"Father, father, father!"
The shrill, glad cry broke from the lips of little Gertrude almost at
the same moment as Wendot sank at her feet, spent and fainting; and the
lad, making a great effort, opened his dim eyes to see the tall form of
the English noble stooping over his little daughter, gathering her in
his arms with a gesture of passionate endearment.
Wendot fancied he must be dreaming; perhaps it was all a strange,
terrible dream: everything was swimming before his eyes in a sort of
blood-coloured mist. He gave up the effort to try to disentangle the
maze in which he seemed to be moving, and was sinking into
unconsciousness again when a sharp cry from his brother aroused him.
"Wendot, Wendot! -- O father, see --they have killed him!"
"Nay, lad, not that. Here, let me get to him.
"Griffeth, run thou and tell the fellows to let down ropes from above to
draw him up. He cannot return along that narrow ledge. He and the child
had best be drawn up by those above. Tell them to lose no time. The boy
must be taken home to his mother's care. This narrow ledge is growing
like an oven. Bid one of the men run to the brook for a draught of water."
Wendot's lips framed themselves to the word "water" as he heard it
spoken. If he had but a draught of water, perhaps he could speak again
and understand what was passing. As it was, he only heard the sound of a
confusion of voices, the clear tones of little Gertrude being the most
continuous and the most distinct. She seemed to be pouring some tale
into the ears of her listeners, and Wendot was certain, from the quick,
sudden movements of his father, who was supporting him as he lay, that
the story heard was exciting in him feelings of indignation and
amazement, although the boy's brain was too much confused to tell him
the reason for this displeasure.
But the sense of rest and safety inspired by his father's presence was
very comforting; and when the wounded lad had been drawn to the summit
of the cliff by the strong, willing arms of the retainers, and his hurts
rudely dressed by kindly hands, and his parched throat refreshed by deep
draughts of cold water, he began to shake off the sense of unreality
which had made him feel like one in a dream, and to marvel at the
unexpected appearance on the lonely fell of his father and Lord Montacute.
A sure-footed mountain pony was bearing him gently down the steep slope,
and his questioning look called Griffeth to his side.
"What means all this, Griffeth?" he whispered. "Whence came they? and
what do they know? And Llewelyn and Howel, where are they? Can it be
that they --"
He could not frame his lips to speak the words, but Griffeth understood
him without, and his cheek flushed.
"I fear me it is indeed as we thought. She went with them, and they left
her alone on the ledge, where once the eagle's eyry used to be.
Maelgon's men came to carry her off thence. Had it not been for thee,
Wendot, she would have been in their hands ere now. I would I had stood
beside thee, brother. I would I had shared thy perils and thy hurts."
"Thou didst better than that," answered Wendot, faintly smiling, "for
thou broughtest aid in the very nick of time. And how came it that our
father and our guest were with thee? Methought it must surely be a dream
when I saw them."
"Ay, we met them journeying towards the castle when we had but made a
short mile from it. They would have reached last night but for an
accident to one of the beasts, which detained them on the road; but they
had started ere the sun rose, and were hard by when we encountered them.
Hearing our errand, some went forward as before, but others joined our
party. It was well we were thus reinforced, for Maelgon's men fight like
veritable wolves."
"What knoweth our father of the matter? Spakest thou to him of Llewelyn
and Howel?"
"I had perforce to do so, they questioned me so closely. I know not what
they thought. Our guest's face is not one that may be read like a book,
and our father only set his lips in his stern fashion, as though he
would never open them again. I trow he is sore displeased that sons of
his should thus act; but perchance it may not be so bad as we think."
Wendot made no reply. He was growing too spent and weary to have words
or thoughts to spare. It seemed as if the long and weary descent would
never be accomplished; and the beat of the sun beating down upon them
mercilessly as they reached the lower ground turned him sick and faint.
Little Gertrude, mounted now upon her palfrey, was chattering
ceaselessly to her father, as he strode on beside her down the hillside;
but Lord Montacute was grave and silent; and as for the face of Res
Vychan, it looked as if carved out of marble, as he planted himself by
the side of the sturdy pony who carried his son, and placed his arm
round the lad to support him during that long and weary ride.
It was plain that the thoughts of both men were of a very serious
complexion, and gave them food for much reflection and consideration.
Griffeth bounded on a little ahead of the cavalcade, excited by the
events of the day, anxious for his brother, yet intensely proud of him,
envying him the chance of thus displaying his heroic qualities, yet only
wishing to have shared them -- not that anything should be detracted
from the halo which encircled Wendot. He had reached a turn in the path,
and for a moment was alone and out of sight of the company that
followed, when the hounds who had accompanied Wendot, and were now
returning with them, uttered a deep bay as of welcome, and the next
moment two dark and swarthy heads appeared from behind the shelter of
some great boulders, and the faces of Llewelyn and Howel looked
cautiously forth.
In a moment Griffeth was by their side, various emotions struggling in
his face for mastery; but the tie of brotherhood was a strong one, and
his first words were those of warning.
"It is all known -- our father knows, and hers. I know not what your
punishment will be. I have never seen our father look so stern. Do as
you will about returning home, but I wot not how you will be received."
Llewelyn and Howel exchanged glances; and the former asked eagerly, "And
the maid?"
"Is safe with her father and ours. Wendot risked his life to save her
from Maelgon's men. Nay, linger not to hear the tale, if you would fly
from the anger of those who know that you sought to betray her. It will
be no easy thing to make peace with our father. You know his thoughts
upon the sacredness of hospitality."
But even as he spoke Griffeth saw the change that came over his
brothers' faces as they looked past him to something behind; then as he
himself turned quickly to see what it was, he beheld their father and
two of the servants approaching; and Res Vychan pointed sternly to the
two dark-leaded boys, now involuntarily quailing beneath the fiery
indignation in his eyes, and said:
"Bind them hand and foot and carry them to the castle. They shall be
dealt with there as their offence shall warrant."
Then turning on his heel, he rejoined the company; whilst Llewelyn and
Howel were brought captive to the paternal halls of Dynevor.
Wendot knew very little of the occurrences of the next few days. He was
carried to the chamber that he shared with Griffeth, and there he lay
for several days and nights in a dreamy, semi-conscious state, tended by
his mother with all the skill and tenderness she possessed, and, save
when the pain of his wounds made him restless and feverish, sleeping
much, and troubling his head little about what went on within or without
the castle. He was dimly aware that little Gertrude came in and out of
his room sometimes, holding to his mother's hands, and that her gentle
prattle and little caressing gestures were very soothing and pleasant.
But he did not trouble his head to wonder how it was he was lying there,
nor what event had crippled him so; and only in the fevered visions of
the night did he see himself once again standing upon the narrow ledge
of the Eagle's Crag, with a host of foes bearing down upon him to
overpower and slay both him and his charge.
But after a few days of feverish lassitude and drowsiness the lad's
magnificent constitution triumphed -- the fever left him; and though he
now lay weak and white upon his narrow bed, his mind was perfectly
clear, and he was eager and anxious to know what had happened whilst he
had been shut out from the life of the castle.
His mother was naturally the one to whom he turned for information. He
saw that she was unwontedly pale and grave and thoughtful. As she sat
beside his bed with some needlework in her hands one bright afternoon,
when the sunlight was streaming into the chamber, and the air floating
in through the narrow casement was full of scent and song, his eyes
fixed themselves upon her face with more of purpose and reflection, and
he begged her to tell him all that had passed.
"For I know that our guests are still here. Gertrude comes daily to see
me. But where are Llewelyn and Howel? I have not seen them once. Is my
father angry with them still? or have they been punished and forgiven?"
"Your brothers are still close prisoners," answered the mother with a
sigh. "They have been chastised with more severity than any son of ours
has needed to be chastised before; but they still remain sullen and
obdurate and revengeful, and thy father will not permit them to come out
from their retirement so long as our guests remain. Perchance it is best
so, for it would but cause trouble in the house for them to meet. I
would that they could see matters differently; and yet there are many
amongst our people who would say that the true patriotism was theirs."
"And our guests, mother -- why linger they still? Methought they Would
leave so soon as Lord Montacute returned."
"So they purposed once; but he has wished to remain till thou art sound
once more, my son. He hath a very warm feeling towards thee, and would
speak to thee of something that is in his heart ere he quits Dynevor. He
has spoken of it to thy father and to me, but he wishes thee to hear it
from his own lips."
Wendot's interest was aroused. Something in his mother's expression told
him that the thing of which she spoke was a matter of some importance.
As an eldest son and forward for his years, and of a reflective and
thoughtful turn, he had often been consulted by his parents, and
particularly by his mother, in matters rather beyond his comprehension,
and had shared in discussions which many youths of his age would have
shunned and despised. Now, therefore, he looked eagerly at his mother
and said:
"What is it he wishes to say Canst thou not tell me thyself?"
The Lady of Dynevor paused awhile in thought; and when she spoke, it did
not appear to be in direct reply to her son's question.
"Wendot," she said gravely, "thou hast heard much talk of the troubled
state of these times and of the nation's affairs. Thou hast lived long
enough to see how hopeless some amongst us feel it ever to hope for
unity amongst ourselves. We are torn and distracted by faction and feud.
Families are banded together against families, and brothers strive with
brothers for the inheritance each claims as his own. Each lord of some
small territory tries to wrest from his weaker neighbour that which
belongs to him; and if for a moment at some great crisis petty feuds are
forgotten, and a blow is struck for national liberty, scarce has peace
been proclaimed again before the old strife breaks out once more, and
our fair land is desolated by a more grievous war than ever the English
wage."
Wendot bent his head in voiceless assent. He knew something of his
country's history, and that his mother spoke only the sad truth.
"My son," continued she after a pause, "it chances sometimes in this
troubled life of ours that we are called upon to make choice, not
between good and evil, but between two courses, both of which are beset
with difficulties and obstacles, both of which mingle together evil and
good, for which and against which much may be argued on both sides, and
many things that are true be said for and against both. To some such
choice as this has our poor country now come. Experience has taught us
that she is incapable of uniting all her forces and of making of herself
one compact, united kingdom. That course, and that alone, would be her
true salvation; but that course she will not take, and failing that, she
has to choose between being torn and rent by faction till she is an easy
prey to the English king, who will then divide her territories amongst
his own hungry and rapacious barons, or for the princes to submit to pay
him the homage for their lands which he (possibly with injustice)
demands, but which if paid will make of him their friend and protector,
and will enable the country to live in peace and prosperity, assured
that the king will support those who acknowledge him, and that he will
not deprive of their ancestral rights any who will bring their homage to
him, and hold their territory as it were from him. Understandest thou
thus much?"
"Ay, mother, I understand it well; and though there is something in the
thought that stirs my blood and sets it coursing through my veins in
indignation -- for I see not by what right the English king lays claim
to our fair lands -- still I know that conquest gives to the conqueror a
right, and that if he chose to march against us with his armies, he
might well find us too much weakened by our petty feuds to resist his
strong veterans. And the English are not all bad. I have learned that
these many days whilst our guests have been with us. I have thought at
times that they would be true friends and allies, and that we might do
well to copy them in many ways. In truth, if the choice lies betwixt
being rent in pieces by each other and giving homage to the great
Edward, who can be merciful and just, I would rather choose the latter.
For there must be something grand and noble about him by what our little
maid says; and to pay homage is no such hard thing. Why, does not he
himself pay homage to the King of France for the lands he holds in his
kingdom?"
A look of relief crossed the face of the mother as she heard these words
from her first-born son. She took his hand in hers and said earnestly:
"Wendot, I am glad to hear thee speak thus, for thou art the heir of
Dynevor, and upon thee much may fall some day. Thou knowest what thy
brothers are -- I speak of Llewelyn and Howel. I cannot but fear for
them -- unless, indeed, the rapacious greed I sometimes see in Llewelyn
proves stronger than his fierce hatred to the English, and he prefers to
do homage for his lands rather than lose them. But thou art the head of
the family, and the chief power will rest with thee when thy father is
gone. I counsel thee, if the time comes when thou must make thy choice,
be not led away by blind hatred of the English. They may prove less
cruel foes than thine own countrymen are to one another. If Wales may
not be united under one native king, let her think well ere she rejects
the grace held out to all who will yield fealty to the English monarch.
That is what I wished to say to thee. Remember that the English are not
always cruel, always rapacious. There are generous, noble, honourable
men amongst them, of whom I am sure our guest is one."
"Ay, he has a grand face," said Wendot. "A face one can both love and
trust. And all that the little one tells me of the king and his family
inclines my heart towards him and his. I will remember what you have
said, mother, and will ponder your words. Methinks it is no lovely thing
to hate as Llewelyn and Howel hate; it makes men act rather as fiends
than as honourable soldiers should."
The conversation ended there, and was not renewed; but the very next day
Lord Montacute sought Wendot's room, when the lad was lying alone,
wearying somewhat of his own company, and the light sprang into his eyes
as he saw the guest approach, for in his own boyish way he had a great
admiration for this man.
"Well, lad, I am glad to see thee looking something more substantial and
like thine own self," said Lord Montacute, seating himself upon the edge
of the bed and taking Wendot's hand in his. "This hand has done good
service to me and mine -- good service, indeed, to the King of England,
who would have been forced to chastise with some severity the outrage
planned upon a subject of his, and one dear to him from association with
his children. Tell me, boy, what can I do for thee when I tell this tale
to my lord of England? What boon hast thou to ask of him or of me? For
thou needest not fear; whatever it be it shall be granted."
"Nay, I have no boon," answered Wendot, his cheek flushing. "I did but
do my duty by any guest beneath my father's roof. I was responsible for
the safety of the maid. I had taken that duty on myself. I want nothing;
she is safe, and that is enough. Only if you would speak to my father
for my brothers Llewelyn and Howel. I know they have merited deep
displeasure; yet they are but lads, and doubtless they were led away by
evil counsels. He would hear pleading better from you than from me."
"It shall be done," said Lord Montacute, still regarding Wendot
steadily; "and now, boy, I would speak to thee seriously and gravely as
man to man, for thou hast proved thyself to be a man in action, in
courage, and in foresight. And thy parents tell me that thou art
acquainted with the burning questions of the day, and that thy brothers'
headstrong hatreds and prejudices do not blind thee."
Wendot made no reply, but fixed his bright eyes steadily on Lord
Montacute's face. He on his side, after a brief silence, began again in
clear, terse phrases:
"Lad, if thou livest thou wilt some day be Lord of Dynevor -- master of
this fair heritage, the fairest, perhaps, in all South Wales. Thou hast
noble blood in thy veins -- the blood of princes and kings; thou hast
much that men covet to call their own; but thou art surrounded by foes
who are jealous of thee, and by kinsmen who have already cast covetous
eyes on thy possessions."
"Ay, that traitorous Meredith ap Res, whose mother is English, and who
would -- But pardon me. I would not willingly speak against your nation.
Indeed, I feel not bitter as others do; only --"
"Boy, thou art right to be loyal and true. I like thee none the less for
the patriotic fervour which breaks out in thee. But I am glad that thou
shouldest see both sides of this matter, that thou shouldest see the
peril menacing thy brothers from thine own kinsman, who has strengthened
himself by an English alliance. It is useless to blind thine eyes to
what is coming. They tell me thou art not blind; and I come to thee,
lad, because I think well of thee, to ask if it would please thee to
strengthen thy position in thine own land and in Edward's sight by an
alliance with an English maiden of noble birth. Hast thou ever thought
of such a thing?"
Wendot's wide-open eyes gave answer enough. Lord Montacute smiled
slightly as he said:
"Ah, thou art full young for such thoughts; and thou livest not in the
atmosphere of courts, where babes are given in marriage almost from
their cradles. But listen, Res Wendot; I speak not in jest, I am a man
of my word. Thou hast risked thy life to save my little maid. Thou art a
noble youth, and I honour both thee and thy parents. The maid has told
me that she loves thee well, and would be well pleased to wed thee when
she is of the age to do so. These are but childish words, yet they may
prove themselves true in days to come. It is in the interests of all
those who have the peace and prosperity of this land at heart to
strengthen themselves in every way they can. My little daughter will
have an ample dower to bring her husband; and I will keep her for thee
if thou wilt be willing to claim her in days to come. I should like well
to see her ruling in these fair halls; and thou hast proved already that
thou art a knightly youth, whose hand she may well take with confidence
and pride.
"Thy parents are willing; it waits only for thee to say. What thinkest
thou of a troth plight with the little maid?"
Wendot's face glowed with a sort of boyish shame, not unmingled with
pride; but the idea was altogether too strange and new to him to be
readily grasped.
"I have never thought of such things," he said shyly, "and I am too
young to wed. Perchance I may grow into some rough, uncouth fellow, who
may please not the maiden when she reaches years of discretion. Methinks
it would scarce be fair to plight her now, at least not with such a
plight as might not be broken. If our nations meet in fierce conflict,
as they yet may, it would be a cruel thing to have linked her hand with
that of a rebel, for such we are called by the English monarch, they
say, when we rise to fight for our liberties bequeathed by our ancestors.
"Nay, noble lord, frown not on me. There be moments when methinks two
spirits strive within me, and I am fearful of trusting even myself. I
would not that grief or sorrow should touch her through me. Let me come
and claim her anon, when I have grown to man's estate, and can bring her
lands and revenues. But bind her not to one whose fate may be beset with
perils and shadows. There be those amongst our bards who see into the
future; and they tell us that a dark fate hangs over the house of
Dynevor, and that we four shall be the last to bear the name."
Lord Montacute was looking grave and earnest. There was something in his
face which indicated disappointment, but also something that spoke of
relief. Possibly he himself had offered this troth plight with something
of hesitation, offered it out of gratitude to the noble lad, and out of
respect to his parents, who, as he saw, would prove valuable allies to
the English cause, could they but be induced to give their allegiance to
it. Yet there was another side to the picture, too; and Wendot was too
young for any one to predict with certainty what would be his course in
the future. The hot blood of his race ran in his veins; and though his
judgment was cool, and he saw things in a reasonable and manly light, it
would be rash to predict what the future might have in store for him.
"Well, lad, thou hast spoken bravely and well," said the Englishman,
after a pause for thought. "Perchance thy words are right; perchance it
will be well to let matters rest as they are for the present. We will
have no solemn troth plight betwixt ye twain; but the maid shall be
promised to none other these next four years, so that if thou carest to
claim her ere she reaches woman's estate, thou shalt find her waiting
for thee. And now I must say thee farewell, for tomorrow we ride away
the way we came. I trust to see thee at the king's court one of these
days, and to make known to his royal majesty the noble youth of Dynevor."
Wendot was left alone then for some time, pondering the strange offer
made to him, and wondering whether he had been foolish to refuse the
promised reward. He had never seriously thought of marriage, although in
those days wedlock was entered upon very young if there were any
advantage to be gained from it. A lad of fifteen is seldom sentimental;
but Wendot was conscious of a very warm spot in his heart for little
Gertrude, and he knew that he should miss her sorely when she went, and
think of her much. Would it have been a sweet or a bitter thing to have
felt himself pledged to a daughter of England? He felt that he could not
tell; but at least the decision was made now, and his words could not be
recalled.
Just ere the sun set that summer's day there came down the stone
corridor which led to his room the patter of little feet, and he leaned
up on his elbow with brightening eyes as the door opened and little
Gertrude came dancing in.
"I thought I was to have been married to you, Wendot, before we went
away," she said, looking into his face with the most trusting expression
in her soft dark eyes; "but father says you will come to marry me some
day at the king's court. Perhaps that will be better, for I should like
Eleanor and Joanna to see you. They would like you so, and you would
like them. But do come soon, Wendot. I do so like you; and I shall want
to show you to them all. And I have broken my gold coin in two -- the
one the king gave me once. I got the armourer to do it, and to make a
hole in each half. You must wear one half round your neck, and I will
wear the other. And that will be almost the same as being married, will
it not? And you will never forget me, will you?"
Wendot let her hang the half of the coin round his neck by a silken
thread, strange new thoughts crowding into his mind as he felt her soft
little hands about him. Suddenly he clasped them in both of his and
pressed warm kisses upon them. Gertrude threw her arms about his neck in
a childish paroxysm of affection, saying as she did so between her kisses:
"Now, it's just like being husband and wife; and we shall never forget
one another -- never."