The four sons of Res Vychan went back to Dynevor together, there to settle down, outwardly at least, to a quiet and uneventful life, chiefly diversified by hunting and fishing, and such adventures as are inseparable from those pastimes in which eager lads are engrossed.

Wendot both looked and felt older for his experiences in the castle of Rhuddlan.  His face had lost much of its boyishness, and had taken a thoughtfulness beyond his years.  Sometimes he appeared considerably oppressed by the weight of the responsibility with which he had charged himself, and would watch the movements and listen to the talk of the twins with but slightly concealed uneasiness.

Yet as days merged into weeks, and weeks lengthened into months, and still there had been nothing to alarm him unduly, he began, as the inclement winter drew on, to breathe more freely; for in the winter months all hostilities of necessity ceased, for the mountain passes were always blocked with snow, and both travelling and fighting were practically out of the question for a considerable time.

Wendot, too, had matters enough to occupy his mind quite apart from the charge of his two haughty brothers.  He had his own estates to administer ­ no light task for a youth not yet eighteen ­ and his large household to order; and though Griffeth gave him every help, Llewelyn and Howel stood sullenly aloof, and would not appear to take the least interest in anything that appertained to Dynevor, although they gave no reason for their conduct, and were not in other ways unfriendly to their brothers.

The country was for the time being quiet and at peace.  Exhausted by its own internal struggles and by the late disastrous campaign against the English, the land was, as it were, resting and recruiting itself, in preparation, perhaps, for another outbreak later on.  In the meantime, sanguine spirits like those of Wendot and Griffeth began to cherish hopes that the long and weary struggle was over at last, and that the nation, as a nation, would begin to realize the wisdom and the advantage of making a friend and ally of the powerful monarch of England, instead of provoking him to acts of tyranny and retaliation by perpetual and fruitless rebellions against a will far too strong to be successfully resisted.

But Llewelyn and Howel never spoke of the English without words and looks indicative of the deepest hatred; and the smouldering fire in their breasts was kept glowing and burning by the wild words and the wilder songs of the old bard Wenwynwyn, who spent the best part of his time shut up in his own bare room, with his harp for his companion, in which room Llewelyn and Howel spent much of their time during the dark winter days, when they could be less and less out of doors.

Since that adventure of the Eagle’s Crag, Wendot had distrusted the old minstrel, and was uneasy at the influence he exercised upon the twins; but the idea of sending him from Dynevor was one which never for a moment entered his head.  Had not Wenwynwyn grown old in his father’s service?  Had he not been born and bred at Dynevor?  The young lord himself seemed to have a scarce more assured right to his place there than the ancient bard.  Be he friend or be he foe, at Dynevor he must remain so long as the breath remained in his body.

The bard was, by hereditary instinct, attached to all the boys, but of late there had been but little community of thought between him and his young chieftain.  Wendot well knew the reason.  The old man hated the English with the bitter, unreasoning, deadly hatred of his wild, untutored nature.  Had he not sprung from a race whose lives had been spent in rousing in the breasts of all who heard them the most fervent and unbounded patriotic enthusiasm?  And was it to be marvelled at that he could not see or understand the changes of the times or the hopelessness of the long struggle, now that half the Welsh nobles were growing cool in the national cause, and the civilization and wealth of the sister country were beginning to show them that their own condition left much to be desired, and that there was something better and higher to be achieved than a so-called liberty, only maintained at the cost of perpetual bloodshed? or a series of petty feuds for supremacy, which went far to keep the land in a state of semi-barbarism?

So the old bard sang his wild songs, and Llewelyn and Howel sat by the glowing fire of logs that blazed in the long winter evenings upon his hearth, listening to his fierce words, and hardening their hearts and bracing their wills against any kind of submission to a foreign yoke.  A burning hatred against the English king also consumed them.  Had they not, at the cost of most bitter humiliation, gone to him as vassals, trusting to his promise that all who did homage for their lands should be confirmed in peaceful possession of the same?  And how had he treated this act of painful submission?  Was it greatly to be wondered at that their hearts burned with an unquenchable hatred?  To them Edward stood as the type of all that was cruel and treacherous and grasping.  They brooded over their wrongs by day and by night; they carried their dark looks with them when they stirred abroad or when they rested at home.  Wenwynwyn sympathized as none besides seemed to do, and he became their great solace and chief counsellor.

Wendot might uneasily wonder what passed in that quiet room of the old man’s, but he never knew or guessed.  He would better have liked to hear Llewelyn burst forth into the old passionate invective.  He was uneasy at this chronic state of gloom and sullen silence on the vexed question of English supremacy.  But seldom a word passed the lips of either twin.  They kept their secret ­ if secret they had ­ locked away in their own breasts.  And days and weeks and months passed by, and Wendot and Griffeth seemed almost as much alone at Dynevor as they had been after their father’s death, when Llewelyn and Howel had betaken themselves to their castle of Carregcennen.

But at least, if silent and sullen, they did not appear to entertain any plan likely to raise anxiety in Wendot’s mind as to the pledge he had given to the king.  They kept at home, and never spoke of Iscennen, and as the winter passed away and the spring began to awaken the world from her long white sleep, they betook themselves with zest to their pastime of hunting, and went long expeditions that sometimes lasted many days, returning laden with spoil, and apparently in better spirits from the bracing nature of their pursuits.

Griffeth, who had felt the cold somewhat keenly, and had been drooping and languid all the winter, picked up strength and spirit as the days grew longer and warmer, and began to enjoy open-air life once more.

Wendot was much wrapped up in this young brother of his, who had always been dearer to him than any being in the world besides.

Since he had been at death’s door with the fever, Griffeth had never recovered the robustness of health which had hitherto been the characteristic of the Dynevor brothers all their lives.  He was active and energetic when the fit was on him, but he wearied soon of any active sport.  He could no longer bound up the mountain paths with the fleetness and elasticity of a mountain deer, and in the keen air of the higher peaks it was difficult for him to breathe.

Still in the summer days he was almost his former self again, or so Wendot hoped; and although Griffeth’s lack of rude health hindered both from joining the long expeditions planned and carried out by the twins, it never occurred to Wendot to suspect that there was an ulterior motive for these, or to realize how unwelcome his presence would have been had he volunteered it, in lieu of staying behind with Griffeth, and contenting himself with less adventurous sports.

Spring turned to summer, and summer to autumn, and life at Dynevor seemed to move quietly enough.  Griffeth took a fancy to book learning ­ a rare enough accomplishment in those days ­ and a monk from the Abbey of Strata Florida was procured to give him instruction in the obscure science of reading and writing.  Wendot, who had a natural love of study, and who had been taught something of these mysteries by his mother ­ she being for the age she lived in a very cultivated woman ­ shared his brother’s studies, and delighted in the acquirement of learning.

But this new development on the part of the Lord of Dynevor and his brother seemed to divide them still more from the two remaining sons of Res Vychan; and the old bard would solemnly shake his head and predict certain ruin to the house when its master laid aside sword for pen, and looked for counsel to the monk and missal instead of to his good right hand and his faithful band of armed retainers.

Wendot and Griffeth would smile at these dark sayings, and loved their studies none the less because they opened out before them some better understanding of the blessings of peace and culture upon a world harried and exhausted with perpetual, aimless strife; but their more enlightened opinions seemed but to widen the breach between them and their brothers, and soon they began to be almost strangers to each other.

Wendot and Griffeth regretted this without seeing how to mend matters.  They felt sorry for Llewelyn and Howel, deprived of the employments and authority they had enjoyed of late, and would have gladly given them a share of authority in Dynevor; but this they would not accept, drawing more and more away into themselves, and sharing their confidences with no one except Wenwynwyn.

The summer was now on the wane, and the blustering winds of the equinox had begun to moan about the castle walls.  The men were busy getting in the last of the fruits of the earth and storing them up against the winter need, whilst the huntsmen brought in day by day stores of venison and game, which the women salted down for consumption during the long dreary days when snow should shut them within their own walls, and no fresh meat would be obtainable.

It was a busy season, and Wendot had time and mind alike full.  He heeded little the movements of his brothers, whom he thought engrossed in the pleasures of the chase.  He was not even aware that old Wenwynwyn was absent for several days from the castle, for since the estrangement between him and the old man he was often days at a time without encountering him.

Llewelyn and Howel were visibly restless just now.  They did not go far from the castle, nor did they seem interested in the spoil the hunters brought home.  But they spent many long hours in the great gallery where the arms of the retainers were laid up, and their heads were often to be seen close together in deep discussion, although if any person came near to disturb them they would spring asunder, or begin loudly discussing some indifferent theme.

They were in this vast, gloomy place, sitting together in the deep embrasure of one of the narrow windows as the daylight began to fail, when suddenly they beheld Wenwynwyn stalking through the long gallery as if in search of them, and they sprang forward to greet him with unconcealed eagerness.

“Thou hast returned.”

“Ay, my sons, I have returned, and am the bearer of good news.  But this is not the place to speak.  Stones have ears, and traitors abound even in these hoary walls which have echoed to the songs of the bard for more years than man can count.  Ah, woe the day; ah, woe the falling off!  That I should live to see the sons of Dynevor thus fall away ­ the young eaglets leaving their high estate to grovel with the carrion vulture and the coward crow!  Ah! in old days it was not so.  But there are yet those of the degenerate race in whom the spirit of their fathers burns.  Come, my sons ­ come hither with me.  I bring you a message from Iscennen that will gladden your hearts to hear.”

The boys pressed after him up the narrow, winding stair that led to the room the bard called his own.  It was remote from the rest of the castle, and words spoken within its walls could be heard by none outside.  It was a place that had heard much plotting and planning ere now, and what was to be spoken tonight was but the sequel of what had gone before.

“Speak, Wenwynwyn, speak!” cried the twins in a breath.  “Has he returned thither?”

“Ay, my sons; he has come back in person to receive his ‘dues,’ and to look into all that has passed in his absence.  These eyes have seen the false, smiling face of the usurper, who sits in the halls which have rung to the sound of yon harp in days when the accursed foot of the stranger would have been driven with blows from the door.  He is there, and ­”

“And they hate and despise and contemn him,” cried Llewelyn in wild excitement.  “Every man of Iscennen is his foe.  Do not I know it?  Have we not proved it?  There is no one but will rise at the sound of my trumpet, to follow me to victory or death.

“Wenwynwyn, speak! thou hast bid us wait till the hour has come till all things be ripe for action.  Tell us, has not that hour come?  Hast thou not come to bid us draw the sword, and wrest our rightful inheritance from the hand of the spoiler and alien?”

“Ay, verily, that hour has come,” cried the old bard, with a wild gesture.  “The spoiler is there, lurking in his den.  His eyes are roving round in hungry greed to spoil the poor man of his goods, to wrest the weapon from the strong.  He is fearful in the midst of his state ­ fearful of those he calls his vassals ­ those he would crush with his iron glove, and wring dry even as a sponge is wrung.  Ay, the hour is come.  The loyal patriots have looked upon your faces, my sons, and see in you their liberators.  Go now, when the traitor whose life you saved is gloating over his spoil in his castle walls.  Go and show him what it is to rob the young lions of their prey; show him what it is to strive with eagles, when only the blood of the painted jay runs in his craven veins.  Saw I not fear, distrust, and hatred in every line of that smooth face?  Think you that he is happy in the possession of what he sold his soul to gain?  Go, and the victory will be yours.  Go; all Iscennen will be with you.  Wenwynwyn has not sung his songs in vain amongst those hardy people!  He has prepared the way.  Go! victory lies before you.”

The boys’ hearts swelled within them at these words.  It was not for nothing that they, with their own faithful followers, sworn to secrecy, had absented themselves again and again from Dynevor Castle on the pretence of long hunting expeditions.  It was true that they had hunted game, that they had brought home abundance of spoil with them; but little had Llewelyn or Howel to do with the taking of that prey.  They had been at Iscennen; they had travelled the familiar tracks once again, and had found nothing but the most enthusiastic welcome from their own people, the greatest hatred for the foreign lordling, who had been foisted upon them by edict of the king.

Truly Raoul Latimer had won but a barren triumph in gaining for himself the lands of Iscennen.  A very short residence there had proved enough for him, and he had withdrawn, in fear that if he did not do so some fatal mischance would befall him.  He had reigned there as an absentee ever since, not less cursed and hated for the oppressive measures taken in his name than when he had been the active agent.

Matters were ripe for revolt.  There only wanted the time and the occasion.  The leader was already to hand ­ the old lord, young in years, Llewelyn ap Res Vychan, and Howel his brother.  With the twins at their head, Iscennen would rise to a man; and then let Raoul Latimer look to himself!  For the Welsh, when once aroused to strike, struck hard; and it cannot be denied that they ofttimes struck treacherously beside.

Small wonder if, as Wenwynwyn declared, young Raoul had found but small satisfaction in his visit to his new estate, and lived upon it in terror of his very life, though surrounded by the solid walls of his own castle.

The hour had come.  Llewelyn and Howel were about to taste the keen joy of revenging themselves upon a foe they hated and abhorred, about to take at least one step towards reinstating themselves in their ancestral halls.  But the second object was really less dear to them than the first.  If the hated Raoul could be slain, or made to fly in ignominy and disgrace, they cared little who reigned in his place.  Their own tenure at Carregcennen under existing circumstances they knew to be most insecure, and although they had organized and were to lead the attack, they were to do so disguised, and those who knew the share they were to take were pledged not to betray it.

Loose as had grown the bond between the brothers of late, the twins were not devoid of a certain rude code of honour of their own, and had no wish to involve Wendot in ruin and disgrace.  He was surety for their good behaviour, and if it became known to Edward that they had led the attack on one of his English subjects, Dynevor itself might pay the forfeit of his displeasure, and Wendot might have to answer with his life, as he had offered to do, for his brothers.  Thus, though this consideration was not strong enough to keep the twins from indulging their ungovernable hatred to their foe, it made them cautious about openly appearing in the matter themselves; and when, upon a wild, blustering night not many days later, a little band of hardy Welshmen, all armed to the teeth, crept with the silent caution of wild beasts along a rocky pathway which led by a subterranean way, known only to Llewelyn and Howel, into the keep of the castle itself; none would have recognized in the blackened faces of the two leaders, covered, as they appeared to be, with a tangled growth of hair and beard, the countenances of the sons of Res Vychan; whilst the stalwart, muscular figures seemed rather to belong to men than lads, and assisted the disguise not a little.

The hot-headed but by no means intrepid young Englishman, who had not had the courage to remain long in the possessions he had coveted, and who was fervently wishing that this second visit was safely over, was aroused from his slumbers by the clash of arms, and by the terrified cries of the guard he always placed about him.

“The Welsh wolves are upon us!” he heard a voice cry out in the darkness.  “We are undone ­ betrayed!  Every man for himself!  They are murdering every soul they meet.”

In a passion of rage and terror Raoul sprang from his bed, and commenced hurrying into his clothes as fast as his trembling hands would allow him.  In vain he called to his servants; they had every man of them fled.  Below he heard the clash of arms, and the terrible guttural cries with which the Welsh always rushed into battle, and which echoed through the halls of Carregcennen like the trump of doom.

It was a terrible moment for the young Englishman, alone, half-armed, and at the mercy of a merciless foe.  He looked wildly round for some means of escape.  The tread of many feet was on the stairs.  To attempt resistance was hopeless.  Flight was the only resource left him, and in a mad impulse of terror he flung himself on the floor, and crept beneath the bed, the arras of which concealed him from sight.  There he lay panting and trembling, whilst the door was burst open and armed men came flocking in.

“Ha, flown already!” cried a voice which did not seem entirely unfamiliar to the shivering youth, though he could not have said exactly to whom it belonged, and was in no mood to cudgel his brains on the subject.

He understood too little of the Welsh tongue to follow what was said, but with unspeakable relief he heard steps pass from the room; for even his foes did not credit him with the cowardice which would drive a man to perish like a rat in a hole rather than sword in hand like a knight and a soldier.

The men had dashed out, hot in pursuit, believing him to be attempting escape through some of the many outlets of the castle; and Raoul, still shivering and craven, was just creeping out from his hiding place, resolved to try to find his way to the outer world, when he uttered a gasp and stood or rather crouched spellbound where he was; for, standing beside a table on which the dim light of a night candle burned, binding up a gash in his arm with a scarf belonging to the Englishman, was a tall, stalwart, soldierly figure, that turned quickly at the sound made by the wretched Raoul.

“Spare me, spare me!” cried the miserable youth, as the man with a quick movement grasped his weapon and advanced towards him.

He did not know if his English would be understood, but it appeared to be, for the reply was spoken in the same tongue, though the words had strong Welsh accent.

“And wherefore should I spare you?  What have you done that we of Iscennen should look upon you as other than a bitter foe?  By what right are you here wringing our life blood from us?  Why should I not stamp the miserable life out of you as you lie grovelling at my feet?  Wales were well quit of such craven hounds as you.”

“Spare me, and I renounce my claim.  I swear by all that is holy that if you will but grant me my life I will repair to the king’s court without delay, and I will yield up to him every claim which I have on these lands.  I swear it by all that is holy in heaven and earth.”

“And what good shall we reap from that?  We shall but have another English tyrant set over us.  Better kill thee outright, as a warning to all who may come after.”

But Raoul clasped the knees of his foe, and lifted his voice again in passionate appeal.

“Kill me not; what good would that do you or your cause?  I tell you it would but raise Edward’s ire, and he would come with fire and sword to devastate these lands as I have never done.  Listen, and I will tell you what I will do.  Spare but my life, and I will entreat the king to restore these lands to your feudal lords, Llewelyn and Howel ap Res Vychan.  It was by my doing that they were wrested from them.  I confess it freely now.  Grant me but my life, and I will undo the work I have done.  I will restore to you your youthful chiefs.  Again I swear it; and I have the ear of his Grace.  If thou hast thy country’s cause at heart thou wilt hear me in this thing.  I will give you back the lords you all love.  I will trouble you no more myself.  I would I had never seen this evil place.  It has been nought but a curse to me from the day it was bestowed.”

The man uttered a harsh laugh, and stood as if considering.  Raoul, whose eyes never left the shining blade his foe held suspended in his hand, pleaded yet more and more eloquently, and, as it seemed, with some effect, for the soldier presently sheathed his weapon, and bid the wretched youth rise and follow him.  Raoul obeying, soon found himself in the presence of a wild crew of Welsh kerns, who were holding high revelry in the banqueting hall, whilst his own English servants ­ those, at least, who had not effected their escape ­ lay dead upon the ground, the presence of bleeding corpses at their very feet doing nothing to check the savage mirth and revelry of the victors, who had been joined by the whole of the Welsh garrison, only too glad of an excuse for rising against the usurper.

A silence fell upon the company as the dark-bearded soldier marched his captive into the hall, the yell of triumph being hushed by commanding gesture from the captor.  A long and unintelligible debate followed, Raoul only gathering from the faces of those present what were their feelings towards him.  He stood cowering and quaking before that fierce assembly ­ a pitiful object for all eyes.  But at length his captor briefly informed him that his terms were accepted:  that if he would write his request to the king and obtain its fulfilment, he should go free with a whole skin; but that, pending the negotiation, which could be carried on by the fathers of the Abbey of Strata Florida, he would remain a close prisoner, and his ransom would be the king’s consent.

These were the best terms the unhappy Raoul could obtain for himself, and he was forced to abide by them.  The fathers of the abbey were honest and trustworthy, and carried his letters to the king as soon as they had penned them for him.  Raoul was clever in diplomatic matters, and was so anxious for his own safety that he took good care not to drop a hint as to the evil conduct of the people of Iscennen, which might draw upon them the royal wrath and upon him instant death.  He simply represented that he was weary of his charge of this barren estate, that he preferred life in England and at the court, and found the revenues very barren and unprofitable.  As the former owners had redeemed their character by quiet conduct during the past year and a half, his gracious Majesty, he hinted, might be willing to gratify them and their people by reinstating them.

And when Edward read this report, and heard the opinion of the father who had brought it ­ a wily and a patriotic Welshman, who knew how to plead his cause well ­ he made no trouble about restoring to Llewelyn and Howel their lands, only desiring that Wendot should renew his pledge for their loyalty and good conduct, and still hold himself responsible for his brothers to the king.

And so Llewelyn and Howel went back to Carregcennen, and Wendot and Griffeth remained at Dynevor, hoping with a fond hope that this act of clemency and justice on the part of Edward would overcome in the mind of the twins the deeply-seated hatred they had cherished so long.