It was nearly dusk when they at last saw the great ship Revenge far out in the deepest part of the bay. Westley, still within the confines of the Fire Swamp, sank, beaten, to his knees.
For between him and his ship were more than a few inconveniences. From the north sailed in half the great Armada. From the south now, the other half. A hundred mounted horsemen, armored and armed. In front of them the Count. And out alone in front of all, the four whites with the Prince astride the leader. Westley stood. “We took too long in crossing. The fault is mine.”
“I accept your surrender,” the Prince said.
Westley held Buttercup’s hand. “No one is surrendering,” he said.
“You’re acting silly now,” the Prince replied. “I credit you with bravery. Don’t make yourself a fool.”
“What is so foolish about winning?” Westley wanted to know. “It’s my opinion that in order to capture us, you will have to come into the Fire Swamp. We have spent many hours here now; we know where the Snow Sand waits. I doubt that you or your men will be any too anxious to follow us in here. And by morning we will have slipped away.”
“I doubt that somehow,” said the Prince, and he gestured out to sea. Half the Armada had begun to give chase to the great ship Revenge. And the Revenge, alone, was sailing, as it had to do, away. “Surrender,” the Prince said.
“It will not happen.”
“SURRENDER!” the Prince shouted.
“DEATH FIRST!” Westley roared.
“…will you promise not to hurt him…?” Buttercup whispered.
“What was that?” the Prince said.
“What was that?” Westley said.
Buttercup took a step forward and said, “If we surrender, freely and without struggle, if life returns to what it was one dusk ago, will you swear not to hurt this man?”
Prince Humperdinck raised his right hand: “I swear on the grave of my soon-to-be-dead father and the soul of my already-dead mother that I shall not hurt this man, and if I do, may I never hunt again though I live a thousand years.”
Buttercup turned to Westley. “There,” she said. “You can’t ask for more than that, and that is the truth.”
“The truth,” said Westley, “is that you would rather live with your Prince than die with your love.”
“I would rather live than die, I admit it.”
“We were talking of love, madam.” There was a long pause. Then Buttercup said it:
“I can live without love.”
And with that she left Westley alone.
Prince Humperdinck watched her as she began the long cross to him. “When we are out of sight,” he said to Count Rugen, “take that man in black and put him in the fifth level of the Zoo of Death.”
The Count nodded. “For a moment, I believed you when you swore.”
“I spoke truth; I never lie,” the Prince replied. “I said I would not hurt him. But I never for a moment said he would not suffer pain. You will do the actual tormenting; I will only spectate.” He opened his arms then for his Princess.
“He belongs to the ship Revenge,” Buttercup said. “He is—” she began, about to tell Westley’s story, but that was not for her to repeat—“a simple sailor and I have known him since I was a child. Will you arrange that?”
“Must I swear again?”
“No need,” Buttercup said, because she knew, as did everyone, that the Prince was more forthright than any Florinese.
“Come along, my Princess.” He took her hand.
Buttercup went away with him.
Westley watched it all. He stood silently at the edge of the Fire Swamp. It was darker now, but the flame spurts behind him outlined his face. He was glazed with fatigue. He had been bitten, cut, gone without rest, had assaulted the Cliffs of Insanity, had saved and taken lives. He had risked his world, and now it was walking away from him, hand in hand with a ruffian prince.
