ear, and in despair Llewelyn sank on the ground and fervently invoked
the aid of Heaven. As if in answer to his prayer, at this instant the
moon tipped the frowning mountain; her bright rays irradiated the wild
scene beneath and diminished in some measure the confusion and uproar.
Then, white and dripping as a storm-tost waterlily, the lovely figure
of Rhuddlan's daughter slowly emerged from the lake until her feet were
visible. She advanced along the moon-lit path, which alone remained
serene and calm. On either side horrid arms were stretched as if to
grasp her shrinking form, and rude blasts of spray burst in torrents
over her defenceless head.
Llewelyn knelt in silent prayer till she neared the water brink, when,
springing to her side, he drew her tenderly on shore, signing at the
same time on her brow the holy symbol of the cross; while wild shrieks
and groans resounded across the lake. He lifted Esgair, trembling and
exhausted, on the pony, where his strong arm was needed to support her.
The moon suddenly disappeared behind a cloud; the rain burst forth with
redoubled vehemence, while such peals of thunder broke around and above
them that the startled ponies could hardly be restrained from dashing
madly away. Llewelyn, well-nigh desperate, in vain strove to recognize
the homeward path. Black darkness encompassed them and hid every
well-known landmark from view.
Just as he was at his wits' end, suddenly gleamed afar a small bright
cross, shedding divine lustre through the gloom. At the same instant
there fell on their ears the faint chime of distant bells--a strange
unaccustomed sound in those wild regions. They paused not, however, to
question the cause of the welcome phenomena; but with gladness turned
in the direction of the cross, which moved before them as they
advanced; Llewelyn still supporting Esgair, and murmuring words of
encouragement into her ear. More than once he received rough buffets
from invisible foes, and wicked threats were whispered by the hoarse
blasts; but he kept his eyes fixed steadfastly on the sacred symbol
which guided them in the path of safety, and ere long the unnatural
tempest spent itself. The fiery cross grew dim, and finally
disappeared, and the rest of their homeward route was accomplished by
the returning light of the moon.
Nearer and nearer rang the joyful bells, as if crashing forth a paean of
welcome to the belated wanderers; and what was their astonishment on
coming within sight of the place where their humble dwelling lately
stood amid unbroken solitudes, to observe innumerable twinkling lights
borne to and fro, while, by the light of the moon, the tall battlements
of some huge building rose over the site once covered by their happy
little home.
Confused and perplexed, Gwynneth thought to chide her son for bringing
them the wrong way. But now Esgair, with new life, sprang to the
ground, and, turning towards Gwynneth, said with exceeding grace,
"This was my father's home. He bestows it willingly upon us--it is
yours. But, oh! take me to your heart, and give me a mother's love."
Gwynneth hastened to alight, and clasping her new daughter to her
bosom, hesitated no longer to enter the massive portals thrown wide
open before them. As they stepped beneath the archway, solemn strains
of music became audible. A long line of priests and choristers moved
across the lofty hall within; bands of fair maidens robed in white
approached Esgair, and tenderly saluting her placed her in their midst.
Last of all the holy Father Tudno drew near and motioned Gwynneth and
Llewelyn to his side.
Deeply agitated by a thousand conflicting emotions, Gwynneth, Esgair,
and Llewelyn now beheld before them as they advanced a small chapel
brilliantly lighted for high festival. With slow and reverend step
Saint Tudno withdrew within the altar space, and united in holy wedlock
the strangely-mated pair before him. Long and lowly did they bend
before the sacred shrine, and when at length they retired down the
aisles, the clear high voices of the singers rang out in joyful
strains, while far overhead the jubilant bells told with their iron
tongues the glad news that the first bar of fate had been undone--the
condition fulfilled that ran thus in the old legend:
"When Rhuddlan's child with man shall mate
A light shall break on Rhuddlan's fate."
Time fails me to tell of the splendours of that night of rejoicing, or
the magnificent appointments of the castle. But it is impossible to
pass by in silence the exceeding beauty of the bride, or the manly
serious grace of her bridegroom. Esgair's waving nut-brown tresses fell
over her shoulders, bound here and there by priceless diamonds. Her
violet eyes, her dazzling complexion, her long robe of silver sheen,
displaying every motion of her graceful figure, her wondrous charm of
manner,--all enchanted the beholder. She looked and moved the daughter
of a hundred kings.
Llewelyn's countenance, even in that deep hour of joy, wore the
chastened expression of one who has struggled and suffered. In the
midst of his new-found wealth he was fain to remember, with a feeling
akin to pain, that this proud castle and all its appurtenances was the
heritage of his wife and her father. But as Esgair turned her soft eyes
upon him, the toils of the past and the uncertainty of the future were
alike forgotten, and love beamed effulgent on his soul.
Night and stillness fell over that great castle. Only alone in an upper
chamber--the widowed wife--the lonely mother--wrestled in silent prayer
for her children until the day broke over the east and opened to the
world once more the golden gates of the sun.
On the morrow all was new and strange to Gwynneth and Llewelyn; but
Esgair guided them from room to room of the splendid palace, and
related to them endless tales told her by her father, of what had
happened within its walls, ere the spell of enchantment consigned him
and his to the dark waters of oblivion.
To Gwynneth the long corridors and stately chambers with their quaint
hangings of tapestry recalled her early home. Llewelyn (who though of
princely race, had been reared in poverty) felt a certain restraint
amid all this new-found grandeur, and bore with ill-concealed
impatience the ministrations of the countless servants, whose presence
fettered his free action and oppressed his simple nature.
Soon, however, the varied interests of his new position became
all-engrossing. Surrounded by retainers skilled in every kind of sport,
possessed of the fleetest steeds and truest falcons in the country,
blessed with the tenderest of wives and mothers, he seldom had time to
revert even in thought to the fewer and less luxurious pleasures of his
youth. He and Esgair became passionately fond of hawking, and many
happy days were thus spent, when, splendidly mounted and attended by a
numerous train, they would scour the country around and return wearied
yet joyous at eventide to relate to Gwynneth the adventures of the day.
It was during one of these hunting excursions that Esgair, roused by
the excitement of the chase, urged her palfrey to its utmost speed, and
distancing all her companions, came suddenly to a small level plateau
amid the mountains. Here a little streamlet had its birth, gushing
forth from the rock itself in cold purity. The hawk was already
stooping over its quarry, and Esgair finding herself alone, called
repeatedly to the bird in great fear lest it should fail in its object.
While she was thus employed, Llewelyn came rapidly in sight, and riding
up to her, playfully struck her on the shoulder with his gauntlet,
crying gaily, "Methought, fair lady, you were running away from us all;
but you have deftly won the race to-day, and yours must be the heron's
plume."
The rest of the merry party now came up, but while with eager
excitement they watched the protracted struggles of the two birds,
Llewelyn turned his own and his wife's palfrey aside, and under
pretence of arranging her dress whispered to Esgair, "Nay, dearest,
wherein have I vexed thee? I was only watchful for thy dear sake,
fearing when out of my sight lest evil should befall thee."
To his great surprise tears dimmed her eyes, and the colour mantled
higher in her flushed cheek as she murmured in low tones, "You have
struck the first blow."
Amazed and incredulous, it was some time before Llewelyn could recall
to mind the weird prophecy his mother had repeated to him. As they
leant sadly over their panting horses by the little spring, a white arm
emerged from the mossy bank and waved beckoning towards Esgair, while,
like a faint sigh of the breeze, fell these chill numbers on their
ears--
"One blow hath fallen on Esgair's fate,
And grieved Llewelyn's gentle mate."
Thoroughly startled he rushed forward, but the fancied apparition was
only a little shower of spray which, caught by the eddying wind, dashed
itself over him, wetting his gay clothes and soaking him to the skin.
Were the words he had heard but the offspring of his own imagination?
Now with loud cries the victory of the falcon was proclaimed, and the
gallant esquire, riding up to his mistress, courteously presented her
with the heron's plume, and craved permission to fasten it in her hat.
Esgair accepted the gift with her wonted grace, but it was with
saddened hearts that she and Llewelyn turned homewards. The dispiriting
influence soon communicated itself to their followers, and in
melancholy guise the merry party of the morning silently re-entered the
castle walls.
Ere they retired to rest, however, Esgair and Llewelyn sought the
little chapel where their marriage vows had been interchanged, and as
they knelt together in prayer an ineffable calm soothed their troubled
spirits, and on seeking their chamber a deep joy cradled them to rest.
Their life now passed away in uneventful happiness, until, as the time
drew near the birth of Christ, Esgair had a son, whose advent was
hailed with universal rejoicing. Llewelyn with trembling joy welcomed
his little child, and drew many hopeful auguries for the future from
his first seeing the light in the glorious holy tide of Christmas.
Esgair suffered considerably in health, causing her husband great
anxiety, and it was some time before she could resume her wonted place
in the castle. But she seemed strangely anxious to have her child
baptized at the earliest possible moment. They were obliged, however,
to wait some little time for the holy Father Tudno, who, again
travelling that way on his stated rounds, promised by a certain day to
receive the babe into the arms of the Church.
Meanwhile the nurses were forbidden to stray without the precincts of
the castle, and specially warned against approaching either of the
lakes which lay within such easy distance--Llyn Ogwyn and Llyn Idwyl.
It was rumoured that strange forms were to be sometimes seen wandering
round the castle. Esgair herself, whose gentle ways had endeared her to
all around, began to be regarded with suspicion, as, when hardly strong
enough to leave her chamber, she insisted on taking solitary walks, was
long absent, and frequently returned with traces of tears on her cheek.
At such times she would redouble her cautions to the nurses, and sit
for hours watching uneasily over her babe. They told wild tales,
moreover, of seeing their mistress in the dead of night leaning over
the little one's cradle and with clasped hands and streaming eyes
seeming to wrestle in prayer with some invisible power. She would then
clasp the infant in her arms, sign a cross over its forehead and
replace it slumbering and unconscious in its cot.
But the slow weeks moved on, St. Valentine's day at last arrived, and
with it the good Father to perform the promised rite. Every preparation
made, and the little chapel adorned with the pale flowers of early
spring time--the drooping snowdrop, and the Christmas rose, nestling in
rich green moss from the glen--Gwynneth proudly bore her little
grandson to the font, and the holy service began.
The wind and rain without, hitherto hardly noticed, now dashed with
such force against the casements as to endanger their frail fastenings,
while above the chant of the choristers could be distinctly heard the
wild howling of the tempest. The little child itself moved restlessly
from side to side, and seemed to feel an adverse influence threatening
its fate. All eyes, however, were turned on the lady of the castle,
who, with mortal terror depicted on her countenance, eagerly scanned
the high windows and shuddered visibly as the storm increased. But now
the reverend Father took the babe in his arms and ascended the steps of
the font. Louder and louder roared the fierce winds without, and as one
mighty gust shook the chapel to its very foundations, Esgair uttered a
faint moan. Llewelyn impatiently turned for the first time towards her,
and, angrily touching her shoulder to recall her attention to the
service, muttered some hasty rebuke about disturbing the people around
by her ill-timed fears. Father Tudno at this moment formally demanded
the child's name, and Llewelyn gave him, as had already been agreed
upon, the name of "Rhiwallon." As the holy Father, repeating over the
infant the tender words of his faith, was about to sign on its brow the
sacred symbol of the cross, a terrific blast shattered the casements
into a thousand pieces, all the lights throughout the chapel were
instantly extinguished, while a deluging shower fell on the group round
the font. Eldritch laughter rang through the air, a piercing shriek was
heard, and phantom forms tried to wrench the little babe from the good
priest's arms. Undismayed and calm however, Saint Tudno gathered the
helpless lamb of the fold still closer in his sheltering clasp, and ere
the strife of the rough elements well-nigh reached him, the little
Rhiwallon was already a member of the eternal Church. But in Llewelyn's
awe-struck ear sounded these dread words--
"Blare wildly ye breezes a blast of delight,
A blow hath been struck by Llewelyn this night."
Now with flying footsteps came a page bearing a torch. The wild force
of the tempest seemed to have spent itself, and comparative peace
reigned without the castle. Within, the lights were once more kindled,
but their rays fell upon a cold inanimate form. Poor Esgair had fallen
forwards, her head lay on the hard stone floor, her hands were still
raised as if in supplication to some invisible power, while dark red
blood slowly oozed forth from beneath her luxuriant tresses. With a cry
of terror Llewelyn raised her in his arms. He found that in falling she
had struck against the stone step of the font, and a somewhat deep
wound was made under her thick soft hair. He bore her tenderly to her
chamber. Through the livelong night with keen anguish he and his mother
(suffering no meaner hand to tend her) ministered to her wants. At
times she cried uneasily for her babe, nor could they soothe or appease
her until the little Rhiwallon was brought and laid beside his
suffering mother in the great state bed, with its dark gorgeous
hangings and curious antique carving. Llewelyn, heart-sore and
grievously conscience-stricken, bent over the half-slumbering pair.
They seemed to his excited imagination like the flower and the bud
rudely torn from the parent stem and fading before his very eyes. He
listened anxiously over their lips to assure himself of their actual
breathing. Esgair, half-awakened, moved restlessly until feeling her
babe again cradled in her arms, she murmured low words of endearment
over him, and sank once more into troubled slumber. Many days she
struggled between life and death; and as Llewelyn kept the weary
watches by her side, he mournfully remembered that it was his own
thoughtless temper which had brought all this upon his faithful wife,
and recklessly dissolved one more link that bound her life to his. She
explained to him that her fears had been roused lest the powerful
Venedotia should gain possession of their boy ere he was christened,
and hence the strange precautions she had taken and her extreme terror
in the chapel. She was unable, moreover, to warn those around her, as
her first word of elucidation would have sealed the death-warrant of
her babe; so powerful was the spell still exercised by the fierce
enchanter over Rhuddlan's ill-fated race.
April breezes brought sounds of spring into the land ere Esgair, pale
and wan--like one who has passed through the valley of the dark
shadow--was once more borne down the castle stair and carried abroad to
be invigorated by the reviving vernal air. She had taken a strong
dislike to the "Castle of the Lakes," as their present home was called.
Nor can this be wondered at, considering the baneful influence that had
threatened not only her own but her infant's life. She entreated
Llewelyn to build another dwelling by the sea-shore, where strength and
health might more rapidly return to her, and where she hoped to be in a
measure free from the fell designs of Venedotia.
With eager zest her repentant husband followed the bent of Esgair's
mind, and, after many pleasant excursions to the neighbouring shores in
search of a site, they at length resolved to raise the walls of their
new castle in the centre of the rich plain which then lay between the
proud headlands of Penmaenmaur and Penmaenbach.
Esgair took intense interest in the progress of the builders, who were
now set to work with the utmost diligence. Throughout the long summer,
she, Gwynneth, Llewelyn, and the babe with his nurses, dwelt in a
little shieling on the steep sides of Penmaenmaur. Daily descending to
the broad fertile meadows amid which was to be their future home, they
cheered and encouraged the labourers at their work. Ere the mellow
September time came round, the walls of the new castle had already
risen to a considerable height.
It was now two years since the bridal day of Esgair and Llewelyn. Never
had mortal man been blessed with a gentler, sweeter help-mate. High and
low worshipped their kind mistress; and the most unruly of their
half-savage retainers would fly to anticipate her slightest desire.
The little Rhiwallon was a lovely babe; healthy and well tended ever
since his birth, his firm limbs and rosy cheeks were full of promise.
His dark eye already beamed with intelligence, and his broad brow bore
the impress of future intellectual power. What long hours that fond
mother passed alone with her babe! At eventide she ascended the wooden
steps of the shieling, and sending the women to make merry with their
friends without, hungrily watched over her child. Gwynneth and Llewelyn
perhaps sitting silent below, heard sounds as of a cushat dove cooing
over its young. Sometimes the tones became more audible, and words
could be distinguished--the mother crooning to her little one as if he
could understand.
"Thou art delivered, my baby, from the evil fate that menaces thy poor
mother. Thy pure forehead bears on it the sign of the holy cross. Over
thee the angel of darkness hath now no power save through that mother's
will. How could they think, my child, that to save herself a parent
would yield up her darling. Nay, nay; when they tempted me to delay thy
baptismal hour, they fathomed not the undying love Rhiwallon's mother
bears her beautiful boy--her treasure!"
Such and other dreamy wailing words overheard in the gloaming by
Gwynneth and her son, revealed to them the unselfish part Esgair had
played in the events of the past. Pangs of remorse again oppressed
Llewelyn as he recalled his harsh rebuke in the chapel. He now surmised
that could the Evil Powers only gain possession of Rhiwallon, Rhuddlan
and his race, including Esgair herself, would be delivered from all
future trouble, and freed for ever from the mystic enchantments of
Venedotia. But while Gwynneth and Llewelyn trembled at the danger to
which the infant had been exposed, they prized more tenderly than ever
his fragile mother, whose conduct had throughout been above praise; and
kneeling down, they offered sincere prayer that through the exceeding
faith and purity of Esgair's life she might, with heavenly aid, prevent
the sacrifice of her child, and yet live to accomplish the deliverance
of her race.
It was a lovely September afternoon, the sun streamed down on the rich
purple heather, where Esgair, playing with her boy, sat beside a small
rivulet close to the walls of the rising castle. The workmen, resting
for their afternoon meal, were refreshed with milk provided for them by
the kind command of their lady. Gwynneth, busily engaged in some labour
of love, had remained up at the little shieling, while the solitary
nurse who accompanied Esgair was seated with her work at some distance
from the mother and her child.
Llewelyn had gone forth at break of day to hunt the deer, and as yet
there was no sign of his return. A halo of sylvan peace enshrouded the
fair scene and the actors therein. Amid autumnal silence the distant
sea lay smooth as glass. Like a dim blue mist slumbered the far outline
of the low-lying islands without. On either side rose the frowning
sentinels of the vale between--the giant Penmaenmaur and the scarcely
smaller Penmaenbach; while behind the smiling plain rose heathery
slopes, undulating in successive lines towards the gloomy Tal-y-van.
Stretched on soft furs Esgair played with her beautiful laughter-loving
babe. Sometimes she tossed him crowing aloft, and caught him tenderly
again to her heart, then, changing from grave to gay, would whisper
softly in his little ear strange old tales and legends. (It was
afterwards asserted that when Rhiwallon grew to be a man many of his
wondrous gifts came from his unconscious remembrance of that mother
lore.) After much time thus spent in dallying with her infant, at
length Esgair raised him in her arms and descended with him to the
brink of the murmuring streamlet, being thus lost sight of by the
nurse, who, still within easy hail, did not move from her
all-engrossing handicraft.
The peaceful afternoon wore onwards, and soon Llewelyn, hot and
fatigued, and with a somewhat clouded brow (for the day's sport had
been unsuccessful), came striding down the narrow path, and, accosting
the nurse, inquired for her mistress and child. The maid pointed out
the course of the rivulet, and Llewelyn springing forward soon cleared
the short space between, and gained the little eminence where the furs,
still scattered in rich profusion, bore witness to the late presence of
Esgair and the babe. Looking impatiently around in quest of them, to
his horror and surprise Llewelyn perceived his son in the arms of a
strange old man with a long hoary beard and white flowing garments. The
little boy seemed pleased and happy; he was cooing to his mother, while
she, seated on a rock in the midst of the purling brook, and within a
stone's-throw of where Llewelyn stood, watched Rhiwallon's every
movement with keen delight. Llewelyn paused not to observe the majestic
stature and noble countenance of the unknown (who was, in fact, the
ancient Rhuddlan, the babe's grandfather), nor remembered till
afterwards, when it was too late, Esgair's look of entranced happiness.
So absorbed was she that she did not hear her husband's exclamation of
anger, did not see his rapid steps down the hillock, knew and felt
nothing till he roughly smote her on the shoulder and sharply asked
what she meant by allowing their child (during his absence) to become
the plaything of any old vagrant about the place, letting him also run
the risk of every passing infection of illness. He would have added
more bitter words of reproach, but as he spoke the old man suddenly
disappeared. The baby gave a loud cry and fell splashing into the
water. His mother at once caught and drew him out, and, with streaming
eyes laid him on Llewelyn's breast, while around, above, below, with a
sound of many rushing waters, could be distinguished these
hoarsely-muttered words:--
"The final undoing of Fate hath begun,
And Esgair's frail portion of happiness done;
Arise and return to us, child of the lake,
Nor nursling nor husband thy slumbers shall wake."