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!
A Day in the Mountains
“Can’t we have lunch here with Beowald?” asked Paul, suddenly. “I feel very hungry, Ranni. It would be lovely to sit here in the wind and the sun and eat our food, listening to Beowald.”
“I expect the goatherd would rather eat with you than play whilst you gobble up all the food!” said Ranni with a laugh. “Ask him if he will eat with you.”
The goatherd smiled when he heard what Ranni said. He nodded his head, gave an order that scattered his goats, and sat quite still, gazing out over the valleys below as if he could see everything there.
“Where do you sleep at night?” asked Paul. “Where is your cave?”
“Not far from here,” answered Beowald. “But often I sleep in the daytime and walk at night.”
“But how can you find your way then?” said Peggy, thinking of the darkness of the mountain-side and its dangerous ledges and precipices.