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.