The marvellous land of Snergs
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