Two days later a great mist came over Killimooin and not even Ranni and Pilescu dared to ride out on their ponies, although they had said that they would take the children exploring round about.
“No one can see his way in such a mist,” said Ranni, looking out of the window. “The clouds lie heavy over the valley below us. Up here the mist is so thick that we might easily leave the mountain path and go crashing down the mountain-side.”
“It’s so disappointing,” sighed Paul. “What can we do instead?”
Yamen put her head in at the door as she passed. “You can come down to tea with Tooku and me,” she invited. “We will have something nice for you, and you shall ask us all the things you want to know.”
“Oh, good,” said Jack. “We’ll ask all about the Secret Forest. Maybe they know tales about that! That will be exciting.”
Tea-time down in the big kitchen of the castle was great fun. An enormous fire glowed on the big hearth, and over it hung a black pot in which the soup for the evening meal was slowly simmering. A grand tea was spread on the wooden table, and the children enjoyed it. There were no thin sandwiches, no dainty buns and biscuits, no cream cakes — but, instead, there were hunks of new-made bread, baked by Yamen that morning, crisp rusks with golden butter, honey from the wild bees, and a queer, rich cake with a bitter-sweet taste that was delicious.
“Yamen, tell us all you know about the Secret Forest,” begged Nora, as she buttered a rusk. “We have seen it when we flew over in an aeroplane. It was so big and so mysterious.”
“The Secret Forest!” said Yamen. “Ah, no one knows anything of that. It is lost in the mountains, a hidden place unknown to man.”
“Doesn’t anyone live there at all?” asked Jack, remembering the spire of smoke he thought he had seen.
“How could they?” asked Tooku, in his deep, hoarse voice, from the end of the table. “There is no way over Killimooin Mountains.”
“Hasn’t anyone ever found a way?” asked Jack.
Tooku shook his head. “No. There is no way. I have heard it said, however, that there is a steep way to the top, whence one can see this great forest — but there is no way down the other side — no, not even for a goat!”
The children listened in silence. It was disappointing to hear that there really was no way at all. Tooku ought to know, for he had lived among the mountains for years.
“Ranni won’t let us go about alone,” complained Paul. “It makes us feel so babyish, Tooku. Can’t you tell him the mountains are safe?”
“They are not safe,” said Tooku, slowly. “There are robbers. I have seen them from this very castle. Ah, when this place was built last year, the robbers must have hoped for travellers to come to and fro!”
“What robbers?” asked Jack. “Where do they live? Are there many of them?”
“Yes, there are many,” said Tooku, nodding his shaggy head. “Sometimes they rob the poor people of the countryside, coming in the night, and taking their goats and their hens. Sometimes they rob the travellers on the far-off road.”
“Why aren’t they caught and punished?” demanded the little prince indignantly. “I won’t have robbers in my country!”
“No one knows where these robbers live,” said Yamen. “Aie-aie — they are a terrible band of men. It is my belief that they have a stronghold far up the mountains.”
“Perhaps they live in the Secret Forest!” said Jack.
“Oh, you and your Secret Forest!” said Nora. “Don’t keep asking about it, Jack. You’ve been told ever so many times there’s no way for people to get to it.”
“Are there any wild animals about the mountains?” asked Mike.
“There are wolves,” said Yamen. “We hear them howling in the cold wintertime, when they can find no food. Yes, they came even to this castle, for I saw them myself.”
“How frightening!” said Nora, shivering. “Well, I’m jolly glad I promised Ranni I wouldn’t go out without him or Pilescu! I don’t want to be captured by robbers or caught by wolves.”
“You don’t want to believe all their stories,” said Peggy, in a low voice.
Yamen heard her, and although she did not understand what the little girl said, she guessed.
“Ah!” she said, “you think these are but tales, little one? If you want to know more, go to the goatherd, Beowald, and he will tell you many more strange tales of the mountain-side!”
Beowald sounded rather exciting, the children thought. They asked where he could be found.
“Take the path that winds high above the castle,” shid Tooku. “When you come to a crooked pine, struck by lightning, take the goat-track that forks to the left. It is a rocky way, but your ponies will manage it well. Follow this track until you come to a spring gushing out beside a big rock. Shout for Beowald, and he will hear you, for his ears are like that of a mountain hare, and he can hear the growing of the grass in spring, and the flash of a shooting star in November!”
The next day was fine and clear. The children reminded Ranni of his promise and he grinned at them, his eyes shining in the brilliant sunlight.
“Yes, we will go,” he said. “I will get the ponies. We will take our lunch with us and explore.”
“We want to find Beowald the goatherd,” said Paul. “Have you heard of him, Ranni?”
Ranni shook his head. He went to get the ponies, whilst Nora and Peggy ran off to ask Yamen to pack them up some lunch.
Soon they were all ready. Ranni made them take thick Baronian cloaks, lined with fur, for he said that if a mist suddenly came down they would feel very cold indeed.
They set off up the steep mountain-way that wound high above the castle. The ponies were sure-footed on the rocky path, though they sent hundreds of little pebbles clattering down the mountain-side as they went. They were nice little beasts, friendly and eager, and the children were already very fond of them.
Ranni led the way, Pilescu rode last of all. It was a merry little company that went up the steep mountain that sunny morning.
“We’ve got to look out for a crooked pine tree, struck by lightning,” said Jack to Ranni, who was just in front of him. “Then we take the goat-track to the left.”
“There’s an eagle!” said Nora, suddenly, as she saw a great bird rising into the air, its wings spreading out against the sun. “Are eagles dangerous, Pilescu?”
“They will not attack us,” said Ranni. “They like to swoop down on the little kids that belong to the goats and take them to feed their young ones, if they are nesting.”
“I wonder if we shall see a wolf,” said Peggy, hoping that they wouldn’t. “I say, isn’t it fun riding up and up like this! I do like it.”
“There’s the crooked pine tree!” shouted Paul. “Look — over there. We shall soon come up to it. Isn’t it ugly? You don’t often see a pine tree that is not tall and straight.”
The crooked pine tree seemed to point to the left, where the path forked into two. To the left was a narrow goat-track, and the ponies took that way, their steady little hooves clattering along merrily.
It was lovely up there in the cool clear air, with the valley far below, swimming in summer sunshine. Sometimes a little wispy cloud floated below the children, and once one floated right into them. But it was nothing but a mist when the children found themselves in it!
“Clouds are only mists,” said Nora. “They look so solid when you see them sailing across the sky, especially those mountainous, piled-up clouds that race across in March and April — but they’re nothing but mist!”
“What’s that noise?” said Jack, his sharp ears hearing something.
“Water bubbling somewhere,” said Nora, stopping her pony. “It must be the spring gushing out, that Tooku and Yamen told us about. We must be getting near where Beowald should be.”
“Look at the goats all about,” said Peggy, and she pointed up the mountain-side. There were scores of goats there, some staring at the children in surprise, some leaping from rock to rock in a hair-raising manner.
“Goats have plenty of circus-tricks,” said Mike, laughing as he watched a goat take a flying leap from a rocky ledge, and land with all four feet bunched together on a small rock not more than six inches square. “Off he goes again! I wonder they don’t break their legs.”
“They must be Beowald’s goats,” said Peggy. “Ranni, call Beowald.”
But before Ranni could shout, another noise came to the children’s ears. It was a strange, plaintive noise, like a peculiar melody with neither beginning nor end. It was odd, and the children listened, feeling a little uncomfortable.
“Whatever’s that?” asked Peggy.
They rode on a little way and came to a big rock beside which gushed a clear spring, running from a rocky hole in the mountain-side. On the other side, in the shelter of the rock, lay a youth, dressed only in rough trousers of goat-skin. Round his neck, tied by a leather cord, was a kind of flute, and on this the goatherd was playing his strange, unending melodies.
He sat up when the children dismounted. The children saw that his strange dark eyes were blind. There was no light in them. They could see nothing. But it was a happy face they looked on, and the goatherd spoke to them in a deep, musical voice.
“You are come!” he said. “I heard you down the mountain two hours since. I have been waiting for you.”
“How did you know we were coming to see you?” asked Paul in astonishment.
Beowald smiled. It was a strange smile, for although his mouth curved upwards, his eyes remained empty and dark.
“I knew,” said Beowald. “I know all that goes on in my mountains. I know the eagles that soar above my head. I know the wolves that howl in the night. I know the small flowers that grow beneath my feet, and the big trees that give me shade. I know Killimooin as no one else does.”
“Well, Beowald, do you know anything about the Secret Forest then?” asked Paul, eagerly. The other children could now understand what was said in the Baronian language, though they were not able to speak it very well as yet. They listened eagerly for Beowald’s answer.
Beowald shook his head. “I could take you where you can see it,” he said. “But there is no way to it. My feet have followed my goats everywhere in these mountains, even to the summits — but never have they leapt down the other side. Not even for goats is there any path.”
The children were disappointed. “Are there robbers here?” asked Jack, trying to speak in Baronian. Beowald understood him.
“Sometimes I hear strange men at night,” he said. “They creep down the mountain path, and they call to one another as the owls do. Then I am afraid and I hide in my cave, for these robbers are fierce and wild. They are like the wolves that roam in the winter, and they seek men to rob and slay.”
“Where do the robbers live?” asked Paul, puzzled.
Beowald shook his head, gazing at the little prince with his dark blind eyes. “That is a thing I have never known,” he said. “They are men without a home. Men without a dwelling-place. That is why I fear them. They cannot be human, these men, for all men have a dwelling-place.”
“That’s silly,” said Jack, in English. “All men have to live somewhere, even robbers! Paul, ask Beowald if they could live somewhere in a mountain cave, as he does.”
Paul asked the goatherd, but he shook his head. “I know every cave in the mountains,” he said. “They are my caves, for only I set foot in them. I live up here all the summer, and only in the cold winter do I go down to the valley to be with my mother. In the good weather I am happy here, with my goats and my music.”
“Play to us again,” begged Peggy. The goatherd put his wooden flute to his lips and began to play a strange little tune. The goats around lifted their heads and listened. The little kids came quite near. A great old goat, with enormous curling horns, stepped proudly up to Beowald and put his face close to the goatherd’s.
Beowald changed the tune. Now it was no longer like the spring that ran down the mountain-side, bubbling to itself. It was like the gusty wind that blew down the hills and swept up the valleys, that danced and capered and shouted over the pine trees and the graceful birches.
The children wanted to dance and caper too. The goats felt the change in the music and began to leap about madly. It was an odd sight to see. Jack looked at the blind youth’s face. It was completely happy. Goats, mountains — and music. Beowald wanted nothing more in his quiet, lonely life!