We have been led to these reflections by the contemplation of that rugged, hard-featured, square-shouldered, angry old woman who so opportunely took Branwen under her protection.
Why she did so was a complete mystery to the poor girl, for the woman seemed to have no amiable traits of character about her, and she spoke so harshly to every one—even to her timid captive—that Branwen could not help suspecting she was actuated by some sinister motive in protecting her.
And Branwen was right. She had indeed a sinister end in view—but love was at the bottom even of that. The woman, whose name was Ortrud, had a son who was to the full as ugly and unamiable as herself, and she loved that son, although he treated her shamefully, abused her, and sometimes even threatened to beat her. To do him justice, he never carried the threat into execution. And, strange to say, this unamiable blackguard also loved his mother—not very demonstratively, it is true, except in the abusive manner above mentioned.
This rugged creature had a strong objection to the wild, lawless life her son was leading, for instead of sticking to the tribe to which he belonged, and pillaging, fighting with, and generally maltreating every other tribe that was not at peace with his, this mistaken young man had associated himself with a band of like-minded desperadoes—who made him their chief—and took to pillaging the members of every tribe that misfortune cast in his way. Now, it occurred to Ortrud that the best way to wean her son from his evil ways would be to get him married to some gentle, pretty, affectionate girl, whose influence would be exerted in favour of universal peace instead of war, and the moment she set eyes on Branwen, she became convinced that her ambition was on the point of attainment. Hence her unexpected and sudden display of interest in the fair captive, whom she meant to guard till the return of her son from a special marauding expedition, in which he was engaged at the time with a few picked men.
Whatever opinion the reader may have by this time formed of Branwen, we wish it to be understood that she had “a way with her” of insinuating herself into the good graces of all sorts and conditions of men—including women and children. She was particularly successful with people of disagreeable and hardened character. It is not possible to explain why, but, such being the case, it is not surprising that she soon wormed herself into the confidence of the old woman, to such an extent, that the latter was ere long tempted to make her more or less of a confidant.
One day, about a week after the arrival of our heroine in the camp, old Ortrud asked her how she would like to live always in the green woods. The look of uncertainty with which she put the question convinced the captive that it was a leading one.
“I should like it well,” she replied, “if I had pleasant company to live with.”
“Of course, of course, my dear, you would need that—and what company could be more pleasant than that of a good stout man who could keep you in meat and skins and firewood?”
Any one with a quarter of Branwen’s intelligence would have guessed at once that the woman referred to her absent son, about whose good qualities she had been descanting at various times for several days past. The poor girl shuddered as the light broke in on her, and a feeling of dismay at her helpless condition, and being entirely in the power of these savages, almost overcame her, but her power of self-restraint did not fail her. She laughed, blushed in spite of herself, and said she was too young to look at the matter in that light!
“Not a bit; not a bit!” rejoined Ortrud. “I was younger than you when my husband ran away with me.”