“La-ha-hoo! la-ha-hoo!”
Far down the widening valley, and
up the wild, picturesque ravine, rang the strange
but not unmusical call. It awoke the slumbering
echoes of the still place, and a hundred voices seemed
to take up the cry, and pass it on as from mouth to
mouth. But the boy’s quick ears were not
to be deceived by the mocking voices of the spirits
of solitude, and presently 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 the mountain breeze,
his blue eyes, clear and bright and keen as those of
a wild eaglet, fixed upon a craggy ridge on the opposite
side of the gorge, whilst his left hand was placed
upon the collar of a huge wolfhound who stood beside
him, sniffing the wind and showing by every tremulous
movement his longing to be off and away, were it not
for the detaining hand of his young master.
The lad was very simply dressed in
a tunic of soft, well-dressed leather, upon the breast
of which was stamped some device which might have
been the badge of his house. His active limbs
were encased in the same strong, yielding material,
and the only thing about him which seemed to indicate
rank or birth was a belt with a richly-chased gold
clasp and a poniard with a jewelled hilt.
Perhaps the noble bearing of the boy
was his best proof of right to the noble name he bore.
One of the last of the royal house of Dynevor, he
looked every inch a prince, as he stood bare-headed
in the sunlight amidst the everlasting hills of his
well-loved home, too young to see the clouds which
were settling so darkly and so surely upon the bright
horizon of his life his dreams still of
glory and triumph, culminating in the complete emancipation
of his well-loved country from the 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
that the sound of a horn? Are they not even now
returning? Over yon fell they come. Let
me but hear their hail, and thou and I will be off
to meet them. I would they heard the news first
from my lips. My mother bid me warn them.
I wot she fears what Llewelyn and Howel might say or
do were they to find English guests in our hall and
they all unwarned.”
Once more the boy raised his voice
in the wild call which had awakened the echoes before,
and this time his practised ear distinguished amongst
the multitudinous replies an answering shout from human
lips. Releasing Gelert, who dashed forward with
a bay of delight, the lad commenced springing from
rock to rock up the narrowing gorge, until he reached
a spot where the dwindling stream could be crossed
by a bound; from which spot a wild path, more like
a goat track than one intended for the foot of man,
led upwards towards the higher portions of the wild
fell.
The boy sped onwards with the fleetness
and agility of a born mountaineer. The hound
bounded at his side; and before either had traversed
the path far, voices ahead of them became distinctly
audible, and a little group might be seen approaching,
laden with the spoils of the chase.
In the van of the little party were
three lads, one of whom bore so striking a resemblance
to the youth who now hastened to meet them, that the
relationship could not be for a moment doubted.
As a matter of fact the four were brothers; but they
followed two distinct types Wendot and
Griffeth being fair and bright haired, whilst Llewelyn
and Howel (who were twins) were dark as night, with
black hair and brows, swarthy skins, and something
of the wildness of aspect which often accompanies
such traits.
Wendot, the eldest of the four, a
well-grown youth of fifteen, who was walking slightly
in advance of his brothers, greeted Griffeth’s
approach with 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 see the noble stag that my bolt
brought down. We will have his head to adorn
the hall his antlers are worth looking
at, I warrant thee. But what brings thee out
so far from home? and why didst thou hail us as if
we were wanted?”
“You are wanted,” answered
Griffeth, speaking so that all the brothers might
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 make merry tonight.
There are guests come to the castle today. Wenwynwyn
was stringing his harp even as I came away, to let
them hear his skill in music. They are to be
lodged for so long as they will stay; but the manner
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. Come these strangers from the north?
Perchance we shall hear somewhat of our noble Prince
Llewelyn, who is standing out so boldly for the rights
of our 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 would
that this were a message summoning all true Welshmen
to take up arms in his quarrel! Would not I fly
to his standard, boy though I be! And would I
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 under their straight
bushy brows. His face was the least boyish of
any of the four, and his supple, sinewy frame had
much of the strength of manhood in it. The free,
open-air life that all these lads had lived, and the
training they had received in all martial and hardy
exercises, had given them strength and height beyond
their years. It was no idle boast on the part
of Llewelyn to speak of his readiness to fight.
He would have marched 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 lads
lacked in strength they made up in their marvellous
quickness and agility.
The love of fighting seemed born in
all these hardy sons of Wales, and something of warfare
was known to them even now, from the never-ending
struggles between themselves, and their resistance
of the authority, real or assumed, of the Lords of
the Marches. But petty forays and private feuds
with hostile kinsmen was not the kind of fighting these
brothers longed to see and share. They had their
own ideas and aspirations, and eager glances were
turned upon Griffeth, lest he might be the bearer
of some glorious piece of news that would mean open
warfare with England.
But the boy’s face was unresponsive
and even a little downcast. He gave a quick glance
into the fierce, glowing face of Llewelyn, and then
his eyes turned upon Wendot.
“There is no news like that,”
he said slowly. “The guests who have come
to Dynevor are English themselves.”
“English!” echoed Llewelyn
fiercely, and he turned away with a smothered word
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? Why did not our good fellows fall upon them with the sword or
drive them back the way they came? Oh, if we had but been there
“Tush, brother!” said
young Griffeth quickly; “is not our father lord
of Dynevor? Dost think that thou canst usurp
his authority? And when did ever bold Welshmen
fall upon unarmed strangers to smite with the sword?
Do we make war upon harmless travellers
women and children? Fie upon thee! it were a
base thought. Let not our parents hear thee speak
such words.”
Howel looked a little discomfited
by his younger brother’s rebuke, though he read
nothing but sympathy and mute approbation in Llewelyn’s
sullen face and gloomy eyes. He dropped a pace
or so behind and joined his twin, whilst Wendot and
Griffeth led the way in front.
“Who are these folks?”
asked Wendot; “and whence come they? And
why have they thus presented themselves unarmed at
Dynevor? Is it an errand of peace? 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
brought them hither, but I gather they have lost their
road, and lighted by chance on Dynevor. Methinks
they are on a visit to the Abbey of Strata Florida;
but at least they come as simple, unarmed strangers,
and it is the boast of Wales that even unarmed foes
may travel through the breadth and length of the land
and meet no harm from its sons. For my part I
would have it always so. I would not wage war
on all alike. Doubtless there are those, even
amongst the English, who are men of bravery and honour.”
“I doubt it not,” answered
Wendot, with a gravity rather beyond his years.
“If all our mother teaches us be true, we Welshmen
have been worse enemies to one another than ever the
English have been. I would not let Llewelyn or
Howel hear me say so, and I would fain believe it
not. But when we see how this fair land has been
torn and rent by the struggles after land and power,
and how our own kinsman, Meredith ap Res, is toying
with Edward, and striving to take from us the lands
we hold yet so greatly diminished from
the old portion claimed by the lords of Dynevor
we cannot call the English our only or even our greatest
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’s face.
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,
and had been taken much into the counsels of his parents,
so that questions which were almost new to the younger
lad had been thought much of by the eldest, the heir
of the house of Dynevor.
“Why, brother, thou talkest
like a veritable monk for learning,” he said.
“I knew not thou hadst the gift of such eloquent
speech. Methought it 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 Wendot with
flashing eyes. “Who is the King of England
that he should lay claim to our lands, our homage,
our submission? My blood boils in my veins when
I think of things thus. And yet there are moments
when it seems the lesser ill to yield such homage
to one whom the world praises as statesman and soldier,
than to see our land torn and distracted by petty
feuds, and split up into a hundred hostile factions.
But let us not talk further of this; it cuts me to
the heart to think of it. Tell me more of these
same travellers. How did our parents receive them?
And how long purpose they to stay?”
“Nay, that I have not heard.
I was away over yon fell with Gelert when I saw the
company approach the castle, and ere I could find entrance
the strangers had been received and welcomed.
The father of the maiden is an English 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 a fair-faced maiden, who scarce opens
her lips; but she keeps close to our mother’s
side, and seems loath to leave her for a moment.
I heard her father say that she had no mother of her
own. Her name, they say, is Lady Gertrude.”
“A damsel at Dynevor,”
said Wendot, with a smile; “methinks that will
please the mother well.”
“Come and see,” cried
Griffeth eagerly. “Let us hasten down to
the castle together.”
It was easy work for the brothers
to traverse the rocky pathway. Dangerous as the
descent looked to others, they were as surefooted as
young chamois, and sprang from rock to rock with the
utmost confidence. The long summer sunlight came
streaming up the valley in level rays of shimmering
gold, bathing the loftier crags in lambent fire, and
filling the lower lands with layers of soft shadow
flecked here and there with gold. A sudden turn
in the narrow gorge, through which ran a brawling
tributary of the wider Towy, brought the brothers full
in sight of their ancestral home, and for a few seconds
they paused breathless, gazing with an unspeakable
and ardent love upon the fair scene before them.
The castle of Dynevor (or Dinas Vawr
= Great Palace) stood in a commanding position upon
a rocky plateau overlooking the river Towy. From
its size and splendour as splendour went
in those days it had long been a favourite
residence with the princes of South Wales; and in
a recent readjustment of disputed lands, consequent
upon the perpetual petty strife that was ruining the
land, Res Vychan, the present Lord of Dynevor, had
made some considerable sacrifice in order to keep in
his own hands the fair palace of his fathers.
The majestic pile stood out boldly
from the mountain side, and was approached by a winding
road from the valley. A mere glance showed how
strong was the position it occupied, and how difficult
such a place would be to capture. On two sides
the rock fell away almost sheer from the 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 the entrance was commanded by a drawbridge,
whose frowning portcullis was kept by a grim warder
looking fully equal to the office allotted to him.
Lovely views were commanded from the
narrow windows of the castle, and from the battlements
and the terraced walk that ran along two sides of
the building. And rough and rude as were the manners
and customs of the period, and partially uncivilized
as the country was in those far-off days, there was
a strong vein of poetry lying latent in its sons and
daughters, and an ardent love for the beautiful in
nature and for the country they called their own,
which went far to redeem their natures from mere savagery
and brute ferocity.
This passionate love for their home
was strong in all the brothers of the house of Dynevor,
and was deepened and intensified by the sense of uncertainty
now pervading the whole country with regard to foreign
aggression and the ever-increasing claims upon Welsh
lands by the English invaders. A sense as of
coming doom hung over the fair landscape, and Wendot’s
eyes grew dreamy as he stood gazing on the familiar
scene, and Griffeth had to touch his arm and hurry
him down to the 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, as he dashed
his hand across his eyes. “It is for us
men to fight for our rightful inheritance, that the
women may not have to weep for their desolated homes.”
Griffeth gave him a quick look, and
then his eyes travelled lovingly over the wide, fair
scene, to the purple shadows and curling mists of
the valley, the dark mysterious woods in front, the
clear, vivid sunlight on the mountain tops, and the
serried battlements of the castle, now rising into
larger proportions as the boys dropped down the hillside
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 are which
bring tears to the eyes of men tears of
which they need feel no shame. Fear not to share
with me all thy inmost thoughts. Have we not
ever been brothers in all things?”
“Ay, truly have we; and I would
keep nothing back, only I scarce know how to frame
my lips to give utterance to the thoughts which come
crowding into my brain. But see, we have no time
for communing now. Go on up the path to the postern;
it is too narrow for company.”
Indeed, so narrow was the track, so
steep the uncertain steps worn in the face of the
rock, so deep the fall if one false step were made,
that few save the brothers and wilder mountaineers
ever sought admission by the postern door. But
Wendot and Griffeth had no fears, and quickly scaled
the steps and reached the entrance, passing through
which they found themselves in a narrow vaulted passage,
very dark, which led, with many twists and turns,
and several ascending stairs, to the great hall of
the castle, where the members of the household were
accustomed for the most part to assemble.
A door deeply set in an embrasure
gave access to this place, and the moment it was opened
the sound of a harp became audible, and the brothers
paused in the deep shadow to observe what was going
on in the hall before they advanced further.
A scene that would be strange and
picturesque to our eyes, but was in the main familiar
to theirs, greeted them as they stood thus. The
castle hall was a huge place, large enough to contain
a muster of armed men. A great stone staircase
wound upwards from it to a gallery above. There
was little furniture to be seen, and that was of a
rude kind, though not lacking in a certain massiveness
and richness in the matter of carving, which gave
something baronial to the air of the place. The
walls were adorned with trophies of all sorts, some
composed of arms, others of the spoil of fell and
forest. The skins of many savage beasts lay upon
the cold stone flooring of the place, imparting warmth
and harmony by the rich tints of the furs. Light
was admitted through a row of narrow windows both
above and below; but the vast place would have been
dim and dark at this hour had it not been that the
huge double doors with their rude massive bolts stood
wide open to the summer air, and the last beams of
the westering sun came shining in, lying level and
warm upon the group at the upper end of the hall,
which had gathered around the white-haired, white-bearded
bard, who, with head thrown backwards, and eyes alight
with strange passions and feelings, was singing in
a deep and 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 weird
individuality of his own. But it was not upon
him that the eyes of the brothers dwelt, nor even
upon the soldier-like figure of their stalwart father
leaning against the wall with folded arms, and eyes
shining with the patriotic fervour of his race.
The attention of the lads was enchained by another
and more sumptuous figure that of a fine-looking
man, approaching to middle life, who was seated at
a little distance from the minstrel, and was smiling
with pleasure and appreciation at the wild sweetness
of the stream of melody poured forth.
One glance at the dress of the stranger
would have been enough to tell the brothers his nationality.
His under tunic, which reached almost to the feet,
was of the finest cloth, and was embroidered along
the lower border with gold thread. The sur-tunic
was also richly embroidered; and the heavy mantle
clasped upon the shoulder with a rare jewel was of
some rich texture almost unknown to the boys.
The make and set of his garments, 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, Wendot felt no hostility
towards the representative of the hostile race, but
rather a sort of reluctant admiration.
“In faith he looks born to command,”
he whispered to Griffeth. “If all were
like unto him ”
But the lad did not complete the sentence,
for he had suddenly caught sight of another figure,
another face, and he stopped short in a sort of bewildered
amaze.
In Dynevor Castle there had never
been a girl child to share the honours with her brothers.
No sister had played in its halls, or tyrannized over
the lads or their parents. And now when Wendot’s
glance fell for the first time upon this little fairy-like
creature, this lovely little golden-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 looking straight at him.
As he gazed the child suddenly rose, and darted towards
the brothers as if she had wings on her feet.
“Oh, you have come back!”
she said, looking from one to the other, and for a
moment seeming puzzled by the likeness; “and
why, there are two of 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 play with at
home. I am so tired of this old man and his harp.
Please let me go somewhere with you,” and she
thrust her soft little hand confidingly into Wendot’s,
looking up saucily into his face as she added, “You
are the biggest; I like you the best.”
Wendot’s face glowed; but on
the whole he was flattered by the attention and the
preference of the little maiden. He understood
her soft English speech perfectly, for all the Dynevor
brothers had been instructed in the English tongue
by an English monk who had long lived at the castle.
Res Vychan, the present Lord of Dynevor, foresaw, and
had foreseen many years, the gradual usurpation of
the English, and had considered that a knowledge of
that tongue would in all probability be an advantage
to those who were likely to be involved in the coming
struggle. The boys all possessed the quick musical
ear of their race, and found no difficulty in mastering
the language; but neither Llewelyn nor Howel would
ever speak a single word of the hated tongue if they
could help it, though Wendot and Griffeth conversed
often with the old monk right willingly.
So as Wendot looked down into the
bright little upturned face, he was able to reply
readily and smilingly:
“Where would you like to go,
little lady, and what would you like me to show you?”
“Oh, everything
all out there,” said the little girl, with a
wave of her hand towards the front door. “I
want to go and see the sun. I am tired of it
in here.”
Wendot led the child through the hall,
and out upon the great terrace which overlooked the
steep descent to the valley and away to the glowing
west. Griffeth followed, glad that his elder brother
had been preferred before himself by the little maiden,
yet half fascinated by her nameless charm. Wendot
lifted her up in his strong arms to see over the wide
stone balustrade, and she made him set her down there
and perch himself by her side; for she seemed loath
to go back to the hall again, and the boys were as
willing as she to remain out in the open air.
“It is pretty here,” said
the child graciously; “I think I should like
to live here sometimes, if it was always summer.
Tell me your name, big boy. I hope it is not
very hard. Some people here have names I cannot
speak right.”
“They call me Res Wendot,”
answered the lad; “generally Wendot at home
here. 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; “I
thought you must be much older than that. I am
twelve, and you can lift me 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. Sometimes he says
he shall have to put me in a nunnery, because he has
nobody to take care of me when he has to travel about.
But I don’t think I should like 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 small
of stature and infantile in appearance.
“What is your name?” asked
Wendot; and the little maid answered, with becoming
gravity and importance:
“I am called Lady Gertrude Cherleton;
but you may call me Gertrude if you like, because
you are kind and I like you. Are there any more
of you? 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 the king
is going to fight against and conquer. Do you
think when he has done so that he will come here and
conquer you, too?”
Wendot’s cheek burned a sudden
red; but he made no reply, for at that moment a head
suddenly appeared round an angle of the wall, and a
heavy grip was laid upon the shoulder of the child.
A wild face and a pair of flashing black eyes were
brought into close proximity with hers, and a smothered
voice spoke in fierce, low accents.