The Secret of Killimooin

“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.
“It is always dark for me,” said Beowald. “My ears see for me, and my feet see for me. I can wander in these mountains for hours and yet know exactly where I am. The pebbles beneath my feet, the rocks, the grass, the flowers, they all tell me where I am. The smell of the pine trees, the scent of the wild thyme that grows nearby, the feel of the wind, they tell me too. I can go more safely over this steep mountain with my blind eyes than you could go, seeing all there is to be seen!”
The children listened to the blind goatherd, as Ranni and Pilescu set out the lunch. There were sandwiches for everyone, and hard, sweet little biscuits to eat with cheese made from goats’ milk. Beowald ate with them, his face happy and contented. This was a great day in his life!
“Beowald, take us up to where we can see the Secret Forest,” begged Paul. “Is it very far?”
“It will be two hours before we get there,” said the goatherd. He pointed with his hand, and it seemed to the children as if he must surely see, if he knew where to point. “The way lies up there. It is steep and dangerous. But your ponies will take you safely.”
The children felt thrilled at the idea of seeing the Secret Forest from the summit of the mountain. They were very high up now, though the summit still seemed miles away. The air was cold and clear, and when the wind blew, the children wrapped their fur-lined cloaks around them. They could not imagine how Beowald could wear nothing but trousers.
When they had eaten all they could, they stood up. Ranni fetched the little ponies, who had been nibbling at the short grass growing where the mountain-side was least rocky. The children sprang into the saddles and the ponies jerked their heads joyfully. Now, they thought, they were going back home!
But they were mistaken. Beowald led the way up a steep, rocky track that even goats might find difficult to tread.
“I can’t think how Beowald knows the way,” called Peggy to Nora. “There isn’t a sign of any path, so far as I can see.”
“It’s probably one that only the goats know,” said Ranni. “See, that old goat with the great curling horns is before us. It almost looks as if he is leading the way!”
“Ah, my old one knows when I need him,” said the goatherd, and he put his flute to his mouth. He played a few merry little notes and the big goat came leaping lightly down to him. “Stay by me, old one,” said Beowald.