About this time there came to the Court of Cymbeline emissaries from
the Roman Emperor, demanding the annual tribute of three thousand
pounds which Julius Cæsar had exacted from the conquered Britons,
and which latterly Cymbeline had neglected to pay to his successor,
Augustus Cæsar.
On hearing the demand brought by Caius Lucius, the Ambassador, the
Queen at once took it upon herself to urge Cymbeline not to pay the
tribute, and Cloten, in his foolish manner, chimed in with silly
defiance and childish insults. With more dignity, Cymbeline confirmed
the words of the Queen, and declined to pay, whereupon Caius Lucius
pronounced a declaration of war against Britain in the name of his
master Augustus Cæsar.
His unwelcome duty done, he was then ready to enjoy the hospitality
which Cymbeline courteously offered to him during the remaining day or
two of his visit to the Court, after which the King sent him with a
safe conduct and an honourable escort to Milford Haven, and forthwith
began his preparations for war.
In the meantime other messages had also come from Rome--letters
to Pisanio and to Imogen. The one to Pisanio contained a terrible
command. The one to Imogen filled her heart with joy. She was bidden
to set off at once to Milford Haven, where Leonatus stated he was at
that time, and where he wished his wife to join him. Imogen was all
excitement and eagerness to be off; she begged Pisanio with pretty
impatience to tell her how quickly they could get to Milford Haven,
and chid him for the slowness of his reckoning. Her quick wit at once
devised a scheme whereby she could escape unnoticed, and in the guise
of her waiting-woman she contrived to slip out of the palace to where
Pisanio was ready to conduct her on her journey.
But alas, poor lady, on the road to Milford Haven a terrible awakening
awaited her. Pisanio showed her the letter he had received from
Leonatus, and there she read of the crime of which he accused her,
and that Pisanio had orders to put her to death. Knowing herself
blameless, Imogen was nearly killed by the cruel words, and in
heart-broken accents she begged Pisanio to strike at once, and obey
his master’s bidding. But Pisanio indignantly flung his sword away,
refusing to stain his hand with such a deed. He had only brought her
thus far, he said, to think out what was best to be done. His master
must certainly have been deceived; some villain, peculiarly skilful in
his art, had done this injury. Pisanio said he would give notice to
Leonatus that Imogen was dead, sending some token of the fact as he
had been commanded. Imogen would be missed at Court, and that would
confirm his words.
“Why, good fellow, what shall I do the while? Where bide? How live?”
asked poor Imogen. “Or what comfort shall I take in life when I am
dead to my husband?”
Pisanio asked if she would like to return to Court, but Imogen
declared she would have no more of Court, or father, or the clownish
Cloten, who had so pestered her with his love suit. Pisanio said
that if she would not stay at Court she could not remain in Britain,
whereupon Imogen asked were there not other places in the world than
Britain where the sun shone? In the volume of the world, the little
isle of Britain was no more than a swan’s nest in a great pool.
Pisanio was glad she was willing to think of other places, and went
on to suggest a scheme, daring indeed, but which Imogen was only too
glad to accept. This was nothing less than that Imogen should disguise
herself as a page, and seek service with the Roman Ambassador, Lucius;
then she could go with him to Rome, where she would be living near
Leonatus, and, even if she did not see him, she could hear hourly
reports of his doings. Pisanio, with this end in view, had taken care
to provide himself with the dress of a page, which he now handed
over to Imogen. Lucius was to arrive on the following day at Milford
Haven, and Pisanio advised Imogen to go there to meet him, and offer
her services, which he would probably accept. Pisanio himself must
now return to the palace, in case his absence should give rise to
suspicion, but from the mountain-top where they stood he pointed out
Milford Haven, and it seemed within easy distance. Finally, before
taking leave, he gave Imogen the little box of drugs which the Queen
had presented to him, telling her that it contained some precious
cordial that would cure her if ever she were ill. So the faithful
servant bade farewell to his dearly loved mistress.
Poor Imogen set out with a brave heart on her perilous adventure,
but the town that had looked so near seemed to recede as she walked
towards it. For two days and nights she wandered on, almost spent with
hunger, and making the ground her bed. At last she came to an opening
in the side of the mountain, which looked as if it were used for some
kind of habitation, for a path led to the low entrance. Imogen found
it was a cave, evidently furnished for use. At first she was afraid to
enter, not knowing what danger might lurk inside, but hunger made her
valiant. She called, but no one answered.
“Ho! Who’s there? If anything that’s civil, speak. Ho! No answer? Then
I’ll enter. Best draw my sword; and if mine enemy but fear the sword
as I do, he’ll scarcely look at it. Grant such a foe, kind heaven!”
[Illustration: “Best draw my sword.”]
So, timid and quavering, in her boy’s tunic, with her short,
broad-bladed sword gripped in her trembling hand, Imogen pushed aside
the brushwood and entered the cave.
She had not long disappeared when the real owners of the cave
approached. These were an elderly man of commanding presence and two
noble-looking youths of twenty-two and twenty-three years old. In
spite of their rustic and almost savage garb of hunters, there was an
air of unmistakable distinction about all three; to the frank brow
and free step of the mountaineer the lads joined a princely grace of
bearing which told of high birth and noble breeding.
Their appearance did not belie them, for these boys were no other
than the two sons of Cymbeline, stolen in their infancy by a banished
lord in revenge for an act of great injustice. Belarius had been a
gallant soldier, first among the best, and much beloved by Cymbeline,
by whose side he had often fought the Romans. But at the very height
of his renown he was suddenly reduced to the deepest disgrace, not
for any fault of his own, but because two villains, whose false oaths
prevailed before his perfect honour, swore to Cymbeline that he was
confederate with the Romans. Then followed his banishment and his
theft of the two young Princes; and so for twenty years he had lived
this wild life among the Welsh mountains, bringing up the boys as if
they had been his own sons, and training them in all sorts of manly
exercises. In this new existence Belarius called himself “Morgan”;
Cymbeline’s eldest son Guiderius went by the name of “Polydore”; and
the younger, Arviragus, was known as “Cadwal.”
Weary and hungry with a long day’s hunting, and looking forward to
a good meal from the spoils of the chase, these three were about to
enter their cave, when a sudden sign from Belarius stopped the other
two.
“Stay; come not in. But that it eats our victuals, I should think here
were a fairy,” said Belarius.
“What’s the matter, sir?” asked Guiderius, the elder boy.
“By Jupiter, an angel! Or, if not, an earthly paragon! Behold
divineness no elder than a boy!” cried Belarius, as Imogen, alarmed by
the sound of voices, came to the entrance of the cave.
Terrified at the sight of these newcomers, who, for their part, stood
gazing in bewilderment at this strange intruder, she began a hasty
apology.
“Good masters, harm me not. Before I entered here, I called, and
thought to have begged or bought what I have taken. Good troth, I have
stolen nothing, and would not, though I had found gold strewed on the
floor. Here’s money for my meat; I would have left it on the board as
soon as I had made my meal, and parted with prayers for the provider.”
“Money, youth?” exclaimed the elder Prince disdainfully.
“All gold and silver rather turn to dirt!” added the second.
“I see you are angry,” said Imogen piteously. “Know, if you kill me
for my fault, I should have died if I had not made it.”
“Whither bound?” asked Belarius.
“To Milford Haven.”
“What’s your name?”
[Illustration: “Good masters, harm me not.”]
“Fidele, sir. I have a kinsman who is bound for Italy; he embarked
at Milford, to whom being on my way, almost spent with hunger, I am
fallen into this offence.”
“Prithee, fair youth, think us no churls, nor measure our good
minds by this rude place we live in,” said Belarius kindly. “Well
encountered! ’Tis almost night; you shall have better cheer ere you
depart, and thanks to stay and eat it. Boys, bid him welcome.”
At Belarius’s words the two young Princes stepped forward, and
with the most courteous grace did their best to comfort the timid
wayfarer, trying with gentle words to put him at his ease, and saying
affectionately they would love and welcome him like a brother.
And so, cheered and comforted, and led by the younger lad’s arm thrown
protectingly around her, the poor wanderer entered the rude cave,
which love and courtesy made so fair an abiding-place.