OF THE MESSAGE BROUGHT BY JAGO, AND A MEETING IN DARTMOOR.

As one may be sure, there was no danger for me at Winchester, and if I had any anxiety at all it was for Owen, who had dangers round him which I did not know. I had sent him word by that old friend of his, Jago of Norton, how the last warning was justified, and had heard from him that with the imprisonment of Dunwal his last enemies seemed to have been removed or quieted. So I was more at ease concerning him, and presently rode with Erpwald to Eastdean in the fair May weather to see the beginning of that church which should keep the memory of my father.

And all I will say concerning that is that when I came to visit the old home once more I knew that I had chosen right. The life of a forest thane was not for me, and Eastdean seemed to have nought of pleasure for me, save in a sort of wonderment in seeing how my dreams had kept so little of aught of the true look of the place. In them it had grown and grown, as it were, and now I was disappointed with it. I suppose that it is always so with what one has not seen since childhood, and for me it was as well. I felt no shadow of regret for the choice I had made.

So after the foundation was laid with all due rites, I went back to the king and found him at Chippenham, for he was passing hither and thither about his realm, as was his wont, biding for weeks or maybe months here, and so elsewhere, to see that all went well. And I knew that in Erpwald and his mother I left good and firm friends behind me, and that all would be done as I should have wished. Ay, and maybe better than I could have asked, for what Erpwald took in hand in his plain single-heartedness was carried through without stint.

Through Chippenham come the western chapmen and tin traders, and so we had news from the court at Exeter that all was well and quiet, and so I deemed that there was no more trouble to be feared. It seemed as if Owen had taken his place, and that every foe was stilled.

And yet there grew on me an uneasiness that arose from a strange dream, or vision, if you will, that came to me one night and haunted me thereafter, so soon as ever my eyes closed, so that I grew to fear it somewhat. And yet there seemed nothing in it, as one may say. It was a vision of a place, and no more, though it was a place the like of which I had never seen.

I seemed to stand in a deep hollow in wild hills, and round me closed high cliffs that shut out all but the sky, so that they surrounded a lawn of fair turf, boulder strewn here and there, and bright with greener patches that told of bog beneath the grass. In the very midst of this lawn was a round pool of black, still water, and across on the far side of that was set a menhir, one of those tall standing stones that forgotten men of old were wont to rear for rites that are past. It was on the very edge of the pool, as it seemed, and was taller than any I had seen on our hills.

And when in my dream I had seen this strange place, always I woke with the voice of Owen in my ears calling me. That was the thing which made me uneasy more than that a dream should come often.

Three times that dream and voice came to me, but I said nought of it to any man. Then one day into the courtyard of the king’s hall rode men in haste from the westward, and when I was called out to meet them the first man on whom my eyes rested was Jago of Norton, and my heart fell. Dusty and stained he was with riding, and his face was worn and hard, as with trouble, and he had no smile for me.

“What news, friend?” I said, coming close to him as he dismounted.

“As they took you, so have they taken Owen. We have lost him.”

“Is he slain?”

“We think not. He was wounded and borne away. We cannot trace him or his captors. Gerent needs you, and I have a letter to your king.”

I asked him no more at this time, but I took him straightway to Ina, travel stained as he was. He had but two men with him, and they were Saxons he had asked for from Herewald the ealdorman as he passed through Glastonbury in haste.

So Ina took the letter, and opened it, and as he read it his face grew troubled, so that my fear that I had not yet heard the worst grew on me. Then he handed it to me without a word.

“Gerent of the Britons, to Ina of Wessex. I pray you send me Oswald, Owen’s foster son, for I need him sorely. On my head be it if a hair of him is harmed. He who bears this is Jago, whom you know, and he will tell my need and my loneliness. I pray you speed him whom I ask for.”

That was all written, and it seemed to me that more was not needed. One could read between the lines, after what Jago had said.

“What is the need for you?” Ina asked, as I gave him back the letter.

“To seek for Owen, my father,” I said. “Jago must tell what we have to hear.”

Then he told us, speaking in his own tongue, so that I had to translate for the king now and then, and it was a heavy tale he brought.

Owen had gone to some house that belonged to Tregoz, in the wild edge of Dartmoor north of Exeter, and there men unknown had set on the house and burnt it over him, slaying his men and sorely wounding himself. Only one man had escaped to tell the tale, and he was wounded and could tell little. And the deed was wrought in the night, and into the night he had seen the men depart, bearing the prince with them. But who and whence they were he could neither tell nor guess.

Then Gerent had ridden in all haste to the house, and found even as the wounded man had told, for all was still as the burners left it. But no man of all the village, nor the shepherds on the hills, could tell more. Owen was lost without trace left.

Then said Ina: “What more could be done by Oswald? Will men help a Saxon?”

“This must be between ourselves, King Ina,” Jago said plainly. “It is in my mind that if Oswald and I or some known lord of the British will go to that place and sit there quietly with rewards in our hands, we may learn much; for men fear Gerent the king in his wrath, and they fled from his coming.”

“So be it,” said Ina. “Oswald shall go, and it seems to me that every day is precious, so that he shall go at once. Is there thought that Owen may be taken out of the country, as Oswald was taken?”

“Every port and every fisher is watched, and has been so. For that was the first thing we feared. And word has gone to Howel of Dyfed and Mordred of Morganwg, farther up the channel, that they should watch their shores also. Nought has been left undone that may be done.”

So it came to pass that on the next morning Jago and I rode away together along the great road that leads westward to Exeter and beyond, asking each train of chapmen whom we met if there was yet news, and hearing nought but sorrow for the loss of the prince they had hailed with such joy again. Nor did we draw rein, save to change horses, till we clattered up the ancient paved street of the city on its hill, and dismounted at the gates of the white palace where Gerent waited me.

There the first man who came out to greet me was one whom I was altogether glad to see, though his presence astonished me for a moment. Howel of Dyfed passed from the great door and bade me welcome.

“It is a different meeting from that which we had planned, Thane,” he said, somewhat sadly. “I am here to help you if I can; for when we heard that Owen was lost much as you were, we came over straightway, there being reasons of her own which would not let Nona rest till we had sailed. Presently you will hear them from herself, for she is here. Glad am I to see you.”

“There is no fresh hope?” I asked, as we went in.

“None; but we hope much from you. At least, your coming will cheer the old king, for he is well-nigh despairing.”

Now I was prepared to see some change in Gerent by reason of all this sorrow and trouble, but not for all that was plain when I first set eyes on him presently. Old and shrunken he seemed, and his voice was weary and dull. Yet there came a new light into his eyes as he saw me, and he greeted me most kindly, bidding me, after a few words of welcome, to rest and eat awhile after the long ride, before we spoke together of troubles.

So in a little time I sought him again, and found him in a room with warm sunlight streaming into it, making the strange pictured walls bright and cheerful, and yet somewhat over close for one who loves the open air or the free timbered roof that loses itself in the smoke wreaths overhead, with the wind blowing through it as it blows through the forest whence it was wrought, and with twitter of birds to mind one of that also. Nevertheless, the old king in his purple mantle with its golden hem over the white linen tunic, and his little golden circlet on his curling white hair, seemed in place there, even as I minded thinking that Owen in his British array seemed in place.

Now Howel stood where Owen was wont to stand, and the only other in the room was the lady, who rose from the king’s side to greet me.

And if her smile was a little sad, it was plain that Nona the princess was glad as her father to see her guest again, and I will say that to me the sight of her was like a bright gleam in the grey of sadness that was over all things. It did not seem possible that she and trouble could find place together.

So I greeted her, and she went back to her place quickly, for hardly would Gerent wait for us to speak a few words before he would talk of that which was in all his thoughts; and then came Jago and stood at the door, guarding it as it were against listeners.

Now the old king told me all that I had heard from his thane already, and I must tell what I thought thereof, and that was little enough beyond what I have said, and at last, when he seemed to wait for me to ask him more, I put a question that had come into my mind as I rode, and asked if there might be any chance of Morfed the priest having a hand in the matter.

And at that the king’s frown grew black, and he answered fiercely:

“Morfed, the mad priest? Ay, why had not I thought of him before? Look you, Oswald, into my hall of justice he came, barefoot and ragged from his wanderings, but a few days before Owen left me; and before all the folk, high and low, who were gathered there he cried out on all those who spoke for peace with the men who owned the rule of Canterbury, and who held traffic with the Saxon who has taken our lands. And Owen was for speaking him fair, seeing that he was crazed, but I bade him be silent, telling the priest that what was lost is lost, and there needed no more said thereof; and that if the men of Austin and we differed it was not the part of Christian men to make the difference wider, even as Owen and Aldhelm were wont to say. And at that he raved, and threatened to lay the heaviest ban of the Church on Owen, and on all who held with him, and so he was taken from my presence, and I have seen him no more. But he was a friend of Morgan.”

“That is the priest who was with Dunwal, surely,” Howel said.

“The same,” I answered “and I was warned of him,” and I looked toward the princess, and she smiled a little and flushed.

“I mind how he glared at Oswald across my table,” Howel said. “But one need fear little from him, as I think. Who will heed a crazy priest?”

“Many,” answered Gerent. “The more because they deem him inspired. I will have him taken and brought to me.”

There fell a little uneasy silence after that outburst of the king’s, but I felt that I had not yet heard all that they would tell me. So we waited for the old king to speak, and at last he turned suddenly to the princess, setting his thin white hand on her shoulder, and said:

“Now tell Oswald what foolishness brought you here, Nona, daughter of Howel, that he may say what he thinks thereof.”

“Maybe he also will think it foolishness, King Gerent,” she said in her low clear voice. “But however that may be, I will tell him, for in what I have to say may be help. I cannot tell, but because it might be so I begged my father to bring me hither. It was all that I could do for my godfather.”

There was just a little quiver in her lip as she said this, and the fierce old king’s face softened somewhat.

“Nay,” he said, “I meant no unkindness. I forgot that it is not right to speak to a child as to grown warriors. It is long since there was a lady about the place who is one of us.”

Then Nona smiled wanly, and set her hand on that of the old king, and kept it there while she spoke.

“Indeed, Thane, it may be foolishness, and now perhaps as time goes on it begins to seem so to me. Once, as I know now, on the night when Owen first slept in his new house on the moor, I dreamed that he was in sore danger, for I seemed to see shadows of men creeping everywhere round the house that I have never set eyes on; and again, on the next night, and that was the night of the burning, I saw the house in flames, and men fought and fell around it among the flickering shadows, but I did not seem to see Owen. And then on the next night, soon after I first slept, I woke trembling with the most strange dream of all. I think that the light had hardly gone from the west, but the moon had not yet risen. I dreamed that I stood at the end of a narrow valley, whose sides were of tall cliffs of rough grey stone, and in the depth of the valley I saw a great menhir standing on the farther side of a black pool. And all the surface of the pool was rippling as if somewhat had disturbed it, and set upright in the ground on this side was a sword, like to that which King Ina gave you, Thane ay, that which you wear now, not like my father’s swords. And I thought that I heard one call on your name.”

Now I heard Jago stifle a cry behind me, and as for myself I stood silent, biting my lip that I might know that I was not dreaming also, and I saw that Howel was looking at me in a wondering way, while Gerent glowered at me. All the time that she had been speaking, Nona had looked on the ground, in some fear lest we should smile at this which had been called foolishness, and I was glad when the king broke the silence with a short laugh.

“Well, Oswald, what think you of this? On my word, it seems that you half believe in the foolishness that some hold concerning dreams.”

“I would not hold this so,” said Howel, “seeing that she has dreamed of things that did take place, as we know too well.”

“Fire and fighting? Things, forsooth, that every village girl on the Saxon marches is frayed with every time she sleeps.”

So said Gerent, and I answered him:

“Foolishness I cannot call this, either, Lord King. I also have seen the same in the night watches. I have seen pool and menhir, and the cliffs that hem them, even as the princess saw them. And I woke with the voice of Owen in my ears.”

“Dreams, dreams!” the old king said. “Go to, you do but tell me these trifles to please me, and as if to give me hope that in such an unheard-of place we shall find him whom we have lost. Say no more, but go your ways on the morrow and search. And may you find your dream valley and what is therein.”

He rose up impatiently, and Howel gave him his arm from the room. Jago followed him, and when the heavy curtain fell across the doorway, Nona, who had risen with Gerent, turned to me.

“I am sure now that there we shall find Owen,” she said, with a new light of hope in her eyes. “And also I am sure that at the bottom of all the matter is Morfed the priest.”

“It was a needed warning against him that I had from your hand, Princess,” I said; “now let me thank you for it.”

“I am glad you had it safely, for indeed I feared for you with those people on the ship with you. What has become of them?”

I told her the fate of Dunwal, so far as I knew it. I did not then know that Gerent had put an end to his plotting once for all two days after Owen was lost. As for his daughter, I knew no more than Jago told the ealdorman.

Then she said: “Now I would ask you to speak to my father, that he would let me go with you to Dartmoor, that I may help you search. I do not like to be far from him, but he says there may be danger. Which makes me the more anxious not to leave him, as you may suppose.”

She smiled, but as I made no answer she went on:

“And maybe Owen will need nursing when you find him. They say he was sorely wounded. Ay, I am sure we shall find him, else why did we have these strange visions? And I think that were he not disabled altogether he would have won to freedom in some way.”

“It is that wounding that makes me fear the worst,” I said in a low voice; for indeed the thought of Owen as hurt, in the care, or want of care, of those who hated him, was not easy to be borne. “It is my fear that we shall be too late.”

“Nay, but you must not fear that,” she said quickly. “That is no sort of mind in which you have to set to work. I will think rather that they have carried him to some safe tending. There will be time enough to dread the worst when it is certain. There was nought in the dreams to make us think that he was dead.”

The bright face and voice cheered me wonderfully, and for the moment, at least, I felt sure that our search would not fail. Then I tried to persuade her not to come with us. One could not say that there was any safety, even for her, among the men who would harm Owen, though I thought that none would be in the least likely to fall on Howel. Rather, they would keep out of his way altogether. In my own mind I wished that I was going alone, or with none but Jago, though, on the other hand, it might be possible that men would speak to him if they would not to me. And at last I did persuade her to bide here until we had news, promising that if need was she should come and see the place herself when all was known.

“Well, maybe it is not so needful that I should go now,” she said. “I thought that I alone could tell my father when that valley was found, but you know as much of it as I, and will be sure when you stand in it.”

And so we fell to talk of these visions which were so much alike, and there was but one difference in them. In the dream of the princess the pool had been ruffled, and mine was still as glass. And that seemed strange, and we could make nothing of it. Then Howel came back, and there is little more to say of the doings of that evening. There was no feasting in Gerent’s house now.

Very early in the next dawning Howel and I rode westward with five score men of Gerent’s best after us, into wilder country than I had ever yet seen; and late in the evening we came to where the countless folds of Dartmoor lie round the heads of Dart River. And there Tregoz had set his house, and I think that it was the first that had ever been in those wilds, save the huts of the villagers. Only the hall of the place had been burnt, and there yet stood the house of the steward on the village green, if one may call a meadow that had a dozen huts round it by that name, and we bestowed ourselves in the great room of that, while our men found places in stables and outhouses and the huts. Every man of the place had fled as they saw us coming, for the fear of Gerent was on them; but the women and children remained, and they had heard of the son of Owen, at least, since he and I were in Dartmoor in the spring. I had some of them brought to me when we were rested, and told them that none need fear aught, knowing that they would tell their menfolk.

And so it was, for after we had been quietly in the place for two days the men were back and at their work again. I do not think that even our Mendip miners were so wild as these people, and their strange Welsh was hard for me and Howel to understand. I will say that the whole matter seemed hopeless for a time, for no man would say anything to us about it. If we spoke to a man, questioning him, and presently wished to find him again, he was gone, and it would be days ere he came back.

Some of our guards knew the country as well as most, and with them we rode many a long mile into the hills during the first few days, searching for the deepest valleys, and ever did I look to see the great menhir before me as we came to bend after bend of the hills. Circles of standing stones we found, and cromlechs, ruins of ancient round stone huts where villages had been before men could remember, and once we saw a menhir on the hillside; but that was not what I sought, and none could tell us of the lost valley.

Yet it was in my mind as I questioned one or two that their looks seemed to say that the description of the place was not unknown to them, and if they would they could tell me more. At last, when I came to know the speech better at the end of a week, I thought that I would try another plan; I would trust to the shepherds, and ride alone for once across the hills. I thought that, even were I set upon, my horse would take me from danger more quickly than hillmen could run, and Howel, unwillingly enough, agreed that it seemed to be the only chance. Maybe the men would speak more openly with me on the hillside and alone.

So I asked if there was any one could tell me where there were menhirs in the valleys, and a shepherd said that he knew two or three. So I rode with him at my side to one of these, but it was not that which I sought; and, as I hoped, the man was more willing to speak, and we got on well enough. We had not met with a soul all day, but my hawk had taken two bustard after I saw the stone and was disappointed. One of these as a gift to the shepherd had opened his lips wonderfully, and we were talking as we rode in the dusk, and were not so far from the village, of another stone that I was to see next day, when I asked him if he had ever heard of the lost valley of pool and menhir.

He did not answer, but shrunk to my side, looking round him fearfully.

“What comes, Lord,” he said, whispering; “see yonder?”

He pointed across the bare hillside, and I looked but saw nothing.

“I saw nought,” I said. “Is it unlucky to speak of the place?”

“I saw somewhat leap from yonder rock,” he whispered; “it went behind that other.”

Plainly the man was terrified, and I asked him what he feared.

“The good folk, Lord.”

“Pixies? Do they come when one speaks of the lost valley?”

“Speak lower, Lord, lower! Look, yonder it is again!”

Then I also saw in the dusk the figure of a man who crept softly from one great boulder to another, and without thinking of the terror of the shepherd I spurred my horse, and rode straight for the rock behind which the figure disappeared, having no mind to have an arrow put into me at short range by one of the men of Tregoz or of Morfed unawares.

The shepherd howled in fright when he was left, but I did not heed him, and in a moment I was round the rock and almost on the cowering man whom I had seen. He turned to fly, and I cried to him to stop, but he only got another rock between me and him, for the hillside was covered with them, and shrank behind it, so that I could only see his wild eyes as he glared at me across it. He said nothing, and I did not think that he was armed, so far as the dim evening light would let me see.

“Why are you dogging me thus?” I cried; “come out, and no harm will befall you.”

I rode round, and he shifted as I did, so that he was between me and the shepherd, and then I called to the latter that this was but a man, and bade him come and help me to catch him. Whereon the man looked swiftly over his shoulder and saw that he was fairly trapped.

“Keep him back, Master,” he said in a strange growling voice, which was not that of a Dartmoor savage either in tone or speech. “Keep him back, and we will talk together; I mean no harm.”

But I had no need to tell the shepherd not to come, for he bided where he was, being afraid; but I held up my hand to him as if to bid him be still, lest the man should know that he would not help me.

“Come out like a man,” I said. “One would think that you were some evildoer.”

“Master, I will swear that I am not. Let that be, for I have somewhat to tell you that you will be glad to hear.”

“If that is true, why did you not come openly, instead of waiting till I had you in a corner? Every one knows that there is reward for news from any honest man.”

“There are those who would take my life if they caught me, Master. I have been seeking for speech with you alone all this day; I hoped the shepherd would leave you hereabout for his home, and then I would have come to you.”

“Well,” I said, “if you could tell me what I need to hear I will hold you safe from any.”

“Master, will you swear that?” said the man eagerly.

Then it came across me that maybe this was one of those who fell on Owen, for one might well look for a traitor among so many.

So I answered cautiously: “Save and except you are one of those who have wrought harm to the prince you shall be safe. If you are one who has him alive and in keeping you shall be safe also.”

“Master, you have promised, and it is well known that you keep your word. I am your man henceforward, by reason of that promise. I will give you a token that I have not harmed the prince.”

“What have you to tell?”

“Master, they say that you seek the lost valley, of which none will speak.”

“That seems true; but speak up, and mouth not your words so.”

“Here was I born and bred, Master,” said the man, still in the same growling voice. “I know where the lost valley is hidden, though none may go there save at peril of life. It is unlucky so much as to speak thereof.”

“Can you take me within sight of its place, so that I can find it?” I asked, with a wild hope at last springing up in me.

“I can; and, Master, unluckier than I am I cannot be, so that life is little to me. Into that place I will even go for you, and risk what may befall me, if only you will find pardon for me. Only, I do not know if you will find aught of Owen the prince there.”

“You must be in a bad way, my poor churl,” said I, “if things are thus with you. But if you will help me to that place, and there let me find what I may, there is naught that may not be forgiven you. Even were it murder, I will pay the weregild for you, and you shall have cause to say that the place has no ill luck for you.”

“Thane,” said the man, in a new voice that was strangely familiar to me, “you have spoken, and forgiven I shall surely be.”

Then he rose from behind the rock and came to my side, and took my hand and kissed it again and again, and surely I had seen his form before.

“Thane, I am Evan the outlaw, and my life is yours because you forgave me a little once, and saved me from the wolves, giving that life back to me when I knew it well nigh gone.”

I looked at the pale hair and beard of the man, and wondered. Evan’s had been black as night.

“It is Evan’s voice,” I said; “but you have changed strangely.”

“Needs must I, Thane, with every man’s hand against me, if I would serve you and Owen the prince for your sake.”

Then I looked round for my shepherd, but he had fled.

“Come to the house with me,” I said. “I think that none will know you, and if they do so I will answer for you.”

“No, Thane; after tomorrow, seeing that even Howel sets such store on finding the valley, as men tell me, I shall be safe even from him. I think that you are the only one who will trust me yet.”

There I knew that he was most likely right. Had I not been certain that he could have kept me from knowing him even yet, I think that I might have been doubtful of him myself.

“As you will,” I answered. “We can meet tomorrow. Now give me that token by which I am to know that you have not harmed Owen.”

“It is right that you should not yet trust me,” Evan said, as if he read my thoughts, “for I do not deserve it. Here is one token: ’It is not good to sleep in the moonlight.’ And I will give you yet another, if I may, for, indeed, I would have you know that the words I spoke yonder were true when I said that you should be glad that you freed me, and that I have tried to serve you. That may be known by the token of the blackthorn spine and the dog whip.”

I reined up my horse in wonderment and stared at him, and he came close to my side, so that I could see him plainly. And, lo! his shoulders grew rounded, and his eyes crossed terribly, and they bided so, and he mumbled the words he had said when the whip of the huntsman fell on him.

Then he straightened himself again and looked timidly at me. He was not like the man who had bound me so cruelly in Holford combe on the Quantocks.

“Evan,” I cried, “what you did for me at the ealdorman’s gate is enough to win any pardon you may need.”

“It is wonderful that, after all, pardon should come from you, Thane. Do you mind how I said to you that I hoped to win it otherwise through you when we took you on the Quantocks? It is good to feel as a free man once more.”

“Free, and maybe honoured yet, Evan,” I said; for I knew that he had risked his life for me and Owen. “Presently you shall come with me to Wessex, where none know you, and there shall be a fresh life for you. It is in my mind that what you brought on me was as a last hope.”

“Ay, that is true, Thane.”

And then I asked him to tell me all he knew of Owen, and of what had happened here, and how it came about that he knew aught. And as he told me it was plain that this was a true tale, for one could feel it so.

He had followed Owen, keeping himself hidden, after I went to Winchester, for there he knew that I was safe, and yet he would serve me if he could. So from the hillside where he lay he had seen the burning and the fight; and after Owen fell he followed them who bore him away, till he lost them in a grey mist that rolled from the hills and hid them in the darkness. Nor had he been able to find trace of them again, though he had hunted far and wide.

And so he waited for my coming, being sure that I would not be long. But he knew that they had gone toward what he called the lost valley, if it was not likely that they would dare so much as look into it.

“But,” he said, “there was a priest with them, seeming to lead them. Maybe he would dare.”

Into my mind at once came the certainty that this must be Morfed, but Evan knew nought of him. He had no more to tell me of this.