CHAPTER XIII. THE NEW LORD OF DYNEVOR.
"Vychan, Vychan, the hour has come! That false traitor Sir Res has risenin revolt against England's king. Loyal men are called upon to put downthe rebellion, and such as do so will be rewarded with the lands reftfrom the traitor. Vychan, Vychan, lose not a moment; arm and take themen, and fly to Dynevor! Now is the time to strike the blow! And I willto Edward's court, to plead with him for the lands and castle of Dynevoras my husband's guerdon for his services. O Vychan, Vychan, have not Ialways said that thou shouldest live to call thyself Lord of Dynevor again?"
Gertrude came flying to her husband with these words, looking scarceless young and certainly none less bright and happy than she had donefour years back, when she and her husband had first stood within thewalls of her ancestral home. A beautiful, sturdy boy hung upon her hand,keeping pace gallantly even with her flying steps, and the joy ofmotherhood had given something of added lustre to the soft beauty of herdark eyes; otherwise she was scarce changed from the Gertrude of pastdays. As for Vychan, he still retained the eagle glance, the almostboyish freshness of colouring, and the soldier-like bearing whichdistinguished his race, and the gold of his hair had not tarnished orfaded, though he had developed from the youth to the man, and was anoble specimen of manhood in the zenith of its strength and beauty.
Rising hastily at his wife's approach, he gazed at her with parted lipsand glowing eyes, whilst she once more told him the news, brought by aspecial messenger from the Princess Joanna, brought thus, as both knew,with a special meaning which they well understood. Four years ofpeaceful prosperity in England had in no whit weakened Vychan's love forhis own land or blunted the soldier-like instincts of his race. Therewas something of the light of battle and of conquest in his eye as hegazed at his wife, and his voice rang out clear and trumpet-like as hegathered the sense of the message she brought.
"Take up arms against that false traitor-kinsman of mine? ay, verily,that I will. False first to his kindred and his country, then false tothe king who has trusted and rewarded him so nobly. Res ap Meredith,methinks thine hour is come! Thou didst plot and contrive to wrest fromme the fair lands my father bequeathed me; but I trow the day has dawnedwhen the false lord shall be cast forth, even as he has cast forthothers, and when there shall be a lord of the old race ruling atDynevor, albeit he rule beneath a new name."
"Heaven grant it may be so!" cried Gertrude, the tears of excitementsparkling in her eyes; whilst little Griffeth, catching some of thesense of his father's words, and understanding with the quick instinctof childhood that there was something unwonted going on, shook hislittle fist in the air, and cried:
"Dynevor, Dynevor! me fight for Dynevor, too."
The father picked up his son and held him in a close embrace.
"Ay, Griffeth, my man, thou shalt reign at Dynevor one of these days,please God to give us victory over false friends and traitorous allies."
And even as the parents stood looking smilingly at the brave child, theblast from the warder's trumpet gave notice that strangers wereapproaching the Hall; and hurrying to the entrance gate to be ready toreceive the guests, Vychan and his wife beheld a little troop ofhorsemen winding their way up the valley, headed by a pair who appearedto be man and wife, and to hold some exalted position, for the trappingsof their steeds and the richness of their own dress marked them as of nohumble rank.
Visitors were sufficiently rare at this lonely place for this sight tocause some stir in the Hall; and Gertrude, shading her eyes with herhand, gazed eagerly at the two figures in advance. Suddenly she gave alittle cry of rapture, and bounded forward through the gateway.
"It is Arthyn -- Arthyn and Llewelyn! Vychan, thy brother and his wifeare here. Oh, they have come to bid thee to the fray! They bringtidings, and are come to summon thee to the fight.
"Arthyn, sweetest sister, ten thousand welcomes to our home! Nay, I canscarce believe this is not a dream. How I have longed to see thee here!"
Vychan was at his brother's side, as Arthyn, flinging herself from hersaddle, flew into Gertrude's arms. For some moments nothing could bedistinguished but the glad clamour of welcome, and scarce had thatsubsided before it recommenced in the eager salutations of the Welshretainers, who saw in Vychan another of the sons of their well-lovedLord, Res Vychan, the former Lord of Dynevor and Iscennen, whose wiseand merciful rule had never been forgotten.
Vychan was touched, indeed, to see how well he was remembered, and thesound of the familiar tongue sent thrills of strange emotion throughhim. It was some time before he could free himself from the throng ofservants who pressed round him; and when he could do so he followed hiswife and guests into the banqueting hall, where the noonday repast wasspread, giving charge to his seneschal for the hospitable entertainmentof the retinue his brother had brought and their lodgment within thewalls of the Hall.
When he reached the inner hall he found the servants spreading the bestviands of the house upon the table; whilst Gertrude, Arthyn, andLlewelyn were gathered together in the embrasure of a window in eagerdiscussion. Gertrude broke away and came quickly towards him, her facedeeply flushed and her eyes very bright.
"Vychan, it is even as we have heard. That false traitor is in openrevolt, and he has been even more false than we knew. What think you ofthis? -- he professed to be sorry for his revolt, and sent a letter ofurgent pleading to Llewelyn and Arthyn begging them to use theirinfluence with the king to obtain his pardon. Believing him to besincere, Llewelyn set out for England not more than two short weeksback, taking with him, on account of the unsettled state of the country,the pick of the men from Carregcennen. And when this double-dyed traitorknows that Arthyn is alone and unprotected in the castle, what does hedo but send a strong band of his soldiers, himself at their head, whoobtain entrance by the subterranean passage, slay the guard, and takepossession of the fortress. Arthyn has but bare time to escape with ahandful of men, and by hard riding to join her husband on the road toEngland.
"So now have they turned aside to tell the tale to us, and to summonthee to come with thy men and fight in the king's quarrel against thiswicked man. And whilst ye lead your soldiers into Wales, Arthyn and Iwill to the court, to lay the story before the royal Edward, and to gainfrom him the full and free grants of the castles of Dynevor andCarregcennen for our husbands, who have responded to his call, and haveflown to wrest from the traitor the possession he has so unrighteouslygrasped."
"Thy wife speaketh wise words, Vychan," said Llewelyn, whose dark browswore a threatening look, and who had the appearance of a man deeplystirred to wrath, as indeed he well might be; "and it were well that welost no time in dallying here. How many men canst thou summon to thybanner, and when can we be on the march for the south? The Earl ofCornwall has been called upon to quell this revolt, and he has summonedto his aid all loyal subjects of the king who hold dear the peace andprosperity of their land.
"The days are gone by in which I should despise that call and join thestandard of revolt. The experience of the past has taught me that in theEnglish alliance is Wales's only hope of tranquillity and trueindependence and civilization. When such men as this Res ap Meredithbreak into revolt against Edward, it is time for us to rally round hisstandard. What would our lives, our lands, our liberties be worth weresuch a double-distilled traitor as he transformed into a prince, as ishis fond ambition?"
"True, Llewelyn, true. The race of kings has vanished from Wales, andmethinks there is no humiliation in owning as sovereign lord thelion-hearted King of England. Moreover, has he not given us a prince ofour own, born upon Welsh soil, sprung of a kingly race? We will rallyround the standard of father and son, and trust that in the future abrighter day will dawn for our long-distracted country."
So forthwith there sped messengers through the wild valleys and wilderfells of Derbyshire, and many a sturdy son of the mountains came gladlyand willingly at the call of the feudal lord whose wise and kindly rulehad made him greatly beloved. The fighting instinct of the age and ofthe ra
ce was speedily aroused by this call to arms, and the surroundinggentlemen and yeomen of the county likewise pressed their services uponVychan, glad to be able to strike a blow to uphold the authority of aking whose wise and brave rule had already made him the idol of the nation.
It was a goodly sight to see the brothers of Dynevor (as their wivescould not but call them once again) ride forth at the head of thiswell-equipped following. Llewelyn marvelled at the discipline displayedby the recruits -- a discipline decidedly in advance of anything his ownruder followers could boast. But Welsh and English for once were inbrotherly accord, and rode shoulder to shoulder in all good fellowship;and the English knew that their ruder comrades from Cambria, if lesswell trained and drilled, would be able to show them a lesson in fierceand desperate fighting, to which they were far more inured than theirmore peaceable neighbours from the sister country.
And fighting there was for all; but the struggle, if fierce, was brief.Sir Res was a coward at heart, as it is the wont of a traitor to be, andfinding himself opposed by foes as relentless and energetic as Vychanand Llewelyn, he was speedily driven from fortress to fortress, till atlength he was forced to surrender himself a prisoner to the Earl ofGloucester; who, out of kindness to his wife, Auda de Hastings, connivedat his escape to Ireland.
There he lived in seclusion for some time; but the spirit of rebellionwas still alive within him, and two years later he returned to Wales,and succeeded in collecting an army of four thousand turbulent spiritsabout him, at the head of which force he fought a pitched battle withthe king's justiciary, Robert de Tibetot. His army was cut to pieces. Hewas taken prisoner himself, and met a cruel death at York as the rewardof his many acts of treasonable rebellion.
But the halls of Dynevor saw him no more from the moment when ResVychan, with a swelling heart, first drove him forth, and planted hisown foot once again upon the soil dearer to him than any other spot onearth. As he stood upon the familiar terrace, looking over the wide,fair valley of the Towy, his heart swelled with thankfulness and joy;and if a slow, unwonted tear found its way to his eye, it was scarce atear of sorrow, for he felt assured that his brother Griffeth wassharing in the joy of this restoration to the old home, and that hisloving and gentle spirit was not very far from him at this supreme hourof his life.
"Father, father, father!"
Vychan turned with a start at the sound of the joyous call, and the nextmoment was clasping wife and son to his breast.
"Sweetheart! come so quickly? How couldst thou?"
"Ay, Vychan, love hath ever wings, and neither I nor Arthyn could keepaway, our business at the court once accomplished. Vychan, husband, thoustandest here Lord of Dynevor in thine own right. Thou hast won backthine ancestral home, the boy's inheritance.
"Seest thou this deed? Knowest thou the king's seal? Take it, for itsecureth all to thee under thy name of Vychan Cherleton. And if in timesto come those who come after know not that it was the son of Res Vychanwho thus reclaimed his patrimony, and if our worthy chroniclers set downthat Dynevor and its lands passed to the keeping of the English, whatmatters it? We know the truth, and those who have loved thee and thyfather know who thou art and whence thou hast come. Let that besufficient for thee and for me.
"Griffeth, little son, kiss thy father, and bid him welcome to his ownhalls again -- the halls of Dynevor."
Vychan could not speak. He pressed one passionate kiss upon the lips ofhis wife, and another upon the brow of his noble boy, who looked everyinch a Dynevor, with the true Dynevor features, and the bold, fearlessmien so like his father's.
Then commanding himself by an effort, he opened the king's parchment andquickly mastered its contents, after which he took his wife's hand andheld out the other to his son.
"My faithful fellows are mustering in the hall to bid me welcome oncemore to Dynevor. Come, sweet wife; I must show to them their lady andtheir future lord.
"Arthyn -- where is she? Has she gone on to Iscennen to meet Llewelynthere?"
"Ay, verily: she was as hungry for him as I for thee; and she hath asimilar mandate for him regarding his rights to Carregcennen.
"O Vychan, dearest husband, I can scarce believe it is not all a dream."
Indeed, to Vychan it seemed almost as though he dreamed, as in the oldfamiliar hall he stood, a little raised from the crowd of armedretainers upon the steps of the wide oak staircase, as he addressed tothem a speech eloquent with that thrilling eloquence which is the giftof all who speak from the heart, and speak to hearts beating in deep andtrue response. Vychan thanked all those who had so bravely fought forhim, explained to all assembled there his new position and his new name,bid them not think him less a Welshman and a Dynevor because he bore hiswife's arms and called himself the servant of the English king, and heldup before their eyes the mandate of that English king confirming to himthe lands and halls of Dynevor.
A wild, ringing cheer broke from all who heard him as he thus proved totheir own satisfaction that the royal Edward was their best friend, andas the new Lord of Dynevor held up his child for them to see, and to ownas future lord in the time-honoured fashion, such a shout went up fromthe throats of all as made the vaulted roof ring again. Blades wereunsheathed and waved in wild enthusiasm, and Gertrude's dark eyesglistened through a mist of proud and happy tears.
Suddenly from some dim recess in the old ball there issued a strain ofwild music -- the sound of a harp played by no unskilled hand; whilstmingling with the twang of the strings was the voice of the ancientbard, cracked through age, yet still retaining the old power and some ofthe old sweetness. And harp and voice were raised alike in one of thosetriumph songs that have ever been as the elixir of life to the strong,rude, sensitive sons of wild Cambria.
"It is Wenwynwyn," quoth Vychan. "He is yet alive. I little thought tosee him more.
"Griffeth, boy, run to yon old man and bid him give thee his blessing,and tell him that there is a son of Dynevor come back to rule as Lord ofDynevor once again."
POSTSCRIPT.
The story of the sons of Res Vychan is very intricate and difficult tofollow, owing to the lack of contemporaneous documents; but the mainfacts of their story as related in the foregoing pages are true, thougha certain license has been taken for purposes of fiction.
They have been represented as somewhat younger than they were at thetime of these events, whilst the children of Edward the First have beenmade some few years older than their true ages.
There is no actual historical warrant for the change of identity betweenWendot and Griffeth, and for the escape and reinstatement of the formerin the halls of Dynevor; but there are traditions which point to apossibility that he did escape from prison, in spite of the affirmationof the chroniclers, as there have been those who claim descent from him,which they would hardly have done if such had not been the case, forthere is no record that he was married before he was taken prisoner toEngland.
The children of the English king were not really at Rhuddlan Castle in1277, as represented here, as they were at that time too young toaccompany their father on his expeditions. If, however, they had been asold as represented in these pages, there is little doubt they would haveaccompanied him, as the monarch was a most affectionate father, andloved to have wife and children about him.
Arthyn is a fictitious character; as is also Gertrude. There is norecord that any of the sons of Res Vychan married or left descendants,except the tradition alluded to above.
THE END.
The Lord of Dynevor: A Tale of the Times of Edward the First Page 13