CHAPTER IV.

THE KING’S RETURN, AND QUEEN GUDA’S RELEASE FROM THE WITCH’S THRALL.

Several weeks now passed. Each morning Thorwald first gave a look across the sea in hopes of seeing a ship or boat, and would then start off in search of birds and game, while, strangely enough, after the old witch’s death their fire never went out, and Ingibjörg, by carefully attending to it, was able to keep it burning both day and night.

Sometimes, when no food was needed, the children having laid in a sufficient supply of game and fish, Thorwald would take his flute and play, while his sister plaited mats and baskets out of the long rushes that grew near the shore.

Thus it happened that one day, while the two children sat on the shore, they saw several ships sailing slowly past the island.

Thorwald, who had just put down his flute, now took it up again, and began playing as loud as he could.

The ships came gradually nearer.

“Oh, Thorwald!” cried Ingibjörg, clapping her hands, “see, they are coming nearer! Oh, play louder, louder!” and she joined her voice to his flute.

And sure enough, ere long, the largest of the vessels cast anchor close to the shore, the other ships still keeping out to sea at some distance.

And then, to the children’s great joy, they saw their father standing on the deck. A boat was lowered, the king and one of his followers were quickly rowed to shore, and in a few more moments Thorwald and Ingibjörg were clasped in their father’s arms.

Great was his surprise to find them on this lonely island, for he had heard nothing of what had happened in his own country during his absence, and it was only by chance that he had sailed close to the island, none of his people caring to come near it, as it was supposed to be the home of evil spirits; and when they heard the sound of the flute they thought it must surely be the song of some mermaids, wiling the king’s fleet to destruction by their soft sweet melodies.

But the king for some reason felt he must find out what it was, so had ventured near the land, the rest of his fleet keeping out to sea.

The king then asked his children how it was they were there, and when he heard what had happened during his absence, he grew very wroth.

He at once took the children on board his own ship, and commanded his people under pain of instant death not to breathe a word to any one of what had occurred.

The fleet was then ordered to set sail and return home with all possible speed. Arrived near his own island, the king chose a quiet and retired part of the shore, and there he landed the children in charge of his own attendant, telling him to keep them hidden till he sent him word to appear with them at court.

The fleet then departed and cast anchor at the usual landing-place. Here the queen, arrayed in her richest garments and attended by all her maidens, came down to welcome the king, expressing great joy at his return.

The king appeared well pleased to be at home again.

“But where are the children?” he asked; “and why have they not come to meet me, as they always do?”

“Alas, alas!” cried the queen, putting her handkerchief to her eyes as if to hide her tears, but really because she was afraid to look at the king. “Poor, poor children! Pray do not speak of them! Soon after you went away, they suddenly got very ill, and though I watched and nursed them myself, the poor little things both died!” and Guda began to sob and cry in reality, for she greatly feared what the king might do if he ever heard the truth.

And no one dared say a word; for during the king’s absence Guda, urged on by fear of her mother if she did not get rid of her stepchildren, and also thinking that she could only govern by making herself feared, had ruled the kingdom with great severity, so no one dared say a word against her, believing that the king was still devoted to her.

The king, wishing to get at the truth of the strange tale, pretended great sorrow at the news of the children’s death.

“And where are the poor little things buried?” he asked. “I should like to see their tomb.”

The queen tried to persuade him not to go. She said she was sure it would only increase his sorrow, and entreated him to desist.

But the more she urged him not to go, the more determined he was to see their tomb.

So at length Guda yielded, and herself accompanied him to the wood at the back of the palace, where, in a pretty open glade, she had caused a handsome mausoleum to be erected.

He greatly admired the beautiful carving on the stone, but he never shed a tear, which somewhat surprised the queen. Soon after they both returned to the palace, where the queen had had a banquet prepared to welcome home the travellers.

All during the feast the king still remained very silent and preoccupied, and next morning he again went to the mausoleum, and then said he meant to have the children’s coffins taken out.

When the queen heard this, she threw herself on her knees before the king, and begged and entreated him not to thus further increase his pain and grief. But the king remained firm. The door of the great mausoleum was thrown back, and two small coffins, handsomely ornamented with gold and silver, were brought forth. But, behold, when at the king’s order these were opened, instead of containing the bodies of the two children, they were filled up with stones!

The queen gave a great cry when she saw her wickedness had come to light. She fell down at the king’s feet, and, sobbing and praying for mercy, she confessed what she had done, adding that her mother, the old witch, had forced her to do it.

But the king was so angry that he would not listen to her words, and ordered her to be shut up in the castle donjon till the Volkthing decided what her punishment should be.

Meanwhile Thorwald and Ingibjörg arrived at the palace, the king having sent a messenger for them, and great was the rejoicing among the people when they learnt their young prince and princess, whom they thought dead, were alive and once again among them all.

The children then told their story before the assembled nobles and vikings, and when Ingibjörg related how Thorwald had killed the old ogress, who had only been fattening them up in order to eat them, there was a flash of lightning, and a loud crash of thunder resounded through the great hall. The door at the lower end opened, and, to the surprise of every one, the queen, draped in a long glistening white robe, walked up the hall, and falling down at the king’s feet, she raised her clasped hands towards him.

“Pardon and forgiveness, oh king!” she cried. “The spell that has nearly cost me my life, is at length broken! That terrible old ogress was not my mother, but a wicked fairy who, because she thought my mother had not treated her as well as the other fairies at my christening, condemned me as soon as my mother died, to serve her and obey all her behests as long as she lived. Now that your brave boy has killed her, I am freed from her wicked spells. And now, oh my king, punish me for the harm I have so unwillingly done; but, oh, let me live to prove my gratitude to you and yours!”

Great was the surprise of every one at the queen’s story, and the ambassadors then recalled to mind how silent and grave the young queen had been when they first saw her, even while she did all the old witch ordered her to do.

Thorwald also added his entreaties to those of the queen, and when Ingibjörg with a merry laugh threw one arm round her father and the other round the queen, the king relented. And thereupon the interrupted feast was renewed amid general rejoicing, the queen seated at the king’s right hand with Thorwald beside her, and Ingibjörg on his left hand.

There was no happier family in all the land. Queen Guda, having no children of her own, lavished all her affection on Thorwald and Ingibjörg, whose entreaties had restored her to her husband, and the reign of the king and Queen Guda was ever after cited as one of the longest and happiest ever known.

THE THREE PEASANT MAIDENS