"There has been a battle -- desperate fighting. They are bringing the
prisoners into the guardroom," cried Britton, bursting into the royal
apartments with small ceremony in his excitement. "Come, Alphonso; come,
Joanna -- let us go and see them. Our fellows say they made a gallant
stand, and fought like veritable tigers. In sooth, I would I had been
there. Methinks it is the last of the fighting these parts will see for
many a long year."
Alphonso sprang up at the word of his comrade, eager to go and see the
prisoners, his humane and kindly nature prompting him to ascertain that
no undue harshness was displayed towards them by the rude soldiers. But
Joanna, although her face was full of interest and eagerness, shook her
head with a little grimace and a glance in the direction of her
governess, Lady Edeline; for during the years that had elapsed between
the visit of the royal children to Rhuddlan and this present visit to
Carnarvon, Joanna had grown from a child to a woman, and was no longer
able to run about with her brothers at will, though she still retained
her old fearless, independent spirit and impulsive generosity of
temperament, and was a universal favourite, despite the fact that she
gave more trouble than any of her younger sisters.
The royal family had been for some time in Wales. They had wintered at
Rhuddlan, where the little Princess Elizabeth had been born the previous
year, just prior to the outbreak of the rebellion. Now they were at
Carnarvon for greater security, the king considering that fortress the
stronger of the two. The rebellion was practically at an end, but there
was much to look into and arrange with regard to the rebels and their
affairs, and there was the prospect of a considerable sojourn at the castle.
At this moment Edward was himself absent, though not far away. It had
been rumoured that there had been sharp, irregular fighting all about
the region of Snowdon, where the rebels had had their headquarters.
Considerable excitement had prevailed for some time in the English
ranks, and there was still complete uncertainty as to the fate of
Llewelyn, Prince of Wales; for although a rumour was rife that he had
fallen in fight, it had never been corroborated by trustworthy
testimony, and so long as that turbulent prince remained alive there was
no security for the peace or submission of the country.
Thus it was that the news of a victory and the capture of prisoners was
exceedingly exciting to those within the castle. Alphonso, who was
looking somewhat stronger for his sojourn in the bracing air of Wales,
sprang up to go with Britton to make inspection, and again Joanna
secretly bewailed her fate at being a girl, unable to take an equal
share with her brother in such matters.
The guardroom at the castle was a vast and really fine apartment, with a
vaulted roof and majestic pillars, that gave the idea of much rude
strength of construction. Just at this moment it was the scene of an
animated picture, and the boys paused at the door by which they had
entered to look about them with eager curiosity.
The hall was full of soldiers, most of whom wore the English king's
badge, and were known by sight to them as being attached to the castle;
but mingled with these were other men, some in the English dress, but
many others wearing the wild garb of the sons of the mountains, and
these last had, for the most part, fetters on their wrists, or were
bound two and two together and guarded by the English, whilst many of
them were drooping under the effect of ghastly wounds, and several forms
lay stretched along the ground indifferent to, or insensible of, their
surroundings.
Desperate fighting there had been, indeed, to judge from appearances,
and Alphonso's gentle spirit was stirred within him as he caught the
sound of deep groans mingling with the loud voices of the soldiers. He
had inherited the gentle spirit of his mother, and the generosity which
always takes the part of the weak and oppressed. It mattered not that
these men had been taken with swords drawn against his royal father;
they were prisoners now, they had lost their all; and if rebels from the
English standpoint, had been striving to free their country from what
appeared to them as the unjust inroads of a foreign foe.
Alphonso, himself sinking into an early grave, and fully aware of his
own state, saw life somewhat differently from his soldier sire, and felt
little sympathy for that lust of conquest which was to the great Edward
as the elixir of life. The lad's thoughts were more of that eternal
crown laid up in the bright land where the sword comes not, and where
the trump of war may never be heard. The glory of an earthly diadem was
as nothing to him, and he had all that deep love for his fellow men
which often characterizes those who know that their time on earth is short.
Stepping forward, therefore, with the air of quiet authority which he
knew so well how to assume, he enforced silence by a gesture; and as the
soldiers respectfully fell back before him, he walked through the groups
of prisoners, speaking friendly words to them in their own tongue, and
finally gave strict command to the captain of the guardroom to remove
the fetters from those who were wounded, and see that they had all due
tendance and care, whilst the rest were to be guarded with as little
rigour as possible, and shut up together, where they would have at least
the consolation of companionship in their misfortune.
The captain gave respectful heed to these words, and was by no means
loath to carry out his instructions. He was a humane man himself, though
inured to the horrors of war, and he, in common with all who came into
contact with the young prince, felt towards him a great love and
reverence; for there was something unearthly at times in the radiant
beauty of the young Alphonso's face, and the growing conviction that he
was not long for this world increased the loving loyalty shown to him by
all.
"Your Grace's behests shall be obeyed," answered the man readily; "I
myself will see that the wounded receive due and fitting care. They are
brave fellows, be they rebels or no, and verily I believe there is not a
man of them but would have laid down his life a hundred times to save
that of the two young leaders who led them on to the last desperate
sally. Such gallant feats of arms I have seldom beheld, and it was sore
trouble to capture without killing them, so fiercely did they fight. But
I bid the men take them alive, if possible, as they seemed too gallant
and noble to fall in that vain struggle. Methinks, could they be tamed
to serve the king as valiantly as they fought for that forlorn hope,
they might be well worth the saving. I am always loath to see a brave
life flung away, be it of friend or foe."
"Right, good Poleyn; thy words do thee credit. And where are these
gallant leaders? Show me them, for I would fain speak a kindly word to
them. I would not that they feared my father's wrath too much. Stern he
may be, but cruel never, and it would please me well to bid them submit
themselves to him, that he might the more readily forgive them. Tell me
which they be."
"They are not here," answered the captain; "I had them removed for
greater comfort and security to mine own lodging. One of them is so sore
wounded that I feared he would not live to make submission to the king
unless he had prompt and skilful tendance; whilst the other, although
his hurts be fewer and less severe, looks as if some mortal sickness
were upon him. It may be nought but the feebleness that follows loss of
blood and hard fighting; but I left them both to the care of my wife,
who is the best tender of the sick that I have ever known. They came
under her hands last night, brought on by our mounted fellows in advance
of the rest. Today they are somewhat recovered; but I have had scarce
time to think of them. I have been occupied since dawn with these other
prisoners."
"I would fain see these youths; said you not they were but youths,
Poleyn?" said Alphonso, whose interest was aroused by the tale he had
heard. "I will go to your lodging and request admittance. Your worthy
wife will not refuse me, I trow?"
The man smiled, and said that his wife would be proud indeed to be so
visited. Alphonso, to whom the intricacies of the castle were well
known, lost no time in finding the lodging of the captain of the guard,
and quickly obtained admittance to the presence of the wounded youths,
who occupied a comfortable chamber over the gateway, and had plainly
been well looked to by the capable and kindly woman who called Poleyn
her lord and master.
The bright light of day was excluded from the sickroom, and as the
prince stood in the doorway his eyes only took in the general appearance
of two recumbent figures, one lying upon a couch beside a glowing fire
of wood, and the other extended motionless upon a bed in an attitude
that bespoke slumber, his face bandaged in such a way that in no case
would it have been recognizable.
But as Alphonso's eyes grew used to the darkness, and fixed themselves
upon the face of the other youth, who was dressed and lying on the
couch, he suddenly gave a great start, and advanced with quick steps to
his side.
"Griffeth!" he cried suddenly.
The figure on the couch gave a start, a pair of hollow eyes flashed
open, there was a quick attempt to rise, checked by the prince himself,
and Griffeth exclaimed in the utmost astonishment:
"Prince Alphonso!"
"Yes, Griffeth, it is I indeed;" and then the prince sat down on the
edge of the couch and gazed intently at the wasted features of the
youth, towards whom in days gone by he had felt such a strong attachment.
There was something of sorrow and reproach in his glance as he said gently:
"Griffeth, can it really be thou? I had not thought to have seen thee in
the ranks of our foes, fighting desperately against my father's
soldiers. Whence has come this bitter change in thy feelings? and what
is Wendot doing, who was to act as guardian toward his younger brethren?
Hast thou broken away from his controlling hand? O Griffeth, I grieve to
see thee here and in such plight."
But Griffeth's sad glance met that of the young prince unfalteringly and
without shame, although there was something in it of deep and settled
sorrow. He made a gesture as though he would have put out his hand, and
Alphonso, who saw it, grasped it warmly, generous even when he felt that
he and his father had been somewhat wronged.
"Think not that we took up arms willingly, Wendot and I," he said
faintly, yet with clearness and decision. "Ay, it is Wendot who lies
there, sore wounded, and sleeping soundly after a night of fever and
pain. We shall not disturb him, he is fast in dreamland; and if you
would listen to my tale, gentle prince, I trow you would think something
less hardly of us, who have lost our all, and have failed to win the
soldier's death that we went forth to seek, knowing that it alone could
make atonement for what must seem to your royal father an act of
treachery and breach of faith."
And then Griffeth told all his tale -- told of the wrongs inflicted on
hapless Wales in Edward's absence by the rapacious nobles he had left
behind him to preserve order, of the ever-increasing discontent amongst
the people, the wild hope, infused by David's sudden rising, of uniting
once and for all to throw off the foreign yoke and become an independent
nation again. He told of the action taken by their twin brothers, of the
pressure brought to bear upon Wendot, of the vigilant hostility of their
rapacious kinsman Res ap Meredith, son of the old foe Meredith ap Res,
now an English knight, and eager to lay his hands upon the broad lands
of Dynevor. It was made plain to the prince how desperate would have
been Wendot's condition, thus beset with foes and held responsible for
his brothers' acts. Almost against his will had he been persuaded, and
at least he had played the man in his country's hour of need, instead of
trying to steer his way by a cold neutrality, which would have ruined
him with friend and foe alike.
Griffeth told of the hardships of that campaign amongst the mountains;
of the death of Llewelyn the prince, and of his brother Howel; and of
the resolve of the gallant little band, thus bereft of their hope, to go
out and die sword in hand, and so end the miserable struggle that had
ceased to be aught but a mockery of war. It was plainly a bitter thought
even to the gentle Griffeth that they had not met the death they craved,
but had fallen alive into the hands of the foe.
Alphonso gently chid him, and comforted him with brave and kindly words;
and then he asked what had befallen his brother Llewelyn, and if he had
likewise fallen in the fight.
"Nay; he was not with us when we made that last rally. He commenced the
march with us, but his wound broke out again, and we were forced to
leave him behind. He and a handful of faithful servants from Iscennen
and Dynevor were to try and push on to the stronghold of Einon ap
Cadwalader, and ask counsel and assistance from him. In old days he and
our father were friends. Although he was one of the few who did not join
Llewelyn in this rising, he has ever been well-disposed towards his
countrymen. So we hoped our brother would find shelter and help there.
If he had tried to march with us, he must assuredly have died."
"Ha!" said Alphonso smilingly, "methinks Llewelyn will have no trouble
in gaining entrance there. Rememberest thou the Lady Arthyn, who was
with us at Rhuddlan when thou wast there before? She hath left us of
late to return to her father, whose loyalty has been proved, and whose
request for his child was listened to graciously. But we shall be seeing
them soon again, for my father betrothed Arthyn's hand to Raoul Latimer,
whom doubtless thou rememberest as a somewhat haughty and quarrelsome
lad. Time has softened down some of his rude tempers, and he has ever
been eager for the match. My father has promised her hand in troth
plight to him, and we await the coming of her and her father for the
ceremony of betrothal.
"If I remember rightly, she was always a friend to thy brother. If so,
he will find a ready welcome at her father's house, for my Lady Arthyn
always had a soft spot in her heart for those we called rebels. She was
a true daughter of Wales, albeit she loved us well, and she will like
thy brother none the less that his sword has been unsheathed against the
English usurper."
And then the prince and the rebel subject both laughed, and that laugh
did more to bring them back to their old familiar relations than all
that had gone before.
Griffeth was easily led on to tell the story of the life at Dynevor
these past years; and Alphonso better understood from his unconscious
self-betrayal than from his previous explanation how the fire of
patriotic love burned in the hearts of these brothers. He thought that
had he been one of them he would have acted even as they had done, and
there was no anger but only a pitying affection in his heart towards one
whose life was overshadowed by a cloud so like the one which hung upon
the horizon of his own sky.
For it was plain to him that Griffeth's hold on life was very slight;
that he was suffering from the same insidious disease which was sapping
away his own health and strength. He had suspected it years before, and
this supposition had made a link between them then; now he was certain
of it, and certain, too, that the end could not be very far off. The
fine constitution of the young Welshman had been undermined by the
rigours of the past winter, and there was little hope that the coming
summer would restore to him any of the fictitious strength which had
long buoyed up Wendot with the hope that his brother would yet live to
grow to man's estate.
"For myself I do not think I wish it," said Griffeth, with one of his
luminous glances at Alphonso; "life is very hard, and there seems
nothing left to live for. I know not how I could live away from the
woods and rocks of Dynevor. But there is Wendot -- my dear, kind, most
loving brother. It cuts me to the heart to think of leaving him alone.
Prince Alphonso, you are the king's son; will you pardon Wendot his
trespass, and stand his friend with your royal father? I have no right
to ask it. We have grievously offended, but he is my brother --"
A violent fit of coughing came on, and the sentence was never completed.
Alphonso raised the wasted form in his arms, and soothed the painful
paroxysm as one who knows just what will best relieve the sufferer. The
sound roused Wendot, who had been sleeping for many hours, and although
he had been brought in last night in an apparently almost dying state,
his vigorous constitution was such that even these few hours' quiet
rest, and the nourishment administered to him by the good woman who
waited on him, had infused new life into his frame, so that he had
strength to sit up in bed, and to push aside the bandage which had
fallen over his eyes, as he anxiously asked his brother what was amiss.
Then Alphonso came towards him, and, holding his hand in a friendly
clasp, told him that he had heard all the story, and that he was still
their friend, and would plead for them with his father. Wendot,
bewildered and astonished and ashamed, could scarce believe his senses,
and asked, with a proud independence which raised a smile in Alphonso's
eyes, that he might be led out to speedy death -- the death by the
headsman's axe, which was all he had now to hope for. Life had no longer
any charms for him, he said; if only his young brother might be
pardoned, he himself would gladly pay the forfeit for both.
But Alphonso, upon whose generous spirit bravery and self devotion, even
in a foe, were never thrown away, replied kindly that he would see if
peace could not be made with his offended sire, and that meantime Wendot
must get well fast, and regain his health and strength, so as to be fit
to appear before the king in person if he should be presently summoned.
But though the young prince left lighter hearts behind him in the room
where the two eagles of Dynevor were imprisoned, he found that the task
he had set himself with his father was a more difficult one than he had
anticipated. Edward was very greatly incensed by this fierce and futile
rebellion that had cost him so many hundreds of brave lives, and had
inflicted such sufferings on his loyal troops. The disaster at Menai
still rankled in his breast, and it was with a very stern brow and a
face of resolute determination that he returned to Carnarvon to look
into matters, and to settle upon the fate of the many prisoners and
vassals who had once mere placed themselves or their lands in his sole
power through the act which had rendered them forfeit.
Nor was Alphonso's task rendered less difficult from the fact that Sir
Res ap Meredith had been before him, poisoning the king's mind against
many of the Welsh nobles, and particularly against the sons of Res
Vychan, in whose possession were the province and castle of Dynevor.
Upon that fair territory he had long cast covetous eyes. He cared little
in comparison for the more barren and turbulent region of Iscennen, and
it was upon Wendot and Griffeth, but particularly upon Wendot, that the
full bitterness of his invective was poured. He had so imbued the king
with the idea that the youth was dangerous, turbulent, and treacherous
(charges that his conduct certainly seemed to bear out), that it was
small wonder if Edward, remembering his own former goodwill towards the
youth, should feel greatly incensed against him. And although he
listened to Alphonso's pleadings, and the lad told his story with much
simple eloquence and fervour, the stern lines of his brow did not relax,
and his lips set themselves into an ominous curve which the prince liked
little to see.
"Boy," he said, with an impatience that boded ill for the success of the
cause, "I verily believe wert thou in the place of king, thou wouldst
give to every rebel chief his lands again, and be not contented until
thine own throne came tottering about thine ears. Mercy must temper
justice, but if it take the place of justice it becomes mere weakness. I
trusted Wendot ap Res Vychan once, and laid no hand upon his lands. Thou
hast seen how this trust has been rewarded. To reinstate him now would
be madness. No. I have in Sir Res ap Meredith a loyal and true servant,
and his claims upon his traitorous kinsman's lands may not be
disregarded. Dynevor will pass away from Wendot. It is throwing words
away to plead with me. My mind is made up. I trust not a traitor twice."
There was something in his father's tone that warned Alphonso to press
the matter no more. He knew that when Edward thus spoke his word was
final and irrevocable; and all he ventured now to ask was, "What will
become of Wendot and his brother? You will not take their lives, sweet
sire?"
"Their lives I give to thee, my son," answered Edward, with a gesture
towards his boy which betrayed a deep love, and showed that although he
had denied him sternly he did not do so willingly. "As thou hast pleaded
for them, I will not sentence them to death; but they remain my
prisoners, and regain not their liberty. I know the turbulent race from
which they spring. Sir Res will have small peace in his new possessions
if any of the former princes of Dynevor are at large in the country.
Wendot and Griffeth remain my prisoners."
"Nay, father; let them be my prisoners, I pray," cried Alphonso, with
unwonted energy and animation. "Thou hast granted me their lives; grant
me the keeping of their persons too. Nay, think not that I will connive
at their escape. Give whatsoever charge thou wilt concerning the safety
of their persons to those who guard us in our daily life, but let me
have them as gentlemen of mine own. Call them prisoners an you will, but
let their imprisonment be light -- let me enjoy their company. Thou
knowest that Britton is fretting for a freer life, and that I see little
of him now. I have often longed for a companion to share my solitary
hours. Give me Griffeth and Wendot. They have the royal blood of Wales
flowing in their veins, and methinks they love me even as I love them.
And, father, Griffeth has not many months, methinks, to live; and I know
so well all he suffers that my heart goes out to him. He has the love of
books that I have, and we have so many thoughts which none seem to
understand save our two selves. And he and Wendot are as one. It would
be cruelty such as thou wouldst not inflict to separate them whilst one
has so short a time to live. Give me them for mine own attendants, and
bid the servants guard them as best pleaseth thee. Sweet father, I have
not asked many boons of thee. Grant me this one, I pray thee, for my
heart is verily set on it."
There was something in this appeal, something in the look upon
Alphonso's face, something in the very words he had used, that made it
impossible to his father to refuse him. Blind his eyes as he would to
the truth, he was haunted by a terrible fear that the life of his only
son was surely slipping away. Alphonso did not often speak of his
health, and the hint just dropped struck chill upon the father's heart.
Passing his hand across his face to conceal the sudden spasm of pain
that contracted it, he rose hastily from his chair, and said:
"Give thine own orders concerning these youths. I leave them in thy
hands. Make of them what it pleaseth thee. Only let them understand that
charge will be given to the custodians of the castle, and of whatever
place they visit in the future, that they are prisoners at the king's
pleasure, and that any attempt at escape will be punished with instant
and rigorous captivity."
"So be it," answered Alphonso, with brightening eyes. "I thank thee,
father, for the boon. Thou shalt never have cause to repent it."