“For seven miles east and seven miles west,
     And seven miles north and south,
     No blade of grass or corn could grow,
     So venomous was her mouth.”

Like an embodied plague, the bewitched Princess preyed on the people of her father’s kingdom, who daily brought to the cave, where she coiled herself up at night to sleep, a terrified tribute of the milk of seven cows.  All over the North Country spread the dread of her name, but now she was no longer the lovely Princess Margaret, but the Laidley Worm of Spindleston-Heugh.

     “Word went east, and word went west,
     And word is gone over the sea,
     That a Laidley Worm in Spindleston-Heughs
     Would ruin the North Countrie.”

Far over the sea, with his thirty-three bold men-at-arms, the Princess’s brother, “Childe Wynd,” was carving a career for himself with his sword.  Nothing on earth did Childe Wynd fear, yet ever and again, when success in battle had been his, he would have a heavy heart, dreading he knew not what, and often he longed to see again the castle on the high rock by the sea, and the fair little sister with whom so many happy days had been spent amongst the blue grass and on the yellow sand of the dunes at Bamborough.  To his camp came rumour of the strange monster that was devastating his father’s lands, and down to the coast he hastened with his men, a great home-sickness dragging at his heart—­home-sickness, and a terror that all was not well with Margaret.  Some rough, brown-faced mariners, whose boat had not long before nearly suffered wreck on the rocks of the Northumbrian coast, were able to tell the Prince that rumour spoke truth, and that a laidley worm was laying waste his father’s kingdom.  Of the Princess they could give no tidings, but the Prince needed no words from them to tell him that all was not well.

     “We have no time now here to waste,
     Hence quickly let us sail: 
     My only sister Margaret
     Something, I fear, doth ail.”

And so, with haste, they built a ship, a ship for a Prince of Faery, for its masts were made of the rowan tree, against which no evil witchcraft could prevail, and its sails were of fluttering silk.  With fair winds and kindly waves the Prince and his men soon sped across the sea, and gladly they saw again the square towers of the castle King Ida had built, proudly looking down on the fields of restless water that only the bravest of the King’s husbandmen durst venture to plough.  From her turret window the Queen watched the sails of the gallant ship gleaming in the sun, and knew full well that Prince Wynd was nearly home again.  Speedily she summoned all the witch wives along with whom she worked her wicked magic, and set them to meet the ship, to use every spell they knew that could bring shipwreck, and disaster, and death, and to rid her of the youth whom she had always dreaded.  But they returned to her despairingly.