CHAPTER XI. THE KING'S CLEMENCY.
"Unhand me, sir. How dare you thus insult me? Let go my hand, or Isummon help instantly. I am come to seek the king. Will you raise atumult within hearing of his private apartments? Unhand me, I say," andArthyn's cheeks flamed dangerously, whilst her eyes flashed fire.
But Raoul Latimer, though a craven before the face of an armed foe,could be resolute enough when he had only an unprotected woman to dealwith, and was quite disposed to show his valour by pressing hisunwelcome salutations upon the cheek of the girl he regarded as hisfuture wife. His surprise at encountering Arthyn, whom he believed faraway in her father's castle, hastening alone down one of the longcorridors of Carnarvon Castle, had been very great. He could not imaginewhat had thus brought her, and was eager to claim from her the greetinghe felt was his due.
But Arthyn had never lacked for spirit, and had always confessedlyabhorred Raoul, nor had absence seemed to make the heart grow fonder, atleast in her case. She repulsed him with such hearty goodwill that hiscowardly fury was aroused, and had not the girl cried aloud in her angerand fear, he might have done her some mischief. But even as she liftedher voice a door in the corridor was flung open, and the king himselfstrode forth, not, as it chanced, in response to the call, which had notreached his ears, but upon an errand of his own. Now when he saw that atthe doors of his own private apartments one of his own gentlemen haddared to lay rude hands upon a woman, his kingly wrath was stirred, andone blow from his strong arm sent Raoul reeling across the corridor tillthe wall stopped his farther progress.
"How now, malapert boy?" cried Edward in deep displeasure. "Is it thusyou disgrace your manhood by falling upon the defenceless, and bybrawling even within hearing of your sovereign? You are not so wondrousvaliant in battle, Raoul Latimer, that you can afford to blast the smallreputation you have.
"Sweet lady, be not afraid; thy king will protect thee from farther insult.
"Ha, Arthyn, is it thou, my child? Nay, kneel not in such humblysuppliant fashion; rise and kiss me, little one, for thou art only lessdear to me than mine own children. Come hither, maiden, and speak to me.What has brought thee here alone and unannounced? And what has raisedthis storm betwixt ye twain?"
"Sire -- my king -- hear me," cried Arthyn in a choked voice; "and bidthat wicked youth, whom I have ever hated, leave us. Let me speak to youalone and in private. It is to you, gracious lord, that I have come.Grant me, I pray you, the boon of but a few words alone and in private.I have somewhat to tell your grace -- your royal pardon to ask."
"Pardon? tush, maiden! thou canst not have offended greatly. But comehither; what thou hast to say thou shalt say before the queen andEleanor. They have ever been as mother and sister to thee. Thou hast nosecrets for me which they may not hear?"
"Ah no; I would gladly speak all before them," answered Arthyn eagerly,knowing that in the gentle Eleanor of Castile and her daughter she wouldfind the most sympathizing of friends.
Intensely patriotic as the girl had ever been, loving her country aboveall else, and throwing heart and soul into that country's cause, she hadyet learned a deep love and reverence for the family of the Englishking, amongst whom so many years of her young life had been spent. Shewas able to do full justice to the kindly and domestic side of thesoldier king's nature, and, whilst she regarded him as a foe to Wales,looked upon him personally as a friend and protector.
Edward's gentleness and affection in his private life equalled hisstern, unbending policy in matters of state. It was very tenderly andkindly that he led the girl to the private apartments of the queen; andwhen once Arthyn found herself face to face with one who had given toher more of mother love than any other being in the world, she flungherself into the arms opened to receive her, and out came the wholestory which had brought her on this secret mission to Carnarvon.
"Sweet lady, O most gracious madam, listen and plead for me with theking. He is kind and good, and he knows what true love is. Lady, it isas a wedded wife I come to you, craving pardon for what I have done. ButI ever hated that wicked Raoul Latimer, my country's foe, and would havedied rather than plight my troth to him. And when he came to us -- he,my love, my life, he whom I loved long years ago when we met as boy andgirl, and whom I have never forgotten -- what could I do? How could Iresist?
"And my father approved. He gave my hand in wedlock. And now I am cometo pray your pardon for myself and for him whom I love. Oh, do not turna deaf ear to me! As you have loved when you were young, pardon thosewho have done likewise."
King and queen exchanged glances, half of amusement, half ofastonishment, but there was no anger in either face. Raoul was nofavourite in the royal circle, and his visible cowardice in the recentcampaign had brought him into open disfavour with the lion-heartedEdward. He loved Arthyn dearly, and this proof of her independence ofspirit, together with her artless confidence in his kindliness of heart,pleased him not a little. He had been forced during these past days toact a stern part towards many of the Welsh nobles who had been broughtbefore him. He was glad enough, this thankless task accomplished, toallow the softer and more kindly side of his nature to assert itself.And perhaps the sympathetic glances of his son Alphonso, who had justentered the room, helped to settle his resolve that Arthyn at leastshould receive full and free forgiveness.
Eleanor had drawn her former playmate towards her, and was eagerlyquestioning her as to the name of him to whom her heart and hand werenow given, and the answer sent a thrill of surprise through the wholecompany.
"It is one whom you all know, sweet Eleanor -- Llewelyn, the son of ResVychan, Lord of Dynevor. Thou knowest, Eleanor, how he came amongst usat Rhuddlan years agone now, and perchance thou sawest even then how weloved one another, albeit it was but the love of children. But we neverhave forgotten, and when he came to my father's castle, wounded andweary and despairing after the disaster which robbed Wales of her lastnative prince, what could we do but receive and tend him? It was thus itcame about, and love did the rest."
"And so thou hast wed a rebel, maiden?" quoth Edward, in tones thatseemed to be stern by effort rather than by the will of the speaker,whilst the kindly light in the eyes belied his assumed harshness; "andhaving done so thou hast the hardihood to come and tell us of it thineown self. Fie upon thee for a saucy wench! What better dost thou expectfor thyself and thy lord than a lodging in the lowest dungeon of the keep?"
"I know that we ought to expect nothing better," answered Arthyn, withher brightest smile, as she turned fearlessly upon the king. "But do asyou will with us, noble king, and we will not rebel or complain, so thatwe may be together. And my dear lord bid me give you this. He took itwith his own hands from the dead hand of Llewelyn, Prince of Wales, andhe charged me to place it in your hands as a pledge and token that yourenemy ceased to live. Report has told him that men say Llewelyn escapedthat day, and that he yet lives to rise against you again. By thissignet you may know that he lies dead and cold, and that with him hasperished the last hope of Wales ever to be ruled by a prince of her own."
Edward put forth his hand eagerly, and examined the signet ring, whichwas one he himself had given to Llewelyn on the occasion of his lastsubmission. And as he looked upon it a great weight seemed to be rolledfrom off him, for it was the first decided intimation he had had thathis foe was actually slain. Rumour had been rife with reports of hisescape, and although there had not been lacking testimony to the effectthat the prince had fallen in battle, the fact had never been adequatelyestablished. A few quick questions to Arthyn appeared to establish thisbeyond all doubt, and in the expansion of the moment Edward was readynot only to forgive the bearer of such welcome tidings, but to forgetthat he had ever been an offender. One of the sons of Res Vychan hadpaid the price of his breach of faith with his life; two more wereprisoners at his royal pleasure. Surely the family had suffered enoughwithout harsher vengeance being taken. Surely he might give to Arthynthe liberty and possibly even the lands of her lord in return for thewelcome intelligence she had broug
ht.
Alphonso, ever on the side of mercy, joined with the queen and Eleanorin persuading the king to forgive and forget, and Arthyn was sent homethe day following laden with presents and good wishes, bearing a fullpardon to her lord from the English king, as well as a half promise thatwhen the country became somewhat more settled he might make request forhis commot of Iscennen with reasonable chance of being heard.
Wendot and Griffeth both saw their new sister before her return, andcharged her with all sorts of friendly messages for Llewelyn. If Wendotthought it hard that the brother who had always been England's bitterestfoe should be pardoned and rewarded, whilst he himself should be left topine in captivity, at least he made no sign, and never let a word ofbitterness pass his lips. Indeed he was too ill greatly to troublehimself over his own condition or the future that lay before him. Feverand ague had supervened upon the wounds he had received, and whilstGriffeth was rapidly recovering such measure of health and strength ashe ever could boast, Wendot lay helpless and feeble, scarce able to lifthis head from the pillow, and only just equal to the task of speaking toArthyn and comprehending the good news with which she came charged.
The brothers had now been removed to better apartments, near to thoseoccupied by the prince, whose servants they nominally were. Griffeth hadbegun to enter upon some of his duties towards his royal patron, and thefriendship begun in boyhood was rapidly ripening to an intimacy whichsurprised them both. Such perfect mutual understanding and sympathy wasrare and precious; and Griffeth did not even look back with longing tothe old life, so entirely had his heart gone out to the youthful prince,whose days on earth, like his own, were plainly numbered.
Lady Gertrude Cherleton was still an inmate of the royal household. Shewas now a ward of Edward's, her father having died a year or twopreviously. She was not considered a minor any longer, having attainedthe age of eighteen some time before, and the management of her estateswas left partially to her. But she remained by choice the companion ofEleanor and Joanna, and would probably continue to do so until shemarried. It was a source of wonder to the court why she did not makechoice of a husband amongst the many suitors for her hand; but she hadhitherto turned a deaf ear to the pleadings of all. Sir GodfreyChalloner had long been sighing at her feet, but she would have none ofhim, and appeared to be proof against all the shafts of the blind god oflove.
But her intense excitement when she heard of the arrival at Carnarvon ofthe two brothers from Dynevor told its own tale to the Princess Joanna,who had ever been the girl's confidante in this matter, and who hadknown from childhood how Gertrude had always believed herself pledged.It was a charming secret for them to cherish between them; and now thatWendot was once more beneath the castle roof, the impulsive Joanna wouldlaunch out into extravagant pictures of future happiness and prosperity.Her ardent temperament, having no personal romance to feed upon -- forthough her hand had once been plighted, her future lord had been drownedthe previous year in a boating accident, and she was again free --delighted to throw itself into the concerns of her friend, and the senseof power which had been so early implanted within her made her confidentof being able to overcome obstacles and attain the object of her wishes,be the difficulties and dangers in their path never so great.
"You shall be united, Gertrude, an he loves thee," cried the generousJoanna, flinging her arms round the neck of her companion, and kissingher again and again. "His life, his liberty, shall be obtained, and thouand he shall be happy together. I have said it, and I will do it."
Whatever was known to Joanna was known to Alphonso, who shared all herfeelings, and was most tenderly beloved by her. He was as ardent in thecause as his sister could be; but he saw more of the difficulties thatbeset their path, and knew better his father's iron temperament, and howdeeply Wendot had offended. Doubtless much was due to themisrepresentations of Sir Res ap Meredith, who had now secured forhimself the coveted lands of Dynevor; but whatever the cause, the eldestson of the house of Dynevor was the object of the king's severedispleasure, and it was not likely he would relax his vigilance ordepart from his word, not even for the prayers of his children or thetears of his favourite Gertrude. He had pardoned Llewelyn at theinstance of Arthyn; if the same game were to be played over again byanother of his daughters' companions, he would not unnaturally believethat he was being cajoled and trifled with.
"If it were only Griffeth it would be easy," said Alphonso thoughtfully."But Wendot --"
And there he stopped and shook his head.
It was some days before the king saw the new attendant of his sons; butcoming into Alphonso's private apartment one day suddenly, he foundseveral of the royal children gathered there, and with them afair-haired youth, who was reading to the prince out of an illuminatedmissal. Alphonso was lying on a couch, and his look of fragile weaknessstruck cold to the father's heart. Of late the lad's strength had beenfailing rapidly, but Edward had tried to blind his eyes to the truth.Now he took a hasty step towards the couch, and Griffeth rose quicklyfrom his seat and bent the knee before the king.
"Ha, Wendot," said Edward, with a grave but not unkindly glance, "I havenot seen you at these new duties before. So you are a student as well asa soldier? Well, the arts of peace will better become you for thefuture. I remember your face well, young man. I would it had not been myduty to place you under restraint; but you have broken faith with me,and that grievously. How then can it be possible to trust you in thefuture? You, as the head of the house, should have set your brothers anexample of honour and fealty. As it is, it has been far otherwise, andnow you will have to bear the burden of that breach of trust and honour."
Twice Griffeth had opened his lips as if to speak, but Alphonso laid hishand upon his arm with a warning touch, which said as plainly as wordscould do, "Be silent."
So the youth held his peace, and only bent his head in submission; andEdward, after a moment's pause, added more kindly:
"And how fares it with your brother, Wendot? I hear that his state issomething precarious. I hope he has the best tendance the castle canafford, for I would not that any member of my son's household shouldsuffer from lack of care."
"He has all that he needs, I thank you, sire," answered Griffeth. "Helies sorely sick at this present time, but I trust he will amend ere long."
And then the king turned to his son, and spoke with him on some messageof the state, and departed without heeding the excited glances of Joannaor the restless way in which she kept looking first at Alphonso and thenat Gertrude.
But scarcely had the door closed behind the retiring form of the kingbefore the excitable girl had bounded to her brother's side.
"O Alphonso," she cried, "did you do it on purpose? Tell me what youhave in your head."
Alphonso sat up and pushed the hair out of his eyes. Griffeth was simplylooking on in surprise and bewilderment. The prince laid a hand upon hisarm and spoke very earnestly.
"Griffeth," he said, "it seems to me that through this error of myfather's we may yet find means to compass the deliverance of Wendot.There are none of those save ourselves who know which of you twain isthe first-born and which the youngest. In your faces there is little tomark you one from the other. Griffeth, if thou wilt be willing to becalled Wendot-- if Wendot will consent to be Griffeth -- then we mayperchance make his way plain to depart and live in liberty once more;for it is Wendot, and not Griffeth, who has so roused my father's anger.Griffeth he might easily consent to pardon; but Wendot he will keep as ahostage in his own hands possibly for life itself."
Griffeth listened, and a strange look crept into his face. His cheekflushed, and his breath came thick and fast. He knew Alphonso's motivein suggesting this change of identity. The lads, so closely drawntogether in bonds of more than brotherly love, had not opened to eachother their innermost souls for nought. Alphonso knew that no freedom,no liberty, would give to the true Griffeth any extension of his briefspan of life. His days were as assuredly numbered as those of the royallad himself, and life had ceased to have attractio
ns for the pair, whosespirits were almost on the wing, who had set their hopes and aspirationshigher than anything which earth could give, and whose chiefest wish nowwas to remain together until death should call them home.
Griffeth's only trouble had been the thought of leaving his brother, andit was when he had realized from Alphonso's words that the king wasdeeply offended with Wendot, and that it was almost hopeless to think ofhis obtaining his liberty again, that the heart of the lad sank indespondency and sorrow.
For one of the young eagles of Dynevor thus to be caged -- to be left topine away in hopeless captivity, his brother gone from him as well asthe prince who would stand his friend; possibly incarcerated at last insome dreary fortress, there to linger out his days in hopeless miseryand inaction -- the thought had been so terrible to Griffeth that therehad been moments when he had almost longed to hear that the leeches gaveup hope of saving his brother's life.
But Wendot was mending now; there was no doubt of ultimate recovery. Hewould rise from his sickbed to find -- what? Griffeth had not dared toask himself this question before; but now a great hope possessed himsuddenly. He looked into Alphonso's eyes, and the two instantlyunderstood one another; as did also Gertrude and Joanna, who stood byflushed and quivering.
"Let it be so," said Griffeth, in a voice which trembled a little,although the words were firm and emphatic. "I take the name the king hasgiven me. I am Wendot, whom he believes the traitor and the foe.Griffeth lies yonder, sick and helpless, a victim to the influence ofthe first-born son of Res Vychan. It may be, when the king hears more ofhim, he will in his clemency release and pardon him.
"Ah, if I could but be the means of saving my brother -- the brotherdearer to me than life -- from the fate which others have brought uponhim, that I could lay down my life without a wish ungratified! It hasbeen the only thought of bitterness in my cup that I must leave himalone -- and a prisoner."
Gertrude's face had flushed a deep red; she put out her hand and claspedthat of Griffeth hard; there was a little sob in her voice as she said:
"Oh, if you will but save him -- if you will but save him!"
Griffeth looked into her sweet face, with its sensitive features andsoft eyes shining through a mist of tears, and he understood somethingwhich had hitherto been a puzzle to him.
There had been days when the intermittent fever from which Wendotsuffered left him entirely for hours together, sometimes for a wholeday; and Griffeth had been sure that on some of these days, in the hoursof his own attendance on the prince, his brother had received visitsfrom others in the castle: for flowers had appeared to brighten the sickroom, and there had been a wonderful new look of happiness in thepatient's eyes, although he had said nothing to his brother as to whathad befallen him.
And in truth Wendot was half disposed to believe himself the victim ofsome sweet hallucination, and was almost afraid to speak of the fanciesthat floated from time to time before his eyes, lest he should be toldthat his mind was wandering, and that he was the victim of delusion.
Not once alone, but many times, during the hours of his tardyconvalescence, when he had been lying alone, crushed by the sense ofweariness and oppression which illness brings to one so littleaccustomed to it, he had been roused by the sound of light footfalls inhis room; he had seen a graceful form flitting about, bringing lightnessand beauty in her wake, and leaving it behind when she left. The visionof a sweet, small face, and the lustrous dark eyes which had haunted himat intervals through the long years of his young manhood, appeared againbefore him, and sometimes his name was spoken in the gentle tones whichhad never been forgotten, although the memory was growing dim.
Weak and dazed and feeble, both in body and mind, from the exhaustingand wasting illness that had followed the severe winter's campaign,Wendot knew not if this vision was but the figment of his own brain, orwhether the passionate love he felt rising up in his heart was lavishedupon a mere phantom. But so long as she flitted about him he was contentto lie and watch her, with the light of a great happiness in his eyes;and once when he had called her name -- the never forgotten name ofGertrude -- he had thought that she had come and taken his hand and hadbent over him with a wonderful light in her eyes, but the very effort hemade to rise up and grasp her hands, and learn if indeed it were acreature of flesh and blood, had resulted in a lapse back intounconsciousness, and he was silent as to the vision even to Griffeth,lest perchance he should have to learn that it was but a fevered dream,and that there was no Gertrude within the castle walls at all.
But Gertrude knew all; it was no dream to her. She saw the love light inthe eyes dearest to her in the world. She had heard her name called; shehad seen that the love she had cherished for the hero of her childhoodhad not been cherished in vain. Perhaps Wendot had betrayed more in hissickness and weakness than he would have allowed himself to do in hisstrength, knowing himself a helpless, landless prisoner in the hands ofthe stern monarch who occupied England's throne. But be that as it may,Gertrude had read his secret and was happy, though with such a chastenedhappiness as alone was possible to one who knew the peril in which herlover lay, and how hopeless even Alphonso thought it to obtain for himthe king's pardon.
"My father would have betrothed us as children," said Gertrude, her faceglowing, but her voice steady and soft, for why should she be ashamed ofthe faithful love of a lifetime?
"When we saw each other again he would have plighted us, but for thefear of what Llewelyn and Howel would do. But think you I love him lessfor his love to his country? Think you that I have aught to reproach himwith, when I know how he was forced into rebellion by others? I care notwhat he has done. I love him, and I know that he loves me. Sooner wouldI share a prison with him than a palace with any man beside; yet I fearthat in prison walls he will pine and die, even as a caged eagle, and itis that fear which breaks my heart.
"O Griffeth, Griffeth, if you can save him, how we will bless you from,our hearts! Give him to me, and I will guard and cherish him. I havewealth and lands for us both. Only his liberty is lacking --"
"And that we will strive to compass yet," said Alphonso gently. "Fearnot, sweet Gertrude, and betray not thyself. Only remember from thistime forward that Wendot is my friend and companion here, and that thylover Griffeth lieth in yon chamber, sick and stricken."
"I will remember," she answered resolutely; and so the change ofidentity was accomplished, with the result that the old chroniclers averthat Wendot, eldest son of Res Vychan, died in the king's prison inEngland, whilst all that is known of the fate of Griffeth is that he waswith his brother in captivity in England in the year 1283, after whichhis name completely disappears, and no more is known of him, good or bad.
That night there were commotion and distress in Carnarvon Castle, forthe young Alphonso broke a blood vessel in a violent fit of coughing,and for some hours his life was in the utmost danger.
The skill of the leeches, however, combined with the tender care of hismother and sisters, averted for a time fatal consequences, and in a fewdays the prince was reported to be out of immediate danger. But thedoctors all agreed that it would not be wise for him to remain longer inthe colder air of north Wales, and advised an immediate removal toWindsor, where more comforts could be obtained, and where the climatewas milder and more genial.
Edward's work in Wales was done. The country was quiet, and he had nolonger any fear of serious rebellion. The first thought in his mind wasthe precarious condition of his son, and immediate steps were taken toconvey the invalid southward by slow and gentle stages.
A horse litter was prepared for him, and by his own special request thiseasy conveyance was shared by him with the two Welsh youths, to whom, ashis father and mother thought, he had taken one of those strange sickfancies not uncommon to those in his state of health.
Wendot, as he called the younger brother, had been his most devotednurse during the days of peril, and his quick understanding of theunspoken wishes of the prince had evoked a real and true gratitude fromthe royal parents
.
The real Wendot was by this time so far recovered as to be able to bearthe journey, and illness had so wasted him that he looked no older thanGriffeth; and though still perplexed at being called Griffeth, and by nomeans understanding his brother's earnest request that he would continueto answer to the name, he was too weak to trouble his head much aboutthe matter; and the two Welsh brothers were regarded by the Englishattendants as too insignificant to be worthy of much notice. Theprince's freak to have them as travelling-companions was humoured by hisparents' wish; but they little knew how much he was wrapped up in thebrothers, nor how completely his heart was set upon seeing theaccomplishment of his plan before he died.
Alphonso had all his senses about him, and the wistful look onGriffeth's face, as the mountains of his beloved Wales grew dim in thedistance, was not lost upon him. Wendot was sleeping restlessly in thelitter, and Alphonso stretched out his hand, and laid it gently uponGriffeth's.
"Art regretting that thou leavest all for me?" he asked gently; and theanswer was such a look of love as went to his very heart.
"Nay; I would leave far more than that for thee, sweet prince, but it ismy last look at home. I shall see these grand, wild hills no more."
"No, nor yet I," answered the prince, his own eyes growing somewhat dim;"and I, too, have loved them well, though not as thou lovest, my friend.But be content; there are fairer things, sweeter scenes than even these,in store for us somewhere. Shall we repine at leaving the beauties ofearth, when the pearly gates of Paradise are opening before our very eyes?
"O Griffeth, it is a wondrous thought how soon we may be soaring abovethe very stars! And methinks it may well be given to thee to wing thyway to thine own home for one last look ere thou departest for the holyland whence we can never wish to return."
Griffeth gave him a bright, eager look.
"I will think that myself -- I will believe it. This is not my lastfarewell."
The Lord of Dynevor: A Tale of the Times of Edward the First Page 11