”

Gorbo stood with his face all twisted with dismay, staring up at the other. What had happened now? He thought and thought, but could make nothing of it.

“Sit down and make yourself at home,” said Golithos after a moment, taking a seat on a stool by the fireplace. “She’ll be back soon I expect.”

Gorbo sat down after a moment or two and stared at the fire and thought. Golithos looked awkwardly at him from time to time, but did not speak. And so they sat in silence until a brisk step was heard without and Gorbo started up.

The door opened with a crash and Mother Meldrum appeared, looking horribly gaunt and ugly and angry in a long outdoor cloak and a high peaked hat.

“Oh, so you’re back, are you?” she said.

“Yes, Mum. But where’s Sylvia and Joe?”

“They’re gone--the little fools!”

“Gone _where_?” cried Gorbo.

“You keep civil!” shouted the old woman. “Don’t you bellow at me!”

“No, Mum, I won’t,” said poor Gorbo. “But where have they gone to--please?”

“King Kul will have them by to-night. Them and the funny man. I ran after them when I found they’d gone, but I was just too late. The funny man was on one horse--with his mouth tied up, which shows they’ve got some sense--and those fool children were each sitting in front of a rider. Now perhaps they’re wishing they hadn’t run away from old Mother Meldrum.”

“Which way did they go?” cried Gorbo, making for the door. “I’ll catch them up----”

“Oh, will you? Well, if you think you can catch mounted men when they’ve got a two hours’ start, or if you think you could do anything if you _did_ catch up with them, you’re a bigger fool than you look--and that’s saying a good deal.”

“But--but what did they run away for?” asked Gorbo, struck with a new doubt.

“How do I know? I was sitting talking to this harmless old bunch of nerves” (indicating Golithos) “who’d come to pay me a neighbourly visit, when I thought I’d give a look at them to see that they were quite comfortable. And when I got up there the room was empty and the window was open and they’d gone. And the funny man was gone too. So I just went after them, and got sight of them just too late. King Kul’s got them all right. I suppose the funny man told them to go. He’s noodle enough for anything. But if you really want to save them, I’ll tell you the only way how.”

“Oh, thank you, Mum!” exclaimed Gorbo.

“But first I’m going to have breakfast.” She threw off her cloak and began clattering the pots and pans about. “I’m not going to starve for those brats.”

“If I hadn’t been all the night getting those mandrakes,” said Gorbo, tearing at his hair, “I wouldn’t have lost them. Oh, I _am_ the biggest fool after all!”

“You’re near it at any rate.” Mother Meldrum had stopped in her work and picked up the basket he had brought. “Is this what you call mandrakes?”

“Yes, Mum,” replied Gorbo humbly. “It seemed to me they squeaked a little when I pulled them up.”

“Common swamp parsnips!” said Mother Meldrum with bitter scorn, flinging them out of the door. “So that’s all the good _you_ are. Yah!”

She turned away and went on with her cooking.

Gorbo sat down and buried his face in his hands. Blow after blow. Not only had he lost the children, but he had lost them while searching throughout a hard disagreeable night for a few worthless specimens of the common swamp parsnip (_Avacabolis communis_). Life really did not seem worth living to him.

“Liven up!” said the old woman after a while. “I’ll show you the way to save them, as I said; you trust to old Mother Meldrum. Meantime you’d better eat.”

She dished up a huge platter of kidneys, small sausages and bacon, and an omelette. The exquisite savour of these, together with her proffer of help, brought some cheer to the sore heart of Gorbo and he drew up his stool to the table and ate gratefully. The kidneys were cooked to perfection, the omelette had been made by the hand of an artist. Mother Meldrum was wicked and cruel and ugly and feared by all, but there was that in her which goes far to redeem the character of the vilest--she _could_ cook.

“Golithos only eats grass and such like,” she said with a fiendish laugh, “so he can finish up this bit of raw cabbage. Eat hearty, Golithos.”

Golithos drew up his stool with a discontented look and picked daintily at the cabbage, eating with his front teeth only as if he had no appetite for it. He looked longingly at the mixed grill, but his fear of Mother Meldrum was great and he kept silent. She told him (while drawing a pot of foaming beer for Gorbo) that he would find all the water he wanted and more in the water-butt outside.

Breakfast being over she sat and considered awhile, casting an occasional glance at Golithos. It was evident that she desired him out of the way; and it is usually a delicate matter to convey to a third person that he is what the French call _de trop_. But she managed it.

“Golithos,” she said suddenly, “get to blazes out of this. Go outside and stay by that tree stump over there so that I can see you’re not listening.”

Golithos got up and moved blunderingly out of the door and stood where she had told him to, looking sulkily about him.

THE COZENING OF GORBO

“He’s a slow-witted one if ever there was one,” Mother Meldrum remarked. “You’re not much, but you’re better than he is. Now what I have to tell you is this. Those children are in deadly peril--now don’t start interrupting me, or I’ll leave you to settle it yourself. You don’t know about King Kul, but I do. If I were to tell you only half the things he’s done it would make each one of those coarse hairs of yours stand up, and as that wouldn’t be a pretty sight I won’t do it. But I’ll tell you he’s the fiercest and cruellest beast that ever brandished a sceptre. Now the only way to save those children from a horrible fate--at the least having their heads cut off as obtrusive foreigners--is for you to kill him. I’m not counting the funny man at all; he’s a goner in any case.”

“But--but surely, Mum,” said Gorbo in great horror, “no man would kill two harmless little things like them! Why, it simply isn’t done!”

The old woman laughed scornfully. “Poor innocent old Foozelum. Why, he does things like that for fun. It’s a saying of his that he loves to see a little head bounce off its stalk. Of course you haven’t heard about the infants’ class at the Sunday School. However, don’t let’s go into disagreeable details; the main thing is that somebody has got to finish him off. I’ve tried to get Golithos to do the job, but he hasn’t any pluck now and I’m tired of arguing with him. Now, will you do it? Remember it’s the only possible way of saving those little ones.”

“Yes, Mum,” replied Gorbo, springing up. “You just show me the way there and I’ll see what I can do with my little bow.”

“You needn’t trouble about your little bow. In the first place you’d never be able to get through the guards so as to have a shot at him. There’s only one way to do it surely, and it’s lucky you’ve got an experienced witch to tell you how.”

“I’ll do it any way you say, Mum; so long as I can do it quick.”

“That’s the sort of man I like,” she said approvingly. “Just wait here a bit.”

She went out, and Gorbo sat in a state of horror and dismay. Here was a terrible result of his fatheadedness! To know that the innocent little ones were in the power of a tyrant who loved to see small heads bounce off--to know that if he had not tempted them to visit the twisted trees they would have been long ago safe in their own home--to realize that his name would be held for ever in execration among the Snergs as the fool who led the two children to captivity and death! No wonder he bowed his head and moaned in anguish and wept.

Mother Meldrum returned with a long thin bundle under her arm. “Now then, waterworks,” she said, in coarse allusion to his tears, “sit up and pay attention for there must be no mistake here.”

“Yes, Mum.” Gorbo sat up and listened eagerly.

“First, you’ll have to get into the King’s palace without being seen. And the only way to do that is to wear a cap of invisibility. Here it is” (producing a seedy looking article). “It is seven hundred years old, which accounts for its being a bit out of fashion, but it works all right. Take it and be careful never to put it on until you actually need it, because it only works once with one person. If you were to put it on now you would be invisible for about ten minutes. Then its power--with you--would be gone for ever. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Mum. You mean I must only use it when I get into the palace.”

“You’ve got it. You’re improving a bit. Now the next thing is _this_.” She produced a long whippy sapling and swished it in the air.

“Yes, Mum. And what do I do with that?”

“This,” she said impressively, “is a sword of sharpness. The instant you smite with it it turns into a sword, and any person you smite will be cut into two halves. It belonged originally to a cousin of Queen Mab; he used it to clear up some family trouble. But remember that when you have smitten it once it becomes a sapling again and its power goes for ever--that is, as far as you are concerned.”

“Yes, Mum. You mean that if I swot the King with it he will be cut into two bits.”

“That’s it. And it will look rather well; sorry I won’t be there to see it. Now when you have done this there will probably be more than a little excitement and it will be advisable for you to get out of the way for a time. You see when the tyrant is dead the people will rise up in their power and celebrate by freeing all the unhappy prisoners and so forth, and that, of course, will save those dear little children. But _you_ had better go for a little run.”

“Yes, Mum. But how do I manage it?”

“These” (producing a very shabby pair of slippers) “are shoes of swiftness. The moment you have done the deed, slip these on and run. But I advise you not to run too much or you may find yourself in Mesopotamia or in the middle of the ocean or somewhere. Just a few brisk steps will be enough, and even then it will take you half the night to walk back, because these, like the cap and sword, only work once. When you get back again you will be hailed as a great and good man and the dear little things will be delivered over to you safe and sound. Also your friend the funny man, if you really need him. So here’s everything, nicely wrapped up. Do exactly as I’ve told you, and remember that if you make a mess of it, the children’s ghosts will haunt you--carrying their little heads under their arms.”

“I’ll start now,” cried Gorbo, taking the bundle containing the wonderful treasures and his bow and other matters and making for the door. “Just tell me the road.”

“Turn to the left when you get out of the wood and go along the green drive for a mile or two. Then you’ll hit the high road which leads straight to the town. So go to it!”

Gorbo thanked her briefly but fervently and darted off down the path. Mother Meldrum watched him disappear in the trees and then went back and sat down and laughed until she shook with horrid merriment.

A FEARFUL BARGAIN

After a few minutes’ enjoyment of her secret jest she called to Golithos to approach, and he came in looking very sulky and seated himself.

“Where have you sent that Snerg to?” he asked.

“Ah,” she replied, “that’s telling.” And she went on chuckling.

“Now,” she said after a time, “let’s get to business. Are you going to take my offer or not? I may as well warn you (if you haven’t found it out yet) that I’m a bit short-tempered, and if you get obstinate with me I’ve ways of making all kinds of trouble for you. I’m not an experienced witch for nothing.”

Golithos scratched his head in a discontented way. “It’s so dangerous,” he said at length.

“So it is to make me annoyed. Now then, answer up! Will you kill the King if I get those young ones for you?”

“But you haven’t got them to give.”

“Yah! I can get them back easily enough if I make up my mind to do it--and if you make it worth my while.”

“Yes, but--but why didn’t you get that Snerg to kill him. He’s fool enough.”

“Yes, he is--a bit worse than you in some ways, and that’s why I sent him out of the way. But the reason is that I’ve found out by black magic that if the King is killed at all it will be done by an ogre, and you’re the only one left in these parts. So now you know.”

“Oh! So that’s it, is it?--And does your magic say what will happen to the ogre?”

“Yes, it says he’ll live happy ever after.”

Golithos scratched his head again. In spite of his belief in Mother Meldrum he had doubts whether she was telling the exact truth here.

“I suppose I must do it,” he muttered sullenly. “But I want to be sure of those little ones first. You bring them here and keep them safe for me first. Then I’ll go and do it.”

The old woman glared furiously at him. “Yes, you’re trying to get me annoyed,” she said. “Very well, then, _I’ll_ show you.”

“No, wait, please! You see if I could just _see_ them it would put me in such good heart for the job. I’ve been living on lettuce and stuff like that so long that I’m not as brave as I was; and though I’ve eaten my cow it doesn’t encourage me like my own natural food. You _must_ see that. It’s so reasonable.”

She looked at him partly in rage and partly in doubt. “H’m!” she sniffed, “you’re the flabbiest thing in ogres I’ve ever met, and I’ve met a few in my time. Do you mean to say that if I’d shown them to you this morning you’d have done the King in?”

“Yes,” he replied eagerly, “that’s it. Just a glimpse of those nice little well-filled-out children--which you promised me so faithfully--would have made me quite anxious to do it. But I never even got a peep at them,” he went on pathetically. “You must own it’s hard on me.”

“I’ll get even with the funny man,” growled Mother Meldrum. “Well, suppose I bring them both back? Will you go straight off at once as soon as you’ve had a look at them and do what I want?”

“Oh, yes! I’ll just have one good look at them and I’ll go at once. Of course if I could have a piece of one first, just to encourage me properly, so to speak----”

“Well, you won’t. You’ll see them when I’ve got them safely here and then you’ll be off, or you’ll see what I’m like when really annoyed. Did you bring your axe with you?”

“Yes, I’ve got it here.” He went to a corner of the kitchen and produced a mighty battle-axe and balanced it in his hand. “Many’s the stout man-at-arms I’ve laid out with this in the old days.”

“The days when you had some pluck, you mean.”

“Yes, that’s it. But my pluck’s coming back. And if you give me a nice roast pig for dinner, it’ll come back more. And when I see those dear little children waiting for me, it’ll fix it for keeps.” His eyes were rolling and his teeth were showing fiercely now, and he handled the axe, which any other man could scarcely lift, as if it were a medium-sized chopper.

“Yes,” said Mother Meldrum, after watching him for a moment, “I think that’s the way it will have to be. I see you need some practical encouragement, being the worm you are, so wait here until I come back with them. Keep your courage up by thinking about them. It’s taken a long time to work you up to this, Golithos,” she went on with a fierce laugh, “but I think I’ve done it at last. You’ll get what you want, and I’ll get what _I_ want--_Revenge_!”

She sprang up and did a hideous dance of joy round the kitchen, footing it with an agility that seemed marvellous considering her years. Golithos, whose long dormant savagery was awakening fast, laughed long and boisterously. Truly a terrible scene. Let us not linger over it.

CAPTIVES ON THE ROAD

It is fortunate for children (and for grown-ups too if they can manage it) when they do not concern themselves greatly about the future possibilities of a calamity. Sylvia and Joe were of this kind--especially Joe--and what chiefly troubled them as they rode along in front of their guards was the separation from their friend Gorbo, who if he could not have actually saved them from this happening, would at least have been comfort to them on the road; the fact that they were being carried captives to a monarch of whom they had heard distressing accounts seemed less of an evil, for its troubles were connected with the future, and the future is always some distance ahead.

They were not treated badly, and they were allowed to talk with the men-at-arms with whom they rode, but in a low voice because otherwise it would have been bad for discipline. Baldry rode at some distance from them so they got no chance to speak to him. The leader had allowed him to go unmuzzled after a time on the condition that he did not talk, and Baldry passed the time singing quietly to himself songs about cruel fate and other melancholy subjects. He had evidently resigned himself to whatever might befall.

The leader--whose name they learned was Sir Giles--asked the children some questions as to how they came to be with the King’s jester, but though they answered him truthfully and told him all about Watkyns Bay (which he had never heard of) and the Snergs (of whom he had heard very little and that little not good) and their strange adventures, he could make nothing of it; and he finally said that it defeated him entirely and that abler heads than his must solve the mystery.

As they went on the country became rather more populated; there were farms and windmills and so forth, and here and there a small castle or moated grange. They halted for about half an hour at an inn to rest the horses and have breakfast; Sir Giles told the host to send the bill in to the Chancellor of the Exchequer. Sylvia and Joe had each a plate of little hot fish, rather like sardines, and a bowl of milk, and this cheered them up greatly. Baldry interrupted his sad crooning to eat two chops and drink a pot of ale. Then he went on with a new song about his being Fortune’s toy. Baldry wanted some understanding.

It was well on in the afternoon when they came round the corner of a thick wood and saw the town close at hand. It reminded the children of a picture of a mediæval town on a coloured calendar that Miss Scadging had brought from London last year. The houses had heavy crossed timbers and high pitched roofs, and the streets were paved with huge cobble stones like grey footballs. They passed through a gate with big towers and by quaint little shops and taverns where people sat outside on benches and drank out of large pots, or else leaned against posts. There seemed to be a good deal of spare time in the town, and people came clustering round to stare at the children; but when Baldry was recognized (he had for some reason seated himself facing the horse’s tail as soon as they reached the town) there was great excitement, and they called other people to come and see. But Sir Giles ordered them to stand back like good fellows and make way for the King’s men, and the procession went clattering down the street until it halted in the courtyard of the royal palace.

It was indeed an anxious moment for Joe and Sylvia as they were lifted down and led through into a lofty hall. At first they had only a confused impression of brilliant costumes and high pointed head-dresses of ladies and the crimson legs of small pages and general gorgeousness. Compared to the palace of King Merse II this was as a house in Park Lane, W. is to a maisonnette in Poplar, E., and they felt very small and untidy and of no importance at all as they went with Sir Giles (Sylvia carrying the puppy) through these high-class surroundings and halted before a throne on which was seated one who wore a kingly crown. At last they were in the presence of the dreaded monarch.

KING KUL I

It would be well here to point out to my readers (and especially the younger ones) that rumour is more often contradicted than confirmed by experience, and to enlarge on the moral conveyed. The reason against my doing so at length is the fear that I may become a little tedious, so I will merely state that, to the great surprise and relief of the children, there were no signs of ruthlessness about the King.

He was of great girth and he had a flowing grey beard, and in these particulars he bore out Baldry’s description of him. But his expression was one of benevolence and good humour and he smiled on the children with what, if it had not been blent with a touch of native majesty, might have been described as a sort of fatuous fatherliness.

He was richly though tastefully arrayed. His doublet was of three (or four) piled velvet, green and embroidered with gold, and his hose were shrimp pink, a colour he much affected. From his shoulders hung a sky-blue robe lined with ermine, and the crown on his partially bald head was decorated with fine repoussé work. Never had the children conceived such magnificence in a man’s dress, and they stared in wonder and admiration.

“Welcome, Sir Giles,” he said, ignoring Baldry, who went down on his knees beside the children. “Tell me who are these little ones and how came you to bring them together with this rudesby.”

“‘Rudesby’ is rather good,” observed Baldry in an interested tone.

“I found them travelling with the knave, sire,” replied Sir Giles. “And as I could not leave them alone in the forest I brought them also. But I can make nothing of their tale, sire. It appears to me such as might be told by a minstrel who had been too long at the wine-pot. A tale of a certain Countess Watkyns in that terror-haunted land beyond the deep river, and of many millions of other children, and of Snergs who are friendly with them. I leave it to your Majesty to judge, for I can make nothing of it.”

“Ah, you’re slow, that’s what’s the matter,” remarked Baldry.

“Silence, thou villain!” roared the King.

Baldry clapped both hands over his mouth with a look of extreme terror.

“Snergs, did you say?” went on the King. “Could it be possible that these little innocents know aught of that fierce and cruel race?”

“Please, sir,” said Joe, who felt that he must defend his friends, holding up one hand according to the custom of Watkyns Bay in class time. “Please, sir, we’re all very fond of the Snergs. They’re not fierce at all.”

“Not fierce, say you, little man! Nay, that passes understanding. There must be more in this than meets the eye.”

“You mean the ear, of course,” said Baldry.

“Remove me this pestilent ass!” cried the King. “We will judge his case at a fitter time.”

Four men-at-arms surrounded the jester and, at a word of command from Sir Giles, marched out with him. His really incredible folly caused him to drop on all fours and go out creeping swiftly between them; doubtless he gathered some encouragement from the smothered laughter of the more thoughtless courtiers.

Put to some extent at his ease by the King’s kind manner, Joe told the tale of their wanderings and adventures. He explained as well as he could and with Sylvia’s assistance, the way of living at Watkyns Bay, the general nature of the country beyond the deep river, and the amiable character of the Snergs, with whom the Society lived on such satisfactory terms. The King listened in deep wonder.

“Can it be,” he said, turning to the court, “that we have been in ignorance of the true nature of things beyond the river?--that we have accepted without question the traditions handed down to us, and are now to be corrected by these babes? Can it be----” He went on moralising in most approved fashion, and the courtiers made acquiescing murmurs, as was expected of them.

“But one thing is clear,” he went on. “We must pay instant attention to this Golithos, who appears to give indications of becoming a menace, and also to Mother Meldrum. She has had a good deal of rope in the past, and perchance it is the time to give her a bit more, though in a different sense of the word. They must be brought here for judgment at once. That shall be your next job, Sir Giles.”

“Oh, very well, sire,” replied Sir Giles, but not very heartily.

“And that reminds me,” said the King. “Your betrothed, the Lady Ermyntrude, can look after these little ones, for the hour is late, and we would have them to sit at our evening meal. So fair damsel,” he continued to a young lady standing nearby, “take charge of this little golden-haired maid and this sturdy male infant and see that they be given a change of raiment and also (for they _are_ a bit grubby) the refreshment of the bath.”

The young lady, who was richly dressed, and extremely pretty (her one defect was a touch of indefinable sauciness) came forward and curtseyed. She then gave a hand to each of the children and led them forth.

A CHANGE OF CLOTHES AT LAST

With the assistance of a couple of maids, Sylvia and Joe were soon tubbed and scrubbed and then seated, each wrapped in a sheet, awaiting the decision of the Lady Ermyntrude, who took clothes seriously. In time she selected what she considered suitable from the royal wardrobe (things that the royal children had grown out of) and began to dress them up. When she had finished with them the effect was startling. Sylvia had on a dress of white silk adorned with flowers and bees worked in gold, and little red shoes with pom-poms on them. Her hair was all fluffed out beneath a snow-white cap like a sugar loaf leaning backwards. Joe had a bright crimson doublet and hose and a cap with a white feather on it. His shoes wanted some getting used to for the toes were so pointed and long that they had to be fastened to his knees with tiny gold chains. In his belt he had a little dagger in an embroidered sheath, and this he liked more than anything. He told Sylvia that he had told her all along that things would come out all right and that she needn’t worry.

“What do you think of Sir Giles?” asked the Lady Ermyntrude when the children’s toilet was complete and they were sitting opposite to her on two footstools.

“He’s not bad,” replied Joe. (After all, Sir Giles had looked after them pretty well and given them breakfast.)

“He’s bossy,” said the lady (not the word she used of course, but the nearest I can get to it).

“Is he, Miss?” Sylvia asked.

“Yes, with most people. But not with me.” Here she laughed scornfully.

“You’re going to marry him, aren’t you, Miss--I mean, my Lady?” asked Sylvia timidly.

“In August.”

“Oh, so soon?” Sylvia got greatly interested. “Bridesmaids?”

“Six. Would you like to see my wedding-dress--as far as it’s gone?”

“I should _love_ it!”

So Joe had to wander about the room for half an hour while these two thoroughly feminine females went into close details.

ANOTHER MEAL WITH ROYALTY

The evening meal was a matter of some ceremony and observance of old customs. The public was admitted in moderate numbers on payment of a small fee (which went to the poor) and it was quite the thing for people who wanted to give country friends a treat to take them to the palace in order to see from behind a railed-off space the royal party feeding. Those who came on this particular evening had no reason to complain that they had not had their money’s worth.

The jovial character of the King made him sometimes impatient of ceremony, and once the trumpets had sounded to announce that he had removed his outer robe and taken his seat, he would adopt a free and easy manner calculated to put nervous guests at their ease. I do not mean that Joe and Sylvia were nervous. They had been guests of honour at the table of King Merse II and knew something of the ways of courts--though this of course was on a much more magnificent scale--and, in addition, they were upheld by the consciousness that they were fitly attired. Those who know--as I confess I do--the great gain in ease and self-respect due to a new suit of clothes will readily understand this.

While the meal proceeded the King expressed sympathy with them for their mislaying of Gorbo and comforted them by saying that he would undoubtedly turn up safe and sound. He said he would have inquiries made at once.

“It is indeed a gratification,” he said, “to hear that the Snergs are nice and harmless and not at all fierce. I must try and arrange some way of meeting their king, who I have no doubt is a very worthy man in his way. It would be to clear up the misunderstandings of ages. And I should especially like to see your faithful friend Gorbo. I trust I shall shortly. In the meantime,” he went on with hospitable smiles, “have another of these, Sylvia” (handing her a plate of confections rather like muffins with fruit inside). “Little girls should build up their systems with plenty of food, and these are full of vitamines.”

“Thank you, sire,” said Sylvia, taking one.

“But these are cold,” went on the King as he bit into another. “Let me give you a hot one.” Then, for as I have said he despised ceremony in small things, he rose and reached for a huge silver dish (with a hot water arrangement beneath it) where the muffins were heaped.

I ask you to note that, the dish being at some distance from him, he leant forward until he was almost prone on the table, the muffin he had bitten to test its temperature being still between his teeth.

A STINGER

At that instant fearful shouts were heard, and to the bewildering surprise and joy of Sylvia and Joe, they saw Gorbo bounding up the hall. He wore instead of his close-fitting Snerg cap, a strange one of filthy appearance. In his left hand he bore a pair of ragged shoes, and in his right he held aloft a long whippy sapling.

He did not see them; even if he had he would not have recognized in these splendidly-dressed children his travel-stained young friends; he had eyes only for the alleged tyrant whose gold crown revealed his identity and whose attitude as he leaned across the table was excellent for the user of a magic sword. He leapt forward--remember all this occupied but one or two seconds--and brought the sapling down on the King’s person with a juicy smack that rang through the hall.

To say merely that things moved briskly after this is to confess--as I must--inability to cope in words with so strange a situation. I will, however, do my best to give a general impression of subsequent happenings.

The King bounced upright--nay, more than upright--and with eyes goggling and utterance impeded by the muffin in his mouth, glared maniacally at his assailant. And all present were so paralysed with amazement that for an instant there was utter silence. O moments big as years!

The thoughts of Gorbo in that bitter speck of time might be expressed as follows:--

“I have been cozened. This cap is not a cap of invisibility, because everybody is looking at me. This sapling is not a sword of sharpness, because just look at what’s happened! Therefore, for the love of Mike, let these be shoes of swiftness, for I need them!”

He flung away the sapling, sprang into the shoes, and ran.

He ran into the arms of about twenty soldiers, each of whom grabbed a bit of him somewhere.

“It’s Gorbo!” cried Sylvia in agony. “Oh, poor old Gorbo!”

“Gorbo, is it?” roared the King, sweeping away with his arms those who rushed to tend him, and literally gnashing his teeth. “So _that’s_ your Gorbo? Harmless, eh? Not fierce at all! Oh----!”

Here I must cease writing down his words.

THE MORNING AFTER

When the children woke next day the events of the evening came to them with a shock. They had not been thrown into a dungeon, as they had not unreasonably feared would be the case, but had been rather hurriedly bundled out of the way by the Lady Ermyntrude and put to bed in a fairly comfortable back room with two beds and told to go to sleep at once, which they felt was rather a difficult thing to do under the circumstances. They felt that they were losing their popularity, and besides, they were greatly worried about their friend. Speculation as to why he had behaved as he had and what would be his probable fate kept them whispering for hours.

But when they were dressed by a maid (who brought them an early cup of milk) and had gone downstairs, they found the situation easier. The King had passed a good night. He had no temperature and was able to eat a hearty breakfast. He did not express a wish to see the children, and they were glad of this because they felt it would have been so awkward. The Lady Ermyntrude gave them their breakfast and then took them out for a walk in the garden, and Tiger had a run with some puppies that belonged to her.

The King attended a council at which were discussed various suggestions made by the nobles as to the ceremonies to be observed in the cutting off of Gorbo’s head. It was finally decided that it should be done in the market-place at 11.30, and, this being settled, the King proposed (for the basis of his method of government was strict justice) that the villain should receive a fair trial.

Gorbo was brought in, loaded with an almost unnecessary length of chain, and stood before the Lord Chancellor, who was to conduct the case.

“Your name, prisoner?” asked the Lord Chancellor.

“Gorbo, so please you, sir,” replied the unhappy Snerg.

“Your age, Gorbo?”

“Two hundred and seventy-three, sir.”

“Your occupation, Gorbo?”

“Potter, sir.”

“And why, Gorbo, did you leave the harmless calling of potting to come to this land and give a fleshy cut to the King’s Grace?”

“Because----” He could say no more.

“The reason is inadequate, Gorbo. Think, for your time on earth is short if you give no better bid for life.”

“Mother Meldrum told me to,” said Gorbo, his wits roused by the extremity.

“Aha, now we get near it! But even then, Gorbo, the reason seems no full one. Is it the foul custom of the Snergs to smite all, however exalted, at the chance word of a witch?”

“She--she said that the King was a grievous tyrant--and that he needed killing badly. But the chief reason was she said that if I didn’t kill him, he’d kill Sylvia and Joe.”

The Lord Chancellor turned to the King. “In truth, sire, we seem to have secured, at the cost of a stinger to your Majesty’s person, the biggest numskull the world has ever known.”

“It would seem so,” agreed the King, with a half pitying look at Gorbo. “I suggest, my lords, that he be allowed to tell his tale in his own fashion and we will then see if it agrees in substance with the tale of those little ones.”

“A noble idea and worthy of your Majesty’s brain capacity,” said the Lord Chancellor. “Come, fellow, your tale, plainly told.”

With much faltering and stammering (for he feared he had proved the truth of the prophecy that he was the biggest fool) Gorbo began his account of all that had happened since he left Watkyns Bay. He warmed up as he proceeded and got more at his ease, for he saw that all listened with deep interest. He diplomatically stopped at the point where he arrived at the palace gates on the previous evening.

“All agrees well with the tale of the children,” said the King. “I think, my lords, we must let this oaf keep his head for the present.”

“Yes, sire,” said the Lord Chancellor, “and in my opinion----”

But his opinion was lost to the world, for at that instant there was heard a clamour without and a sounding knock at the door.

THE INVASION

The door opened smartly and the Captain of the City Guard appeared framed in the doorway, a stoutly-built man in a full suit of mail, with a beard like a pound of coarse-cut tobacco and a rough but not unkindly face.

“My liege,” he said, making a leg, “pray pardon my pushing in, but a strange armed force has appeared suddenly, demanding the surrender of the two foreign children and the Snerg.”

“An armed force, fellow!” cried the King with justifiable anger. “Demanding of _me_--I mean us! You are surely talking through your morion.”

“Nay, sire, it is but too true. Some two score of large men in quaint boots and some ten score or more of small dwarfish men who may be Snergs. They say that if the three they demand be given to them uninjured they will go in peace.”

The King rose to the occasion with true dignity. “Admit them to the City,” he said. “We will talk with their leader.”

“Well, sire,” said the Captain of the Guard, with a not unnatural embarrassment, “the fact is, they have admitted themselves. You see, it happened that I was athirst, and----”

“We will look into that later,” interrupted the King with a stern look. “In the meantime, invite this force into our hall as soon as I have taken my seat on the throne.”

AN HISTORIC MEETING

The force was drawn up in an orderly way in the hall; Snergs on the right flank, four deep, and the Dutchmen on the left flank. Vanderdecken knew something of the art of war--so useful to seamen of his day--and he had trained his crew to do some simple military exercises, including musketry drill. On the whole the Expeditionary Force, with Snergs in half armour and the sailors carrying their muskets at the slope, looked hard and efficient.

King Kul left his throne and advanced six steps. King Merse came forward, looking every inch a king, though small.

“Welcome, our cousin of Snerg.”

Their hands met. King Kul took the arm of the other and led him to a seat by the throne. There was a murmur of satisfaction from the assembled courtiers, while the two exchanged the friendly, but not necessarily very deep, remarks which characterize the conversation of princes or presidents who meet for the first time.