"She might have done worse," said Llewelyn mildly, and stood for a moment staring back into his childhood, for the Lady Gladys was little more than a year older than he, and came between those two brothers, but he had not so much as seen her for six years. "She must be turned nineteen," he said, pondering, "and he's hardly two years older. And he was there at court last year, paying his respects, and not a bad-looking fellow, either. What would you have? If he took her fancy, and she took his, what could be more natural? I wish them heartily well."
"The man is a traitor," said Owen, smarting. "And she must know it, as our mother surely does! But she grows old, she forgets with what intent she went to England. She has taught our sister to turn with the wind."
I will not deny there was something in what he said, had it come from one less compromised himself. For whatever human creatures undertake, however purely, with whatever devotion, the ground turns under them and brings them about, facing where they never meant to face, and hard indeed it is to keep a clear eye to the north, and right oneself from such deflecting winds. And the Lady Senena had suffered much, and was weary, so that now I saw what Llewelyn had seen without effort, by pure instinct, how she was lost to us, and lost to her old self, the whole ground having shifted under her.
"Oh, come!" said Llewelyn tolerantly. "We live among realities, Rhys Fychan is a man caught in their devil's web and doing his best with what he has, just as we are. God knows, there may come a time when we have to treat him as an enemy, but his is no case for hatred. Or overmuch righteousness!" he said, and gave me a smile, knowing Owen would never take the allusion. "Much less our sister's! If she likes him, God give her joy of him. At least he's her own age, and belike every bit as innocent."
Owen stamped off to the stables in dudgeon, to see his horse cared for, and left us to follow when the last cart was drawn in. He had no interest in such occupations.
Llewelyn walked beside me with wide eyes fixed upon the bowl of Bala and the mirror of the lake beyond. "She is my only sister," he said, marvelling, "and I do not know her, or she me. Samson, what have we done with our childhood, or what have others done with it, to leave us strangers now?"
The next event of note I remember during these years of slow recovery is the bringing home of the Lord Griffith's body, in the year following the peace of Woodstock. When a year had passed since that treaty, in exemplary quietness and submission on our part, Llewelyn judged that the time might be ripe to advance an intent he had always cherished since his father's death.
"For," said he, "King Henry may be satisfied by now, surely, that we have passed our probation, and the granting of a matter so small to him, especially where it touches the church, may appear very good policy." For his estimate of the king, which proved accurate enough, was that he was an amiable person apart from his crown, and by no means bloodthirsty, but where his royal interests were concerned liable to look all round every concession or request in suspicion of hidden disadvantages, and incapable of any gesture large and generous. And often, in searching so narrowly for the insignificant march that might be stolen on him, he failed to see his best and truest interest when it was large under his nose. "If he can read any malevolent intent into an act of filial piety," said Llewelyn, "let him argue it with ecclesiastics better versed in piety than he is. Or, for that matter, than I am!"
So first it was put to the council, who approved it to a man, Owen most loudly and perhaps with the most surprise and chagrin that it was the unfilial son, the deserter of his family's cause, who put it forward, rather than he, the fellow-sufferer with his sire in Criccieth and in London. And then the formal letters were drawn up, with all ceremony, both to king and archbishop, and committed to the willing and reverent hands of the abbots of Strata Florida and Aberconway, and a splendid escort provided to bring them to Westminster. For with all the abbots of the Cistercian houses Llewelyn was ever on the warmest terms of friendship and regard, like his grandsire before him, and the very echo of that name stood him in good stead.
To these letters, which were sent in the name of both brothers, and to the
persuasions of the reverend abbots, King Henry listened, and saw that it could reflect nothing but radiance upon him to accede to the request, while he parted with nothing but the body of a broken tool, and might even a little salve his conscience and silence persistent rumour concerning that death by being gracious now to the remains. He therefore gave his permission and countenanced the removal of the Lord Griffith's corpse from its alien resting-place, and the abbots brought the prince's coffin in slow and solemn procession home to Aberconway, and there interred him with all appropriate rites beside his father and his half-brother. So those two sons of Llewelyn the Great lay together in peace at last.
It was four years more before the Lady Senena came home to Wales. Reassured by so long a period of calm and enforced order in Wales, King Henry declared himself willing to equip the lady and let her take her two remaining children to receive their allotment of land under Welsh law, even the youngest being now of age. It suited very well with the king's designs that even what he had left us of Gwynedd should be parcelled out among as many rival lords as possible, for the more and the more trivial the titles to land there, the less likely was any kind of unity in the future. And it suited well with the Lady Senena's old-fashioned leanings that ancient right should be observed at all costs. She was not yet old, being but five and forty, but experience and care, and especially the long years of being eaten by a sense of bitter grievance, had aged her greatly, and she longed to see all her sons established before she retired into the secluded life which was now increasingly attractive to her. So the agreement was made that Rhodri and David should receive lands of their own, though the supreme rule over Gwynedd remained as before with their two elder brothers. And in the early summer Owen and Llewelyn sent an escort to bring their mother and brothers home.
Doubtless King Henry was also spared a considerable expense once they were gone from his court, and that was some relief to him, for he had difficulties of his own with his council and magnates over his expenditure, and to be able to point to one economy was at least a step in conciliating them. So all in all it suited everyone, though I am sure the Lady Senena felt pain by then in any upheaval in her life, and suffered doubts and depressions of which no one else knew, unless it might be Bishop Richard of Bangor, who accompanied the royal party on their journey, making one of his rare visits to his see.
This Bishop Richard had formerly been a strong supporter of the Lord Griffith's cause against David. After the treaty signed at Woodstock he had forsaken Gwynedd and preferred to make his home in the abbey of St. Albans, and came only now and then to visit his flock. But in England he had taken an interest in the fortunes of the Lady Senena and her family, and she had a great respect and reverence for him, though many found him a difficult and thorny priest. Doubtless she was glad to have his support and consolation in setting out on this return journey to her own country, after eleven years of absence.
It was at Carnarvon that the princes received their mother and her retinue, that court being convenient to the commotes the council had agreed to give to Rhodri and David, and also to the bishop's own town of Bangor. Both Owen and Llewelyn rode out a mile or two on the road when they got word that the cavalcade had been sighted, and I went among their companions, for Llewelyn knew that I was eager to get sight of my mother after so long, and bade me leave whatever work I had to do, for it would not spoil with keeping.
It was a slow procession we went to meet, for they had made a fair distance that day, and the horses were tired. The bishop, like the lady, rode in a litter, being already in his elder years, and frail. But a bright spark of blue and white played and darted about the group, now spurring ahead, now whirling to make a circle round them, now dancing along the green verge of the road on one side, now on the other. Restless and eager, this one young horseman fretted a silvery lace of movement about the slow core of the party, hard put to it to res
train himself from outrunning them all and coming first to Carnarvon.
He saw us, and for one moment reined in abruptly, on the crest of a hillock by the roadside. Then he came at a canter, and wheeled broadside before us, his eyes sweeping over us all, eyes the misty blue of harebells, and yet bright, under straight black brows. His head was uncovered and his breast was bare, the linen shirt turned back from his neck, for the June sun was hot. The wind had blown his blue-black hair into a tangle of curls, and stung a bright flush of blood over the cheekbones high and wide like wings.
So I saw my breast-brother again, smiling and eager, no less beautiful than when he charmed the ladies of the court at six years old.
He found Owen easily, and cried his name aloud in a crow of pleasure, and reining very lightly and expertly alongside, flung an arm about his eldest brother and kissed him.
"You I'd know by your hair among a thousand," he said heartily, "and glad I am to see you again. But Llewelyn was not red, and it's longer, I might shoot wide." He laughed with pleasure, for whatever he did he did with all his being. His eyes roved, touched me for an instant and wavered, flashing with a recognition that must wait its time. He walked his horse forward to where Llewelyn waited, smiling but not helping him, for he was too careless of his dress to be known for the prince by his ornaments. "Yes! Not by your hair, but I know you!" He reached a long brown hand and touched very lightly the star-shaped scar at the angle of Llewelyn's jaw. "My mother—our mother told me, when she came from Woodstock. Did you think she had not noticed? You," he said, "among ten thousand!" And he reached both arms, loosing the reins, and Llewelyn embraced him.
When the kiss was given and received, they drew apart, those two, and gazed at each other with something of wonder and curiosity, of which this quick, brotherly liking was but the blunted point. For they had been eleven years apart, and David now was but sixteen. And they said the most ordinary of words, because no others then would have had any meaning, their need of mutual exploration being so great.
"Our mother is well?" said Llewelyn, looking over David's shoulder towards the approaching litters.
"Well, but weary. Bear it in mind, for she'll never admit it, and draw the celebrations short tonight. Give her a day or two, and she'll be arranging all our lives for
us," said David irreverently.
"And Rhodri?"
"He's there, riding beside her litter. We took it by turns, but he has more patience than I. Rhodri is very well, only a little tired of the bishop's supervision. He minds him, I do not. It pleases him better," said David, "not to be minded. Where would he find matter for homilies, if we were all like Rhodri? Will you go and meet them?"
So we moved forward again towards the approaching procession, watching the gold-tinted dust eddy upwards, glittering, from the hooves of the horses. And as we went, David laid a hand softly on Llewelyn's arm, and said in his ear, but not so quietly that I did not catch the words: "Pardon me if I leave you a moment. There's one here I must greet." And without waiting for a reply he edged his horse very delicately from between his brothers, and brought him sidling and dancing alongside my pony on the edge of the escort.
"Samson…? You are Samson, I could not be wrong." He curbed his horse in such a way that we two fell aside and a little behind, and did it very smoothly, until there was space enough between us and the rest for us to talk openly and alone. And for my life I could not understand this compliment he was paying me, though I felt it pierce to my heart. As he had a way of doing, for good or evil.
"I am indeed Samson," I said. "I did not think you would remember me. I am glad from my heart to see you home."
"I own," he said, "we have been apart some years now, and I was not very old or very wise, to remember well. Yet how could I forget you? We had one kind nurse, and she was yours, and only lent to me. Oh, Samson, I dearly loved her! How can I say what I need to say? My mother has it in charge to tell you, and I would spare you and her." He saw how I was straining ahead to try and see into the open litter, from which the curtains were drawn back fully to let in light and air in the radiant June. And he laid his hand on my arm and held me hard. "Don't look for her!" he said. "You'll not find her."
I turned then to look at him fully, and the blue of his eyes was like the pale zenith of the sky over us, almost blanched with pity. Then I understood that I had lost her, that Meilyr, wherever he was and if he still lived, had been robbed of her whom he had never had but in a barren leash of law. And the strangest and best thing then was that this boy beside me, who could laugh, and play, and charm the hearts out of brothers and strangers alike, had tears in his eyes for her and me.
"If we had sent you word," he said, "it could have come only a day or two ahead of us, it was better to bring the grief with us, and share it with you. She died three days before we left London, of some fever. God knows what. It made such haste with her, she was gone in a night. My mother labours and frets with it, let me tell her that you know. And if I have done my errand ill, forgive me! She's buried there in London. We did all we could do."
I told him I had no doubt of it, that I was grateful, that he need not be in any distress, for this was to be his day of reunion. I said I had lived without my mother now for some years, that no man nor woman can be kept for ever by love, that he should reassure his own mother that all was well, that all was very well. Nevertheless, he kept his hand touching my hand upon the bridle until we came up with the litters. And it was a mile and more on the way home to Carnarvon before he was riding again in flying circles about us, and laughing into the wind.
Thus my mother's few poor possessions came back to me at the Lady Senena's hands, and she spoke with regret and affection of the years of service Elen had given to the royal children, and there was no distress between us, the boy having done her office for her. And so unlikely a messenger of mourning never lived, except that birds can sing in cloudy weather as loudly and bravely as in the sun. For he was like a darting kingfisher over a stream, wild with delight in his own energy, youth and brightness, preening himself in the new clothes provided for his homecoming, and inquisitive about everything that had once been familiar, and now had to be learned anew. And once, in the brief time while she was most softened and welcoming to me, the Lady Senena caught my dazzled eyes following his flight, and said to me, half in admiration, it seemed, and half in warning: "Do not think him as light and shallow as he seems. He is as deep as the sea off Enlli, and as hard to know."
I thought her partial to Rhodri, as indeed she was, for in his childhood he had suffered occasional illness, and so attached her to himself more anxiously than any of his brothers. Moreover, he was of a somewhat dour temperament not unlike her own, and she understood him better than the youngest and most wayward of her brood, whose alien brilliance reached back to his grandsire.
I watched them often, during those few days spent at Carnarvon, as they sat side by side at the high table in hall, for that was the first and only time that I saw all those four brothers of Gwynedd together, grouped like a family about their mother. And very earnestly I studied all those faces, so like and so unlike, for all had something of both parents in them, but all shaped that essence differently. Owen Goch most resembled his father, being the tallest and heaviest of the four, with florid, russet face and opulent flesh. Only his dark-red, burning hair set him apart. He was very strong, and a good man of his hands, though too ready with them in and out of season, like the Lord Griffith before him, and with the same hot temper. With weapons he was fearless, but too rash and therefore a little clumsy. And for all his ready furies he also, as Llewelyn had once said of him, bore grudges which he never forgot, so that often I had wondered how he contrived to put away the memory of being worsted and having the dagger wrested out of his hand, that night at Aber, and how he could stomach that defeat and work mildly with his brother in court and council. As for me, he had never given me a reminder of it by word or look, hardly met my eyes since that day, and I had kept out of his way to avo
id touching, even by the sight of me, a spot that might still be sore. Yet I felt some shame in doing him what I thought must, after all, be an injustice.
Llewelyn, sitting beside him, was well-nigh as broad in the shoulder, and not much shorter, but brown and lean and hard, for he lived a rough outdoor life by choice, as often involved with cattle and fields as with court and council. Eryri is a harsh, stony, untilled land, yet it has fields in some sheltered valleys that can be made to bear beans and pease, if not corn, and he had good reason to remember the winter of hunger after the rape of Anglesey. His brown face, all bone and brow, looked lively and good-humoured in company, and sturdily thoughtful in repose. My lord at this time was twenty-three years old, body and mind formed fully, and both under large and easy control. Often I was aware that he was consciously waiting, and employing his days to the best effect until his time came, for he knew how to wait.
Rhodri was the slenderest of the four, but of resource in getting by device what he could not get by force. His face was fair and freckled, a condition usual with hair of such a light, reddish colour. As a child I remembered him as capable of spite, and capricious in his likes and dislikes as in his interests, blowing all ways in one day, and in and out with everyone about him too quickly to follow his turns. Beside those other three he seemed of light weight, but that weight might be thrown into the scale so wantonly as to upset all. At the manly exercises which showed David at his burning best Rhodri was but mediocre, though he could hold his own with the lump. He was attentive and gentle with his mother, who loved him dearly, and fretted over him constantly.
The Brothers of Gwynedd Page 12
