GERENT.
Gerent, the king of the West Welsh, as we called him, ruled over
all the land of Devon and Cornwall, from the fens of the Tone and
Parrett Rivers to the Land's End. Only those wide fens, across
which he could not go, had kept our great King Kenwalch from
pushing Wessex yet westward, and along their line had been our
frontier since his days until, not long before Ina came to the
throne, Kentwine crossed them to the north and cleared the
marauding Welsh of the Quantock hills and forests from the river to
the sea, setting honest Saxon franklins here and there in the
new-won land, to keep it for him. It was out of those deep wooded
hills that Morgan had come on the raid that ended so badly for his
brother and himself, for the wasted country was yet a sort of
no-man's land, where outlaws found easy harbourage, coming mostly
from the Welsh side. It would not need much to set the tide of war
moving westward again, now that our men knew the fenland as well as
ever the British learned the secrets of the paths.
Now that the time seemed to have come for him to leave Ina, Owen
feared most of all that the long peace would end, for that would
mean the rending of old friendships and certain parting from me.
How much longer the peace would last was very doubtful, and men
said that it was only the wisdom of Aldhelm that had kept it so
well, and now he was dead. It was not so long since that a west
Welshman would not so much as eat with a Saxon, so great was the
hatred they had for us, though that had worn off more or less.
Maybe it would have passed altogether but that there were the
differences between the ways of the two Churches which were always
cropping up and making things bitter again, and those were the
troubles that Aldhelm, whom Gerent honoured, had most tried to
smooth away with some sort of success. Yet it was well known that
many of the Welsh priests and people were sorely against peace with
the men who followed the way of Austin of Canterbury.
As for me, I almost wondered that Ina seemed so ready to part with
Owen, but presently I saw that if Gerent owned him again, my foster
father would be a link between the two kingdoms, which would make
for peace in every way. But for all that, in my own heart was a
sort of half hope that in spite of what the Norseman had heard,
Owen would not be welcomed back to the west, else I should lose him
altogether. There was no intercourse between our courts, now that
Aldhelm was gone.
But in the morning, when I came to say some of this to Owen, he
smiled at me, and said:
"Wait, Oswald. Time enough for trouble when it comes. Maybe you and
I will be back here this evening, and if not, I hope that my
staying with my uncle will mean peace between our lands. Let it be
so till we have seen what may be our fortune at Norton."
So I tried to let the trouble pass, and indeed at the morning meal
I had my new rank to think of, for my comrades would not forget it,
nor would they let me do so. The first man to greet me as thane was
Thorgils the Norseman, too, and he went with me to see to choosing
men and horses for our journey, and I was glad of his gossip, for
it kept me from thinking overmuch of the heavier things that had
kept me waking.
He would guide us across the hills to Norton, where Gerent was; for
though we knew somewhat of the Quantocks, beyond them we did not
go. The palace where the king lay was an ancient Roman stronghold,
and had belonged to Morgan, who was dead; and though Thorgils had
heard that Gerent was there to seek Owen, it was more likely that
he had come to see that the outlawed brothers did not gather any
force against him in their own place. It was many a year since he
had been so near our border.
Presently Thorgils would go down the town to the inn where he had
bestowed his horse, and I went with him, having an hour left before
we started, rather than face any more banter concerning my
thanedom. It was almost in my mind to go to the ealdorman's house
to ask after Elfrida, but I forbore, being shy, I suppose, and so
left the Norseman to join us presently, and went back to the king's
hall by a short cut from the village, whereby I had a meeting which
was unlooked for altogether.
That way was a sort of stolen short cut across the king's orchard,
which some of us used at times in coming from village to hall, for
it lay between the two on the south side of the hall where the
ground sloped sunwards. And as I leapt over the fence I was aware
of a lady who was gathering some of the ruddy crab apples from the
ground under their bare tree, for the hot ale of the wassail bowl,
doubtless, for we leave them out to mellow with the frost thus. She
did not heed me as I came over the soft snow, and when she did at
last look up I saw that she was Elfrida. Just for a moment I wished
that I had gone round by the road, but there was no escape for me
now, for she had seen me. So I unbonneted and went to meet her.
There was a little flush on her face when she saw me, but it was
not altogether one of pleasure, for when I wished her good morrow,
all that I had in return was a cold little bow and the few words
that needs must be spoken in answer. Whereat I felt somewhat
foolish; but it did not seem to me that I had done aught to deserve
quite so much coldness, not being a stranger by any means. So I
would even try to find the way to a better understanding, and I
thought that maybe the sight of me had brought back some of the
terror of last night.
"Now, I hope that the rough doings of the feast have not been
troublous to you, Lady Elfrida," I said, trying with as good a
grace as I could not to see her cold looks.
I saw that she did indeed shrink a little from them as I spoke,
even in the passing thought.
But she answered:
"Such things are best forgotten as soon as may be. I do not wish to
hear more of them."
"Nevertheless," I answered, "there are some who will not forget
them, and I fear that you must needs be ready to hear of your part
in them pretty often."
"Ay," she said somewhat bitterly, "I suppose that I am the talk of
the whole place now."
"If so, there would be many who would be glad to be spoken of as
you must needs be. There is nought but praise for you."
Then she turned on me, and the trouble was plain enough in a
moment.
"But for yourself, Thane, there would have been nought that I could
not have put up with. But little thought for me was there when you
made me the jest of your idle comrades over that foolish cup of the
king's."
That was a new way of looking at the matter, in all truth. I
supposed that a vow of fealty to any lady would have been taken by
her as somewhat on which to pride herself maybe, from whomsoever it
came. Which seemed to be foolishness in this fresh light. Still, it
came to me that her anger was not altogether fair, for I was the
one who had to stand the jesting, and not one of my honest comrades
so much as mentioned her name lightly in any wise.
"That was no jest of mine, Elfrida," I said gravely enough. "If
there is any jest at all that will come from my oath, it will be
that I have been foolish enough to vow fealty to one who despises
me. The last thing that I would do is anything that might hurt you.
And my vow stands fast, whether you scorn me or not, for if it was
made in a moment, it is not as if I had not had long years to think
on in which we have been good friends enough."
"Ay," she said, turning from me and reaching some apples that yet
hung on a sheltered bough, "I have heard the terms of that vow from
my father, more than once. You can keep it without trouble."
"Have I your leave to try to keep it?"
"You have had full leave to be a good friend of ours all these
years, as you say, and I do not see that the vow binds you to more.
No one thinks that you are likely to forget last night, or any one
who took part in that cruel business. And if a friend will not help
to guard a lady--well, he would be just nidring, no more or less."
Then she took up her basket, which was pretty full and no burden
for a lady, for she had picked fast and heedlessly as she spoke to
me, and so turned away.
"Nay, but surely you know that there was more than that meant," I
said lamely.
"No need to have haled my name into the matter at all," she said.
And then, seeing that my eyes went to the basket, she smiled a
little, and held it to me with both hands.
"Well, if you meant some new sort of service, you can begin by
carrying this for me. I am going to the queen's bower."
I took it without a word, and we went silently together to the door
that led to the queen's end of the hall. There she stayed for a
moment with her hand on the latch.
But she had only a question to ask me:
"Do you go with your father to the Welsh king's court, as it is
said that he will go shortly?"
"We start together in an hour's time or thereabout," I answered,
wondering.
"Well then, take this to mind you of your vow," she said, and threw
a little bronze brooch, gilt and set with bright enamel, into the
basket, and so fled into the house, leaving me on the doorstep with
the apples.
I set them down there, and had a mind to leave the brooch also.
However, on second thoughts I took it, and went my way in a puzzled
state of mind. It certainly seemed that Elfrida was desperately
angry with me for reasons which were not easy to fathom, and yet
she had given me this--that is, if to have a thing thrown at one is
to have it given. But I was not going to quarrel with the manner of
a gift from Elfrida, and so I went on with it in my hand, and as I
turned the corner into a fresh path I also ran into the abbot of
the new minster, who was on his way to speak with Owen before he
set out. He had been a great friend of Bishop Aldhelm's, and I had
known him well since the old days of Malmesbury.
"So Oswald," he cried, "I have been looking for you, that I might
wish you all good in your thaneship. Why, some of us are proud of
you. And I, having known you since you were a child, feel as if I
had some sort of a share in your honours. But what is amiss? One
would look to see you the gayest of the gay, and it seems as if the
world had gone awry with you."
Now, the abbot was just the friend to whom I could tell my present
trouble without fear of being mocked, for he was wont to stand to
us boys of the court as the good friend who would help us out of a
scrape if he could, and make us feel ashamed thereof in private
afterward, in all kindliness. So I told him what was on my mind,
for he was at the feast last night.
"It is all that vow of mine," I said. "I have just met Elfrida, and
she is angry with me for naming her at all."
"Unfair," said the abbot. "You could not have helped it, seeing
that you were bidden to do so."
I had forgotten that, and it was possible that Elfrida did not know
it. So I said that I did not look for quite the scorn I had met
with, at all events. Whereon the abbot stayed in his walk and asked
more, trying to look grave as he heard me, and soon he had all the
story.
"So you carried the basket like any thrall, and had my Yuletide
gift to her in payment," he said, with his eyes twinkling; "I will
ask if she has lost it presently, and you will be avenged."
He laughed again, and then said more gravely, but with a smile not
far off:
"Go to, Oswald, don't ask me to make the ways of a damsel plain to
you, for that was more than Solomon himself could compass. But I
think I know what is wrong. Her father has been making a jest to
her of the way you worded your vow, laughing mightily after his
manner, and she is revenging herself on you. Never mind. Wait till
you come back from this journey, and then see how things are with
her. Now let us talk of your errand, for it is important."
Then we went slowly together, and he told me how that he had
foreseen for a long time that Owen would return to his uncle and
take his right place again. Also he told me that Morgan had a
strong party on his side, and that we might have trouble with them
if Owen was taken into favour again.
"As I hope he may be," he added with a sigh; "for I have seen the
war cloud drifting nearer every year under the guidance of Morgan
and his fellows."
Then we turned into the courtyard, and he went to speak to Owen in
the hall, turning with a last smile to bid me hide the brooch, lest
Elfrida should hear some jesting about that next. So I pinned it
under my cloak, and then went and donned my arms, and saw to all
things for the journey, both for Owen and myself; and so at last
the hour came when I led the men round to the great door of the
hall, and sent one to say that all was ready.
Now the king came forth, and with him was Owen. Ina wore his
everyday dress, but my foster father was fully armed, and as those
two stood there I thought that I had never seen a more kingly
looking pair, silent and thoughtful both, and with lines of care on
their foreheads, and both in their prime of life.
Behind me I heard Thorgils say to Godred, the chief house-carle:
"If there were choice, I would take the king that wears the war
gear. That is the only dress that to my mind fits a man who shall
lead warriors."
Now the king came and spoke with me, bidding me be on my guard
against any attack while we were at Norton, telling me plainly also
that he deemed that there was danger to both of us at the first,
somewhat in the way in which the abbot had already spoken to me. I
daresay the words were his, for he had been counselling Owen.
Then the queen came forth with her ladies, and there was an honour
for us, for she herself brought the stirrup cup to Owen, bidding
him farewell, at the same time that the king must needs send
Elfrida with another cup to me, saying that it was my due for last
night's omission. But there was no smile as she set it in my hand,
and she waited with head turned away until I gave it back to her,
as if she looked at Owen rather than any one else. Then it was only
a short word of farewell that she said to me, and yet it did seem
that her eyes were less grave than she would seem in face as she
turned back to the other ladies on the hall steps.
Then Owen unhelmed and turned his horse to the gates, and after him
we went clattering down the street. In a minute or two Thorgils
came alongside me.
"So that was the lady of the vow, surely. Well, you may be excused
for making it, though indeed it is rash to bind oneself--nay, but
it seems that this is one of those matters whereon I must hold my
tongue!"
For I had spurred my horse a little impatiently, and he understood
well enough. I did not altogether care that this stranger should
talk of my affairs--more particularly as they did not seem to be
going at all rightly. So he said no more of them, but began to talk
of himself gaily, while Owen rode alone at our head, as he would
sometimes if his thoughts were busy.
Presently he reined up and came alongside us, taking his part in
our talk in all cheerfulness. And from that time I had little
thought but of the pleasantness of the ride in the sharp winter air
and under the bright sun with him toward the new court which I had
often longed to see, with its strange ways, in the ancient
British-Roman palace that he had so often told me of.
So we rode along the ancient and grass-grown Roman road that lies
on the Polden ridge, hardly travelled save by a few chapmen, since
the old town they called Uxella was lost in the days of my
forefathers. The road had no ending now, as one may say, for beyond
the turning to the bridge across the Parrett for which we were
making it passed to nought but fen and mere where once had been the
city. All the wide waters on either side of the hills were hard
frozen, and southward, across to where we could see the blue hill
of ancient Camelot, the ice flashed black and steely under the red
low sun of midwinter. Before us the Quantocks lay purple and
deepest brown where the woods hid the snow that covered them. Over
us, too, went the long strings of wild geese, clanging in their
flight in search of open water--and it was the wolf month again,
and even so had they fled on that day when Owen found me in the
snow.
And therewith we fell into talk of Eastdean, and dimly enough I
recalled it all. I knew that an Erpwald held the place even yet,
but I cared not. It was but a pleasant memory by reason of the
coming of Owen, and I had no thought even to see the place again.
Only, as we talked it did seem to me that I would that I knew that
the grave of my father was honoured.
Then we left the old road, and crossed the ancient Parrett bridge,
where the Roman earthworks yet stood frowning as if they would stay
us. They were last held against Kenwalch, and now we were in that
no-man's land which he had won and wasted. Then we climbed the long
slope of the Quantocks, whence we might look back over the land we
had left, to see the Tor at Glastonbury shouldering higher and
higher above the lower Poldens, until the height was reached and
the swift descent toward Norton began. There we could see all the
wild Exmoor hills before us, with the sea away to our right, and
Thorgils shewed us where lay, under the very headlands of the hills
we were crossing, the place where his folk had their haven. He said
that he could see the very smoke from the hearths, but maybe that
was only because he knew where it ought to be, and we laughed at
him.
So we came to the outskirts of Norton, and all the way we had seen
no man. The hills were deserted, save by wild things, and of them
there was plenty. And now for the first time I saw men living in
houses built of stone from ground to roof, and that was strange to
me. We Saxons cannot abide aught but good timber. Here none of us
had ever come, and still some of the houses built after the Roman
fashion remained, surrounded, it is true, by mud hovels of
yesterday, as one might say, but yet very wonderful to me. Many a
time I had seen the ruined foundations of the like before, but one
does not care to go near them. The wastes our forefathers made of
the old towns they found here, and had no use for, lie deserted,
for they are haunted by all things uncanny, as any one knows. Maybe
that is because the old Roman gods have come back to their old
places, now that the churches are no longer standing.
Through the village we went, and then came to the walls of the
ancient stronghold, and they seemed as if they were but lately
raised, so strong were they and high. The gates were in their
places, and at them was a guard, and through them, for they stood
open, I could see the white walls and flat roof of the house, or
rather palace, which was either that of the Roman governor of the
place, or else had been rebuilt or restored from time to time in
exactly the same wise, so that it stood fair and lordly and fit for
a king's dwelling even yet. Maybe the wattled hovels of the thralls
that clustered round it inside the great earthworks were not what
would have been suffered in the days of those terrible men who made
the fortress, but I doubt not that they stood on the foundations of
the quarters of the soldiers who had held it for Rome.
The guard turned out in orderly wise as we came to the gates, and
they wore the Roman helm and corselet, and bore the heavy Roman
spear and short heavy sword. But that war gear I had seen before on
the other Welsh border, and I had a scar, moreover, that would tell
that I had been within reach of one weapon or the other. I knew
their tongue, too, almost as well as my own, for Owen had taught it
me, saying that I might need it at some time. It had already been
of use to the king in the frontier troubles, for I could interpret
for him, but I think that Owen had in his mind the coming of some
such day as this.
Now, Owen would have me speak to the guard and tell them our
errand, and I rode forward and did so. The short day was almost
over by this time; and the captain who came to meet me did not seem
to notice my Saxon arms in the shadow of the high rampart. Hearing
that we bore a message for the king, he sent a man to ask for
directions, and meanwhile we waited. I asked him if there was any
news, thinking it well to know for certain if aught had been heard
yet of the end of Morgan. News of that sort flies fast.
"No news at all," he answered. "What did you expect?"
"I had heard of the death of a prince, and do not know the rights
thereof."
"Why, where have you been? That is old news. It was only Dewi, and
he is no loss. The Saxon sheriff hung him, even as the king said he
would do to him an he caught him, so maybe it is the same in the
end. I have not heard that any one is sorry to lose him."
He laughed, and if it was plain that Morgan's brother was not
loved, it was also plain that nought was known of the end of the
other prince yet. We were first with the tidings here, and that
might be as well.
Now a message came to bid us enter, and the steward who brought it
told us that we were to be lodged in some great guest chamber, and
that we should speak with the king shortly.
The men bided outside the walls, the captain leading them to a long
row of timber-built stables which stood close at hand by the gate.
Presently, when the horses were bestowed, they would be brought to
the guest hall; so Thorgils went with them, while the steward led
Owen and myself through the gate and to the palace, which stood
squarely in the midst of the fortress, with a space between it and
the other buildings which filled the area.
By daylight I knew afterwards that it was uncared for, and somewhat
dilapidated without, but in the falling dusk it looked all that it
should. We entered through a wide door, and passed a guardroom
where many men lounged, armed and unarmed, and then were in a
courtyard formed by the four sides of the building, wonderfully
paved, and with a frozen fountain in its midst. There were windows
all round the walls which bounded this court, and the light shone
red from them, very cheerfully, and already there was bustle of men
who crossed and passed through the palace making ready for our
reception. The steward led us to the northern wing of the house
across this court, and so took us into an antechamber, as it
seemed, warm and bright, with hanging lamps, and with painted walls
and many-patterned tiled floor, but for all its warmth with no fire
to be seen, which was strange enough to me.
And so soon as the bright light shone on Owen I saw the steward
start and gaze at him fixedly, and then as Owen smiled a little at
him he fell on his knees and cried softly some words of welcome,
with tears starting in his eyes.
"Oh my Lord," he said, "is it indeed you? This is a good day.--A
thousand welcomes!"
Owen raised him kindly, and set his finger on his lip.
"It is well that you have been the first to know me, friend," he
said. "Now hold your peace for a little while till we see what says
my uncle. I must have word with him at once, if it can be managed,
before others know me. It will be best."
"He waits you, Lord. It was his word that he would see the Saxon
alone."
Then he led us into another room like to that we left, but larger,
and with rich carpets on the tiled floor, and there sat Gerent
alone to wait us. I thought him a wonderful looking old man, and
most kingly, as he rose and bowed in return when we greeted him.
His hair was white, and his long beard even whiter, but his eyes
were bright. Purple and gold he wore, and those robes and the
golden circlet on his head shewed that he had put on the kingly
dress to meet with the messenger of a king.
Almost had Owen sprung toward him, but he forbore, and when the
king had taken his seat he went slowly to him, holding out a letter
which Ina had written for him, saying nothing. And Gerent took it
without a word or so much as a glance at the bearer from under his
heavy brows, and opened it.
Owen stood back by me, and we watched the face of the king as he
read. We saw his brows knit themselves fiercely at first, and then
as he went on they cleared until he seemed as calm as when he first
met us. But the flush that had come with the frown had not faded
when at last he looked keenly at us.
"Come nearer," he said in a harsh voice, speaking in fair Saxon.
"Know you what is written herein?"
"I know it," Owen said.
"Here Ina says that this is borne by one whom I know. Is it you or
this young warrior?"
Then Owen went forward and fell on one knee before the king, and
said in his own tongue--the tongue of Cornwall and of Devon:
"I am that one of whom Ina has spoken. Yet it is for Gerent to say
whether he will own that he knows me even yet."
I saw the king start as the voice of Owen came to him in the
familiar language, and he knitted his brows as one who tries to
recall somewhat forgotten, and he looked searchingly in the face of
the man who knelt before him, scanning every feature.
And at last he said in a hushed voice, not like the harsh tones of
but now:
"Can it be Owen?--Owen, the son of my sister? They said that one
like him served the Saxon, but I did not believe it. That is no
service for one of our line."
"What shall an exile do but serve whom he may, if the service be an
honoured one? Yet I will say that I wandered long, seeing and
learning, before there came to me a reason that I should serve Ina.
To you I might not return."
But the king was silent, and I thought that he was wroth, while
Owen bided yet there on his knee before him, waiting his word. And
when that came at last, it was not as I feared.
Slowly the king set forth his hand, and it shook as he did so. He
laid it on Owen's head, while the letter that was on his knees
fluttered unheeded to the floor as he bent forward and spoke
softly:
"Owen, Owen," he said, "I have forgotten nought. Forgive the old
blindness, and come and take your place again beside me."
And as Owen took the hand that would have raised him and kissed it,
the old king added in the voice of one from whom tears are not so
far:
"I have wearied for you, Owen, my nephew. Sorely did I wrong you in
my haste in the old days, and bitterly have I been punished. I pray
you forgive."
Then Owen rose, and it seemed to me that on the king the weight of
years had fallen suddenly, so that he had grown weak and needful of
the strong arm of the steadfast prince who stood before him, and I
took the arm of the steward and pulled him unresisting through the
doorway, so that what greeting those two might have for one another
should be their own.
Then said the steward to me as we looked at one another:
"This is the best day for us all that has been since the prince who
has come back left us. There will be joy through all Cornwall."
But I knew that what I dreaded had come to pass, and that from
henceforth the way of the prince of Cornwall and of the house-carle
captain of Ina's court must lie apart, and I had no answer for him.