“I seek it not, since I already know it,” replied the stranger.
“You have been there, and the magician has not killed you?” exclaimed the idiot.
“Because he has nothing to fear from me,” replied the white-bearded old man. “I am called the sorcerer Bryak, and am Rogéar’s elder brother. When I wish to pay him a visit I come here, and as, in spite of all my power, I cannot cross the enchanted wood without losing my way, I call the black colt to carry me.”
With these words, he traced three circles with his finger in the dust, repeated in a low tone such words as demons teach to sorcerers, and then cried,
“Colt, wild, unbroken, and with footstep free,—
Colt, I am here; come quick, I wait for thee.”
The little horse speedily made his appearance. Bryak put him on a halter, shackled his feet, and then mounting on his back, allowed him to return into the forest.
Peronnik said nothing of this adventure to any one; but he now understood that the first step towards visiting Kerglas was to secure the colt that knew the way. Unfortunately he knew neither how to trace the three circles, nor to pronounce the magic words necessary for the colt to hear the summons. Some other method, therefore, must be hit upon for making himself master of it, and, when once it was captured, of gathering the apple, plucking the laughing flower, escaping the black man’s bowl, and of crossing the valley of delights.
Peronnik thought it all over for a long time, and at last he fancied himself able to succeed. Those who are strong go forth clad in their strength to meet danger, and too often perish in it; but the weak compass their ends sideways. Having no hope of braving the giant, the idiot resolved to try craft and cunning. As to difficulties, he suffered them not to scare him: he knew that medlars are hard as flint-stones when first gathered, and that a little straw and much patience softens them at length.
So he made all his preparations against the time when the giant usually appeared in the forest-path. First he made a halter and a horse-shackle of black hemp; a springe for taking woodcocks, moistening the hairs of it in holy water; a cloth-bag full of birdlime and lark’s feathers; a rosary, an elder-whistle, and a bit of crust rubbed with rancid lard. This done, he crumbled the bread given him for breakfast along the pathway in which Rogéar, his mare, and three months’ colt would shortly pass.