Mury, King of the Turks, landed in the kingdom of King Allof, who was all unprepared for fight. And King Mury, with his fierce soldiers, pillaged the land, killed the good King Allof, seized his crown, and placed it on his own head.
Then poor Queen Godylt fled from the palace, taking with her Hynde Horn and his two playmates Prince Athulph and Prince Fykenyld.
I cannot tell you what became of the beautiful queen, but Mury, the cruel king, captured Hynde Horn and made him and his two playfellows prisoners.
What should he do with Prince Horn, who was heir to the kingdom he had seized?
Should he kill the lad, he wondered. Yet cruel as King Mury was, he could not do so dastardly a deed.
But Hynde Horn was tall and strong, and Hynde Horn was loved by the people. He must certainly be sent out of the country.
So King Mury planned, and King Mury plotted, and at length he thought of a way, by which he hoped to be for ever rid of the gallant prince and his two companions.
He ordered the prisoners to be brought down to the seashore, and there the lads were thrust into an open boat, and pushed out to sea. It seemed as though they must perish, for King Mury had given orders that no provisions were to be placed in the boat.
There was neither helm nor oar for the little craft. The lads could do nothing to guide her on her dangerous course. Now they would drift gently on the swell of the quiet sea, now they would whirl giddily on the crest of a storm-tossed wave. Faint and weary grew Hynde Horn and his two companions. It seemed to them that they would perish from hunger or be devoured by the storm.
Yet every day the little boat was drifted by soft breezes or driven by wild storm-clouds westward and always westward. At length one day a great wave came and lifted it high up on to the coast. The boys had reached Scotland, the country over which King Alymer ruled.