“What is your name?” he asked, as the lad appeared.
“Cormac,” he replied.
“Well, Cormac, do you roast the meat this morning. Truly, it seems that you have come just in the nick of time, for I feel so ill that my head seems like a lump of stone, and my skin is burning. It is not often that I have had to ask the aid of man in such matters. Will you get me a draught of water from the spring hard by? I will lie down again for a little.”
Cormac willingly ran to a neighbouring spring and filled thereat a cup made of the bark of the birch tree, with which he returned to Bladud’s hut.
“Just put it inside the door where I can reach it,” shouted the prince. “Do not enter on any account.”
Lifting a corner of the skin that covered the entrance, the lad placed the cup inside, and then, sitting down by the fire outside, proceeded to prepare breakfast.
When it was ready he called to Bladud to say whether he would have some, at the same time thrusting a savoury rib underneath the curtain; but the prince declined it.
“I cannot eat,” he said; “let me lie and rest if possible. My poor boy, this is inhospitable treatment. Yet I cannot help it.”
“Never mind me,” returned Cormac, lightly. “I like to nurse the sick, and I’ll keep you well supplied with water, and cook venison or birds too if you want them. I can even shoot them if required.”
“No need for that,” returned Bladud, “there is plenty of food laid up for winter. But don’t come inside my hut, remember. It will be death if you do!”