The great King Edward had been sitting enthroned in the state apartment of the castle, receiving the homage of those amongst the Welsh lords and chieftains who had been summoned to pay their homage to him and had obeyed this summons.

It was an imposing sight, and one not likely to be forgotten by any who witnessed it for the first time.  The courageous but gentle Queen Eleanor, who was seldom absent from her lord’s side be the times peaceful or warlike, was seated beside him for the ceremony, with her two elder daughters beside her.  The young Alphonso stood at the right hand of the king, his face bright with interest and sympathy; and if ever the act of homage seemed to be paid with effort by some rugged chieftain, or he saw a look of gloom or pain upon the face of such a one, he was ever ready with some graceful speech or small act of courtesy, which generally acted like a charm.  And the father regarded his son with a fond pride, and let him take his own way with these haughty, untamable spirits, feeling perhaps that the tact of the royal boy would do more to conciliate and win hearts than any word or deed of his own.

Edward has been often harshly condemned for his cruelty and treachery towards the vanquished Welsh; but it must be remembered with regard to the first charge that the days were rude and cruel, that the spirit of the age was fierce and headstrong, and that the barons and nobles who were scheming for the fair lands of Wales were guilty of many of the unjust and oppressive acts for which Edward has since been held responsible.  The Welsh were themselves a very wild race, in some parts of the country barely civilized; and there can be no denying that a vein of fierce treachery ran through their composition, and that they often provoked their adversaries to cruel retaliation.  As for the king himself, his policy was on the whole a merciful and just one, if the one point of his feudal supremacy were conceded.  To those who came to him with their act of homage he confirmed their possession of ancestral estates, and treated them with kindness and consideration.  He was too keen a statesman and too just a man to desire anything but a conciliatory policy so far as it was possible.  Only when really roused to anger and resolved upon war did the fiercer side of his nature show itself, and then, indeed, he could show himself terrible and lion-like in his wrath.

The brothers of Dynevor were the last of those who came to pay their act of homage.  The day had waned, and the last light of sunset was streaming into that long room as the fair-haired Wendot bent his knee in response to the summons of the herald.  The king’s eyes seemed to rest upon him with interest, and he spoke kindly to the youth; but it was noted by some in the company that his brow darkened when Llewelyn followed his brother’s example, Howel attending him as Griffeth had supported Wendot; and there was none of the gracious urbanity in the royal countenance now that had characterized it during the past hour.

Several faces amongst those in immediate attendance upon the king and his family watched this closing scene with unwonted interest.  Gertrude stood with Joanna’s hand clasped in hers, quivering with excitement, and ever and anon casting quick looks towards her brother, who stood behind the chair of state observant and watchful, but without betraying his feelings either by word or look.  Raoul Latimer was there, a sneer upon his lips, a malevolent light in his eyes, which deepened as they rested upon Llewelyn, whilst Arthyn watched the twin brothers with a strange look in her glowing eyes, her lips parted, her white teeth just showing between, her whole expression one of tense expectancy and sympathy.  Once Llewelyn glanced up and met the look she bent on him.  A dusky flush overspread his cheek, and his fingers clenched themselves in an unconscious movement understood only by himself.

The homage paid, there was a little stir at the lower end of the hall as the doors were flung open for the royal party to take their departure.  Edward bent a searching look upon the four brothers, who had fallen back somewhat, and were clustered together not far from the royal group, and the next minute an attendant whispered to them that it was the king’s pleasure they should follow in his personal retinue, as he had somewhat to say to them in private.

Wendot’s heart beat rather faster than its wont.  He had had some foreboding of evil ever since that unlucky expedition, some days back now, on which Llewelyn’s sword had been drawn upon an English subject, and had injured the king’s son likewise.  Raoul had for very shame affected a sort of condescending friendliness towards the brothers after they had been instrumental in saving him from the fangs of the she wolf; but it was pretty evident to them that his friendship was but skin deep; whilst every word that passed between Arthyn and Llewelyn or his brother ­ and these were many ­ was ranked as a dire offence.

Had Wendot been more conversant with the intrigues of courts, he would have seen plainly that Raoul was paying his addresses to the Welsh heiress, who plainly detested and abhorred him.  The ambitious and clever young man, who was well thought of by the king, and had many friends amongst the nobles and barons, had a plan of his own for securing to himself some of the richest territory in the country, and was leaving no stone unturned in order to achieve that object.  A marriage with Arthyn would give him the hold he wanted upon a very large estate.  But indifferent as he was to the feelings of the lady, he was wise enough to see that whilst she remained in her present mood, and was the confidante and friend of the princesses, he should not gain the king’s consent to prosecuting his nuptials by force, as he would gladly have done.  Whereupon a new scheme had entered his busy brain, as a second string to his bow, and with the help of a kinsman high in favour with the king, he had great hopes of gaining his point, which would at once gratify his ambition and inflict vengeance upon a hated rival.

Raoul had hated the Dynevor brothers ever since he had detected in Arthyn an interest in and sympathy for them, ever since he had found her in close talk in their own tongue with the dark-browed twins, whose antagonism to the English was scarcely disguised.  He had done all he knew to stir the hot blood in Llewelyn and Howel, and that with some success.  The lads were looked upon as dangerous and treacherous by many of those in the castle; and from the sneering look of coming triumph upon the face of young Latimer as the party moved off towards the private apartments of the royal family, it was plain that he anticipated a victory for himself and a profound humiliation for his foes.

Supper was the first business of the hour, and the Dynevor brothers sat at the lower table with the attendants of the king.  The meal was well-served and plentiful, but they bad small appetite for it.  Wendot felt as though a shadow hung upon them; and the chief comfort he received was in stealing glances at the sweet, sensitive face of Gertrude, who generally responded to his glance by one of her flashing smiles.

Wendot wondered how it was that Lord Montacute had never sought him out to speak to him.  Little as the lad had thought of their parting interview at Dynevor during the past two years, it all came back with the greatest vividness as he looked upon the fine calm face of the English noble.  Was it possible he had forgotten the half-pledge once given him?  Or did he regret it, now that his daughter was shooting up from a child into a sweet and gracious maiden whom he felt disposed to worship with reverential awe?  Wendot did not think he was in love ­ he would scarce have known the meaning of the phrase and he as little understood the feelings which had lately awakened within him; but he did feel conscious that a new element had entered into his life, and with it a far less bitter sense of antagonism to the English than he had experienced in previous years.

After the supper was ended the royal family withdrew into an inner room, and presently the four brothers were bidden to enter, as the king had somewhat to say to them.  The greater number of the courtiers and attendants remained in the outer room, but Sir Godfrey Challoner, Raoul Latimer, and one or two other gentlemen were present in the smaller apartment.  The queen and royal children were also there, and their playfellows and companions, Gertrude holding her father by the hand, and watching with intense interest the approach of the brothers and the faces of the king and his son.

Edward was seated before a table on which certain parchments lay.  Alphonso stood beside him, and Wendot fancied that he had only just ended some earnest appeal, his parted lips and flushed cheeks seeming to tell of recent eager speech.  The king looked keenly at the brothers as they made their obeisance to him, and singling out Wendot, bid him by a gesture to approach nearer.

There was a kindliness in the royal countenance which encouraged the youth, and few could approach the great soldier king without experiencing something of the fascination which his powerful individuality exercised over all his subjects.

“Come hither, boy,” he said; “we have heard nought but good of thee.  Thou hast an eloquent advocate in yon maiden of Lord Montacute’s, and mine own son and daughters praise thy gallantry in no measured terms.  We have made careful examination into these parchments here, containing reports of the late rebellion, and cannot find that thou hast had part or lot in it.  Thou hast paid thy homage without dallying or delay; wherefore it is our pleasure to confirm to thee thy possession of thy castle of Dynevor and its territory.  We only caution thee to remain loyal to him thou hast owned as king, and we will establish thee in thy rights if in time to come they be disputed by others, or thou stirrest up foes by thy loyalty to us.”

Wendot bowed low.  If there was something bitter in having his father’s rightful inheritance granted to him as something of a boon, at least there was much to sweeten the draught in the kindly and gracious bearing of the king, and in Alphonso’s friendly words and looks.  He had no father to look to in time of need, and felt a great distrust of the kinsman who exercised some guardianship over him; so that there was considerable relief for the youth in feeling that the great King of England was his friend, and that he would keep him from the aggression of foes.

He stood aside as Edward’s glance passed on to Llewelyn and Howel, and it was plain that the monarch’s face changed and hardened as he fixed his eye upon the twins.

“Llewelyn ­ Howel,” he said, “joint lords of Iscennen, we wish that we had received the same good report of you that we have done of your brethren.  But it is not so.  There be dark records in your past which give little hope for the future.  Nevertheless you are yet young.  Wisdom may come with the advance of years.  But the hot blood in you requires taming and curbing.  You have proved yourselves unfit for the place hitherto occupied as lords of the broad lands bequeathed you by Res Vychan, your father.  For the present those lands are forfeit.  You must win the right to call them yours again by loyalty in the cause which every true Welshman should have at heart, because it is the cause which alone can bring peace and safety to your harassed country.  It is not willingly that we wrest from any man the lands that are his birthright.  Less willingly do we do this when homage, however unwilling and reluctant, has been paid.  But we have our duties to ourselves and to our submitted subjects to consider, and it is not meet to send firebrands alight into the world, when a spark may raise so fierce a conflagration, and when hundreds of lives have to pay the penalty of one mad act of headstrong youth.  It is your youth that shall be your excuse from the charge of graver offence, but those who are too young to govern themselves are not fit to govern others.”

Whilst the king had been speaking he had been closely studying the faces of the twin brothers, who stood before him with their eyes on the ground.  These two lads, although by their stature and appearance almost men, had not attained more than their sixteenth year, and had by no means learned that control of feature which is one of nature’s hardest lessons.  As the king’s words made themselves understood, their brows had darkened and their faces had contracted with a fierce anger and rage, which betrayed itself also in their clenched hands and heaving chests; and although they remained speechless ­ for the awe inspired by Edward’s presence could not but make itself felt even by them ­ it was plain that only the strongest efforts put upon themselves hindered them from some outbreak of great violence.

Edward’s eye rested sternly upon them for a moment, and then he addressed himself once again to Wendot.

“To thee, Res Wendot,” he said, “we give the charge of these two turbulent brothers of thine.  Had not the Prince Alphonso spoken for them, we had kept them under our own care here in our fortress of Rhuddlan.  But he has pleaded for them that they have their liberty, therefore into thy charge do we give them.  Take them back with thee to Dynevor, and strive to make them like unto thyself and thy shadow there, who is, they tell me, thy youngest brother, and as well disposed as thyself.

“Say, young man, wilt thou accept this charge, and be surety for these haughty youths?  If their own next-of-kin will not take this office, we must look elsewhere for a sterner guardian.”

For a moment Wendot hesitated, He knew well the untamable spirit of his brothers, and the small influence he was likely to have upon them, and for a moment his heart shrank from the task.  But again he bethought what his refusal must mean to them ­ captivity of a more or less irksome kind, harsh treatment perhaps, resulting in actual imprisonment, and a sure loss of favour with any guardian who had the least love for the English cause.  At Dynevor they would at least be free.

Surely, knowing all, they would not make his task too hard.  The tie of kindred was very close.  Wendot remembered words spoken by the dying bed of his parents, and his mind was quickly made up.

“I will be surety for them,” he said briefly.  “If they offend again, let my life, my lands, be the forfeit.”

The monarch gave him a searching glance.  Perhaps some of the effort with which he had spoken made itself audible in his tones.  He looked full at Wendot for a brief minute, and then turned to the black-browed twins.

“You hear your brother’s pledge,” he said in low, stern tones.  “If you have the feelings of men of honour, you will respect the motive which prompts him to give it, and add no difficulties to the task he has imposed upon himself.  Be loyal to him, and loyal to the cause he has embraced, and perchance a day may come when you may so have redeemed your past youthful follies as to claim and receive at our hands the lands we now withhold.  In the meantime they will be administered by Raoul Latimer, who will draw the revenues and maintain order there.  He has proved his loyalty in many ways ere this, and he is to be trusted, as one day I hope you twain may be.”

Llewelyn started as if he had been stung as these words crossed the king’s lips.  His black eyes flashed fire, and as he lifted his head and met the mocking glance of Raoul, it seemed for a moment as if actually in the presence of the king he would have flown at his antagonist’s throat; but Wendot’s hand was on his arm, and even Howel had the self-command to whisper a word of caution.  Alphonso sprang gaily between the angry youth and his father’s keen glance, and began talking eagerly of Dynevor, asking how the brothers would spend their time, now that they were all to live there once more; whilst Arthyn, coming forward, drew Llewelyn gently backward, casting at Raoul a look of such bitter scorn and hatred that he involuntarily shrank before it.

“Thou hast taken a heavy burden upon thy young shoulders, lad,” said a well-remembered voice in Wendot’s ear, and looking up, he met the calm gaze of Lord Montacute bent upon him; whilst Gertrude, flushing and sparkling, stood close beside her father.  “Thinkest thou that such tempers as those will be easily controlled?”

Wendot’s face was grave, and looked manly in its noble thoughtfulness.

“I know not what to say; but, in truth, I could have given no other answer.  Could I leave my own brethren to languish in captivity, however honourable, when a word from me would free them?  Methinks, sir, thou scarce knowest what freedom is to us wild sons of Wales, or how the very thought of any hindrance to perfect liberty chafes our spirit and frets us past the limit of endurance.  Sooner than be fettered by bonds, however slack, I would spring from yonder casement and dash myself to pieces upon the stones below.  To give my brothers up into unfriendly hands would be giving them up to certain death.  If my spirit could not brook such control, how much less could theirs?”

Gertrude’s soft eyes gave eloquent and sympathetic response.  Wendot had unconsciously addressed his justification to her rather than to her father.  Her quick sympathy gave him heart and hope.  She laid her hand upon his arm and said: 

“I think thou art very noble, Wendot; it was like thee to do it.  I was almost grieved when I heard thee take the charge upon thyself, for I fear it may be one of peril to thee.  But I love thee the more for thy generosity.  Thou wilt be a true and brave knight ere thou winnest thy spurs in battle.”

Wendot’s face flushed with shy happiness at hearing such frank and unqualified praise from one he was beginning to hold so dear.  Lord Montacute laid his hand smilingly on his daughter’s mouth, as if to check her ready speech, and then bidding her join the Lady Joanna, who was making signals to her from the other side of the room, he drew Wendot a little away into an embrasure, and spoke to him in tones of considerable gravity.

“Young man,” he said, “I know not if thou hast any memory left of the words I spake to thee when last we met at Dynevor?”

Wendot’s colour again rose, but his glance did not waver.

“I remember right well,” he answered simply.  “I spoke words then of which I have often thought since ­ words that I have not repented till today, nor indeed till I heard thee pass that pledge which makes thee surety for thy turbulent brothers.”

A quick, troubled look crossed Wendot’s face, but he did not speak, and Lord Montacute continued ­ “I greatly fear that thou hast undertaken more than thou canst accomplish; and that, instead of drawing thy brothers from the paths of peril, thou wilt rather be led by them into treacherous waters, which may at last overwhelm thee.  You are all young together, and many dangers beset the steps of youth.  Thou art true and loyal hearted, that I know well; but thou art a Welshman, and ­”

He paused and stopped short, and Wendot answered, not without pride: 

“I truly am a Welshman ­ it is my boast to call myself that.  If you fear to give your daughter to one of that despised race, so be it.  I would not drag her down to degradation; I love her too well for that.  Keep her to thyself.  I give thee back thy pledge.”

Lord Montacute smiled as he laid his hand upon the young man’s shoulder.

“So hot and hasty, Wendot, as hasty as those black-haired twins.  Yet, boy, I like thee for thy outspoken candour, and I would not have thee change it for the smooth treachery of courtly intrigue.  If I had nought else to think of, I would plight my daughter’s hand to thee, an ye both were willing, more gladly than to any man I know.  But, Wendot, she is mine only child, and very dear to me.  There are others who would fain win her smiles, others who would be proud to do her lightest behest.  She is yet but a child.  Perchance she has not seriously considered these matters.  Still there will come a time when she will do so, and ­”

“Then let her choose where she will,” cried Wendot, proudly and hotly.  “Think you I would wed one whose heart was given elsewhere?  Take back your pledge ­ think of it no more.  If the day comes when I may come to her free and unfettered, and see if she has any regard for me, good.  I will come.  But so long as you hold that peril menaces my path, I will not ask her even to think of me.  Let her forget.  I will not bind her by a word.  It shall be as if those words had never passed betwixt us.”

Lord Montacute scarce knew if regret, relief, or admiration were the feeling uppermost in his mind, as the youth he believed so worthy of his fair daughter, and perhaps not entirely indifferent to her dawning charms, thus frankly withdrew his claim upon her hand.  It seems strange to us that any one should be talking and thinking so seriously of matrimony when the girl was but fourteen and the youth three years her senior; but in those days marriages were not only planned but consummated at an absurdly early age according to our modern notions, and brides of fifteen and sixteen were considered almost mature.  Many young men of Wendot’s age would be seriously seeking a wife, and although no such thought had entered his head until he had seen Gertrude again, it cannot be denied that the idea had taken some hold upon him now, or that he did not feel a qualm of pain and sorrow at thus yielding up one bright hope just when the task he had taken upon himself seemed to be clouding his life with anxiety and peril.

“Boy,” said Lord Montacute, “I cannot forget what thou hast done nor what she owes to thee.  I love thee well, and would fain welcome thee as a son; but my love for her bids me wait till we see what is the result of this office thou hast taken on thyself.  Thou hast acted rightly and nobly, but in this world trouble often seems to follow the steps of those who strive most after the right.  If thine own life, thine own possessions, are to pay the forfeit if thy brethren fall away into rebellion ­ and Edward, though a just man and kind, can be stern to exact the uttermost penalty when he is angered or defied ­ then standest thou in sore peril, peril from which I would shield my maid.  Wherefore ­”

“Nay, say no more ­ say no more.  I comprehend it all too well,” replied Wendot, not without a natural though only momentary feeling of bitterness at the thought of what this pledge was already costing him, but his native generosity and sweetness of temper soon triumphed over all besides, and he said with his peculiarly bright and steadfast smile, “You have judged rightly and well for us both, my lord.  Did I but drag her down to sorrow and shame, it would be the bitterest drop in a bitter cup.  A man placed as I am is better without ties.”

“Also the days will soon pass by, and the time will come when this charge ceases.  Then if the Lady Gertrude be still mistress of her hand and heart, and if the Lord of Dynevor comes to try his fate, methinks, by what I have seen and heard, that he may chance to get no unkindly answer to his wooing.”

Wendot made no reply, but only blushed deeply as he moved away.  He scarce knew whether he were glad or sorry that Gertrude came out to meet him, and drew him towards the little group which had gathered in a deep embrasure of the window.  Joanna, Alphonso, and Griffeth were there.  They had been eagerly questioning the younger lad about life at Dynevor, and what they would do when they were at home all together.  Joanna was longing to travel that way and lodge a night there; and Gertrude was eloquent in praise of the castle, and looked almost wistfully at Wendot to induce him to add his voice to the general testimony.  But he was unwontedly grave and silent, and her soft eyes filled with tears.  She knew that he was heavy hearted, and it cut her to the quick; but he did not speak of his trouble, and only Alphonso ventured to allude to it, and that was by one quick sentence as he was taking his departure at bedtime.

“Wendot,” he said earnestly, “I will ever be thy friend.  Fear not.  My father denies me nothing.  Thy trial may be a hard one, but thou wilt come nobly forth from it.  I will see that harm to thee comes not from thy generosity.  Only be true to us, and thou shalt not suffer.”

Wendot made no reply, but the words were like a gleam of sunshine breaking through the clouds; and one more such gleam was in store for him on the morrow, when he bid a final adieu to Gertrude before the general departure for Dynevor.

“I have my half gold coin, Wendot.  I shall look at it every day and think of thee.  I am so happy that we have seen each other once again.  Thou wilt not forget me, Wendot?”

“Never so long as I live,” he answered with sudden fervour, raising the small hand he held to his lips.  “And some day, perchance, Lady Gertrude, I will come to thee again.”

“I shall be waiting for thee,” she answered, with a mixture of arch sweetness and playfulness that he scarce knew whether to call childlike confidence or maiden trust.  But the look in her eyes went to his heart, and was treasured there, like the memory of a sunbeam, for many long days to come.