“Had I only known sooner,” she said sympathisingly, “that my people had rebelled and attempted to murder you, I should have been here long, long before now. These, however, are but the black sheep of my island, and now at my command they have come to sue for pardon.”
“And they will lay down their arms?”
“Yes, every spear and bow and crease.”
“Then,” said Dickson, “let them go in single file and heap them on the still smouldering fire up yonder.”
Queen Bertha said something to them in their own language, and she was instantly obeyed. The fire so strangely replenished took heart and blazed up once more, and soon the arms were reduced to ashes, and the very knives bent or melted with the fierce heat.
“Go home now to your wives and children,” she cried imperiously. “For a time you shall remain in disgrace. But if you behave well I will gladly receive you once more into my favour. Disperse! Be off!”
All now quietly dispersed, thankfully enough, too, for they had expected decapitation. But ten were retained to dig deep graves near the sea and bury the dead. There were no wounded. This done, peace was restored once more on the Island of Flowers.
Three weeks of incessant rain followed. It fell in torrents, and the river itself overflowed its banks, the fords being no longer of any use, so that the men were confined to their barracks.
It was a long and a dreary time. Very much indeed Reginald would have liked to visit the palace, to romp with little Matty, and listen to the music of Ilda’s sweet voice.