SANCTUARY
Rogier was pacing up and down in the house of which he had taken
possession. On the table lay, heaped in bags of woven grass, the fine
that had been imposed on the tribe. All had been paid. The elders had
endeavored hard to induce him to accept two-thirds from them and to levy
the remainder on Cadell; but he bade them squeeze their Archpriest--he
was not going to trouble himself to do that--and the rest of the silver
was produced. The men hoped to be able to recoup themselves later by
deducting this third from their payments to the pastor thrust upon them.
As Pabo had been secured, Rogier had released those who were detained in
the court-house; they had returned to their homes.
It was anticipated that now the Norman would withdraw along with his
men; he had no further excuse for remaining. But he gave not the
smallest token of an intention to remove.
Cadell had entered. He also wished to know how long the foreigners would
tarry in the place. So long as they were there it would be impossible
for him to come to friendly terms with his flock. Yet, though he desired
that the bulk of the men-at-arms, along with their captain, should
withdraw, he did not by any means desire to be left completely alone in
the midst of a population that regarded him with a malevolent eye, were
unwilling to receive his ministrations, acknowledge his authority, and
even show him ordinary civility.
He had accordingly entered the house in the hopes of arranging with the
bishop's brother terms whereby he might have two or four men left in
Caio to support him in emergencies without being ostensibly his
servants.
A plea might easily be found in the refractory humor of the people for a
small guard to be left till they proved more complaisant.
Near the door, against the wall, Morwen was seated, pale but resolved,
with her hands folded.
"You seem to be in a vast impatience to see my back," said Rogier, "but
let me tell you, Master Chaplain, I like this place. It lyeth well to
the sun, the soil is fertile and amply watered. It is suitably timbered,
and methinks there is building-stone here that might serve to construct
a stronghold. I have looked about me and fancied Pen-y-ddinas. It crieth
out for a castle to stand upon it--dominating, as it doth, the whole
valley."
"A castle for the bishop?"
"Oh! save your presence and clergy. It is well for one to feather one's
own nest first. As to the Church, hers is downy enough without needing
to pluck more geese to make her easier."
"Then for whom?"
"For myself, of course. This is a fair district; it is girded about with
mountains; it has been occupied for centuries by a thrifty people who
have hoarded their silver. Methinks I could soon contrive to make of it
a barony of Caio for myself."
"But," said Cadell, aghast, "these be Church lands. You would not rob
the Church?"
"By no means are they Church lands. This is tribal land, and it so
chances that the head of the tribe has been for some time--how long I
know not--an ecclesiastic. But that is an accident."
"It is the sanctuary of David."
"But not the property of the see of David. It is the sanctuary of
Cynwyl, I take it; and it has so fallen out that the inheritor of the
chieftainship has been for some years--it may be centuries--in priestly
orders. But as to belonging to the see, that it never did. Now I take
it, there shall be a separation of powers, and I will assume the secular
rule, and constitute myself Baron of Caio--and thou, if it please thee,
shalt be Archpriest, and exercise ecclesiastical authority. It will be
best so--then I and my bull-dogs will be ever hard by to help thee in
thy difficulties."
"The bishop will never agree to this."
"He must. Am I going to fight his battles and not be paid for it, and
fix my price?"
"Does he know of thy purpose?"
"I care not whether he do or not. I shall take my course, and he cannot
oppose me, because he dare not. By the soul of the Conqueror, Sir
Chaplain, these fat farmers ooze with money. I have but given them a
little squeeze, and they have run out silver--it is yonder, dost mark
it? Hast thou seen cider made? They make it in my country. The apples
are chopped up and cast into a broad, stone-grooved trough, and a lever
is brought to bear, laden with immense weights, to crush them. You
should see, man, how the juice runs out, and you would say that there
was never another drop of liquor in them. Then the lever is raised, and
the weight shifted; next with a knife the apple-cheese is pared all
round and the parings are cast up in the middle. Again the lever is
worked, and out flows as much as at first, till again it appears that
all is drained away. And this process is renewed to five times, and
every time out pours the generous and sweet must. It is not with apples
as with grapes. These latter once well pressed yield all--apples must be
pressed to six and even seven times. My Cadell--these peasants are juicy
apples. If I send this first squeeze to my brother, I reserve the after
outgushes for mine own drinking."
Cadell looked down disconcerted. He knew very well that Rogier's scheme
would mean the shrinkage to but little of his power and profits.
"You do not understand this people," said he, after some consideration.
"You will drive them to desperation with your rough treatment. They are
a kindly and a gentle folk that are easily led, but ill driven."
"Well, now," said Rogier, and laughed. He halted, leaned against the
table, and folded his arms; "it is so; but I have a scheme such as will
reconcile the tribe of Cynwyl to my rule. And thou art come here
suitably at this moment to assist me in carrying it out."
"What wouldest thou?" asked Cadell sulkily.
"It is even this," answered Rogier, and again he laughed. "Dost see? I
have been courting a pretty wench. But it is bad wooing when I cannot
speak a word of Welsh and she as little of French. Now, Sir Priest, be
my go-between, and say sweet and tender words to her from me, and bring
me back her replies of the same savor."
"I cannot! I will not!" exclaimed the chaplain indignantly.
"I ask of thee nothing dishonest," said Rogier; "far otherwise. I have a
fancy to make the pretty Morwen my wife--and Baroness Caio. Tell her
that--all in good sooth and my purpose honorable, the Church shall be
called to bless us."
"She is another man's wife!"
"Nay, nay, a priest's leman--that is all. And if that stick in thy
throat, be conscience-smoothed. By this time Pabo is no more. I know my
brother's temper. He is a man who never forgives; and the loss of a pair
of teeth is not that he will pass over."
"But he does not hold that this man you have sent him is Pabo."
"Pshaw! he knows better. Whether he be Pabo, or whether he be not,
Bernard will never suffer him to live a week after he has him between
his two palms. Therefore, seeing Morwen is a widow, and free, now, all
is plain, my intent is good. If I marry her--who has been the wife of
the chieftain of the tribe, I enter upon all his rights so far as they
are secular; those that be ecclesiastical I leave to thee."
"Not so," said Cadell sharply. "She is no heiress. She is not of the
blood."
"Oh! she shall be so esteemed. Scripture is with me--man and wife be no
more twain but one flesh, so that she enters into all his rights, and I
take them over along with her. It will smooth the transfer. The people
will like it, or will gulp down what is forced on them, and pretend to
be content."
"This is preposterous--the heir to the tribal rights is Goronwy, the
cousin of Pabo."
"That cripple? The people would not have him before to rule over them.
They will not now. Let them look on him and then on me; there can be but
one decision. If there be a doubt, I shall contrive to get the weasel
out of the way. And, moreover," said Rogier, who chuckled over his
scheme, "all here are akin--that is why there was such a to-do about the
seven degrees. It hit them all. I warrant ye, when gone into, it will be
found that she has in her the blood of----. What is the name?"
"Cunedda."
"Aye, of that outlandish old forefather. If not, I can make it so. There
is a man here--Meredith they call him--a bard and genealogist. I have a
pair of thumb-screws, and I can spoil his harping forever unless he
discover that the pretty wench whom I design for myself, to be my
Baroness Caio, be lineally descended from--I cannot mind the name--and
be, after Goronwy, the legitimate heir to all the tribal rights. Cadell,
you can make a man say and swear to anything with the persuasion of
thumb-screws. A rare institution."
The chaplain said nothing to this. It was a proposition that did not
admit of dispute.
A good many of the Norman barons had taken the Welsh heiresses to them
as a means of disarming the opposition they encountered, perhaps feeling
a twinge of compunction at their methods of appropriation of lands by
the sword. Gerald of Windsor, as we have seen, was married to a
princess of the royal race of Dyfed, though not, indeed, an heiress. A
knight occupying a subordinate position, if he chanced to secure as wife
the heiress of some Welsh chief, at once claimed all her lands and
rights, and sprang at once into the position of a great baron.
"Come, sweetheart!" exclaimed Rogier boisterously, and went up to Morwen
and caught her by the chin. "Look me in the face and say 'Aye!' and I
will put a coronet of pearls on thy black hair."
She shrank from him--not indeed, understanding his words, but
comprehending that she was treated with disrespect.
"Speak to her, you fool!" said Rogier angrily. "She must be told what I
purpose. If not by you then by Pont l'Espec, whom I will call in. But by
the Conqueror's paunch, I do not care to do my wooing through the mouth
of a common serving-man."
Cadell stood up from the seat into which he had lowered himself and
approached Morwen.
"Hark y'!" said the Norman; "no advice of thine own. I can see thou
likest not my design. Say my words, give my message, and bear me back
her reply--and thrust in naught of thy mind, and thy suasion."
"What, then, shall I say?"
"Tell her that I am not one to act with violence unless thwarted, and in
this particular thwarted I will not be. Tell her that I desire that she
shall be my wife; and say that I will make myself baron over this
district of Caio--King Henry will deny me nothing I wot--and she shall
rule and reign the rest of her days by a soldier's side, instead of by
that of a cassocked clerk."
Cadell translated the offer.
Morwen's large deep eyes were fixed on him intently as he spoke, and her
lips trembled.
"I must give an answer," said the priest.
Then Morwen rose and replied: "He will surely give me time to consider."
"Aye, aye, till to-morrow," said Rogier when her words were translated
to him.
Thereupon Morwen bowed and left the house.
Rogier took a step towards the door, but Cadell stayed him. "Give her
till to-morrow to be alone."
"Well," said he, "to-morrow shall settle it."
Cadell left, and instead of seeking his lodging he went into the church.
There, to his surprise, he saw a woman--it was Morwen, clinging to the
wicker-work screen.
"It is sanctuary! It is sanctuary!" she cried, as she saw him. "They
shall not tear me hence."
"Nay," said Cadell; "that they dare not. I will maintain thy right to
sanctuary. It is well. To Cynwyl thou hast appealed. Cynwyl shall
protect thee."