It chanced one night that Feargus went forth on foot and wandered over the moors, finding nothing for his arrows. And his white horse followed him like a dog, now stopping a hundred paces behind to crop the grass, now running forward as it listed. At length, being weary, Feargus sat him down not noticing that hard by him were the remains of a camp fire. He laid his sword aside him and unloosened his harness and fell to thinking, and was right sad when he minded him of all Torfrida had come through for his sake. “Better,” said he, “would it have been had I died by Osbert’s hands, in sooth.” Then suddenly he got a blow on the head and was seized by each shoulder, while a man stepped forward and lifted his sword and turned it against him.
“Now yield ye, sir Redbeard, for whoever thou be,” said one.
Then Feargus seized the one who held his right arm and swung him to the earth and the one to the left he struck with his clenched fist and then dashed upon him who held the sword, but the robber instantly struck him with it in the shoulder that the blood spurted forth, and then another ran forward with a bow and fitted an arrow thereto and made to shoot him. Then Feargus paused, for he thought what would befall Torfrida alone on the moor, and he felt the blood running from him, for he had had his byrny unloosed as also the shirt of mail that clad him to the elbow, so that he had no defence against his foes. Then he reasoned that it would be better to give way now and escape afterwards if chance offered. So he allowed them to bind his hands, whereupon those whom he had hurt fell upon him and beat him sorely, stripping off his byrny, and ever he bled; but when they went to lift his shirt of mail from him he said, “Coward swordsmiths are ye, for ye have beaten a wounded foe who is a prisoner and without arms, and now go for to strip him of his mail though the night be keen for a whole man and worse for a wounded one, and it will do ye little good for there is not one among your company who is of size to wear it.” Then one who was the captain among them struck him upon the mouth in answer. Feargus uttered an oath in Gaelic, whereupon the captain again struck him, and then they took him one on either side and walked on, but one of the company came forward drawing forth a kerchief. “Better he would walk, perchance,” said he, “if the blood were staunched, for he groweth faint and hard work were it to carry so long a loon.” So the robber bound his wound and that not without skill or tenderness. Then did Feargus mutter faintly in his own tongue, “Thanks to thee for I see thou art a man, whatever company it be that thou art in.”
They went on down into the glen, but Feargus was too faint to mark the way, his head swam and he had no sense left, but there was before him a vision of Torfrida seated on the moor midst a handful of pine trees, with the beasts lying near, for he never doubted that the white horse would find his way back to her, and she waiting vainly for his return. The robbers led him westwards, down the glen, and there among the rocks they entered a large cavern, the mouth of which could not be seen from any distance outside. The place was filled with peat-reek from a great fire, and at the further end they led him into a smaller cave, one of the men showing the way with a lighted faggot. Dark and cold and damp the place was, and the water trickled down the walls in sickly streams, but Feargus recked not but fell down amidst of it on the floor and slept. In the night he wakened, feeling stiff and full of pain, weak and an hungered. He thought again of Torfrida on the moor, and his heart grew sick. At length one came to him and brought him food, and said he, “Our captain bids me tell thee that an thou wilt join his band thou shalt live, despite the hurt thou hast give him; but an thou refusest thou shalt die.”
So Feargus ate and drank and slept, and, there being no light, he could not tell whether it were night or day when he awoke, but of a sudden some one whispered to him in his native tongue—
“Thou art a North Pict by thy speech; I am of the south, yet are we all of one blood and one tongue, though whiles, alas! of two ways of thinking; arise, brother, and pass out, and thou wilt find thy bow hanging on the wall on the right hand as thou goest: thou art o’er brave to die thus by the hands of the English. A sword thou wilt find at thy side and the skin of a deer to cover thy nakedness. I am a robber yet will I not see my kin robbed.”
“A brother art thou indeed, as thou sayest, and great thanks I owe thee, though I naught can give thee to show it, but if ever I win Alban and thou comest thither, a hearthstone thou shalt find to thee and shall lack nothing that I can give thee, as long as thou livest; for I am son to king Nechtan and my name is Feargus.”
“Then have I heard much of thee and right glad I am to serve so noble a warrior. Go lest they awake, it is about the dawn; such courage as thou hast can do the rest. I will meet thee yet in thy father’s hall and be thy man, for never can I stay in my own country more for an evil man have I been.”
“Thy name?”
“Domnhull MacEachran MacGilliosa.”
Then Feargus crept out stealthily and took the bow and the sword, wrapping the deer skins around him. There he saw the robbers lying, and he counted them in the dim light of the dying fire and passed on thinking they were all, when, as he neared the entrance, he stumbled over a man’s body. The man started up, sword in hand, and Feargus felt that he was over weak to do battle with him, so quickly stabbed him ere he had fully risen, that he fell back dead. Then he heard the others bestirring within, roused by the noise, and he fled; but he knew by the sounds that the whole cave was now astir. Little knowing the glen he sped slowly, and those behind were gaining upon him; so stiff was his left shoulder that he could not use his bow, and when he reached the top of the steep side of the glen he was breathless and faint, but staggered on across the moor. Then came the robbers on behind him in full chase, and he felt that he was lost, when lo! from out a small planting or spinney on his right a creature ran with a joyous neigh, and ere he could gather his senses he was nosed all over head and face by his own great horse. The beast seemed so overjoyed that Feargus well-nigh wept over him, being weak. Then he scrambled to the creature’s back and, patting its neck, left it to go which way it listed, for he himself knew not the road back to Torfrida. And his foes saw a great grey horse run from among the trees and then their quarry mounted it and the two were spirited away like shadows of the gloaming. The horse took its way without hesitance across the moor, and soon came to the spot where was Torfrida. And she was overjoyed at the sight of them and kissed first Feargus and then the beast. But Feargus himself was so weak that he nearly fell as he dismounted, and Torfrida dressed his wound and gave him water and what food she had remaining, and she sat awake all that night watching him. In the morning she found him still too weak to move, and they dreaded lest the robbers should find them. So when he was for rising to seek food Torfrida bade him lie still, and went and set a trap as he directed her, and they waited until they caught a bird which she cooked in the peat ash, and they fared well. So each night Torfrida watched and slept in the day, and they stayed in the wood for a week.
After that time, by reason of his great strength and the cleanness of his blood, the wound was well-nigh healed. So Feargus took his bow and went forth and brought food in great plenty, and they mounted their beasts, which were eager to be away, and rode down across the moor until they won the burn by which the robbers dwelt. Feargus knew it not again, for he had been too weak to mark the way, but as they reached the glen he noticed his beast to tremble and he told Torfrida and hurried her over the stream, bidding her ride forward a good space, and then lie down among the heather, for danger was near. “And much I wish I had my byrny and my great sword,” said he. Then for fear aught should befall the beast he rode, he dismounted and made the creature lie down, and took his bow and went back towards the ford. There he crouched down and waited; for he thought that if the robbers were on their track it would be better to meet them as they reached the ford than allow them to cross, but he sighed again for his great sword and his byrny of rare workmanship. Then as he lay he became aware of a man clad in russet hiding among the stones, and he knew they had been seen. He watched the man till he arose and ran down towards the foot of the glen, and presently returned with five men, leading horses. Among them was he who had dressed his wound whom he took to be the Pict. When he saw them his wrath was great for all the ill they had done him, and belike many more, and for so little pity they had shown or soldiership. Then said he, “Little me liketh bloodshed, but these shall die ere they win the north side of the burn; for further hurt will they else do to many.” Then, moreover, he bethought him of his armour and knew not how he could win through all that lay before him without it; so he looked again at his enemies and there were five of them, less the Pict, who would not be willing to fight against him. “I have before now set as many on their backs by help of wit and these arrows, and, moreover, the burn is between us and they will have no shelter.”
Now they had almost won the ford and Feargus put an arrow to his bow, and as the first man entered the water to cross he raised to his knee and sent the arrow forth. In the act he felt his wound and it angered him; the man fell back into the water with the arrow sticking in him a foot deep, and neither shout nor groan gave he, for Feargus was a merciful death-dealer. The captain, seeing his man swept away in the flood, cried “On.” Then Feargus, that he might know who was before him, stood upright; but the captain knew well, forsooth, and halted them before they touched the water, to shoot their arrows. Feargus lay down in the heather to avoid them, but they having the water before them were without shelter, so again he drew his bow, and another leapt forward and fell headlong into the stream, to be quickly followed by a third. There only remained the Pict and the captain, who turned to flee. Then Feargus shouted out, “Now, sir captain, an ye turn, ye shall die, ere ye have fled fifty paces, an ye stand ye shall fight hand to hand with me, for where odds are equal I will take no vantage of bow or arrow, though I be without byrny. I have left thee till the last for thou didst in cowardly wise strike me when wounded, and I would that thou shouldst see the ruin of thy men and thyself.” Then Feargus moved forward, and the captain turned to the Pict, saying, “Why standest thou and slay him not?”
“Nay, sir captain, I have wrought much evil since thou didst take me and force me to join thy band, but never did I yet take hand with a stranger like thee against mine own kin. A king’s son at least is this, and though I will take no part against thee neither will I help thee; ye are man to man and thine enemy is without byrny, so ye may fight it out.” Then he held out his sword to Feargus, who straightway gave it back again, saying, “Nay, keep it, kinsman.”
Then the captain, seeing there was nothing left but to fight, drew, and Feargus drew also his sword, but it was not his own blade; fiercely they fell to and the robber wrought with great might till Feargus drew back a pace and dealt a great blow, and the blade shore the robber’s helm clean through the side, leaving the head unharmed, but breaking itself nigh to the hilt, and the robber staggered from left to right as one drunk. Then Feargus was without arms, but, keeping still the broken hilt of the sword in his hand, he dashed at his antagonist, striking him full in the face; then wresting the sword from his hand, flung it across the burn and, lifting the robber, gripped him so hard that he cried out; then, running a few paces, hurled him into the flood nigh to where it took a mighty leap of many feet amid jagged rocks: and so no creature save the raven saw him thereafter. Feargus turned back to where the Pict stood awe-stricken at so fierce a fight, and he took his bow and bade him lead to the cave. Lightly he obeyed, and they entered, and there Feargus found his byrny and his great sword of wondrous temper and all that he had lost. Then the Pict told him they must get away lest the rest of the band should return from the neighbouring dales and find their captain slain. “And I will take what will serve me and fly, for they will not believe my story, and I will away into Galloway privily and find my kin and then will I come north to serve thee all my days, for the greatest of warriors art thou. Thou wilt find difficulty enough in fending for thyself and thy young friend else would I join thee.”
So the Pict went one way and Feargus went another, and stripping off the skins with which he was clad he sprang into the stream and swam about, for his wound’s sake. Then being refreshed, he gained the land and dressed him and donned his byrny, over it casting the skins to hide the brightness of it and called his horse, which arose quickly and followed him. When Torfrida saw that he had his sword again and his byrny she was rejoiced greatly. So they rode on across the moor and they could see nothing save heather and whin and bracken, with clumps of trees far apart, and patches of bog covered with long grass, and the wild myrtle that sent forth a sweet smell, and in the distance hills and glens innumerable. So they journeyed for many days. But ever the nights drew out and the days drew in, and Feargus had much ado to find food or a dry spot to cast their tent in, and the cold strengthened and much rain fell and sometimes hail and snow. And they were often forced to spend whole days in resting and waiting for the storms to abate. And sometimes they lost their road among the fells. They stayed now on the bare hill side where nothing but the cry of the paitrick or the plover was to be heard the year through; now in wild glens; by crag and loch and burn ever northward wending. Soon they found the winter sore upon them, and the snow lay thick and covered all the land, and the horses had nothing wherewith to satisfy their hunger. In the darkness came wild beasts, and they had to build a great fire each night around them to scare the creatures. And whiles they drew right up to it scenting the horses and then drew back, and at length so bold they grew that one night two giant wolves leapt across the flames nigh to where Feargus sat, sword in hand, but hardly had they reached the earth ere he plunged his sword down the open jaws of one and kicked the other backwards into the fire with his foot. And the snow became so deep that Feargus built a snow house each night for Torfrida, and himself stood by the watch-fire outside. And so they sped, the hazel nut and red deer their food, or whatever his bow could bring down; and from all dangers he shielded her, or labour or weariness or cold, so far as he might in so terrible a clime. But often his heart failed him and he felt that death lay before them. At length the horses waxed weak for lack of food, and he cut the meat from the beasts he slew for them, but he saw that an he could not soon win a clachan or farmstead they must die.
The feet of Feargus sank deep in the snow at every step, and made him weary, but he fared on.
Their way still lay among the mountains and little food could they there find, so one evening Feargus started out in quest thereof and his feet sank deep in the snow at every step and made him weary, but he fared on. At last he turned, thinking to travel back by his footprints, but of a sudden the sky had grown overcast, and a gust of wind soughed up the glen and in a moment it was as though a mist had fallen upon him, for he could see neither behind nor before, nor sky nor land, so small and close fell the snow. On he stumbled trying now to guess the way back and crying out at intervals, “Torfrida! Torfrida!” Then he stooped down to seek the footprints, but found that all were filled with the driving snow; still he went on hour after hour and like to drop for weariness, and ever and anon crying “Torfrida!”
And Torfrida lay awaiting him in her house builded of snow on the top of a steep hill; for they feared to stay in the glens at that time lest the snow-drifts should bury them. As the darkness closed in she set a light to her fire. Then, of a sudden, the storm burst upon them and had it not been that their place of halting was cunningly chosen in a spot sheltered from the winds common in that quarter, her fire would have been quenched altogether. The darkness thickened and fear fell upon her for her lover, and she stood in the doorway watching over the plain below. It might be about midnight when far away across the fells in front of her she thought she heard the cry “Torfrida!” She fancied it foreboded his death, and wished herself dead, for their troubles seemed like to overwhelm them. All night the tempest raged, and all the day following, and still she fed the fire, till her heap of faggots grew low, for she knew that it would be his only guide, if guide he longer needed. On the night of the second day she again thought she heard that weird cry “Torfrida!” and arose and shrieked “Feargus! Feargus!” Then she fancied she saw a great white form staggering about far down on the moor beneath, till at length it fell or seemed to, then slowly and with little life arose once more; then she tried to go out to it, but was too weak and full of horror, for a creature of another world this might be and she swooned, and as she awoke suddenly a giant form rose up before her deep covered with snow frozen to it from beard to foot, and with one wild cry, “Torfrida!” it staggered forward and fell headlong at her feet, and she knew that he had come.
So they stayed there on the hillside for a week and then arose and went forward, but with heavy hearts and weary feet, leaving behind them Torfrida’s palfrey, which had died for very weariness; and the two wept as they went forth once more across the wilderness. At length they drew near to a broad burn which they crossed, and, faring on, soon beheld a town to the left of them and knew not in what country they were, but feared they had come too far to the east and had entered Northumbria. They pressed on till they drew nigh to the town and anon met men coming forth of it, but these stared aghast at sight of them and fled, so wild were their looks and so lean and haggard their faces. At length they came to a herdsman’s shieling high up on the hills, and Torfrida went in and found the herd with his wife sitting by the ingle. When the wife beheld her she let forth a scream; then said Torfrida, “Nay, good people, have no fear, for I am a woman of thine own country and an hungered, yet gold have we to pay thee for such shelter as thou canst give.”
“The lady is beautiful and looks good—she is welcome to all we have.”
“Nay, but I ask the boon also for my lover who is without, but so great of stature is he and so wild are his looks from much travail that we twain have come through, that methought he might fear thee.”
“Yea let him enter also.”
Then Feargus entered and sat him down, and the people were Northumbrians, and when the good wife saw him she said, “Now thou art a man indeed!” So they fared well in that house for three weeks, and Feargus waxed strong again, as did Torfrida, and light of heart, for it seemed as though their troubles were ended, since here they did not know him for Feargus. At length they minded them of their journey, and Feargus brought forth his beast that looked well and stout as of old, and rejoiced his master’s heart. Their host then found a good beast for Torfrida, and they rode out and sought to escape the town, but they had hardly won clear of it ere a party of soldiers met them and hailed Feargus and questioned him and, judging him to be a foreigner, took him before the king, who knew him for Feargus. Then were they cast each into a dungeon, while a messenger was sent to king Sigmund and Osbert, the king’s friends, telling of their capture. Now none had seen that under his rags Feargus wore a byrny, and his jailors, being half afraid of him owing to the tales of his strength and fierceness, which were common among the Northumbrian soldiery, had left him his sword and bow. They lay in the prison for a week, and the dungeon of Feargus was such that he could not hold himself upright therein, and the walls were dank with water. He looked about for means of escape, and soon knew by slight sounds that there was a person in the cell next him and so he knocked on the wall, thinking it might be Torfrida, and at once heard an answering knock. Then, his heart beating fast for gladness, he set about digging at the wall with his sword, and dug with great labour all the night, and by morning had wrought so well that one of the stones was loosened and he lifted it out and they spoke together. Then said she, “See how the Northumbrians treat a king’s daughter,” and he saw that there were chains about her, but dreading that he might brain him, the jailor had left the manacling of his male prisoner until such times as he might be weak from lack of food.
Feargus worked for two nights and days until he had removed another stone, and could creep through the opening. He then set to work to cut away the stone which held the bolt in the door of Torfrida’s cell, taking the stones of the wall by which he entered in and out each day, and returning to his own cell at the hour at which the jailor brought his prisoners’ food, for he came first to Torfrida’s cell. Then he told Torfrida to hold herself in readiness, and at length one night lay down before the door of his dungeon, so that when the man came in he fell over him, and Feargus sprang upon him and stunned him, then tearing his jerkin into shreds, twisted them into a rope and bound him with it that he might not rouse the men who stood on guard. He then bade Torfrida to follow, and forth they sped in the cool night wind towards the water, and no man stopped them. So they won the sea and walked along the coast towards where the shipping lay. There they found many small boats lying, and entered into one of them, and, fearing to linger, put out to sea. In her they found water and a little meat, but she was open to the seas. They rowed till they were out of sight of land and then turned northwards by the stars. They kept out at sea so that in the day they could just make out the distant shore.
Then Feargus thought that Torfrida was like to die, for she fainted, and lay for long as one in death.
On the second day the wind blew cold and Torfrida was sore distressed, and in the night it arose to a tempest and they were tossed about for many hours, the boat flying before the wind so that they had no mastery over her. When the day dawned they found that they had been driven out to sea and had lost sight of the coast, and they were mightily afraid thereat. At length on the fourth day the sea grew calm and the wind fell. Then Feargus took to his oars, but no sight of land could he get, and he steered him as he best might. They had little meat to eat the while, or water to drink, for their store had been but scant at the beginning. He rowed ever on till weariness fell upon him, and still he rowed, and daily saw Torfrida dwining before his eyes. His heart smote him, for was it not by his own doing that so great trouble had fallen upon her? Soon they had neither bite nor sup left, and the cold winds cut them to the quick. Then Feargus thought that Torfrida was like to die, for she fainted, and lay for long as one in death. There came to him the thought of slaying himself; he waited long but at last she awoke, and he drew his sword and cut his arm and poured the blood down her throat till she revived. Then he bound up his arm that she might not know wherewith he had fed her. Once more he took the oars, though full faint himself, and sped on, but hope was dead in him and he listed not whither he went. And all through the night the cold stars look down upon the little boat bearing the gaunt man, who seemed like to one in a dream, who nor feeling nor sense hath of earthly things, yet ever plyeth his oars monotonously. His eyes were glassy, and fixed ever on the white-faced woman who lay at his feet with the marks of death already upon her. And neither he nor she spake, nor had done for many days. As the night wore through the big man ceased to move to and fro, and drawing with a last effort his oars from the water, fell backward into the bottom of the boat. So, until the sun was high in the lift. Then he started up but knew not where he was nor what thing had befallen him, but only saw that not a bowshot from him was a line of grey cliff, mist-haunted, bird-inhabited, and washed by mighty waters whose thunder echoed continually along the crags. Then did he know himself and staggered up and shouted, “Land, land!” And dimly through the mist of her half-consciousness Torfrida knew that they were saved.
Then Feargus roused him and drew forth the oars and steered their way among the rocks and green waters now still and sleepful that had been so fierce. Here they had made a small bay, there a creek; into one of these he steered the boat up against the rocks, whence he saw the birds fly forth, and at length in a cranny he saw some eggs lying. These he seized and broke and poured between the lips of Torfrida and then of himself. In the creek he found a ledge of rock above high water, and rowed his boat to it and fastened her and there lay down and slept for an hour. Then he arose and, being too weak to use his bow, found more eggs and fed Torfrida with them. Then he landed by scrambling on to the shelf of rock, and, seeking about, found pools of rain water and drank and gave likewise to Torfrida. The next day found him refreshed so that he was able to lift her on to the shelf and himself rowed out a little way in search of eggs, which he found among the crags in great plenty. So they stayed there many days, living in a cave and wandering among the rocks like the sea birds themselves, their daily food the eggs of the seamew and cormorant. And the place was always dark, lying like a watery ravine between the crags, so that the sun never shone there; but their hearts lay deep too between the sorrows that encompassed them and they missed him not. At length their strength was renewed, but they were still fearful of going forth once more on a journey so terrible. And when they left their watery home they sighed, for days of peace had they known there, who had forgotten what peace was; and the cry of the seamew, the floating mists, and the boom of breaking waters had become dear to them, while the very birds knew them and feared them not.
And so, at length, they stepped into their boat and rowed through the creek out into the sunlight, and the sight of it gladdened them. They kept along the cliffs that day and in the evening ran up one of the narrow creeks and waited till the morn. After many miles the cliffs ceased and an open coast took their place, then Feargus thought to land and find out what country they were in; so they made the shore, and right glad was Feargus to find they were in the land of Lothian, not knowing they had won so far north. In those days the Kelts of the Lothians were groaning under the rule of the Northumbrians, whose language they came afterwards to speak, though they still kept their nationality and their patriotism, even if they grew in some measure away from their Gaelic kindred of the north and west. So at length after sailing up a broad river, wanting food and water, they saw a great town lying low down towards the water’s edge, and Feargus landed, and they approached the town, which they found to be the ancient Roman city of Camelon on Forth, that stood hard by the Roman wall. After walking some way they were noticed by the people and surrounded by a band of warriors of the chief who was set over Lothian and called himself king. They were hurried through splendid gates of brass to the town, the people coming out of their houses to look at them, and were brought before the king, who was a Northumbrian and had much wealth and many foreign warriors in his pay. Now his thane had bethought him that the sight of folk so rude as looked these twain would pleasure his master. The king, who had an eye for fighting men, saw in Feargus the shape of a warrior, and knew by the way he strode and held himself that he was a practised and strong man of his hands, and was well pleased to have such brought to him, thinking to win him to his service. If the master knew a warrior though ill clad, his men did not, but thought him little better than a savage or a slave. Feargus knew well by their tongue that they were English and ruling a people who were near kin to his own and he was wroth to see it, and being full of strength from his life on the cliffs, and seeing Torfrida’s face smooth and shining with health, he was little in the humour to brook insult offered. So it chanced as the king stood questioning him that one of his nobles turned to Torfrida and laid rough hands upon her, saying, “Come hither, lad, let me see thee; thou lookest like a wench,” and so drew aside the ragged covering which hid her face. When the people saw her beauty they were amazed thereat, but not long gazed the earl upon her, for his hand was hardly off her snood ere Feargus, seizing his sword, clove him through the helm, nigh killing him, and crying in English, “Manners, thou dog!”
The earl’s men turned to flee for very horror of the thing they saw, till their captain rallied them, and, crying out for vengeance, rushed upon Feargus. Then the king, who was just and dearly loved a bold act, was mightily taken with his new soldier, and he roared in a voice of thunder, “Stand; let no man stir, I will deal.” Turning to Feargus, he said, “Now, beggar or warrior, for such I see thou art, what sayest thou for thyself? Thou hast nigh slain an earl of my court.”
“That were a mishap indeed, sir king; but I hold that when I struck him his acts were such that no man, being a stranger, could tell him for an earl, for I have seen beggars and billmen with better manners; therefore am I not to blame more than if I had slain a worse beggar than myself.”
“Humph! thou art an outspoken beggar, in sooth, but I tell thee thou shalt go unharmed an thou wilt enter my bodyguard, for they lack a captain at this present, and I see thou art such a man of thy hands that I wot of none that could captain them like thee.”
Now Feargus saw that the bluff king was a man after his own heart, good humoured yet resolute and strong, and he knew well that his only chance was to enter his new friend’s service, so he said—
“I will do as thou dost wish, king, since thou hast so befriended us, and I will serve thee well and faithfully for so long as my lady and myself go unmolested,” and he put his two hands between those of the king as the English custom was.
So they stayed some months at the court of Lothian, and Torfrida had a house set apart for her and maids to wait and do her bidding and had full liberty to walk about freely, but she saw little of Feargus, for he was much away on the king’s business. And Feargus knew not how they might get away from these parts, and wondered much how it fared with Edwy and Sigmund.
And one evening it chanced that Torfrida was walking late in her garden when of a sudden from the hedgerows on either side burst armed men with their faces masked. Torfrida, being surprised, stood still for a moment, when she was seized from behind and a cloth cast about her, then strong hands lifted her and she was borne away till they came to where seemed to be horses waiting. She was then taken up and borne on the saddle before the rider, and they rode for many miles over much uneven ground. She could hear that on either side and behind her were horsemen. At length they drew up, then Torfrida heard the noise of a drawbridge and the tramp of the hoofs of the beasts as they rode across; then it was drawn up behind them and at the sound the heart fell within her. They carried her into the castle, for such she deemed it wherein she was. The cloth was now withdrawn from her head and she saw that she was in a large chamber, handsomely furnished and hung around with rich tapestry, and with her was a stout woman in the dress of a servant.
“Oh, where am I, why have they brought me here?” said she.
“Thou art safe, lady; they have brought thee here because my master, the prince, has loved thee since the day they took thee to the king with yon great man thy squire.”
“Oh, tell me who is thy master? I know him not.”
“Weep not, lady; my master is right comely.”
“What is his comeliness to me?”
“Nay, thou hast seen him, but thou wouldst not look upon him, so he was angered, and he knew that his father, the king, set too much store by thy knight to let him take thee from him, even if he had a wish to fight thy lord, which methinketh few men about the king have. So he cast round for a way to win thee, and none other could he think of but the taking of thee in this wise—but there, I am telling thee too much. It matters little, for I am sent, my lady, to tell thee that my master, prince Siegfried, wills to wed thee to-night—for he fears to lose thee still; even now the priest awaits thy coming, and the feast is spread.”
Torfrida groaned aloud.
“As thou art a woman I beg thee to let me hence. Let me go out into the mountains and the woods that the wild beasts may devour me.”
“Nay, thou art over young and comely, and I would not if I could, for it would be shame.”
“Nay, good woman, not shame as great as mine will be when this wild beast thou speakest of, thy master, comes. Let me hence and amongst the hills and moors I may find men who speak the Gaelic tongue and will befriend me.”
“Nay, thou art in the hills here and all the men about Glencorse and Bonaly are adread of the prince and this new castle, and thou wouldst lose thyself and be drowned in the bogs that surround us long before any of the Pictland men could succour thee, for hills encompass Glencorse on every side and the paths are hard to find to a stranger. And they would quickly follow thee with dogs and men and there would be no escape.”
“Oh, say not so, good woman, for I could slay myself by leaping into the burn or into the bog—it were easy.”
“Nay, vex not thyself, child. Thou wilt soon be reconciled. And if I let thee free, then would the prince be so angry that he would turn me into the night, if he did not slay me, and I am old and the fireside is my place, and I have neither kith nor kin to shelter me in this wild country.”
“Nay, then, if thou fearest for thyself let me escape on to the battlements and I will throw myself from them and thy master will never know thou hast shown me the way, but will believe I have escaped from thee. And I will give thee these rings and this collar of gold worth a king’s ransom, an thou wilt be rich.” And Torfrida threw herself on the ground and clasped and kissed the woman’s feet.
“Nay, rise, sweet girl, for I lack courage for this thing thou askest. I would serve thee if I could for never have I seen any woman so modest and so comely as thou art. Greet no more and have no fear, for the prince is mad for love of thee and will let no harm befall thee, but will wed thee and make thee lady of his house and the queen of all his lands.”
Now Torfrida saw that she could not move the woman and she arose and bade her leave her, and the woman went. Then Torfrida ran round the room to see whether there were any hope of escape, but the windows were small and set high up on the walls, and across them were stout iron bars. Now she saw that the walls were built of huge logs of wood and were of great thickness, and from the windows were hangings of heavy tapestry. In the wide chimney upon a stone slab fixed into the earth floor burnt a fire of wood. Torfrida drew forth a burning faggot and then stepped to the windows and set the hangings alight, then she ran to the tapestry on the walls and did the like. In an instant there was a roar that frightened her and she screamed; she could not help it, as a sheet of flame shot up the walls. Only the inner side remained and Torfrida, recovering herself, in her frenzy went to light the wall, though her terror of what she had done almost overcame her. As she stooped to apply the faggot the door flew open and a huge woman with red face and flaunting dress stood over her, and with a cry of astonishment and rage struck Torfrida with her open hand upon the ear with such force that she, being light and slim of figure, fell upon the ground. She lay for a moment and then arose, but as she gained her feet the woman struck her again on the other side of the head so that she fell down again upon her knees.
Torfrida drew forth a burning faggot, and then stepped to the windows and set the hangings alight.
“Huzzy!” she screamed, “who are you that would burn us in our beds?” and then she walked to the door and cried “Fire!” and in a moment men came running with vessels filled with water, and they tore the hangings down and in ten minutes, so well they wrought, that they had quenched all the flames.
Then Torfrida, dizzy and sick with the blows she had received, stole out of the door unnoticed in the smoke and confusion, and turned along the corridor, thinking to throw herself from the battlements. She passed swiftly along a maze of narrow passages till she found a stair; up this she ran and presently felt a breath of wind, and turned to face it thinking it might come from the battlements. She sped along, staggering much from the blows she had received, till she saw a door and pushed it open and, lo! she found herself in a large hall and before her stood the big red-faced stout woman who had struck her. Torfrida screamed and begged for mercy.
“Ha, huzzy! thou wert thinking to escape. My son wed thee, forsooth! Thou imp of evil! thou witch! Wouldst burn us in our beds! I will teach thee better manners,” and she seized her by the wrist with one hand and beat her with the other till the blood flowed from her nose and mouth and she sank down in a swoon. Then the woman got water and threw it over her and picked her up like an infant, and taking her into another room laid her upon a bed and left her, locking the door as she went. And presently the old tire-woman came in and when she saw her she wept. “Then she hath beaten thee, poor child. No wonder the king cannot live with so great a brute!” And she washed the blood from Torfrida’s nose and mouth and kissed her and put cold bandages round her head. “Ah, thou wert foolish not to give way as I told thee and wed the prince without ado, for he will defend thee from her, and I will wait upon thee and love thee, for I have nothing else to love.”
Knowing she could not move her, Torfrida thanked the woman and bid her go and return in an hour, and she said, “I charge ye, good woman, tell no one of the usage I have received at this dame’s hands, for it puts shame upon me.”
In an hour the wife returned and found Torfrida calm and white and bland, with a smile upon her face, and her manner was decided and she no longer craved for help.
“Go, good wife,” she said, “and tell the prince, thy master, that an he loves me he must leave me to-night. I am ill and sore and weary with the rough handling and rough riding, for tell him women have not the strength of men; but I know thy master is a soldier and brave, they say, and would not needlessly distress a maiden even if he loved her not. Now I charge you, my woman, speak him fair as I speak,” added she, “for an thou dost not thou shalt be no woman of mine when I am queen of thy master’s hearth.”
“Now thou speakest, my lady, and I will do thy bidding, as I would be thy tire-woman, for well I know thou art a great lady and a king’s daughter.”
Then she went below and entered the hall where sat the prince at the board, fierce, impatient, and flushed. At his side were his companions, wild, loose sots, half soldiers, half forest robbers. Among them were many of the native Britons of Lothian of the race of Gwynedd, who had entered the service of the conqueror that they might keep their lands, even though below them was a sturdy race of clansmen full of the spirit of nationality and true to the nation of the Southern Albanich or Picts to which their land of Gododin had been joined, and friendly also to the stronger nation of the Northern Picts. These men, deserted by their natural chiefs, were waiting only for the leadership of a few strong men to take up arms against the Anglian settlers. In the Pentland and Muirfoot hills, and indeed in all the hill country, the Britons and Picts had been able to hold their own. At the prince’s board were also one or two soldiers of fortune or outlaws of the nation of the South Picts and the rest Northumbrians, Mercians, Lindeseymen, and men from other quarters, a motley throng. At the side of the prince stood a priest of unpleasant feature and shifty eye. At the other end of the table opposite the prince was a vacant chair, richly embroidered and draped with crimson and cloth of gold; to right and left of this sat the ladies of the chiefs. When he saw that the tire-woman had not Torfrida with her, the prince looked angry, but when she delivered her message his wrath was mollified for, be it said, he had great fear of his father’s captain and of his father, who loved only the fair fight, and within him was a foreboding of evil; but if the lady were going to prove willing what could her lover or the king have to complain of if they married? He could then spread it abroad that the lady had fled with him to escape from her squire. And was it not easy to believe that she should choose him instead of a beggarly captain! And so he smiled and sent back a message to her that she must be of good cheer, for nothing should she lack that gold might buy. So the wife returned and Torfrida retired to her bedchamber and tried to sleep. In the morning the woman entered.
“How doth my lady this morning?”
“Nay, I am weary and will not rise to-day.”
“But the prince, my lady?”
“What of the prince?”
“He wishes at least to see thee and has been walking the hall the night through so distracted is he for love of thee.”
“Tell him I am sick.”
So they let her alone that day, but the next the woman came again. “My lady, the prince hath been pacing the walls all the night, and he saith he dieth for love of thee, and I would counsel thee, if thou wilt take my rede, not to delay; for like a madman he goeth between love and fear. Hark ye, he is even now without.”
“Then dress me and help me to the couch in the outer chamber and I will speak with him.”
So she laid her on the couch and the prince entered, and when he saw her, how pale she was after her terrible beating and long fast, he was abashed and came and knelt down by her. Then Torfrida put out her hand and he kissed it.
“What manner of prince or knight art thou that presseth thy suit even though the lady lie sick unto death? Is this the way of princes?”
Now the prince was young, if old in riotous living, and the sight of a noble and beautiful maiden had not lost its hold upon him, even though his fears for his own safety filled him.
He answered not, and Torfrida knew that she had shamed him.
“Have I not sent word that I would see thee when I am cured of this sickness? Better treatment would I receive at the hands of a common man. If thou lovest me let me be till I am whole.”
“If I might but kiss thy lips I will rest me content, sweet lady, till thou art healed.”
“Thou wilt act as a prince only an thou mayest kiss me. Thou wouldst kiss when thou hast not wooed me; surely thou hast a way of wooing of thine own.”
“Say no more, I will leave thee, but keep me not long, I implore thee.”
“Here, thou mayest kiss my hand an thou art so minded. Now, get thee gone.”
Then the prince returned and no sooner had he reached the hall than he stamped and swore in rage, and called himself fool and faint of heart; for he had been overcome by a woman, though he had sworn to his followers that he would wed Torfrida that day, sick or well. So he was much haunted by fears and doubts, and knew no rest either day or night. Two days later he went again to Torfrida’s chamber door and knocked. Then Torfrida took from her finger a ring which held a rare stone of wondrous lustre, and she gave it to the tire-woman, who took it to the prince, telling him that Torfrida saw that he was indeed a gentle prince and knight. So the prince went down to the hall again and the barons laughed at him and nodded to each other, saying that the woman was too clever for him. The prince was angry and drank deep, and the waiting-woman told Torfrida what they were saying in the hall.
Now the prince had been absent from his father’s hall for many days and feared his anger or that suspicion might fall upon him; so that night he took his horse and rode into the city of Camelon and entered his father’s hall. There he found Feargus talking with the king. When the prince entered, Feargus turned to withdraw and, in a moment, beheld the wondrous ring on the prince’s finger; then his heart leapt for very joy, for in dire trouble had he been. So he went out and donned his byrny and slung his great sword over his shoulder, and then, covering it all with the habit of a wandering minstrel, took his harp, the clarsach, or small harp of the Gael, and made himself a beard of great length and whiteness so that, having donned it, none could know him. He then went forth, mounted on a sorry nag, which laboured so under his weight that he had pity on it and sighed for his great grey horse. He rode to the outskirts of the town and there waited the prince’s coming. Long after midnight he approached with a strong company of warriors, and Feargus dismounted and sat upon a fallen tree, and as the prince drew nigh played a plaintive tune. With the clarsach and pipe the Picts excelled, and of them few could be likened to Feargus for skill. Now the prince was filled with thoughts of love, yet was he angry at having been so thwarted, and fearful also for his own life. So when he heard the harp in the still night he turned to the harper and drew in his beast, whereupon Feargus sang this song:—