So the first boat-load went up, the minstrels in front, harping and piping
till the greenwood rang, King Hannibal next, with his bride, and behind
him spear-men and axe-men, with a Dane between every two.
When they had risen some two hundred feet, and were in the heart of the
forest, Hannibal turned, and made a sign to the men behind him.
Then each pair of them seized the Dane between them, and began to bind his
hands behind his back. "What will you do with us?"
"Send you back to Ireland,--a king never breaks his word,--but pick out
your right eyes first, to show your master how much I care for him. Lucky
for you that I leave you an eye apiece, to find your friend the harper,
whom if I catch, I flay alive."
"You promised!" cried the Princess.
"And so did you, traitress!" and he griped her arm, which was round his
waist, till she screamed. "So did you promise: but not to me. And you
shall pass your bridal night in my dog-kennel, after my dog-whip has
taught you not to give rings again to wandering harpers."
The wretched Princess shuddered; for she knew too well that such an
atrocity was easy and common enough. She knew it well. Why should she not?
The story of the Cid's Daughters and the Knights of Carrion; the far more
authentic one of Robert of Belesme; and many another ugly tale of the
early middle age, will prove but too certainly that, before the days of
chivalry began, neither youth, beauty, nor the sacred ties of matrimony,
could protect women from the most horrible outrages, at the hands of those
who should have been their protectors.
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