Part 9

Had Primrose been wiser he would not have lingered there on the Mountain just below the furrow, where every evil Thing could hurt him, but he would have taken that one step across the furrow so as to be safe where the evil Things could not come.

But Primrose was just a little simpleton, and might easily have come to grief just there, within sight of safety.

Primrose was much amused by Belleroo.

He was amused; he was beguiled.

And while he was amusing himself in this fashion, the Fairy went and roused the Fiery Dragon where he slept in a deep gully.

She roused him and led him up the Mountain. On came the fearsome Fiery Dragon, spouting flame out of both nostrils and crushing firs and pine-trees as he went. There wasn’t room enough for him, you see, in the forest and the Mountain.

Why don’t you run, little Primrose? One jump across the furrow, and you will be safe and happy!

But Primrose did not think of running away. He went on sitting quite calmly below the furrow, and when he saw the flames from the Dragon flaring up in the darkness, he thought to himself: “What is making that pretty light on the Mountain?”

It was a cruel fire coming along to devour Primrose, and he, foolish baby! sat looking at it, all pleased and wondering: “What is making that pretty light on the Mountain?”

The Votaress caught sight of Primrose, and said to the Fiery Dragon:

“There is the child. Fiery Dragon! Get your best fire ready!”

But the Dragon was panting with the stiff climb.

“Wait a moment, sister, while I get my breath,” answered the Dragon.

So the Dragon took a deep breath, once, twice, three times!

But that is just where the Dragon made a mistake.

Because his mighty breath caused an equally great wind on the Mountain. The wind blew, and bowled Primrose over the furrow and right up to the Holy Lake!

The Votaress gave one shriek, threw herself down on the ground, rolled herself up in her black wings, and sobbed and cried like mad.

The angry Dragon snorted and puffed; he belched fire as from ten red-hot furnaces. But the flames could not cross the furrow; when they reached the furrow they just rose straight upwards as if they had come up against a marble wall.

Sparks and flame crackled and spurted and returned upon Mount Kitesh. Half the Mountain did the Dragon set on fire, but he lost little Primrose!

When the wind bowled Primrose over like that, Primrose only laughed at being carried away so fast. He laughed once; he laughed twice....

X

On the island in the Lake, beside the little chapel, sat Lavender.

It was evening, but Lavender could not go to sleep because of the hurly-burly in the Mountain. Lavender heard the Votaresses howling and shrieking and Bruineen growling. She heard the Dragon come snorting up from his lair, and saw him spout fire all over the Mountain.

And now she saw the blazing flames shooting upwards to the skies.

But then she heard something—good gracious! what was it she heard? A laugh, like a little silver bell. Lavender’s heart throbbed within her.

The tiny voice laughed again.

Then Lavender could bear it no longer, but called from the Island:

“Who is that laughing in the Mountain?” asked Lavender gently, and all a-tremble at the thought of _who_ might answer.

“Who is that calling me from the Island?” answered little Primrose.

And Lavender recognised Primrose’s baby-talk.

“Primrose! my own only Brother!” cried Lavender, and stood up white in the moonlight.

“Lavender, little sister!” cried Primrose; and, light as a moth, he stepped over the reeds and the rushes and the water-weeds to the Island. They hugged and they kissed; they sat down side by side in the moonlight by the little chapel. A little did they talk, but they were not clever at making a long story. They clasped each other’s little hands and went to sleep.

XI

That was how they began to live day after day on the Holy Lake. Primrose was quite happy and desired nothing better.

There was clear water in the Lake, and there were sweet raspberries. There were plenty of flowers and butterflies in the meadow, and fireflies and dew by night. Nightingales and doves nested in the trees.

Every evening Lavender would make Primrose a bed of leaves, and in the morning she bathed him in the Lake and tied up his little shoes. And Primrose thought: “What do we want with a wider world than this within the furrow?”

Primrose was well off; he was only a baby!

And Lavender was happy, but she was troubled about Primrose, how she should look after him and get him food. Because God has so ordered it that the young folk can never get food without the old folk having to think about it.

That is so all the world over, and couldn’t be otherwise even on the Holy Lake.

So Lavender was worried. “To-morrow will be St. Peter’s Day. Will the raspberries be over when St. Peter’s is past? Will the water grow cold and the sun fail when autumn comes? How shall we get through the winter all alone? Will our cottage in the valley go to rack and ruin?”

So Lavender worried, and wherever there is worry, there temptation comes most easily.

One day she sat and mused: “Oh dear! what luck it would be if only we could get back to our cottage!” Just then she heard somebody calling from the Mountain. Lavender looked, and there in the wood on the far side of the furrow stood the youngest of the Votaresses.

She was prettier than the other Votaresses, and loved finery. She had noticed the Golden Girdle on Lavender, and now she wanted that Golden Girdle above anything else in the world.

“Little girl, sister, throw me your Girdle,” called the fairy across the furrow.

“I can’t do that, Fairy; I had that Girdle from my mother,” answered Lavender.

“Little girl, sister, it wasn’t your mother’s Girdle; it belonged to the princess, and the princess has been dead long ago. Throw me the Girdle,” said the Fairy, who remembered the princess.

“I can’t, Fairy; the Girdle is from my mother,” repeated Lavender.

“Little girl, sister, I will carry you and your brother down to the valley, and no harm shall come to you; throw me the Girdle,” cried the Fairy once more.

This was a sad temptation for Lavender, who so longed to get away from the Mountain! But all the same she would not sacrifice her mother’s keepsake to the greedy fairy, but answered:

“I cannot, Fairy; I had the Girdle from my mother.”

The Fairy went away quite sadly, but next day she came back and began again:

“Throw me the Girdle, and I will take you down the Mountain.”

“I cannot, Fairy; I had the Girdle from my mother,” Lavender answered once more, but with a very heavy heart.

For seven days did the Fairy come, and for seven days she tempted Lavender. Temptation is worse than the sharpest care, and poor little Lavender pined away, so great was her wish to get down to the valley. Yet all the same she would not give up the Girdle.

For seven days did the Fairy call, and for seven days did Lavender answer her:

“I cannot, Fairy; the Girdle is from my mother.”

And when she answered thus on the seventh day, the Fairy saw that there was no help for it.

The Fairy went down the Mountain; she sat down on the last, lowest stone, shook down her hair and cried bitterly, so great was her desire for the Golden Girdle of the princess.

XII

Meantime the good and noble princess was not dead, but had lived for many a year in a far country with her son, the prince.

The princess never told anybody how high-born a lady she was, and her son was too young at the time of their flight for him to remember.

And so in that country not a soul knew—not even the prince—that they came of royal blood. But how could anybody tell that she was a princess, when she had neither crown nor Golden Girdle? And though she was good, gentle, and noble, that did not prove that she was a princess.

The princess lived in the house of a worthy peasant, and there she span and wove for his household.

In this way she earned enough to keep herself and her son.

The boy had grown up into a tall and handsome youth of unusual strength and power, and the princess taught him nothing that was not good and right.

But one thing was bad. The prince had a very hasty and fierce temper. So the people called him _Rowfoot Relya_, because he was so rough and strong—and so poor withal.

One day Rowfoot Relya was mowing his master’s meadow, and lay down at noon in the shade to rest. And a young squire came riding by, and called to Relya:

“Hi, young man! jump up and run back along the road and find me my silver spur; it fell off somewhere on the way.”

When Relya heard that, his princely blood, his hot and hasty blood, was roused to evil within him because the other had disturbed him in his rest and would send him out to find his spur.

“Won’t I, by heaven!” cried Relya, “and you can lie here and rest instead of me!” And with that he sprang at the young squire, pulled him off his horse, and flung him down in the shade, so that he lay there for dead.

But Rowfoot Relya, still furious, rushed home to his mother, and cried out upon her:

“Wretched mother! why was I born a rowfoot churl, for others to send me out to find their spurs for them in the dust?”

Relya’s face was quite distorted with rage as he said this.

The mother looked at her son, and her heart grieved sorely. She saw that there would be no more peace for her and her son, because she would have to tell him what she had so far kept secret.

“You are not a rowfoot churl, my son,” replied the princess, “but an unfortunate prince.” And she told Relya all about herself and him.

Relya listened; his eyes blazed with a strange fire, and he clenched his hands in bitter anger. Then he asked:

“Is there nothing left, then, mother, of our lands?”

“Nothing, my son, save a little Cross on a red ribbon and a Golden Girdle,” answered his mother.

When Relya heard that, he cried:

“I am going, mother, and I shall bring back that Cross and Girdle, wherever they may be! Threefold will the sight of them increase my princely strength!”

And then he asked:

“And where did you leave the Cross and the Girdle, mother? Did you leave them with the chief of your captains for him and your great army to guard?”

“No, my son,” replied the princess, “and it is a good thing that I did not, for my captains and my great army went over to the enemy, and are now feasting and drinking with the enemy and wasting my lands.”

“Did you perhaps leave them in the lowest room of your castle, in the seventh vault, under seven locks?”

“No, my son, and it is a good thing that I did not, because the enemy got into my castle, broke open and ransacked its secret chambers, searched its nine vaults, and fed his horses upon pearls out of my treasure hoards,” replied the princess.

“But where did you leave the Golden Girdle and the Cross on the red ribbon?” asked Relya, with flashing eyes.

“I left them with a young shepherdess in a willow cabin, where there are neither locks nor strong boxes. Go, my son, perchance you will find them there still.”

Relya would not believe that the Girdle and Cross might be safe in a willow cabin when the noble princess’s pearls had not been safe even in the ninth vault under her castle.

But his princely blood, so proud and masterful, was roused yet more to evil in Relya’s veins, and he roughly said to his mother:

“Farewell, then, mother! I shall find the Cross and Girdle wherever they may be, and it shall be no jesting matter for those who would refuse to let me have them! I shall bring you back your Girdle and Cross, by the princely blood in my veins.”

As Prince Relya said this, he took the blade of the scythe, fitted it with a mighty hilt at the forge, and then hurried out into the world to find his heritage. The earth rang beneath his feet; his hair streamed in the wind, so swiftly did he stride; and his murderous blade shone in the sun as though it were plated with flame.

XIII

So Relya went on without stopping. He strode on by day, and by night he did not rest; both great and small got out of his way.

It is far to Mount Kitesh, but Relya had no difficulty in finding out the way, because Mount Kitesh was known throughout seven kingdoms for its terrors.

On St. John’s Day Relya bade farewell to his mother, and on St. Peter’s Day he reached the foot of the Mountain.

When he reached the foot of the Mountain, he inquired after the willow cabin, the shepherdess Miloika, and the Golden Girdle and Cross.

“There is the cabin in the valley. Miloika we buried the first Sunday after Easter, and her children have the Girdle and Cross. As for the children, the Fairies have carried them off to Mount Kitesh,” replied the villagers.

Very wroth was Relya when he heard that the Girdle and Cross had been carried off to Mount Kitesh. He was so angry that he could not make up his mind which to do first—hasten up the Mountain or find out about the castle, since that was uppermost in his desires.

“And where is the princess’s castle?” shouted Relya.

“Over there, a day’s journey from here,” answered the villagers.

“And how stands it with the castle?” asked Relya, and his hand played with his sword. “Tell me all you know about it!”

“None of us has been in the castle, because the lords of it are hard of heart. Round the castle they have placed mutes for guards and savage bloodhounds. We cannot force our way past the bloodhounds, and we do not know how to persuade the guards,” answered the villagers. “And within the castle are fine lords, drinking red wine in the halls, playing upon silver lutes, and tossing golden balls to each other over a silken carpet. In the outer hall are two hundred workmen cutting hearts out of mother-o’-pearl for targets for the lords. And when the lords make a great feast, they load their guns with precious stones and shoot at the hearts of mother-o’-pearl.”

When the villagers told him this, a mist swam before Relya’s eyes, so furious was he when he heard how wantonly the treasure in his mother’s vaults was being squandered.

For a while Relya hesitated, and then he cried:

“I am going up the Mountain to win the Cross and Girdle, and then I shall return to thee, O my castle.”

Thus cried Relya; he made the sword sing through the air above his head, and then strode swiftly up into Mount Kitesh. There he found the great Dragon asleep in the deep gully. You see, the Dragon had tired himself out with belching so much fire at Primrose, and now he had gone fast asleep to gather fresh strength.

But Relya was all impatience to fight someone so as to cool his anger and to prove his strength. He was tired of seeing everybody, both great and small, get out of his way all the time, so now he rushed up to the Fiery Dragon to rouse and dare him to mortal combat.

Relya was a Doughty Hero, and the Fiery Dragon was a Terrible Monster, and so their combat must be sung in verse, beginning where Relya rushed up to the Dragon:

Childe Relya smote the Dragon on the side With the flat blade, to rouse him from his sleep. The Beast looked up, raising his grisly head, Beheld the hero Relya standing by. Up leapt the Dragon, with a rending blow O’erturns the cliff and widens out the gap To make a fitting space wherein to fight! Anon unto the clouds he rears him up; Anon on Relya pounces from the clouds, And so with Relya joins in mortal fray. Now groans the earth and splits the solid rock. With tooth and flame the Dragon turns to bay, And thrusts at Relya with his fiery head. But Relya waits him with a ready sword, And meets the onslaught with a ready sword; And with his weapon beating down the flame Seeks for the sword an undefended spot, Where he may smite the Dragon on the head. Deep bites the brand—so mighty was the shock That brand and bone no more will come apart. From dawn till noontide did the battle rage, And weaker grew the Dragon all the while, With brooding on the shame that galled his heart, Because the babe, young Primrose, had escaped. And stronger grew Childe Relya all the while, For he did battle for his heritage. When at high noon the sun burned overhead, Childe Relya swung his gleaming brand aloft Towards the sun, and called on Heaven for aid. Down fell the sword betwixt the Dragon’s eyes— Full swiftly fell, yet lightly struck the blade, Yet with such force, it cleft the Beast in twain. Into the hollow falls the Dragon, slain, And as stretched him in his dying spasm, The monstrous limbs block up the ancient chasm.

Thus did the doughty Relya overcome the Fiery Dragon. But his brave arms and shoulders ached terribly. So Relya said to himself: “I shall never get over the Mountain at this rate. I must consider what I had better do.” And Relya went back to the foot of the Mountain, and there the hero sat down on a stone and considered how he was to get across the Mountain, and how he was to overcome the monsters, and where he might find Miloika’s children and with them the Golden Girdle and Cross.

Relya was deep in thought, but all of a sudden he heard somebody weeping and sobbing near him. Relya turned, and there was a Fairy sitting on a stone, her hair all unbound, and crying her heart out.

“What ails you, pretty maiden? Why do you weep?” asked Relya.

“I weep, O hero, because I cannot get the Golden Girdle from the child on the Lake,” answered the Fairy.

When Relya heard that he was overjoyed.

“Tell me, maiden, how can I get to that Lake?” asked Relya.

“And who may you be, unknown hero?” returned the Fairy.

“I am Prince Relya, and I seek a Golden Girdle and a Cross on a red ribbon,” replied Relya.

When the Fairy heard that, she thought within her evil heart: “How lucky for me! Let Relya get the Girdle away from the Lake and on to the Mountain, and I will soon destroy Relya and keep the Girdle for myself.”

So the cunning Fairy spoke these honeyed words to Relya:

“Let us go, noble Prince! I will guide you across the Mountain. No harm will come to you, and I will show you where the children are. Why should you not have what is yours by inheritance?”

Thus sweetly did the Fairy speak, but in her heart she thought otherwise. Relya, however, was mightily pleased, and at once agreed to go with the Fairy.

So they went across the Mountain. Neither Fairies nor monsters touched Relya, because he was being guided by the young Votaress Fairy.

On the way the Fairy advised Relya and tried to fill his heart with anger.

“You should but see, noble Prince, how insolent these children are! Not even to you will they give the Girdle. But you are a hero above all heroes, Relya, so do not let them put you to shame.”

Relya laughed at the idea that two children should withstand him—_him_ who had cleft in twain the Fiery Dragon!

The Fairy then went on to tell him how the children had come up into the Mountain, and how they did not know how to get away from it again.

In her joy at the prospect of getting the Girdle, the Fairy talked so much that her cunning deserted her, and she chattered to Relya and boasted to him of her knowledge.

“They are silly children, without any cunning. Yet if they knew what _we_ know they would have escaped us already. There is a taper in the chapel and a censer. If they would start the fire that is not lit with hands, and then light the taper and censer, they could go with taper and censer across the whole Mountain as if it were a church. Paths would open before them and trees bow down as they passed. But for us this would be the worst thing possible, because all we Fairies and Goblins in Mount Kitesh would perish wherever the smoke from the taper and censer spread. But what do these silly, insolent children know?”

If the Votaress had not been so overjoyed, she would surely never have told Relya about the taper and censer, but would have kept the secret of the Votaresses.

So they came to the furrow, and there was the Holy Lake before them.

XIV

The Prince peered cautiously from behind a tree, and the Fairy pointed out the children to him. Relya saw the little chapel on the island. Before the chapel sat a little girl, pale as a white rose. She neither sang nor crooned, but sat still with her hands clasped in her lap and her eyes raised to heaven.

On the sand beside the chapel played a little boy, baby Primrose, and round his neck hung a little Gold Cross.

He played on the sand, built castles and pulled them down again with his tiny hands, and then laughed at his handiwork.

Relya watched, and as he watched he began to think. But the Votaress had no time to wait while the Prince finished thinking things out, so she softly prompted Relya.

“I will call to the little girl, noble Prince, and you shall see that she will not give up the Girdle; then do you draw your burnished sword, go up and take what is yours, and then come back to me to the Mountain, and I will guide you back down the Mountain so that my sisters shall not hurt you.”

As the Fairy said this, she secretly rejoiced, thinking how easily she would kill Relya and get the Girdle for herself, so long as Relya would bring it from the Lake. But Relya only listened with half an ear to what the Votaress was saying, for he was lost in looking at the girl.

The Fairy called to Lavender:

“Little girl, sister, throw me the Girdle, and I will take you and your brother down the Mountain.”

When Lavender heard this, her face grew yet paler, and she clasped her little hands yet more tightly. She was so sad that she could scarcely speak. She would so gladly have left the Mountain; her little heart was bursting with longing.

But all the same she would not part with her mother’s Girdle.

Tears flowed down Lavender’s face; she wept softly, but through her tears she answered:

“Go away, Fairy, and do not come back again, because you will not get the Girdle.”

When Relya saw and heard this, his princely blood, his noble blood, was roused within him, but to a good purpose.

He was filled with pity for these two poor orphans in the midst of the grisly Mount Kitesh, defending themselves all alone against monsters and temptations, death and destruction. “Great Heavens!” thought he, “the princess trusted in her armed warriors and her strongholds to defend her lands, and the lands were lost; but these babes are left alone in the world, they have fallen among Fairies and Dragons, yet neither Fairies nor Dragons can rob them of what their mother gave them.” All Relya’s face changed as his heart went out with pity to the children. Thus changed, he turned towards the Votaress.

The Votaress looked at Relya. Why did he raise his sword? Was it to cut down those insolent children? No; Relya raised the sword aloft and threatened the wicked Fairy with it.

“Fairy, avaunt! as if you had never been! If you had not been my guide across the Mountain, I would strike your fair head from off your shoulders. I was not born a prince, nor did I forge this mighty sword that I might roam the world a spoiler of the fatherless!”

The poor Votaress was quite frightened. She started, and then fled to the hills. And Relya shouted after her:

“Go, Fairy! call your fairies and monsters! Prince Relya does not fear them!”

When the Fairy had run off to the hills, Relya crossed the furrow and went towards the children on the island.

How happy was Lavender when she saw a human being coming towards them and looking at them kindly! She sprang to her feet and stretched out both her arms, as a captive bird spreads its wings when you open your hand and let it go free.