The queen besought him with tears to let her remain
at his side, and share his fate, and lamented loudly when the king
placed her in the carriage which was to take her away under escort. The king promised to slip away whenever possible and pay her a visit,
seeking thus to comfort her, although he knew that there was small
chance of the hope being fulfilled. For the castle was a long way off,
in the midst of a dense forest, and only those with a thorough knowledge
of the roads could possibly reach it. The queen was broken-hearted at having to leave her husband exposed to
the perils of war, and though she made her journey by easy stages, lest
the fatigue of so much travelling should make her ill, she was downcast
and miserable when at length she reached the castle. She made excursions
into the country round about, when sufficiently recovered, but found
nothing to amuse or distract her. On all sides wide barren spaces met
her eye, melancholy rather than pleasant to look upon. 'How different from my old home!' she exclaimed, as she gloomily
surveyed the scene; 'if I stay here long I shall die. To whom can I talk
in this solitude? To whom can I unburden my grief? What have I done that
the king should exile me? He must wish me, I suppose, to feel the
bitterness of separation to the utmost, since he banishes me to this
hateful castle.' She grieved long and deeply, and though the king wrote every day to her
with good news of the way the siege was going, she became more and more
unhappy. At last she determined that she would go back to him, but
knowing that her attendants had been forbidden to let her return, except
under special orders from the king, she kept her intention to herself. On the pretext of wishing sometimes to join the hunt, she ordered a
small chariot, capable of accommodating one person only, to be built for
her. This she drove herself, and used to keep up with the hounds so
closely that she would leave the rest of the hunt behind. The chariot
being in her sole control, this gave her the opportunity to escape
whenever she liked, and the only obstacle was her lack of familiarity
with the roads through the forest. She trusted, however, to the favour
of Providence to bring her safely through it. She now gave orders for a great hunt to be held, and intimated her wish
that every one should attend. She herself was to be present in her
chariot, and she proposed that every follower of the chase should choose
a different line, and so close every avenue of escape to the quarry. The
arrangements were carried out according to the queen's plan. Confident
that she would soon see her husband again, she donned her most becoming
attire. Her hat was trimmed with feathers of different colours, the
front of her dress with a number of precious stones. Thus adorned, she
looked in her beauty (which was of no ordinary stamp) like a second
Diana. When the excitement of the chase was at its height she gave rein to her
horses, urging them on with voice and whip, until their pace quickened
to a gallop. But then, getting their bits between their teeth, the team
sped onwards so fast that presently the chariot seemed to be borne upon
the wind, and to be travelling faster than the eye could follow. Too
late the poor queen repented of her rashness. 'What possessed me,' she
cried, 'to think that I could manage such wild and fiery steeds? Alack! What will become of me! What would the king do if he knew of my great
peril? He only sent me away because he loves me dearly, and wished me to
be in greater safety--and this is the way I repay his tender care!' Her piteous cries rang out upon the air, but though she called on Heaven
and invoked the fairies to her aid, it seemed that all the unseen powers
had forsaken her. Over went the chariot. She lacked the strength to jump clear quickly
enough, and her foot was caught between the wheel and the axle-tree. It
was only by a miracle that she was not killed, and she lay stretched on
the ground at the foot of a tree, with her heart scarcely beating and
her face covered with blood, unable to speak. For a long time she lay thus. At last she opened her eyes and saw,
standing beside her, a woman of gigantic stature. The latter wore nought
but a lion's skin; her arms and legs were bare, and her hair was tied up
with a dried snake's skin, the head of which dangled over her shoulder. In her hand she carried, for walking-stick, a stone club, and a quiver
full of arrows hung at her side. This extraordinary apparition convinced the queen that she was dead, and
indeed it seemed impossible that she could have survived so terrible a
disaster. 'No wonder death needs resolution,' she murmured, 'since
sights so terrible await one in the other world.' The giantess overheard these words, and laughed to find the queen
thought herself dead. 'Courage,' she said; 'you are still in the land of the living, though
your lot is not improved. I am the Lion-Witch. My dwelling is near by;
you must come and live with me.' 'If you will have the kindness, good Lion-Witch, to take me back to my
castle, the king, who loves me dearly, will not refuse you any ransom
you demand, though it were the half of his kingdom.' 'I will not do that,' replied the giantess, 'for I have wealth enough
already. Moreover, I am tired of living alone, and as you have your wits
about you it is possible you may be able to amuse me.' With these words she assumed the shape of a lioness, and taking the
queen on her back, bore her off into the depths of a cavern. There she
anointed the queen's wounds with an essence which quickly healed them. But imagine the wonder and despair of the queen to find herself in this
dismal lair! The approach to it was by ten thousand steps, which led
downward to the centre of the earth, and the only light was that which
came from a number of lofty lamps, reflected in a lake of quicksilver. This lake teemed with monsters, each of which was hideous enough to
have terrified one far less timid than the queen. Ravens, screech-owls,
and many another bird of evil omen filled the air with harsh cries. Far
off could be espied a mountain, from the slopes of which there flowed
the tears of all hapless lovers. Its sluggish stream was fed by every
ill-starred love. The trees had neither leaves nor fruit, and the ground
was cumbered with briars, nettles, and rank weeds. The food, too, was
such as might be expected in such a horrid clime. A few dried roots,
horse-chestnuts, and thorn-apples--this was all the fare with which the
Lion-Witch appeased the hunger of those who fell into her clutches. When the queen was well enough to be set to work, the Witch told her she
might build herself a hut, since she was fated to remain in her company
for the rest of her life. On hearing this the queen burst into tears. 'Alas!' she cried, 'what have I done that you should keep me here?