Produced by Martin Robb
THE LORD OF DYNEVOR:
A Tale of the Times of Edward the First
by Evelyn Everett-Green.
CHAPTER I. DYNEVOR CASTLE.
"La-ha-hoo! la-ha-hoo!"
Far down the widening valley, and up the wild, picturesque ravine, rangthe strange but not unmusical call. It awoke the slumbering echoes ofthe still place, and a hundred voices seemed to take up the cry, andpass it on as from mouth to mouth. But the boy's quick ears were not tobe deceived by the mocking voices of the spirits of solitude, andpresently the call rang out again with greater clearness than before:
"La-ha-hoo!"
The boy stood with his head thrown back, his fair curls floating in themountain breeze, his blue eyes, clear and bright and keen as those of awild eaglet, fixed upon a craggy ridge on the opposite side of thegorge, whilst his left hand was placed upon the collar of a hugewolfhound who stood beside him, sniffing the wind and showing by everytremulous movement his longing to be off and away, were it not for thedetaining hand of his young master.
The lad was very simply dressed in a tunic of soft, well-dressedleather, upon the breast of which was stamped some device which mighthave been the badge of his house. His active limbs were encased in thesame strong, yielding material, and the only thing about him whichseemed to indicate rank or birth was a belt with a richly-chased goldclasp and a poniard with a jewelled hilt.
Perhaps the noble bearing of the boy was his best proof of right to thenoble name he bore. One of the last of the royal house of Dynevor, helooked every inch a prince, as he stood bare-headed in the sunlightamidst the everlasting hills of his well-loved home, too young to seethe clouds which were settling so darkly and so surely upon the brighthorizon of his life -- his dreams still of glory and triumph,culminating in the complete emancipation of his well-loved country fromthe hated English yoke.
The dog strained and whined against the detaining clasp upon his neck,but the boy held him fast.
"Nay, Gelert, we are not going a-hunting," he said. "Hark! is not thatthe sound of a horn? Are they not even now returning? Over yon fell theycome. Let me but hear their hail, and thou and I will be off to meetthem. I would they heard the news first from my lips. My mother bid mewarn them. I wot she fears what Llewelyn and Howel might say or do werethey to find English guests in our hall and they all unwarned."
Once more the boy raised his voice in the wild call which had awakenedthe echoes before, and this time his practised ear distinguished amongstthe multitudinous replies an answering shout from human lips. ReleasingGelert, who dashed forward with a bay of delight, the lad commencedspringing from rock to rock up the narrowing gorge, until he reached aspot where the dwindling stream could be crossed by a bound; from whichspot a wild path, more like a goat track than one intended for the footof man, led upwards towards the higher portions of the wild fell.
The boy sped onwards with the fleetness and agility of a bornmountaineer. The hound bounded at his side; and before either hadtraversed the path far, voices ahead of them became distinctly audible,and a little group might be seen approaching, laden with the spoils ofthe chase.
In the van of the little party were three lads, one of whom bore sostriking a resemblance to the youth who now hastened to meet them, thatthe relationship could not be for a moment doubted. As a matter of factthe four were brothers; but they followed two distinct types -- Wendotand Griffeth being fair and bright haired, whilst Llewelyn and Howel(who were twins) were dark as night, with black hair and brows, swarthyskins, and something of the wildness of aspect which often accompaniessuch traits.
Wendot, the eldest of the four, a well-grown youth of fifteen, who waswalking slightly in advance of his brothers, greeted Griffeth's approachwith a bright smile.
"Ha, lad, thou shouldst have been with us! We have had rare sport today.The good fellows behind can scarce carry the booty home. Thou must seethe noble stag that my bolt brought down. We will have his head to adornthe hall -- his antlers are worth looking at, I warrant thee. But whatbrings thee out so far from home? and why didst thou hail us as if wewere wanted?"
"You are wanted," answered Griffeth, speaking so that all the brothersmight hear his words. "The mother herself bid me go in search of you,and it is well you come home laden with meat, for we shall need to makemerry tonight. There are guests come to the castle today. Wenwynwyn wasstringing his harp even as I came away, to let them hear his skill inmusic. They are to be lodged for so long as they will stay; but themanner of their errand I know not."
"Guests!" echoed all three brothers in a breath, and very eagerly; "why,that is good hearing, for perchance we may now learn some news. Comethese strangers from the north? Perchance we shall hear somewhat of ournoble Prince Llewelyn, who is standing out so boldly for the rights ofour nation. Say they not that the English tyrant is on our borders now,summoning him to pay the homage he repudiates with scorn? Oh, I wouldthat this were a message summoning all true Welshmen to take up arms inhis quarrel! Would not I fly to his standard, boy though I be! And wouldI not shed the last drop of my blood in the glorious cause of liberty!"
Llewelyn was the speaker, and his black eyes were glowing fiercely undertheir straight bushy brows. His face was the least boyish of any of thefour, and his supple, sinewy frame had much of the strength of manhoodin it. The free, open-air life that all these lads had lived, and thetraining they had received in all martial and hardy exercises, had giventhem strength and height beyond their years. It was no idle boast on thepart of Llewelyn to speak of his readiness to fight. He would havemarched against the foe with the stoutest of his father's men-at-arms,and doubtless have acquitted himself as well as any; for what the ladslacked in strength they made up in their marvellous quickness and agility.
The love of fighting seemed born in all these hardy sons of Wales, andsomething of warfare was known to them even now, from the never-endingstruggles between themselves, and their resistance of the authority,real or assumed, of the Lords of the Marches. But petty forays andprivate feuds with hostile kinsmen was not the kind of fighting thesebrothers longed to see and share. They had their own ideas andaspirations, and eager glances were turned upon Griffeth, lest he mightbe the bearer of some glorious piece of news that would mean openwarfare with England.
But the boy's face was unresponsive and even a little downcast. He gavea quick glance into the fierce, glowing face of Llewelyn, and then hiseyes turned upon Wendot.
"There is no news like that," he said slowly. "The guests who have cometo Dynevor are English themselves."
"English!" echoed Llewelyn fiercely, and he turned away with a smotheredword which sounded like an imprecation upon all the race of foreigners;whilst Howel asked with quick indignation:
"What right have English guests at Dynevor? Why were they received? Whydid not our good fellows fall upon them with the sword or drive themback the way they came? Oh, if we had but been there --"
"Tush, brother!" said young Griffeth quickly; "is not our father lord ofDynevor? Dost think that thou canst usurp his authority? And when didever bold Welshmen fall upon unarmed strangers to smite with the sword?Do we make war upon harmless travellers -- women and children? Fie uponthee! it were a base thought. Let not our parents hear thee speak suchwords."
Howel looked a little discomfited by his younger brother's rebuke,though he read nothing but sympathy and mute approbation in Llewelyn'ssullen face and gloomy eyes. He dropped a pace or so behind and joinedhis twin, whilst Wendot and Griffeth led the way in front.
"Who are these folks?" asked Wendot; "and whence come they? And w
hy havethey thus presented themselves unarmed at Dynevor? Is it an errand ofpeace? And why speakest thou of women and children?"
"Why, brother, because the traveller has his little daughter with him,and her woman is in their train of servants. I know not what has broughtthem hither, but I gather they have lost their road, and lighted bychance on Dynevor. Methinks they are on a visit to the Abbey of StrataFlorida; but at least they come as simple, unarmed strangers, and it isthe boast of Wales that even unarmed foes may travel through the breadthand length of the land and meet no harm from its sons. For my part Iwould have it always so. I would not wage war on all alike. Doubtlessthere are those, even amongst the English, who are men of bravery andhonour."
"I doubt it not," answered Wendot, with a gravity rather beyond hisyears. "If all our mother teaches us be true, we Welshmen have beenworse enemies to one another than ever the English have been. I wouldnot let Llewelyn or Howel hear me say so, and I would fain believe itnot. But when we see how this fair land has been torn and rent by thestruggles after land and power, and how our own kinsman, Meredith apRes, is toying with Edward, and striving to take from us the lands wehold yet -- so greatly diminished from the old portion claimed by thelords of Dynevor -- we cannot call the English our only or even ourgreatest foes. Ah, if Wales would but throw aside all her petty feuds,and join as brothers fighting shoulder to shoulder for her independence,then might there be some hope! But now --"
Griffeth was looking with wide-open, wondering eyes into his brother'sface. He loved and reverenced Wendot in a fashion that was remarkable,seeing that the elder brother was but two years and a half his senior.But Wendot had always been grave and thoughtful beyond his years, andhad been taken much into the counsels of his parents, so that questionswhich were almost new to the younger lad had been thought much of by theeldest, the heir of the house of Dynevor.
"Why, brother, thou talkest like a veritable monk for learning," hesaid. "I knew not thou hadst the gift of such eloquent speech. Methoughtit was the duty of every free-born son of Wales to hate the English tyrant."
"Ay, and so I do when I think of his monstrous claims," cried Wendotwith flashing eyes. "Who is the King of England that he should lay claimto our lands, our homage, our submission? My blood boils in my veinswhen I think of things thus. And yet there are moments when it seems thelesser ill to yield such homage to one whom the world praises asstatesman and soldier, than to see our land torn and distracted by pettyfeuds, and split up into a hundred hostile factions. But let us not talkfurther of this; it cuts me to the heart to think of it. Tell me more ofthese same travellers. How did our parents receive them? And how longpurpose they to stay?"
"Nay, that I have not heard. I was away over yon fell with Gelert when Isaw the company approach the castle, and ere I could find entrance thestrangers had been received and welcomed. The father of the maiden is anEnglish earl, Lord Montacute they call him. He is tall and soldier-like,with an air of command like unto our father's. The damsel is afair-faced maiden, who scarce opens her lips; but she keeps close to ourmother's side, and seems loath to leave her for a moment. I heard herfather say that she had no mother of her own. Her name, they say, isLady Gertrude."
"A damsel at Dynevor," said Wendot, with a smile; "methinks that willplease the mother well."
"Come and see," cried Griffeth eagerly. "Let us hasten down to thecastle together."
It was easy work for the brothers to traverse the rocky pathway.Dangerous as the descent looked to others, they were as surefooted asyoung chamois, and sprang from rock to rock with the utmost confidence.The long summer sunlight came streaming up the valley in level rays ofshimmering gold, bathing the loftier crags in lambent fire, and fillingthe lower lands with layers of soft shadow flecked here and there withgold. A sudden turn in the narrow gorge, through which ran a brawlingtributary of the wider Towy, brought the brothers full in sight of theirancestral home, and for a few seconds they paused breathless, gazingwith an unspeakable and ardent love upon the fair scene before them.
The castle of Dynevor (or Dinas Vawr = Great Palace) stood in acommanding position upon a rocky plateau overlooking the river Towy.From its size and splendour -- as splendour went in those days -- it hadlong been a favourite residence with the princes of South Wales; and ina recent readjustment of disputed lands, consequent upon the perpetualpetty strife that was ruining the land, Res Vychan, the present Lord ofDynevor, had made some considerable sacrifice in order to keep in hisown hands the fair palace of his fathers.
The majestic pile stood out boldly from the mountain side, and wasapproached by a winding road from the valley. A mere glance showed howstrong was the position it occupied, and how difficult such a placewould be to capture. On two sides the rock fell away almost sheer fromthe castle walls, whilst on the other two a deep moat had been dug,which was fed by small mountain rivulets that never ran dry; and theentrance was commanded by a drawbridge, whose frowning portcullis waskept by a grim warder looking fully equal to the office allotted to him.
Lovely views were commanded from the narrow windows of the castle, andfrom the battlements and the terraced walk that ran along two sides ofthe building. And rough and rude as were the manners and customs of theperiod, and partially uncivilized as the country was in those far-offdays, there was a strong vein of poetry lying latent in its sons anddaughters, and an ardent love for the beautiful in nature and for thecountry they called their own, which went far to redeem their naturesfrom mere savagery and brute ferocity.
This passionate love for their home was strong in all the brothers ofthe house of Dynevor, and was deepened and intensified by the sense ofuncertainty now pervading the whole country with regard to foreignaggression and the ever-increasing claims upon Welsh lands by theEnglish invaders. A sense as of coming doom hung over the fairlandscape, and Wendot's eyes grew dreamy as he stood gazing on thefamiliar scene, and Griffeth had to touch his arm and hurry him down tothe castle.
"Mother will be wanting us," he said. "What is the matter, Wendot?Methinks I see the tears in thine eyes."
"Nay, nay; tears are for women," answered Wendot with glowing cheeks, ashe dashed his hand across his eyes. "It is for us men to fight for ourrightful inheritance, that the women may not have to weep for theirdesolated homes."
Griffeth gave him a quick look, and then his eyes travelled lovinglyover the wide, fair scene, to the purple shadows and curling mists ofthe valley, the dark mysterious woods in front, the clear, vividsunlight on the mountain tops, and the serried battlements of thecastle, now rising into larger proportions as the boys dropped down thehillside towards the postern door, which led out upon the wild fell.There was something of mute wistfulness in his own gaze as he did so.
"Brother," he said thoughtfully, "I think I know what those feelings arewhich bring tears to the eyes of men -- tears of which they need feel noshame. Fear not to share with me all thy inmost thoughts. Have we notever been brothers in all things?"
"Ay, truly have we; and I would keep nothing back, only I scarce knowhow to frame my lips to give utterance to the thoughts which comecrowding into my brain. But see, we have no time for communing now. Goon up the path to the postern; it is too narrow for company."
Indeed, so narrow was the track, so steep the uncertain steps worn inthe face of the rock, so deep the fall if one false step were made, thatfew save the brothers and wilder mountaineers ever sought admission bythe postern door. But Wendot and Griffeth had no fears, and quicklyscaled the steps and reached the entrance, passing through which theyfound themselves in a narrow vaulted passage, very dark, which led, withmany twists and turns, and several ascending stairs, to the great hallof the castle, where the members of the household were accustomed forthe most part to assemble.
A door deeply set in an embrasure gave access to this place, and themoment it was opened the sound of a harp became audible, and thebrothers paused in the deep shadow to observe what was going on in thehall before they advanced further.
A scene that would be strange and
picturesque to our eyes, but was inthe main familiar to theirs, greeted them as they stood thus. The castlehall was a huge place, large enough to contain a muster of armed men. Agreat stone staircase wound upwards from it to a gallery above. Therewas little furniture to be seen, and that was of a rude kind, though notlacking in a certain massiveness and richness in the matter of carving,which gave something baronial to the air of the place. The walls wereadorned with trophies of all sorts, some composed of arms, others of thespoil of fell and forest. The skins of many savage beasts lay upon thecold stone flooring of the place, imparting warmth and harmony by therich tints of the furs. Light was admitted through a row of narrowwindows both above and below; but the vast place would have been dim anddark at this hour had it not been that the huge double doors with theirrude massive bolts stood wide open to the summer air, and the last beamsof the westering sun came shining in, lying level and warm upon thegroup at the upper end of the hall, which had gathered around thewhite-haired, white-bearded bard, who, with head thrown backwards, andeyes alight with strange passions and feelings, was singing in a deepand musical voice to the sound of his instrument.
Old Wenwynwyn was a study in himself; his flowing hair, his fiery eyes,his picturesque garb and free, untrammelled gestures giving him a weirdindividuality of his own. But it was not upon him that the eyes of thebrothers dwelt, nor even upon the soldier-like figure of their stalwartfather leaning against the wall with folded arms, and eyes shining withthe patriotic fervour of his race. The attention of the lads wasenchained by another and more sumptuous figure --that of a fine-lookingman, approaching to middle life, who was seated at a little distancefrom the minstrel, and was smiling with pleasure and appreciation at thewild sweetness of the stream of melody poured forth.
One glance at the dress of the stranger would have been enough to tellthe brothers his nationality. His under tunic, which reached almost tothe feet, was of the finest cloth, and was embroidered along the lowerborder with gold thread. The sur-tunic was also richly embroidered; andthe heavy mantle clasped upon the shoulder with a rare jewel was of somerich texture almost unknown to the boys. The make and set of hisgarments, and the jewelled and plumed cap which he held upon his knee,alike proclaimed him to be English; yet as he gazed upon the noble face,and looked into the clear depths of the calm and fearless eyes, Wendotfelt no hostility towards the representative of the hostile race, butrather a sort of reluctant admiration.
"In faith he looks born to command," he whispered to Griffeth. "If allwere like unto him --"
But the lad did not complete the sentence, for he had suddenly caughtsight of another figure, another face, and he stopped short in a sort ofbewildered amaze.
In Dynevor Castle there had never been a girl child to share the honourswith her brothers. No sister had played in its halls, or tyrannized overthe lads or their parents. And now when Wendot's glance fell for thefirst time upon this little fairy-like creature, this lovely littlegolden-haired, blue-eyed maiden, he felt a new sensation enter his life,and gazed as wonderingly at the apparition as if the child had been a ghost.
And the soft shy eyes, with their fringe of dark lashes, were lookingstraight at him. As he gazed the child suddenly rose, and darted towardsthe brothers as if she had wings on her feet.
"Oh, you have come back!" she said, looking from one to the other, andfor a moment seeming puzzled by the likeness; "and -- why, there are twoof you," and the child broke into the merriest and silveriest of laughs."Oh, I am so glad! I do like boys so much, and I never have any to playwith at home. I am so tired of this old man and his harp. Please let mego somewhere with you," and she thrust her soft little hand confidinglyinto Wendot's, looking up saucily into his face as she added, "You arethe biggest; I like you the best."
Wendot's face glowed; but on the whole he was flattered by the attentionand the preference of the little maiden. He understood her soft Englishspeech perfectly, for all the Dynevor brothers had been instructed inthe English tongue by an English monk who had long lived at the castle.Res Vychan, the present Lord of Dynevor, foresaw, and had foreseen manyyears, the gradual usurpation of the English, and had considered that aknowledge of that tongue would in all probability be an advantage tothose who were likely to be involved in the coming struggle. The boysall possessed the quick musical ear of their race, and found nodifficulty in mastering the language; but neither Llewelyn nor Howelwould ever speak a single word of the hated tongue if they could helpit, though Wendot and Griffeth conversed often with the old monk rightwillingly.
So as Wendot looked down into the bright little upturned face, he wasable to reply readily and smilingly:
"Where would you like to go, little lady, and what would you like me toshow you?"
"Oh, everything -- all out there," said the little girl, with a wave ofher hand towards the front door. "I want to go and see the sun. I amtired of it in here."
Wendot led the child through the hall, and out upon the great terracewhich overlooked the steep descent to the valley and away to the glowingwest. Griffeth followed, glad that his elder brother had been preferredbefore himself by the little maiden, yet half fascinated by her namelesscharm. Wendot lifted her up in his strong arms to see over the widestone balustrade, and she made him set her down there and perch himselfby her side; for she seemed loath to go back to the hall again, and theboys were as willing as she to remain out in the open air.
"It is pretty here," said the child graciously; "I think I should liketo live here sometimes, if it was always summer. Tell me your name, bigboy. I hope it is not very hard. Some people here have names I cannotspeak right."
"They call me Res Wendot," answered the lad; "generally Wendot at homehere. This is Griffeth, my youngest brother. Those are not hard names,are they?"
"No, not very. And how old are you, Wendot?"
"I am fifteen."
"Oh, how big you are!" said the little lady, opening her eyes wide; "Ithought you must be much older than that. I am twelve, and you can liftme up in your arms. But then I always was so little -- they all say so."
"Yet you travel about with your father," said Wendot.
"I never did before; but this time I begged, and he took me. Sometimeshe says he shall have to put me in a nunnery, because he has nobody totake care of me when he has to travel about. But I don't think I shouldlike that; I would rather stay here."
Wendot and Griffeth laughed; but the child was not at all disconcerted.She was remarkably self possessed for her years, even if she was smallof stature and infantile in appearance.
"What is your name?" asked Wendot; and the little maid answered, withbecoming gravity and importance:
"I am called Lady Gertrude Cherleton; but you may call me Gertrude ifyou like, because you are kind and I like you. Are there any more ofyou? Have you any sisters?"
"No; only two brothers."
"More brothers! and what are their names?"
"Llewelyn and Howel."
"Llewelyn? Why, that is the name of the Prince of North Wales that theking is going to fight against and conquer. Do you think when he hasdone so that he will come here and conquer you, too?"
Wendot's cheek burned a sudden red; but he made no reply, for at thatmoment a head suddenly appeared round an angle of the wall, and a heavygrip was laid upon the shoulder of the child. A wild face and a pair offlashing black eyes were brought into close proximity with hers, and asmothered voice spoke in fierce, low accents.
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