The Princess Joanna was accustomed to a great deal of her own way.  She had been born at Acre, whilst her parents had been absent upon Edward’s Crusade, and for many years she had remained in Castile with her grandmother-godmother, who had treated her with unwise distinction, and had taught her to regard herself almost as a little queen.  The high-spirited and self-willed girl had thus acquired habits of independence and commanding ways which were perhaps hardly suited to her tender years; but nevertheless there was something in her bright vivacity and generous impetuosity which always won the hearts of those about her, and there were few who willingly thwarted her when her heart was set upon any particular thing.

There were in attendance upon the king and his children a number of gallant youths, sons of his nobles, who were admitted to pleasant and easy intercourse with the royal family; so that when Joanna and Alphonso set their hearts upon a private escapade of their own, in the shape of a wolf hunt, it was not difficult to enlist many brave champions in the cause quite as eager for the danger and the sport as the royal children themselves.  Joanna was admitted to be a privileged person, and Alphonso, as the only son of the king, had a certain authority of his own.

The graver and more responsible guardians of the young prince and princesses might have hesitated before letting them have their way in this matter; but Joanna took counsel of the younger and more ardent spirits by whom she was surrounded, and a secret expedition to a neighbouring rocky fastness was soon planned, which expedition, by a little diplomacy and management, could be carried out without exciting much remark.

The king and queen encouraged their family in hardy exercises and early hours.  If the royal children planned an early ride through the fresh morning air, none would hinder their departure, and they could easily shake off their slower attendants when the time came, and join the bolder comrades who would be waiting for them with all the needful accoutrements for the hunt on which their minds were bent.

One or two of the more youthful and adventurous attendants might come with them, but the soberer custodians might either be dismissed or outridden.  They were accustomed to the vagaries of the Lady Joanna, and would not be greatly astonished at any freak on her part.

And thus it came about that one clear, cold, exhilarating morning in May, when the world was just waking from its dewy sleep of night, that Joanna and Alphonso, together with Gertrude and Arthyn, and young Sir Godfrey and another gentleman in attendance, drew rein laughingly, after a breathless ride across a piece of wild moorland, at the appointed spot, where a small but well-equipped company was awaiting them with the spears, the dogs, and the long, murderous-looking hunting knives needed by those who follow the tracks of the wild creatures of the mountains.

This little band numbered in its ranks the four Dynevor brothers; a tall, rather haughty-looking youth, by name Raoul Latimer; and one or two more with whose names we have no concern.  Britten, who accompanied the royal party, sprang forward with a cry of delight at seeing the muster, and began eagerly questioning Raoul as to the capabilities of the dogs he had brought, and the possible dangers to be encountered in the day’s sport.

Gertrude and Joanna rode up to Wendot and greeted him warmly.  They had seen him only once since the first evening after his arrival, and both girls stole curious glances at the dark faces of the two brothers unknown as yet to them.  They were almost surprised that the twins had come at all, as they were not disposed to be friendly towards the English amongst whom they were now mingling; but here they were, and Gertrude greeted both with her pretty grace, and they answered her words of welcome with more courtesy than she had expected to find in them.

Llewelyn and Howel were submitting themselves to the inevitable with what grace they could, but with very indignant and hostile feelings hidden deep in their hearts.  Their old hatred towards the English remained unaltered.  They would have fought the foe tooth and nail to the last had they been able to find allies ready to stand by them.  But when their uncle of North Wales had submitted, and all the smaller chieftains were crowding to the court to pay homage, and when they knew that nothing but their own nominal subjection would save them from being deprived of their lands, which would go to enrich the rapacious Meredith ap Res, then indeed did resistance at that time seem hopeless; and sooner than see themselves thus despoiled by one who was no better than a vassal of England, they had resolved to take the hated step, and do homage to Edward for their lands.  Indeed, these brothers had to do even more; for, having been concerned in the late rebellion, they had forfeited their claim upon their property, only that it was Edward’s policy to restore all lands the owners of which submitted themselves to his authority.  The brothers felt no doubt as to the result of their submission, but the humiliation involved was great, and it was hard work to keep their hatred of the English in check.  Those wild spirits had not been used to exercising self-control, and the lesson came hard now that they were springing up towards man’s estate, with all the untempered recklessness and heat of youth still in their veins.

Perhaps there was something in the expression of those two dark faces that told its tale to one silent spectator of the meeting between the Welsh and English; for as the party united forces and pushed onwards and upwards towards the wild ravine where the haunt of the wolf lay, the twin brothers heard themselves addressed in their own language, and though the tones were sweet and silvery, the words had a ring of passionate earnestness in them which went straight to their hearts.

“Methinks I am not mistaken in you, sons of Dynevor.  You have not willingly left your mountain eyry for these halls where the proud foeman holds his court and sits in judgment upon those who by rights are free as air.  I have heard of you before, Llewelyn and Howel ap Res Vychan.  You are not here, like your brethren, half won over to the cause of the foe; you would fight with the last drop of your blood for the liberty of our country.”

Turning with a start, the brothers beheld the form of a slight and graceful maiden, who was pushing her palfrey up beside them.  She appeared to be about their own age, and was very beautiful to look upon, with a clear, dark skin, large, bright eyes, now glowing with the enthusiasm so soon kindled in the breast of the children of an oppressed people ­ a people thrilling with the strange, deep poetry of their race, which made much amends for their lack of culture in other points.

Llewelyn and Howel, learning caution by experience, scarce knew how to respond to this appeal; but the girl met their inquiring glances by a vivid smile, and said: 

“Nay, fear me not.  I am one of yourselves ­ one of our country’s own children.  Think not that I am here of my own free will.  I deny not that I have learned to love some amongst our conqueror’s children and subjects, but that does not make me forget who I am nor whence I have come.  Let us talk together of our country and of the slender hopes which yet remain that she may gird herself up and make common cause against the foe.  Oh, would that I might live to see the day, even though my life might pay the forfeit of my father’s patriotism.  Let Edward slay me ­ ay, and every hostage he holds in his hand ­ so that our country shakes off the foreign yoke, and unites under one head as one nation once again.”

These words kindled in the breast of the twin brothers such a glow of joy and fervour as they had not known for many a weary day.  They made room for Arthyn to ride between them, and eager were the confidences exchanged between the youthful patriots as they pursued their way upwards.  Little they heeded the black looks cast upon them by Raoul Latimer, as he saw Arthyn’s eager animation, and understood how close was the bond which had thus quickly been established between them and the proud, silent girl whose favours he had been sedulously trying to win this many a day.

Raoul Latimer was a youth with a decided eye to the main chance.  He knew that Arthyn was her father’s heiress, and that she would succeed at his death to some of the richest lands in Wales.  Possibly her father might be deprived of these lands in his lifetime, as he was a turbulent chieftain, by no means submissive to Edward’s rule.  If that were the case, and if his daughter had wedded a loyal Englishman of unquestionable fidelity, there would be an excellent chance for that husband of succeeding to the broad lands of Einon ap Cadwalader before many years had passed.  Therefore young Raoul paid open court to the proud Welsh maiden, and was somewhat discomfited at the small progress he had made.

But he was a hot-headed youth, and had no intention of being thrown into the shade by any beggarly Welshmen, be they sons of Dynevor or no, so that when the party were forced by the character of the ground to dismount from their horses and take to their own feet, he pressed up to Arthyn and said banteringly: 

“Sweet lady, why burden yourself with the entertainment of these wild, uncivilized loons?  Surely those who can but speak the language of beasts deserve the treatment of beasts.  It is not for you to be thus ­”

But the sentence was never finished.  Perhaps the flash from Arthyn’s eye warned him he had gone too far in thus designating the youths, who were, after all, her countrymen; but there was a better reason still for this sudden pause, for Llewelyn’s strong right hand had flown out straight from the shoulder, and Raoul had received on the mouth a stinging blow which had brought the red blood upon his lips and the crimson tide of fury into his cheeks.

With an inarticulate cry of rage he drew his dagger and sprang upon the young Welshman.  Swords were drawn in those days only too readily, and in this case there had been provocation enough on both sides to warrant bloodshed.  The youths were locked at once in fierce conflict, striking madly at each other with their shining blades, before those who stood by well knew what had occurred.

It was only too common at such times that there should be collision between the sons of England and Wales; and the suffering and the penalty almost invariably fell upon the latter.  This fact was well known to the children of the king, and possibly prompted the young Alphonso to his next act.

Drawing the small sword he always carried at his side, he threw himself between the combatants, and striking up their blades he cried in tones of such authority as only those can assume who feel the right is theirs: 

“Put up your weapons, gentlemen; I command you in the king’s name.

“Raoul, this is your doing, I warrant.  Shame on you for thus falling upon my father’s guest in his absence, and he a stranger and an alien!  Shame on you, I say!”

But scarce had these words been uttered before a shrill cry broke from several of the girls, who were watching the strange scene with tremulous excitement.  For young Llewelyn, maddened and blinded by the heat of his passion, and not knowing either who Alphonso was or by what right he interposed betwixt him and his foe, turned furiously upon him, and before any one could interpose, a deep red gash in the boy’s wrist showed what the Welsh lad’s blade had done.

Wendot, Griffeth, and Godfrey flung themselves upon the mad youth, and held him back by main force.  In Raoul’s eyes there was an evil light of triumph and exultation.

“Llewelyn, Llewelyn, art mad?  It is the king’s son,” cried Wendot in their native tongue; whilst Joanna sprang towards her brother and commenced binding up the gash, the lad never for a moment losing his presence of mind, or forgetting in the smart of the hurt the dignity of his position.

Llewelyn’s fierce burst of passion had spent itself, and the sense of Wendot’s words had come home to him.  He stood shamefaced and sullen, but secretly somewhat afraid; whilst Arthyn trembled in every limb, and if looks would have annihilated, Raoul would not have existed as a corporate being a moment longer.

“Gentlemen,” said Alphonso, turning to those about him, and holding up his bandaged hand, “this is the result of accident ­ pure accident.  Remember that, if it ever comes to the ears of my father.  This youth knew not what he did.  The fault was mine for exposing myself thus hastily.  As you value the goodwill in which I hold you all, keep this matter to yourselves.  We are not prince or subject today, but comrades bent on sport together.  Remember and obey my behest.  It is not often I lay my commands upon you.”

These words were listened to with gratitude and relief by all the party save one, and his brow gloomed darker than before.  Arthyn saw it, and sprang towards Alphonso, who was smiling at his sister in response to her quick words of praise.

“It was his fault ­ his,” she cried, pointing to the scowling Raoul, who looked ill-pleased at having his lips thus sealed.  “He insulted him ­ he insulted me.  No man worthy the name would stand still and listen.  It is the way with these fine gallants of England.  They are ever stirring up strife, and my countrymen bear the blame, the punishment, the odium ­”

But Alphonso took her hand with a gesture of boyish chivalry.

“None shall injure thee or thine whilst I am by, sweet Arthyn.  The nation is dear to me for thy sake, and thy countrymen shall be as our honoured guests and brothers.  Have we not learned to love them for thy sake and their own?  Trouble not thy head more over this mischance, and let it not cloud our day’s sport.

“Raoul,” he added, with some sternness, “thou art a turbulent spirit, and thou lackest the gentle courtesy of a true knight towards those whose position is trying and difficult.  Thou wilt not win thy spurs if thou mendest not thy ways.  Give thy hand now, before my eyes, to the youth thou didst provoke.  If thou marrest the day’s pleasure again, I shall have more to say to thee yet.”

It was not often that the gentle Alphonso spoke in such tones, and therefore his words were the more heeded.  Raoul, inwardly consumed with rage at being thus singled out for rebuke, dared not withstand the order given him, and grudgingly held out his hand.  It was not with much greater alacrity that Llewelyn took it, for there was much stubborn sullenness in his disposition, and his passion, though quickly aroused, did not quickly abate; but there was a compulsion in the glance of the royal boy which enforced obedience; and harmony being thus nominally restored, the party once more breathed freely.

“And now upwards and onwards for the lair of the wolf,” cried Alphonso; “we have lost time enough already.  Who knows the way to his favourite haunts?  Methinks they cannot be very far away now.”

“I should have thought we had had enough of Welsh wolves for one day,” muttered Raoul sullenly to Godfrey; but the latter gave him a warning glance, and he forbore to speak more on the subject.

Gertrude had watched the whole scene with dilated eyes, and a feeling of sympathy and repulsion she was perfectly unable to analyze.  When the party moved on again she stole up to Wendot’s side, and said as she glanced into his troubled face: 

“He did not mean it? he will not do it again?”

Wendot glanced down at her with a start, and shook his head.

“He knew not that it was the king’s son ­ that I verily believe; but I know not what Llewelyn may say or do at any time.  He never speaks to me of what is in his head.  Lady Gertrude, you know the king and his ways.  Will he visit this rash deed upon my brother’s head?  Will Llewelyn suffer for what he did in an impulse of mad rage, provoked to it by yon haughty youth, whose words and bearing are hard for any of us to brook?”

“Not if Alphonso can but get his ear; not if this thing is kept secret, as he desires, as he has commanded.  But I fear what Raoul may say and do.  He is treacherous, selfish, designing.  The king thinks well of him, but we love him not.  I trust all will yet be well.”

“But you fear it may not,” added Wendot, completing the sentence as she had not the heart to do.  “I fear the same thing myself.  But tell me again, Lady Gertrude, what would be the penalty of such an act?  Will they ­”

“Alphonso has great influence with his father,” answered Gertrude quickly.  “He will stand your brother’s friend through all; perchance he may be detained in some sort of captivity; perchance he may not have his lands restored if this thing comes to the king’s ears.  But his person will be safe.  Fear not for that.  Methinks Alphonso would sooner lay down his own life than that harm should befall from what chanced upon a day of sport planned by him and Joanna.”

And Gertrude, seeing that a load lay upon the heart of the young Lord of Dynevor, set herself to chase the cloud from his brow, and had so far succeeded that he looked himself again by the time a warning shout from those in advance showed that some tracks of the wild creature of whom they were in pursuit had been discovered in the path.

“Do not run into danger,” pleaded Gertrude, laying a hand on Wendot’s arm as he moved quickly forward to the front.  “You are so brave you never think of yourself; but do not let us have more bloodshed today, save the blood of the ravenous beast if it must be.  I could find it in my heart to wish that we had not come forth on this errand.  The brightness of the day has been clouded over.”

Wendot answered by a responsive glance.  There was something soothing to him in the unsolicited sympathy of Gertrude.  He had thought little since they parted two years before of that childish pledge given and received, although he always wore her talisman about his neck, and sometimes looked at it with a smile.  He had no serious thoughts of trying to mate with an English noble’s daughter.  He had had no leisure to spare for thoughts of wedlock at all.  But something in the trustful glance of those dark eyes looking confidingly up to him sent a quick thrill through his pulses, which was perhaps the first dawning life of the love of a brave heart.

But there was an impatient call from the front, and Wendot sprang forward, the huntsman awakening within him at the sight of the slot of the quarry.  He looked intently at the tracks in the soft earth, and then pointed downwards in the direction of a deep gully or cavernous opening in the hillside, which looked very dark and gloomy to the party who stood in the sunshine of the open.

“The beast has gone that way,” he said; “and by his tracks and these bloodstains, he has prey in his mouth.  Likely his mate may have her lair in yon dark spot, and they may be rearing their young in that safe retreat.  See how the dogs strain and pant!  They smell the prey, and are eager to be off.  We must be alert and wary, for wolves with young ones to guard are fierce beyond their wont.”

He looked doubtfully at the girls, whose faces were full of mingled terror and excitement.  Godfrey read his meaning, and suggested that the ladies should remain in this vantage ground whilst some of the rest went forward to reconnoitre.

But Joanna, ever bold and impetuous, would have none of that.

“We will go on together,” she said.  “We shall be safest so.  No wolf, however fierce, will attack a number like ourselves.  They will fly if they can, and if they are brought to bay we need not go near them.  But why have we come so far to give up all the peril and the sport at the last moment?”

“She speaks truth,” said Wendot, to whom she seemed to look.  “At this season of the year wolves have meat in plenty, and will not attack man save in self defence.  If we track them silently to their lair, we may surprise and kill the brood; but we are many, and can leave force enough to defend the ladies whilst the rest fight the battle with the creatures at bay.”

Nobody really wished to be left behind, and there was a pleasant feeling of safety in numbers.  Slowly and cautiously they all followed the track of the wolf downwards into the gloomy ravine, which seemed to shut out all light of the sun between walls of solid rock.

It was a curious freak in which nature had indulged in the formation of this miniature crevasse between the hillsides.  At the base ran a dark turbid stream, which had hollowed out for itself a sort of cavernous opening, and the walls of rock rose almost precipitately on three sides, only leaving one track by which the ravine could be entered.  The stream came bubbling out from the rock, passing through some underground passage; and within the gloomy cavern thus produced the savage beasts had plainly made their lair, for there were traces of blood and bones upon the little rocky platform, and the trained ear of Wendot, who was foremost, detected the sound of subdued and angry growling proceeding from the natural cave they were approaching.

“The beasts are in there,” he said, pausing, and the next moment Raoul had loosed the dogs, who darted like arrows from bows along the narrow track; and immediately a great he wolf had sprung out with a cry of almost human rage, and had fastened upon one of the assailants, whose piercing yell made the girls shrink back and almost wish they had not come.

But Wendot was not far behind.  He was not one of the huntsmen who give all the peril to the dogs and keep out of the fray themselves.  Drawing his long hunting knife, and shouting to his brothers to follow him, he sprang down upon the rocky platform himself, and Llewelyn and Howel were at his side in a moment.  Godfrey would fain have followed, but his duty obliged him to remain by the side of the princess; and he kept a firm though respectful grasp upon Alphonso’s arm, feeling that he must not by any means permit the heir of England to adventure himself into the fray.  And indeed the boy’s gashed hand hindered him from the use of his weapon, and he could only look on with the most intense interest whilst the conflict between the two fierce beasts and their angry cubs was waged by the fearless lads, who had been through many such encounters before, and showed such skill, such address, such intrepidity in their attack, that the young prince shouted aloud in admiration, and even the girls lost their first sense of terror in the certainty of victory on the side of the Welsh youths.

As for Raoul Latimer, he stood at a safe distance cheering on his dogs, but not adventuring himself within reach of the murderous fangs of the wolves.  He occupied a position halfway between the spot upon which the fray was taking place and the vantage ground occupied by the royal party in full sight of the strife.

Arthyn had passed several scornful comments upon the care the young gallant was taking of himself, when suddenly there was a cry from the spectators; for one of the cubs, escaping from the melee, ran full tilt towards Raoul, blind as it seemed with terror; and as it came within reach of his weapon, the sharp blade gleamed in the air, and the little creature gave one yell and rolled over in its death agony.  But that cry seemed to pierce the heart of the mother wolf, and suddenly, with almost preternatural strength and activity, she bounded clean over the forms of men and dogs, and dashed straight at Raoul with all the ferocity of an animal at bay, and of a mother robbed of her young.

The young man saw the attack; but his weapon was buried in the body of the cub, and he had no time to disengage it.  Turning with a sharp cry of terror, he attempted to fly up the rocky path; but the beast was upon him.  She made a wild dash and fastened upon his back, her fangs crushing one shoulder and her hot breath seeming to scorch his cheek.  With a wild yell of agony and terror Raoul threw himself face downwards upon the ground, whilst his cry was shrilly echoed by the girls ­ all but Arthyn, who stood rigidly as if turned to stone, a strange, fierce light blazing in her eyes.

But help was close at hand.  Wendot had seen the spring, and had followed close upon the charge of the maddened brute.  Flinging himself fearlessly upon the struggling pair, he plunged his knife into the neck of the wolf, causing her to relax her hold of her first foe and turn upon him.  Had he stabbed her to the heart she might have inflicted worse injury upon Raoul in her mortal struggle; as it was, there was fierce fight left in her still.  But Wendot was kneeling upon the wildly struggling body with all his strength, and had locked his hands fast round her throat.

“Quick, Llewelyn ­ the knife!” he cried, and his brother was beside him in an instant.

The merciful death stroke was given, and the three youths rose from their crouching posture and looked each other in the eyes, whilst the wolf lay still and dead by the side of her cub.

“Methinks we have had something too much of Welsh wolves,” was the only comment of Raoul, as he joined the royal party without a word to the brothers who had saved his life.