The Overlord of Cornwall stood up, whispering.
“Age made me lose my cunning caution. I should have known.” Turning sharply, he cried to his son, “Hands off the man, Eric. Nothing must happen to you!”
With slow but certain step he came toward the old physician. For that ancient there was no retreat save into the blazing fire. Then they met, grappled, swayed and fell forward, the Overlord of Cornwall underneath. The physician had one arm around the body and one hand on the throat of the ruler, but Cecil appeared content to have both arms around the other’s neck. Eric tore a dagger from his belt and was bending to plunge it into the Toad Man when his wrist was caught in a grip that left him powerless. Turning he saw a stranger who simply smiled and whispered,
“Do not interfere. Your Sire is a proud man and I know that he has wisdom to use the only manner by which he can win. He would not care to be saved by either of us, if he needed saving, and I do not think he does.”
Slowly Cecil brought his face against the face of his adversary; slowly he fastened to him mouth to mouth and there he held him, sucking the breath of life from his body. The man twisted above him, tried to rise, shake off his executioner, but slowly relaxed and at last, with a few tortured jerks, died. As death came to him his body changed till at last it became that of a toad, giant in size, clad in human dress, but none the less an airless toad and very dead at that. The stranger separated the living from the dead, then knelt beside the Overlord of Cornwall.
“I should have come long before, my dear friend,” he said, his voice husky with emotion. “I was busy with serious duties in Gobi and only today I knew of your danger; I came on the wings of light, and hardly in time to aid you. Not in time to save the boy. Now he is as he is and no one can make him different. But his father can hold the key and after him, mayhap the boy can be made somewhat of. I am very wise and now know that there is still one of the race of Toads left to do us harm; but I am not all wise so I do not know where that one is or in what shape evil will come to harm you and your race. You have been badly hurt; the poison breathed from that spawn of Hell, methinks, will spell your doom. But all brave men pass sometime and you can be comforted by knowing that you passed bravely.”
Thus Cecil, first Overlord of Cornwall, passed and Eric the Golden became custodian of the golden key and ruled in his father’s land. Messengers carried the broken bow and the flameless torch throughout the country and by the third day many nobles came from near and far to do the dead man homage. But the simple folk sat unconsoled in their huts and wondered what now would happen to them.
It was not till after the funeral guests had departed and the stranger had returned to Gobi that Eric had time or even desire to visit his wife and son. He had asked often about them and was always assured that they were doing well. Now, with the castle empty of visitors he took a new suit of velvet and went to the river where he bathed till much of his grief and deep sorrow was washed from him. Then he dressed in his brave court suit and humming a little song walked back to the castle and to the room where his wife and child lay.
At the bed of Breda the Blackhaired, he dropped to his knees. It was a high, bed but he was a tall man and even with knees to floor he could overlook his wife. He took her hand in his, and knew, without asking, that Death had placed his cross on her forehead. She smiled.
“I am glad to see you, Eric, my first and last love; it sorrows me that I will not be a long time with you. It seems to me that I die from nothing in particular save the lack of desire to live. My Ladies tell me that now I am the Queen of the Overlord and Mother of a new Prince; but I saw the boy, just for a moment, though my ladies tried to keep me from doing so and knowing how you would feel, I have no desire to live. Speed me with your lips, and burn candles for the peace of my soul.”
Thus Eric the Golden lost two of the dear ones of his life. But he rose bravely from the side of his dead wife and whispered,
“I have a son and must live on for him, and his future greatness. Some day he will carry the golden key.”
He told the ladies in waiting to take him to the child. Fearful, they escorted him to the nursery, where the withered husk of an old nurse sat at the foot of a cradle inlaid with gold, ebony and ivory, in which Eric had been rocked years before. The father looked down on his son. The ladies faded from the room. Only the old dame stayed rubbing her cold fingers.
“The boy has a large head,” observed Eric. “He should be wise as a man.”
“His head is large and shapely,” muttered the nurse.
“There is a good jaw there. When he fastens on an opinion he will hold it. He has a strong neck and will hold his head high as lie travels through life.”
“His jaw is firm and his neck strong,” answered the nurse, though she had no need to do so.
Eric whirled around, took her by the shoulder and shook her,
“What is wrong with the lad?” he demanded. “What is wrong with him?”
She started to cry. With great strong, shaking but tender hands Eric took off the baby clothes; then, white faced and silent replaced them and silently left the room. Out in the hall the ladies stood rigid against the walls as though waiting to be struck.
He paused..
“Tend to the lad carefully and see that he is fed on goat’s milk. I go to bury his Mother; when that is done which needs be done I wall come back and provide for my son.”
On the morning of the third day he dressed in leather hunting clothes, took the child from the nursery and rode away without escort into the dark forest. The babe slept but began to cry by noon for want of food. Just then a woman walked from the greenwood and paused in front of Erie’s horse. Eric, looking down on her saw that she was young, deep bosomed, flaxen haired and in all respects comely. He said kindly,
“Who are you? Why do you stop me? What can I do for you?”
“I am Breda, woman of Olax the Dane and mother of his child. Our war vessel, the Swan, wrecked on your rocks two suns ago and I was the only one to reach the shore. I found a hut and slept; last night in a dream I saw you coming with a babe who hungered for a mother, as I hunger for a dead child.”
Wordless, Eric handed her the baby. Wordless the woman sat down on the grass, opened her kirtle and nursed the little one. Finally the baby slept. The woman cradled him in her arms and said quietly,
“The child has a lovely face.”
Eric looked at the two of them without answer.
“A strong chin and powerful neck,” she continued. “With proper care he will become a fine man.”
“Hand me the young one,” commanded the Overlord of Cornwall, “and do you seat yourself behind me on the horse. The boy is yours to care for, and I will take the two of you to my hunting lodge where there will be servants to wait on you and men-at-arms to protect you; for this baby, if he lives, will some day be Lord over all Cornwall. You are a good woman and thus you will have a home and safety; your care of the child will be rewarded, if a woman can be paid for such kindness to such a child.”
Time passed on. Eric found work to keep him busy. His father had cleaned Cornwall, but the son put a polish on the land till it was a country anyone could be proud to live in. One day a month he rode to visit his son and the rest of the time he tried to forget him which was very difficult. When the boy was three years old, he called to the Castle an old forester who had a flair for training dogs.
“From now on, Russel, you are going to train a Prince instead of wolfhounds. My son has a strong jaw. He must be taught to use it. He must learn to hang to a rope with that jaw and never let go till he so desires. Teach him to roll over and over on the grass, to arch his back, reach low branches and pull himself along. Every day rub his body with oil. I will have a wise man train him in the use of words, and after that in all wisdom. He can learn to hold a pen in his mouth and write. When he is six we will start him off on a pony with special harness and saddle. Do you know about the lad?”