Harold : the Last of the Saxon Kings — Volume 07 (2024)

This eBook was produced by Tapio Riikonen

and David Widger

THE WELCH KING.

CHAPTER I.

The sun had just cast his last beams over the breadth of water intowhich Conway, or rather Cyn-wy, "the great river," emerges its windingwaves. Not at that time existed the matchless castle, which is nowthe monument of Edward Plantagenet, and the boast of Wales. Butbesides all the beauty the spot took from nature, it had even someclaim from ancient art. A rude fortress rose above the stream ofGyffin, out of the wrecks of some greater Roman hold [159], and vastruins of a former town lay round it; while opposite the fort, on thehuge and ragged promontory of Gogarth, might still be seen, forlornand grey, the wrecks of the imperial city, destroyed ages before bylightning.

All these remains of a power and a pomp that Rome in vain hadbequeathed to the Briton, were full of pathetic and solemn interest,when blent with the thought, that on yonder steep, the brave prince ofa race of heroes, whose line transcended, by ages, all the otherroyalties of the North, awaited, amidst the ruins of man, and in thestronghold which nature yet gave, the hour of his doom.

But these were not the sentiments of the martial and observant Norman,with the fresh blood of a new race of conquerors.

"In this land," thought he, "far more even than in that of the Saxon,there are the ruins of old; and when the present can neither maintainnor repair the past, its future is subjection or despair."

Agreeably to the peculiar uses of Saxon military skill, which seems tohave placed all strength in dykes and ditches, as being perhaps thecheapest and readiest outworks, a new trench had been made round thefort, on two sides, connecting it on the third and fourth with thestreams of Gyffin and the Conway. But the boat was rowed up to thevery walls, and the Norman, springing to land, was soon ushered intothe presence of the Earl.

Harold was seated before a rude table, and bending over a rough map ofthe great mountain of Penmaen; a lamp of iron stood beside the map,though the air was yet clear.

The Earl rose, as De Graville, entering with the proud but easy gracehabitual to his countrymen, said, in his best Saxon:

"Hail to Earl Harold! William Mallet de Graville, the Norman, greetshim, and brings him news from beyond the seas."

There was only one seat in that bare room—the seat from which theEarl had risen. He placed it with simple courtesy before his visitor,and leaning, himself, against the table, said, in the Norman tongue,which he spoke fluently:

"It is no slight thanks that I owe to the Sire de Graville, that hehath undertaken voyage and journey on my behalf; but before you impartyour news, I pray you to take rest and food."

"Rest will not be unwelcome; and food, if unrestricted to goats'cheese, and kid-flesh,—luxuries new to my palate,—will not beuntempting; but neither food nor rest can I take, noble Harold, beforeI excuse myself, as a foreigner, for thus somewhat infringing yourlaws by which we are banished, and acknowledging gratefully thecourteous behavior I have met from thy countrymen notwithstanding."

"Fair Sir," answered Harold, "pardon us if, jealous of our laws, wehave seemed inhospitable to those who would meddle with them. But theSaxon is never more pleased than when the foreigner visits him only asthe friend: to the many who settle amongst us for commerce—Fleming,Lombard, German, and Saracen—we proffer shelter and welcome; to thefew who, like thee, Sir Norman, venture over the seas but to serve us,we give frank cheer and free hand."

Agreeably surprised at this gracious reception from the son of Godwin,the Norman pressed the hand extended to him, and then drew forth asmall case, and related accurately, and with feeling, the meeting ofhis cousin with Sweyn, and Sweyn's dying charge.

The Earl listened, with eyes bent on the ground, and face turned fromthe lamp; and, when Mallet had concluded his recital, Harold said,with an emotion he struggled in vain to repress:

"I thank you cordially gentle Norman, for kindness kindly rendered!I—I—" The voice faltered. "Sweyn was very dear to me in hissorrows! We heard that he had died in Lycia, and grieved much andlong. So, after he had thus spoken to your cousin, he—he——Alas! OSweyn, my brother!"

"He died," said the Norman, soothingly; "but shriven and absolved; andmy cousin says, calm and hopeful, as they die ever who have knelt atthe Saviour's tomb!"

Harold bowed his head, and turned the case that held the letter againand again in his hand, but would not venture to open it. The knighthimself, touched by a grief so simple and manly, rose with thedelicate instinct that belongs to sympathy, and retired to the door,without which yet waited the officer who had conducted him.

Harold did not attempt to detain him, but followed him across thethreshold, and briefly commanding the officer to attend to his guestas to himself, said: "With the morning, Sire de Granville, we shallmeet again; I see that you are one to whom I need not excuse man'snatural emotions."

"A noble presence!" muttered the knight, as he descended the stairs;"but he hath Norman, at least Norse, blood in his veins on the distaffside.—Fair Sir!"—(this aloud to the officer)—"any meat save thekid-flesh, I pray thee; and any drink save the mead!"

"Fear not, guest" said the officer; "for Tostig the Earl hath twoships in yon bay, and hath sent us supplies that would please BishopWilliam of London; for Tostig the Earl is a toothsome man."

"Commend me, then, to Tostig the Earl," said the knight; "he is anearl after my own heart."

CHAPTER II.

On re-entering the room, Harold drew the large bolt across the door,opened the case, and took forth the distained and tattered scroll:

"When this comes to thee, Harold, the brother of thy childish dayswill sleep in the flesh, and be lost to men's judgment and earth's woein the spirit. I have knelt at the Tomb; but no dove hath come forthfrom the cloud,—no stream of grace hath re-baptised the child ofwrath! They tell me now—monk and priest tell me—that I have atonedall my sins; that the dread weregeld is paid; that I may enter theworld of men with a spirit free from the load, and a name redeemedfrom the stain. Think so, O brother!—Bid my father (if he stilllives, the dear old man!) think so;—tell Githa to think it; and oh,teach Haco, my son, to hold the belief as a truth! Harold, again Icommend to thee my son; be to him as a father! My death surelyreleases him as a hostage. Let him not grow up in the court of thestranger, in the land of our foes. Let his feet, in his youth, climbthe green holts of England;—let his eyes, resin dims them, drink theblue of her skies! When this shall reach thee, thou in thy calm,effortless strength, wilt be more great than Godwin our father. Powercame to him with travail and through toil, the geld of craft and offorce. Power is born to thee as strength to the strong man; itgathers around thee as thou movest; it is not thine aim, it is thynature, to be great. Shield my child with thy might; lead him forthfrom the prison-house by thy serene right hand! I ask not forlordships and earldoms, as the appanage of his father; train him notto be rival to thee:—I ask but for freedom, and English air! Socounting on thee, O Harold, I turn my face to the wall, and hush mywild heart to peace!"

The scroll dropped noiseless from Harold's hand.

"Thus," said he, mournfully, "hath passed away less a life than adream! Yet of Sweyn, in our childhood, was Godwin most proud; who solovely in peace, and so terrible in wrath? My mother taught him thesongs of the Baltic, and Hilda led his steps through the woodland withtales of hero and scald. Alone of our House, he had the gift of theDane in the flow of fierce song, and for him things lifeless hadbeing. Stately tree, from which all the birds of heaven sent theircarol; where the falcon took roost, whence the mavis flew forth in itsglee,—how art thou blasted and seared, bough and core!—smit by thelightning and consumed by the worm!"

He paused, and, though none were by, he long shaded his brow with hishand.

"Now," thought he, as he rose and slowly paced the chamber, "now towhat lives yet on earth—his son! Often hath my mother urged me inbehalf of these hostages; and often have I sent to reclaim them.Smooth and false pretexts have met my own demand, and even theremonstrance of Edward himself. But, surely, now that William hathpermitted this Norman to bring over the letter, he will assent to whatit hath become a wrong and an insult to refuse; and Haco will returnto his father's land, and Wolnoth to his mother's arms."

CHAPTER III.

Messire Mallet de Graville (as becomes a man bred up to arms, andsnatching sleep with quick grasp whenever that blessing be his tocommand) no sooner laid his head on the pallet to which he had beenconsigned, than his eyes closed, and his senses were deaf even todreams. But at the dead of the midnight he was wakened by sounds thatmight have roused the Seven Sleepers—shouts, cries, and yells, theblast of horns, the tramp of feet, and the more distant roar ofhurrying multitudes. He leaped from his bed, and the whole chamberwas filled with a lurid bloodred air. His first thought was that thefort was on fire. But springing upon the settle along the wall, andlooking through the loophole of the tower, it seemed as if not thefort but the whole land was one flame, and through the glowingatmosphere he beheld all the ground, near and far, swarming with men.Hundreds were swimming the rivulet, clambering up dyke mounds, rushingon the levelled spears of the defenders, breaking through line andpalisade, pouring into the enclosures; some in half-armour of helm andcorselet—others in linen tunics—many almost naked. Loud sharpshrieks of "Alleluia!" [160] blended with those of "Out! out! Holycrosse!" [161] He divined at once that the Welch were storming theSaxon hold. Short time indeed sufficed for that active knight to casehimself in his mail; and, sword in hand, he burst through the door,cleared the stairs, and gained the hall below, which was filled withmen arming in haste.

"Where is Harold?" he exclaimed.

"On the trenches already," answered Sexwolf, buckling his corslet ofhide. "This Welch hell hath broke loose."

"And you are their beacon-fires? Then the whole land is upon us!"

"Prate less," quoth Sexwolf; "those are the hills now held by thewarders of Harold: our spies gave them notice, and the watch-firesprepared us ere the fiends came in sight, otherwise we had been lyinghere limbless or headless. Now, men, draw up, and march forth."

"Hold! hold!" cried the pious knight, crossing himself, "is there nopriest here to bless us? first a prayer and a psalm!"

"Prayer and psalm!" cried Sexwolf, astonished, "an thou hadst said aleand mead, I could have understood thee.—Out! Out!—Holyrood,Holyrood!"

"The godless paynims!" muttered the Norman, borne away with the crowd.

Once in the open space, the scene was terrific. Brief as had been theonslaught the carnage was already unspeakable. By dint of sheerphysical numbers, animated by a valour that seemed as the frenzy ofmadmen or the hunger of wolves, hosts of the Britons had crossedtrench and stream, seizing with their hands the points of the spearsopposed to them, bounding over the corpses of their countrymen, andwith yells of wild joy rushing upon the close serried lines drawn upbefore the fort. The stream seemed literally to run gore; pierced byjavelins and arrows, corpses floated and vanished, while numbers,undeterred by the havoc, leaped into the waves from the oppositebanks. Like bears that surround the ship of a sea-king beneath thepolar meteors, or the midnight sun of the north, came the savagewarriors through that glaring atmosphere.

Amidst all, two forms were pre-eminent: the one, tall and towering,stood by the trench, and behind a banner, that now drooped round thestave, now streamed wide and broad, stirred by the rush of men—forthe night in itself was breezeless. With a vast Danish axe wielded byboth hands, stood this man, confronting hundreds, and at each stroke,rapid as the levin, fell a foe. All round him was a wall of his own—the dead. But in the centre of the space, leading on a fresh troop ofshouting Welchmen who had forced their way from another part, was aform which seemed charmed against arrow and spear. For the defensivearms of this chief were as slight as if worn but for ornament: a smallcorselet of gold covered only the centre of his breast, a gold collarof twisted wires circled his throat, and a gold bracelet adorned hisbare arm, dropping gore, not his own, from the wrist to the elbow. Hewas small and slight-shaped—below the common standard of men—but heseemed as one made a giant by the sublime inspiration of war. He woreno helmet, merely a golden circlet; and his hair, of deep red (longerthan was usual with the Welch), hung like the mane of a lion over hisshoulders, tossing loose with each stride. His eyes glared like thetiger's at night, and he leaped on the spears with a bound. Lost amoment amidst hostile ranks, save by the swift glitter of his shortsword, he made, amidst all, a path for himself and his followers, andemerged from the heart of the steel unscathed and loud-breathing;while, round the line he had broken, wheeled and closed his wild men,striking, rushing, slaying, slain.

"Pardex, this is war worth the sharing," said the knight. "And now,worthy Sexwolf, thou shalt see if the Norman is the vaunter thoudeemest him. Dieu nous aide! Notre Dame!—Take the foe in the rear."But turning round, he perceived that Sexwolf had already led his mentowards the standard, which showed them where stood the Earl, almostalone in his peril. The knight, thus left to himself, did nothesitate:—a minute more, and he was in the midst of the Welch force,headed by the chief with the golden panoply. Secure in his ring mailagainst the light weapons of the Welch, the sweep of the Norman swordwas as the scythe of Death. Right and left he smote through thethrong which he took in the flank, and had almost gained the smallphalanx of Saxons, that lay firm in the midst, when the CymrianChief's flashing eye was drawn to his new and strange foe, by the roarand the groan round the Norman's way; and with the half-naked breastagainst the shirt of mail, and the short Roman sword against the longNorman falchion, the Lion King of Wales fronted the knight.

Unequal as seems the encounter, so quick was the spring of the Briton,so pliant his arm, and so rapid his weapon, that that good knight (whorather from skill and valour than brute physical strength, rankedamongst the prowest of William's band of martial brothers) wouldwillingly have preferred to see before him Fitzosborne or Montgommeri,all clad in steel and armed with mace and lance, than parried thosedazzling strokes, and fronted the angry majesty of that helmless brow.Already the strong rings of his mail had been twice pierced, and hisblood trickled fast, while his great sword had but smitten the air inits sweeps at the foe; when the Saxon phalanx, taking advantage of thebreach in the ring that girt them, caused by this diversion, andrecognising with fierce ire the gold torque and breastplate of theWelch King, made their desperate charge. Then for some minutes thepele mele was confused and indistinct—blows blind and at random—death coming no man knew whence or how; till discipline and steadfastorder (which the Saxons kept, as by mechanism, through the discord)obstinately prevailed. The wedge forced its way; and, though reducedin numbers and sore wounded, the Saxon troop cleared the ring, andjoined the main force drawn up by the fort, and guarded in the rear byits wall.

Meanwhile Harold, supported by the band under Sexwolf, had succeededat length in repelling farther reinforcements of the Welch at the moreaccessible part of the trenches; and casting now his practised eyeover the field, he issued orders for some of the men to regain thefort, and open from the battlements, and from every loophole, thebatteries of stone and javelin, which then (with the Saxons, unskilledin sieges,) formed the main artillery of forts. These orders given,he planted Sexwolf and most of his band to keep watch round thetrenches; and shading his eye with his hand, and looking towards themoon, all waning and dimmed in the watchfires, he said, calmly, "Nowpatience fights for us. Ere the moon reaches yon hill-top, the troopsof Aber and Caer-hen will be on the slopes of Penmaen, and cut off theretreat of the Walloons. Advance my flag to the thick of yon strife."

But as the Earl, with his axe swung over his shoulder, and followedbut by some half-score or more with his banner, strode on where thewild war was now mainly concentred, just midway between trench andfort, Gryffyth caught sight both of the banner and the Earl, and leftthe press at the very moment when he had gained the greatestadvantage; and when indeed, but for the Norman, who, wounded as hewas, and unused to fight on foot, stood resolute in the van, theSaxons, wearied out by numbers, and falling fast beneath the javelins,would have fled into their walls, and so sealed their fate,—for theWelch would have entered at their heels.

But it was the misfortune of the Welch heroes never to learn that waris a science; and instead of now centering all force on the point mostweakened, the whole field vanished from the fierce eye of the WelchKing, when he saw the banner and form of Harold.

The Earl beheld the coming foe, wheeling round, as the hawk on theheron;—halted, drew up his few men in a semicircle, with their largeshields as a rampart, and their levelled spears as a palisade; andbefore them all, as a tower, stood Harold with his axe. In a minutemore he was surrounded; and through the rain of javelins that pouredupon him, hissed and glittered the sword of Gryffyth. But Harold,more practised than the Sire de Graville in the sword-play of theWelch, and unencumbered by other defensive armour (save only the helm,which was shaped like the Norman's,) than his light coat of hide,opposed quickness to quickness, and suddenly dropping his axe, sprangupon his foe, and clasping him round with his left arm, with the righthand griped at his throat:

"Yield and quarter!—yield, for thy life, son of Llewellyn!"

Strong was that embrace, and deathlike that gripe; yet, as the snakefrom the hand of the dervise—as a ghost from the grasp of thedreamer, the lithe Cymrian glided away, and the broken torque was allthat remained in the clutch of Harold.

At this moment a mighty yell of despair broke from the Welch near thefort: stones and javelins rained upon them from the walls, and thefierce Norman was in the midst, with his sword drinking blood; but notfor javelin, stone, and sword, shrank and shouted the Welchmen. Onthe other side of the trenches were marching against them their owncountrymen, the rival tribes that helped the stranger to rend theland: and far to the right were seen the spears of the Saxon fromAber, and to the left was heard the shout of the forces under Godrithfrom Caer-hen; and they who had sought the leopard in his lair werenow themselves the prey caught in the toils. With new heart, as theybeheld these reinforcements, the Saxons pressed on; tumult, andflight, and indiscriminate slaughter, wrapped the field. The Welchrushed to the stream and the trenches; and in the bustle andhurlabaloo, Gryffyth was swept along, as a bull by a torrent; stillfacing the foe, now chiding, now smiting his own men, now rushingalone on the pursuers, and halting their onslaught, he gained, stillunwounded, the stream, paused a moment, laughed loud, and sprang intothe wave. A hundred javelins hissed into the sullen and bloodywaters. "Hold!" cried Harold the Earl, lifting his hand on high, "Nodastard dart at the brave!"

CHAPTER IV.

The fugitive Britons, scarce one-tenth of the number that had firstrushed to the attack,—performed their flight with the same Parthianrapidity that characterised the assault; and escaping both Welch foeand Saxon, though the former broke ground to pursue them, they gainedthe steeps of Penmaen.

There was no further thought of slumber that night within the walls.While the wounded were tended, and the dead were cleared from thesoil, Harold, with three of his chiefs, and Mallet de Graville, whosefeats rendered it more than ungracious to refuse his request that hemight assist in the council, conferred upon the means of terminatingthe war with the next day. Two of the thegns, their blood hot withstrife and revenge, proposed to scale the mountain with the wholeforce the reinforcements had brought them, and put all they found tothe sword.

The third, old and prudent, and inured to Welch warfare, thoughtotherwise.

"None of us," said he, "know what is the true strength of the placewhich ye propose to storm. Not even one Welchman have we found whohath ever himself gained the summit, or examined the castle which issaid to exist there." [162]

"Said!" echoed De Graville, who, relieved of his mail, and with hiswounds bandaged, reclined on his furs on the floor. "Said, noble sir!Cannot our eyes perceive the towers?"

The old thegn shook his head. "At a distance, and through mists,stones loom large, and crags themselves take strange shapes. It maybe castle, may be rock, may be old roofless temples of heathenessethat we see. But to repeat (and, as I am slow, I pray not again to beput out in my speech)—none of us know what, there, exists of defence,man-made or Nature-built. Not even thy Welch spies, son of Godwin,have gained to the heights. In the midst lie the scouts of the WelchKing, and those on the top can see the bird fly, the goat climb. Fewof thy spies, indeed, have ever returned with life; their heads havebeen left at the foot of the hill, with the scroll in their lips,—'Dic ad inferos—quid in superis novisti.' Tell to the shades belowwhat thou hast seen in the heights above."

"And the Walloons know Latin!" muttered the knight; "I respect them!"

The slow thegn frowned, stammered, and renewed:

"One thing at least is clear; that the rock is well nighinsurmountable to those who know not the passes; that strict watch,baffling even Welch spies, is kept night and day; that the men on thesummit are desperate and fierce; that our own troops are awed andterrified by the belief of the Welch, that the spot is haunted and thetowers fiend-founded. One single defeat may lose us two years ofvictory. Gryffyth may break from the eyrie, regain what he hath lost,win back our Welch allies, ever faithless and hollow. Wherefore, Isay, go on as we have begun. Beset all the country round; cut off allsupplies, and let the foe rot by famine—or waste, as he hath donethis night, his strength by vain onslaught and sally."

"Thy counsel is good," said Harold, "but there is yet something to addto it, which may shorten the strife, and gain the end with lesssacrifice of life. The defeat of tonight will have humbled thespirits of the Welch; take them yet in the hour of despair anddisaster. I wish, therefore, to send to their outposts a nuncius,with these terms: 'Life and pardon to all who lay down arms andsurrender.'"

"What, after such havoc and gore?" cried one of the thegns.

"They defend their own soil," replied the Earl simply: "had not wedone the same?"

"But the rebel Gryffyth?" asked the old thegn, "thou canst not accepthim again as crowned sub-king of Edward?"

"No," said the Earl, "I propose to exempt Gryffyth alone from thepardon, with promise, natheless, of life if he give himself up asprisoner; and count, without further condition, on the King's mercy."There was a prolonged silence. None spoke against the Earl'sproposal, though the two younger thegns misliked it much.

At last said the elder, "But hast thou thought who will carry thismessage? Fierce and wild are yon blood-dogs; and man must needsshrive soul and make will, if he will go to their kennel."

"I feel sure that my bode will be safe," answered Harold: for Gryffythhas all the pride of a king, and, sparing neither man nor child in theonslaught, will respect what the Roman taught his sires to respect—envoy from chief to chief—as a head scatheless and sacred."

"Choose whom thou wilt, Harold," said one of the young thegns,laughing, "but spare thy friends; and whomsoever thou choosest, payhis widow the weregeld."

"Fair sirs," then said De Graville, "if ye think that I, though astranger, could serve you as nuncius, it would be a pleasure to me toundertake this mission. First, because, being curious as concernsforts and castles, I would fain see if mine eyes have deceived me intaking yon towers for a hold of great might. Secondly, because thatsame wild-cat of a king must have a court rare to visit. And the onlyreflection that withholds my pressing the offer as a personal suit is,that though I have some words of the Breton jargon at my tongue'sneed, I cannot pretend to be a Tully in Welch; howbeit, since it seemsthat one, at least, among them knows something of Latin, I doubt notbut what I shall get out my meaning!"

"Nay, as to that, Sire de Graville," said Harold, who seemed wellpleased with the knight's offer, "there shall be no hindrance or let,as I will make clear to you; and in spite of what you have just heard,Gryffyth shall harm you not in limb or in life. But, kindly andcourteous Sir, will your wounds permit the journey, not long, butsteep and laborious, and only to be made on foot?"

"On foot!" said the knight, a little staggered, "Pardex! well andtruly, I did not count upon that!"

"Enough," said Harold, turning away in evident disappointment, "thinkof it no more."

"Nay, by your leave, what I have once said I stand to," returned theknight; "albeit, you may as well cleave in two one of thoserespectable centaurs of which we have read in our youth, as partNorman and horse. I will forthwith go to my chamber, and apparelmyself becomingly—not forgetting, in case of the worst, to wear mymail under my robe. Vouchsafe me but an armourer, just to rivet upthe rings through which scratched so felinely the paw of that well-appelled Griffin."

"I accept your offer frankly," said Harold, "and all shall be preparedfor you, as soon as you yourself will re-seek me here."

The knight rose, and though somewhat stiff and smarting with hiswounds, left the room lightly, summoned his armourer and squire, andhaving dressed with all the care and pomp habitual to a Norman, hisgold chain round his neck, and his vest stiff with broidery, he re-entered the apartment of Harold. The Earl received him alone, andcame up to him with a cordial face. "I thank thee more, brave Norman,than I ventured to say before my thegns, for I tell thee frankly, thatmy intent and aim are to save the life of this brave king; and thoucanst well understand that every Saxon amongst us must have his bloodwarmed by contest, and his eyes blind with national hate. You alone,as a stranger, see the valiant warrior and hunted prince, and as suchyou can feel for him the noble pity of manly foes."

"That is true," said De Graville, a little surprised, "though weNormans are at least as fierce as you Saxons, when we have once tastedblood; and I own nothing would please me better than to dress thatcatamaran in mail, put a spear in its claws, and a horse under itslegs, and thus fight out my disgrace at being so clawed and mauled byits griffes. And though I respect a brave knight in distress, I canscarce extend my compassion to a thing that fights against all rule,martial and kingly."

The Earl smiled gravely. "It is the mode in which his ancestorsrushed on the spears of Caesar. Pardon him."

"I pardon him, at your gracious request," quoth the knight, with agrand air, and waving his hands; "say on."

"You will proceed with a Welch monk—whom, though not of the factionof Gryffyth, all Welchmen respect—to the mouth of a frightful pass,skirting the river; the monk will bear aloft the holy rood in signalof peace. Arrived at that pass, you will doubtless be stopped. Themonk here will be spokesman; and ask safe-conduct to Gryffyth todeliver my message; he will also bear certain tokens, which will nodoubt win the way for you."

"Arrived before Gryffyth, the monk will accost him; mark and heed wellhis gestures, since thou wilt know not the Welch tongue he employs.And when he raises the rood, thou,—in the mean while, having artfullyapproached close to Gryffyth,—wilt whisper in Saxon, which he wellunderstands, and pressing the ring I now give thee into his hand,'Obey, by this pledge; thou knowest Harold is true, and thy head issold by thine own people.' If he asks more thou knowest nought."

"So far, this is as should be from chief to chief," said the Norman,touched, "and thus had Fitzosborne done to his foe. I thank thee forthis mission, and the more that thou hast not asked me to note thestrength of the bulwark, and number the men that may keep it."

Again Harold smiled. "Praise me not for this, noble Norman—we plainSaxons have not your refinements. If ye are led to the summit, whichI think ye will not be, the monk at least will have eyes to see, andtongue to relate. But to thee I confide this much;—I know already,that Gryffyth's strongholds are not his walls and his towers, but thesuperstition of our men, and the despair of his own. I could winthose heights, as I have won heights as cloudcapt, but with fearfulloss of my own troops, and the massacre of every foe. Both I wouldspare, if I may."

"Yet thou hast not shown such value for life, in the solitudes Ipassed," said the knight bluntly.

Harold turned pale, but said firmly, "Sire de Graville, a stern thingis duty, and resistless is its voice. These Welchmen, unless curbedto their mountains, eat into the strength of England, as the tidegnaws into a shore. Merciless were they in their ravages on ourborders, and ghastly and torturing their fell revenge. But it is onething to grapple with a foe fierce and strong, and another to smitewhen his power is gone, fang and talon. And when I see before me thefaded king of a great race, and the last band of doomed heroes, toofew and too feeble to make head against my arms,—when the land isalready my own, and the sword is that of the deathsman, not of thewarrior,—verily, Sir Norman, duty releases its iron tool, and manbecomes man again."

"I go," said the Norman, inclining his head low as to his own greatDuke, and turning to the door; yet there he paused, and looking at thering which he had placed on his finger, he said, "But one word more,if not indiscreet—your answer may help argument, if argument beneeded. What tale lies hid in this token?"

Harold coloured and paused a moment, then answered:

"Simply this. Gryffyth's wife, the lady Aldyth, a Saxon by birth,fell into my hands. We were storming Rhadlan, at the farther end ofthe isle; she was there. We war not against women; I feared thelicense of my own soldiers, and I sent the lady to Gryffyth. Aldythgave me this ring on parting; and I bade her tell Gryffyth thatwhenever, at the hour of his last peril and sorest need, I sent thatring back to him, he might hold it the pledge of his life."

"Is this lady, think you, in the stronghold with her lord?"

"I am not sure, but I fear yes," answered Harold.

"Yet one word: And if Gryffyth refuse, despite all warning?"

Harold's eyes drooped.

"If so, he dies; but not by the Saxon sword. God and our lady speedyou!"

CHAPTER V.

On the height called Pen-y-Dinas (or "Head of the City") forming oneof the summits of Penmaen-mawr, and in the heart of that supposedfortress which no eye in the Saxon camp had surveyed [163], reclinedGryffyth, the hunted King. Nor is it marvellous that at that daythere should be disputes as to the nature and strength of the supposedbulwark, since, in times the most recent, and among antiquaries themost learned, the greatest discrepancies exist, not only as totheoretical opinion, but plain matter of observation, and simplemeasurement. The place, however, I need scarcely say, was not as wesee it now, with its foundations of gigantic ruin, affording amplespace for conjecture; yet, even then, a wreck as of Titans, its dateand purpose were lost in remote antiquity.

The central area (in which the Welch King now reclined) formed an ovalbarrow of loose stones: whether so left from the origin, or the relicsof some vanished building, was unknown even to bard and diviner.Round this space were four strong circumvallations of loose stones,with a space about eighty yards between each; the walls themselvesgenerally about eight feet wide, but of various height, as the stoneshad fallen by time and blast. Along these walls rose numerous andalmost countless circular buildings, which might pass for towers,though only a few had been recently and rudely roofed in. To thewhole of this quadruple enclosure there was but one narrow entrance,now left open as if in scorn of assault; and a winding narrow passdown the mountain, with innumerable curves, alone led to the singlethreshold. Far down the hill, walls again were visible; and the wholesurface of the steep soil, more than half way in the descent, washeaped with vast loose stones, as if the bones of a dead city. Butbeyond the innermost enclosure of the fort (if fort, or sacredenclosure, be the correcter name), rose, thick and frequent, othermementos of the Briton; many cromlechs, already shattered andshapeless; the ruins of stone houses; and high over all, thoseupraised, mighty amber piles, as at Stonehenge, once reared, if ourdim learning be true, in honour to Bel, or Bal-Huan [164], the idol ofthe sun. All, in short, showed that the name of the place, "the Headof the City," told its tale; all announced that, there, once the Celthad his home, and the gods of the Druid their worship. And musingamidst these skeletons of the past, lay the doomed son of Pen-Dragon.

Beside him a kind of throne had been raised with stones, and over itwas spread a tattered and faded velvet pall. On this throne satAldyth the Queen; and about the royal pair was still that mockery of acourt which the jealous pride of the Celt king retained amidst all thehorrors of carnage and famine. Most of the officers indeed(originally in number twenty-four), whose duties attached them to theking and queen of the Cymry, were already feeding the crow or theworm. But still, with gaunt hawk on his wrist, the penhebogydd (grandfalconer) stood at a distance; still, with beard sweeping his breast,and rod in hand, leant against a projecting shaft of the wall, thenoiseless gosdegwr, whose duty it was to command silence in the King'shall; and still the penbard bent over his bruised harp, which once hadthrilled, through the fair vaults of Caerleon and Rhaldan, in highpraise of God, and the King, and the Hero Dead. In the pomp of golddish and vessel [165] the board was spread on the stones for the Kingand Queen; and on the dish was the last fragment of black bread, andin the vessel full and clear, the water from the spring that bubbledup everlastingly through the bones of the dead city.

Beyond this innermost space, round a basin of rock, through which thestream overflowed as from an artificial conduit, lay the wounded andexhausted, crawling, turn by turn, to the lips of the basin, and happythat the thirst of fever saved them from the gnawing desire of food.A wan and spectral figure glided listlessly to and fro amidst thosemangled, and parched, and dying groups. This personage, in happiertimes, filled the office of physician to the court, and was placedtwelfth in rank amidst the chiefs of the household. And for cure ofthe "three deadly wounds," the cloven skull, or the gaping viscera, orthe broken limb (all three classed alike), large should have been hisfee [166]. But feeless went he now from man to man, with his redointment and his muttered charm; and those over whom he shook his leanface and matted locks, smiled ghastly at that sign that release anddeath were near. Within the enclosures, either lay supine, or stalkedrestless, the withered remains of the wild army. A sheep, and ahorse, and a clog, were yet left them all to share for the day's meal.And the fire of flickering and crackling brushwood burned bright froma hollow amidst the loose stones; but the animals were yet unslain,and the dog crept by the fire, winking at it with dim eyes.

But over the lower part of the wall nearest to the barrow, leant threemen. The wall there was so broken, that they could gaze over it onthat grotesque yet dismal court; and the eyes of the three men, with afierce and wolfish glare, were bent on Gryffyth.

Three princes were they of the great old line; far as Gryffyth theytraced the fabulous honours of their race, to Hu-Gadarn and Prydain,and each thought it shame that Gryffyth should be lord over him! Eachhad had throne and court of his own; each his "white palace" of peeledwillow wands—poor substitutes, O kings, for the palaces and towersthat the arts of Rome had bequeathed your fathers! And each had beensubjugated by the son of Llewellyn, when, in his day of might, he re-united under his sole sway all the multiform principalities of Wales,and regained, for a moment's splendour, the throne of Roderic theGreat.

"Is it," said Owain, in a hollow whisper, "for yon man, whom heavenhath deserted, who could not keep his very torque from the gripe ofthe Saxon, that we are to die on these hills, gnawing the flesh fromour bones? Think ye not the hour is come?"

"The hour will come, when the sheep, and the horse, and the dog aredevoured," replied Modred, "and when the whole force, as one man, willcry to Gryffyth, 'Thou a king!—give us bread!'"

"It is well," said the third, an old man, leaning on a wand of solidsilver, while the mountain wind, sweeping between the walls, playedwith the rags of his robe,—"it is well that the night's sally, lessof war than of hunger, was foiled even of forage and food. Had thesaints been with Gryffyth, who had dared to keep faith with Tostig theSaxon."

Owain laughed, a laugh hollow and false.

"Art thou Cymrian, and talkest of faith with a Saxon? Faith with thespoiler, the ravisher and butcher? But a Cymrian keeps faith withrevenge; and Gryffyth's trunk should be still crownless and headless,though Tostig had never proffered the barter of safety and food.Hist! Gryffyth wakes from the black dream, and his eyes glow fromunder his hair."

And indeed at this moment the King raised himself on his elbow, andlooked round with a haggard and fierce despair in his glittering eyes.

"Play to us, Harper; sing some song of the deeds of old!" The bardmournfully strove to sweep the harp, but the chords were broken, andthe note came discordant and shrill as the sigh of a wailing fiend.

"O King!" said the bard, "the music hath left the harp."

"Ha!" murmured Gryffyth, "and Hope the earth! Bard, answer the son ofLlewellyn. Oft in my halls hast thou sung the praise of the men thathave been. In the halls of the race to come, will bards yet unbornsweep their harps to the deeds of thy King? Shall they tell of theday of Torques, by Llyn-Afangc, when the princes of Powys fled fromhis sword as the clouds from the blast of the wind? Shall they sing,as the Hirlas goes round, of his steeds of the sea, when no flag camein sight of his prows between the dark isle of the Druid [167] and thegreen pastures of Huerdan? [168] Or the towns that he fired, on thelands of the Saxon, when Rolf and the Nortbmen ran fast from hisjavelin and spear? Or say, Child of Truth, if all that is told ofGryffyth thy King shall be his woe and his shame?"

The bard swept his hand over his eyes, and answered:

"Bards unborn shall sing of Gryffyth the son of Llewellyn. But thesong shall not dwell on the pomp of his power, when twenty sub-kingsknelt at his throne, and his beacon was lighted in the holds of theNorman and Saxon. Bards shall sing of the hero, who fought every inchof crag and morass in the front of his men,—and on the heights ofPenmaen-mawr, Fame recovers thy crown!"

"Then I have lived as my fathers in life, and shall live with theirglory in death!" said Gryffyth; "and so the shadow hath passed from mysoul." Then turning round, still propped upon his elbow, he fixed hisproud eye upon Aldyth, and said gravely, "Wife, pale is thy face, andgloomy thy brow; mournest thou the throne or the man?"

Aldyth cast on her wild lord a look of more terror than compassion, alook without the grief that is gentle, or the love that reveres; andanswered:

"What matter to thee my thoughts or my sufferings? The sword or thefamine is the doom thou hast chosen. Listening to vain dreams fromthy bard, or thine own pride as idle, thou disdainest life for usboth: be it so; let us die!"

A strange blending of fondness and wrath troubled the pride onGryffyth's features, uncouth and half savage as they were, but stillnoble and kingly.

"And what terror has death, if thou lovest me?" said he.

Aldyth shivered and turned aside. The unhappy King gazed hard on thatface, which, despite sore trial and recent exposure to rough wind andweather, still retained the proverbial beauty of the Saxon women—butbeauty without the glow of the heart, as a landscape from whichsunlight has vanished; and as he gazed, at the colour went and camefitfully over his swarthy cheeks whose hue contrasted the blue of hiseye and the red tawny gold of his shaggy hair.

"Thou wouldst have me," he said at length, "send to Harold thycountryman; thou wouldst have me, me—rightful lord of all Britain—beg for mercy, and sue for life. Ah, traitress, and child of robber-sires, fair as Rowena art thou, but no Vortimer am I! Thou turnest inloathing from the lord whose marriage-gift was a crown; and the sleekform of thy Saxon Harold rises up through the clouds of the carnage."

All the fierce and dangerous jealousy of man's most human passion—when man loves and hates in a breath—trembled in the Cymrian's voice,and fired his troubled eye; for Aldyth's pale cheek blushed like therose, but she folded her arms haughtily on her breast, and made noreply.

"No," said Gryffyth, grinding teeth, white [169] and strong as thoseof a young hound. "No, Harold in vain sent me the casket; the jewelwas gone. In vain thy form returned to my side; thy heart was awaywith thy captor: and not to save my life (were I so base as to seekit), but to see once more the face of him to whom this cold hand, inwhose veins no pulse answers my own, had been given, if thy House hadconsulted its daughter, wouldst thou have me crouch like a lashed dogat the feet of my foe! Oh Shame! shame! shame! Oh worst perfidy ofall! Oh sharp—sharper than Saxon sword or serpent's tooth, is—is—"

Tears gushed to those fierce eyes, and the proud King dared not trustto his voice.

Aldyth rose coldly. "Slay me if thou wilt—not insult me. I havesaid, 'Let us die!'"

With these words, and vouchsafing no look on her lord, she moved awaytowards the largest tower or cell, in which the single and rudechamber it contained had been set apart for her.

Gryffyth's eye followed her, softening gradually as her form receded,till lost to his sight. And then that peculiar household love, whichin uncultivated breasts often survives trust and esteem, rushed backon his rough heart, and weakened it, as woman only can weaken thestrong to whom Death is a thought of scorn.

He signed to his bard, who, during the conference between wife andlord, had retired to a distance, and said, with a writhing attempt tosmile:

"Was there truth, thinkest thou, in the legend, that Guenever wasfalse to King Arthur?"

"No," answered the bard, divining his lord's thought, for Gueneversurvived not the King, and they were buried side by side in the Valeof Avallon."

"Thou art wise in the lore of the heart, and love hath been thy studyfrom youth to grey hairs. Is it love, is it hate, that prefers deathfor the loved one, to the thought of her life as another's?" A lookof the tenderest compassion passed over the bard's wan face, butvanished in reverence, as he bowed his head and answered:

"O King, who shall say what note the wind calls from the harp, whatimpulse love wakes in the soul—now soft and now stern? But," headded, raising his form, and, with a dread calm on his brow, "but thelove of a king brooks no thought of dishonour; and she who hath laidher head on his breast should sleep in his grave."

"Thou wilt outlive me," said Gryffyth, abruptly. "This carn be mytomb!"

"And if so," said the bard, "thou shalt sleep not alone. In this carnwhat thou lovest best shall be buried by thy side; the bard shallraise his song over thy grave, and the bosses of shields shall beplaced at intervals, as rises and falls the sound of song. Over thegrave of two shall a new mound arise, and we will bid the mound speakto others in the fair days to come. But distant yet be the hour whenthe mighty shall be laid low! and the tongue of thy bard may yet chantthe rush of the lion from the toils and the spears. Hope still!"

Gryffyth, for answer, leant on the harper's shoulder, and pointedsilently to the sea, that lay, lake-like at the distance, dark-studdedwith the Saxon fleet. Then turning, his hands stretched over theforms that, hollow-eyed and ghost-like, flitted between the walls, orlay dying, but mute, around the waterspring. His hand then dropped,and rested on the hilt of his sword.

At this moment there was a sudden commotion at the outer entrance ofthe wall; the crowd gathered to one spot, and there was a loud hum ofvoices. In a few moments one of the Welch scouts came into theenclosure, and the chiefs of the royal tribes followed him to the carnon which the King stood.

"Of what tellest thou?" said Gryffyth, resuming on the instant all theroyalty of his bearing.

"At the mouth of the pass," said the scout, kneeling, "there are amonk bearing the holy rood, and a chief, unarmed. And the monk isEvan, the Cymrian, of Gwentland; and the chief, by his voice, seemethnot to be Saxon. The monk bade me give thee these tokens" (and thescout displayed the broken torque which the King had left in the graspof Harold, together with a live falcon belled and blinded), "and bademe say thus to the King: Harold the Earl greets Gryffyth, son ofLlewellyn, and sends him, in proof of good will, the richest prize hehath ever won from a foe; and a hawk, from Llandudno;—that bird whichchief and equal give to equal and chief. And he prays Gryffyth, sonof Llewellyn, for the sake of his realm and his people, to granthearing to his nuncius."

A murmur broke from the chiefs—a murmur of joy and surprise from all,save the three conspirators, who interchanged anxious and fieryglances. Gryffyth's hand had already closed, while he uttered a crythat seemed of rapture, on the collar of gold; for the loss of thatcollar had stung him, perhaps more than the loss of the crown of allWales. And his heart, so generous and large, amidst all its rudepassions, was touched by the speech and the tokens that honoured thefallen outlaw both as foe and as king. Yet in his face there wasstill seen a moody and proud struggle; he paused before he turned tothe chiefs.

"What counsel ye—ye strong in battle, and wise in debate?" said he.

With one voice all, save the Fatal Three, exclaimed: "Hear the monk, O
King!"

"Shall we dissuade?" whispered Modred to the old chief, hisaccomplice.

"No; for so doing, we shall offend all:—and we must win all."

Then the bard stepped into the ring. And the ring was hushed, forwise is ever the counsel of him whose book is the human heart.

"Hear the Saxons," said he, briefly, and with an air of command whenaddressing others, which contrasted strongly his tender respect to theKing; "hear the Saxons, but not in these walls. Let no man from thefoe see our strength or our weakness. We are still mighty andimpregnable, while our dwelling is in the realm of the Unknown. Letthe King, and his officers of state, and his chieftains of battle,descend to the pass. And behind, at the distance, let the spearmenrange from cliff to cliff, as a ladder of steel; so will their numbersseem the greater."

"Thou speakest well," said the King.

Meanwhile the knight and the monk waited below at that terrible pass[170], which then lay between mountain and river, and over which theprecipices frowned, with a sense of horror and weight. Looking up,the knight murmured:

"With those stones and crags to roll down on a marching army, theplace well defies storm and assault; and a hundred on the height wouldovermatch thousands below."

He then turned to address a few words, with all the far-famed courtesyof Norman and Frank, to the Welch guards at the outpost. They werepicked men; the strongest and best armed and best fed of the group.But they shook their heads and answered not, gazing at him fiercely,and showing their white teeth, as dogs at a bear before they areloosened from the band.

"They understand me not, poor languageless savages!" said Mallet deGraville, turning to the monk, who stood by with the lifted rood;"speak to them in their own jargon."

"Nay," said the Welch monk, who, though of a rival tribe from SouthWales, and at the service of Harold, was esteemed throughout the landfor piety and learning, "they will not open mouth till the King'sorders come to receive or dismiss us unheard."

"Dismiss us unheard!" repeated the punctilious Norman; "even this poorbarbarous King can scarcely be so strange to all comely and gentleusage, as to put such insult on Guillaume Mallet de Graville. But,"added the knight, colouring, "I forgot that he is not advised of myname and land; and, indeed, sith thou art to be spokesman, I marvelwhy Harold should have prayed my service at all, at the risk ofsubjecting a Norman knight to affronts contumelious."

"Peradventure," replied Evan, "peradventure thou hast something towhisper apart to the King, which, as stranger and warrior, none willventure to question; but which from me, as countryman and priest,would excite the jealous suspicions of those around him."

"I conceive thee," said De Graville. "And see, spears are gleamingdown the path; and per pedes Domini, yon chief with the mantle, andcirclet of gold on his head, is the cat-king that so spitted andscratched in the melee last night."

"Heed well thy tongue," said Evan, alarmed; "no jests with the leaderof men."

"Knowest thou, good monk, that a facete and most gentil Roman (if thesaintly writer from whom I take the citation reports aright—for,alas! I know not where myself to purchase, or to steal, one copy ofHoratius Flaccus) hath said 'Dulce est desipere in loco.' It is sweetto jest, but not within reach of claws, whether of kaisars or cats."

Therewith the knight drew up his spare but stately figure, andarranging his robe with grace and dignity, awaited the coming chief.

Down the paths, one by one, came first the chiefs, privileged by birthto attend the King; and each, as he reached the mouth of the pass,drew on the upper side, among the stones of the rough ground. Then abanner, tattered and torn, with the lion ensign that the Welch princeshad substituted for the old national dragon, which the Saxon of Wessexhad appropriated to themselves [171], preceded the steps of the King.Behind him came his falconer and bard, and the rest of his scantyhousehold. The King halted in the pass, a few steps from the Normanknight; and Mallet de Graville, though accustomed to the majestic mienof Duke William, and the practised state of the princes of France andFlanders, felt an involuntary thrill of admiration at the bearing ofthe great child of Nature with his foot on his father's soil.

Small and slight as was his stature, worn and ragged his mantle ofstate, there was that in the erect mien and steady eye of the Cymrianhero, which showed one conscious of authority, and potent in will; andthe wave of his hand to the knight was the gesture of a prince on histhrone. Nor, indeed, was that brave and ill-fated chief without someirregular gleams of mental cultivation, which under happier auspices,might have centred into steadfast light. Though the learning whichhad once existed in Wales (the last legacy of Rome) had long sinceexpired in broil and blood, and youths no longer flocked to thecolleges of Caerleon, and priests no longer adorned the casuisticaltheology of the age, Gryffyth himself, the son of a wise and famousfather [172], had received an education beyond the average of Saxonkings. But, intensely national, his mind had turned from all otherliterature, to the legends, and songs, and chronicles of his land; andif he is the best scholar who best understands his own tongue and itstreasures, Gryffyth was the most erudite prince of his age.

His natural talents, for war especially, were considerable; and judgedfairly—not as mated with an empty treasury, without other army thanthe capricious will of his subjects afforded, and amidst his bitterestfoes in the jealous chiefs of his own country, against the disciplinedforce and comparative civilisation of the Saxon—but as compared withall the other princes of Wales, in warfare, to which he washabituated, and in which chances were even, the fallen son ofLlewellyn had been the most renowned leader that Cymry had known sincethe death of the great Roderic.

So there he stood; his attendants ghastly with famine, drawn up on theunequal ground; above, on the heights, and rising from the stonecrags, long lines of spears artfully placed; and, watching him withdeathful eyes, somewhat in his rear, the Traitor Three.

"Speak, father, or chief," said the Welch King in his native tongue;"what would Harold the Earl of Gryffyth the King?"

Then the monk took up the word and spoke.

"Health to Gryffyth-ap-Llewellyn, his chiefs and his people! Thussaith Harold, King Edward's thegn: By land all the passes arewatched; by sea all the waves are our own. Our swords rest in oursheaths; but famine marches each hour to gride and to slay. Insteadof sure death from the hunger, take sure life from the foe. Freepardon to all, chiefs and people, and safe return to their homes,—save Gryffyth alone. Let him come forth, not as victim and outlaw,not with bent form and clasped hands, but as chief meeting chief, withhis household of state. Harold will meet him, in honour, at the gatesof the fort. Let Gryffyth submit to King Edward, and ride with Haroldto the Court of the Basileus. Harold promises him life, and willplead for his pardon. And though the peace of this realm, and thefortune of war, forbid Harold to say, 'Thou shalt yet be a king;' yetthy crown, son of Llewellyn, shall at least be assured in the line ofthy fathers, and the race of Cadwallader shall still reign in Cymry."

The monk paused, and hope and joy were in the faces of the famishedchiefs; while two of the Traitor Three suddenly left their post, andsped to tell the message to the spearmen and multitudes above.Modred, the third conspirator, laid his hand on his hilt, and stolenear to see the face of the King;—the face of the King was dark andangry, as a midnight of storm.

Then, raising the cross on high, Evan resumed.

"And I, though of the people of Gwentland, which the arms of Gryffythhave wasted, and whose prince fell beneath Gryffyth's sword on thehearth of his hall—I, as God's servant, the brother of all I behold,and, as son of the soil, mourning over the slaughter of its latestdefenders—I, by this symbol of love and command, which I raise to theheaven, adjure thee, O King, to give ear to the mission of peace,—tocast down the grim pride of earth. And instead of the crown of a day,fix thy hopes on the crown everlasting. For much shall be pardoned tothee in thine hour of pomp and of conquest, if now thou savest fromdoom and from death the last lives over which thou art lord."

It was during this solemn appeal that the knight, marking the signannounced to him, and drawing close to Gryffyth, pressed the ring intothe King's hand, and whispered:

"Obey by this pledge. Thou knowest Harold is true, and thy head issold by thine own people."

The King cast a haggard eye at the speaker, and then at the ring, overwhich his hand closed with a convulsive spasm. And at that dreadinstant the man prevailed over the King; and far away from people andmonk, from adjuration and duty, fled his heart on the wings of thestorm—fled to the cold wife he distrusted: and the pledge that shouldassure him of life, seemed as a love-token insulting his fall:—Amidstall the roar of roused passions, loudest of all was the hiss of thejealous fiend.

As the monk ceased, the thrill of the audience was perceptible, and adeep silence was followed by a general murmur, as if to constrain theKing.

Then the pride of the despot chief rose up to second the wrath of thesuspecting man. The red spot flushed the dark cheek, and he tossedthe neglected hair from his brow.

He made one stride towards the monk, and said, in a voice loud, anddeep, and slow, rolling far up the hill:

"Monk, thou hast said; and now hear the reply of the son of Llewellyn,the true heir of Roderic the Great, who from the heights of Eryri sawall the lands of the Cymrian sleeping under the dragon of Uther. Kingwas I born, and king will I die. I will not ride by the side of theSaxon to the feet of Edward, the son of the spoiler. I will not, topurchase base life, surrender the claim, vain before men and the hour,but solemn before God and posterity—the claim of my line and mypeople. All Britain is ours—all the island of Pines. And thechildren of Hengist are traitors and rebels—not the heirs ofAmbrosius and Uther. Say to Harold the Saxon, Ye have left us but thetomb of the Druid and the hills of the eagle; but freedom and royaltyare ours, in life and in death—not for you to demand them, not for usto betray. Nor fear ye, O my chiefs, few, but unmatched in glory andtruth; fear not ye to perish by the hunger thus denounced as our doom,on these heights that command the fruits of our own fields! No, diewe may, but not mute and revengeless. Go back, whispering warrior; goback, false son of Cymry—and tell Harold to look well to his wallsand his trenches. We will vouchsafe him grace for his grace—we willnot take him by surprise, nor under cloud of the night. With thegleam of our spears and the clash of our shields, we will come fromthe hill: and, famine-worn as he deems us, hold a feast in his wallswhich the eagles of Snowdon spread their pinions to share!"

"Rash man and unhappy!" cried the monk; "what curse drawest thou downon thy head! Wilt thou be the murtherer of thy men, in strifeunavailing and vain? Heaven holds thee guilty of all the blood thoushalt cause to be shed."

"Be dumb!—hush thy screech, lying raven!" exclaimed Gryffyth, hiseyes darting fire and, his slight form dilating. "Once, priest andmonk went before us to inspire, not to daunt; and our cry, Alleluia!was taught us by the saints of the Church, on the day when Saxons,fierce and many as Harold's, fell on the field of Maes-Garmon. No,the curse is on the head of the invader, not on those who defendhearth and altar. Yea, as the song to the bard, the CURSE leapsthrough my veins, and rushes forth from my lips. By the land theyhave ravaged; by the gore they have spilt; on these crags, our lastrefuge; below the carn on yon heights, where the Dead stir to hearme,—I launch the curse of the wronged and the doomed on the childrenof Hengist! They in turn shall know the steel of the stranger—theircrown shall be shivered as glass, and their nobles be as slaves in theland. And the line of Hengist and Cerdic shall be rased from the rollof empire. And the ghosts of our fathers shall glide, appeased, overthe grave of their nation. But we—WE, though weak in the body, inthe soul shall be strong to the last! The ploughshare may pass overour cities, but the soil shall be trod by our steps, and our deedskeep our language alive in the songs of our bards. Nor in the greatJudgment Day, shall any race but the race of Cymry rise from theirgraves in this corner of earth, to answer for the sins of the brave!"[173]

So impressive the voice, so grand the brow, and sublime the wildgesture of the King, as he thus spoke, that not only the monk himselfwas awed; not only, though he understood not the words, did the Normanknight bow his head, as a child when the lightning he fears as byinstinct flashes out from the cloud,—but even the sullen and wide-spreading discontent at work among most of the chiefs was arrested fora moment. But the spearmen and multitude above, excited by thetidings of safety to life, and worn out by repeated defeat, and thedread fear of famine, too remote to hear the King, were listeningeagerly to the insidious addresses of the two stealthy conspirators,creeping from rank to rank; and already they began to sway and move,and sweep slowly down towards the King.

Recovering his surprise, the Norman again neared Gryffyth, and beganto re-urge his mission of peace. But the chief waved him backsternly, and said aloud, though in Saxon:

"No secrets can pass between Harold and me. This much alone, takethou back as answer: I thank the Earl, for myself, my Queen, and mypeople. Noble have been his courtesies, as foe; as foe I thank him—as king, defy. The torque he hath returned to my hand, he shall seeagain ere the sun set. Messengers, ye are answered. Withdraw, andspeed fast, that we may pass not your steps on the road."

The monk sighed, and cast a look of holy compassion over the circle;and a pleased man was he to see in the faces of most there, that theKing was alone in his fierce defiance. Then lifting again the rood,he turned away, and with him went the Norman.

The retirement of the messengers was the signal for one burst ofremonstrance from the chiefs—the signal for the voice and the deedsof the Fatal Three. Down from the heights sprang and rushed the angryand turbulent multitudes; round the King came the bard and thefalconer, and some faithful few.

The great uproar of many voices caused the monk and the knight topause abruptly in their descent, and turn to look behind. They couldsee the crowd rushing down from the higher steeps; but on the spotit*elf which they had so lately left, the nature of the ground onlypermitted a confused view of spear points, lifted swords, and headscrowned with shaggy locks, swaying to and fro.

"What means all this commotion?" asked the knight, with his hand onhis sword.

"Hist!" said the monk, pale as ashes, and leaning for support upon thecross.

Suddenly, above the hubbub, was heard the voice of the King, inaccents of menace and wrath, singularly distinct and clear; it wasfollowed by a moment's silence—a moment's silence followed by theclatter of arms, a yell, and a howl, and the indescribable shock ofmen.

And suddenly again was heard a voice that seemed that of the King, butno longer distinct and clear!—was it laugh?—was it groan?

All was hushed; the monk was on his knees in prayer; the knight'ssword was bare in his hand. All was hushed—and the spears stoodstill in the air; when there was again a cry, as multitudinous, butless savage than before. And the Welch came down the pass, and downthe crags.

The knight placed his back to a rock. "They have orders to murtherus," he murmured; "but woe to the first who come within reach of mysword!"

Down swarmed the Welchmen, nearer and nearer; and in the midst of themthree chiefs—the Fatal Three. And the old chief bore in his hand apole or spear, and on the top of that spear, trickling gore step bystep, was the trunkless head of Gryffyth the King.

"This," said the old chief, as he drew near, "this is our answer to
Harold the Earl. We will go with ye."

"Food! food!" cried the multitude.

And the three chiefs (one on either side the trunkless head that thethird bore aloft) whispered, "We are avenged!"