The Lord of Dynevor: A Tale of the Times of Edward the First

by Evelyn Everett-Green

  CHAPTER XII. A STRANGE BRIDAL.

  "My prince, tempt me not. It is hard to refuse; but there are somethings no man may do with honour, and, believe me, honour is dearer tome than life, dearer even than liberty; though Heaven alone knows howdear that is to every free-born son of Cambria. I to leave my brother towear away his days in captivity whilst I escape under his name! PrinceAlphonso, I know not what you think my heart is made of. Am I to live infreedom, whilst he whom I love best in the world bears the burden of myfault, and lingers out his young life within the walls of the king'sprison?"

  Alphonso looked searchingly in Wendot's face, and realized for the firsttime the youth's absolute ignorance of his brother's state. No wonder herefused with scorn the proffered boon! Yet it would be a hard task tobreak the sad tidings to one who so deeply loved his gentle youngerbrother, from childhood his chosen comrade.

  Alphonso was lying on a couch in one of the smaller state apartments ofWindsor Castle, and the window, close to which he had bidden hisattendants wheel him, overlooked the beautiful valley of the Thames. Thefirst of the autumn tints were gilding the rich stretches of woodland,whilst a faint blue haze hung over the distance, and the river ran likea silver thread, glinting here and there into golden brightness as somebrighter ray of sunlight fell upon it.

  Alphonso loved the view commanded by this window. He and Griffeth spentmany long happy hours here, looking out on the fair prospect, andexchanging whispered thoughts and bright aspirations with regard to someland even fairer than the one they now beheld.

  But Wendot never looked at the beautiful valley without experiencing astrange oppression of spirit. It reminded him of that wilder valley ofthe Towy, and his eyes would grow dim and his heart sick with thefruitless longing after home, which grew harder and harder to hear withevery week of captivity, now that his bodily health was restored.Captivity was telling upon him, and he was pining as an eagle pines whencaught and shut up by man even in a gilded cage. He looked pale and wanand wistful. Often he felt stifled by the warm, close air of the valley,and felt that he must die did he not escape to the freer air of themountains.

  But he seldom spoke of these feelings even to Griffeth, and strangelyenough his illness and these homesick longings produced upon his outerman an effect which was wonderfully favourable to the plan fermenting inthe brains of the royal children and their immediate companions.

  Wendot had lost the sturdiness of figure, the brown colouring, and thestrength of limb which had distinguished him in old days from Griffeth.A striking likeness had always existed between the brothers, whosefeatures were almost identical, and whose height and contours were thesame. Now that illness had sharpened the outlines of Wendot's face, hadreduced his fine proportions, and had given to him something of thehollow-eyed wistfulness of expression which Griffeth had so long worn,this likeness became so remarkable that few in the castle knew onebrother from the other. Knowing this, they both answered indifferentlyto the name of either, and any change of personality would be managedwithout exciting the smallest fear of remark.

  Wendot had been perplexed at times by the persistence with which he hadbeen addressed as Griffeth, even when he was certain that the speakerwas one of the few who knew him and his brother apart; but he had nottroubled his head much over the matter until this day, when Alphonso hadopenly spoken to him of the plan that was in their minds, and had biddenhim prepare for a secret flight from the castle, promising that thereshould be no ardent search after him, as Wendot, and not Griffeth, wasthe culprit who had fallen under the royal displeasure, and the kingwould care little for the escape of the younger brother so long as heheld the ex-Lord of Dynevor in his own safe keeping.

  Wendot's indignant refusal to leave his brother and make good his ownescape showed Alphonso how little he realized Griffeth's condition, andwith gentle sympathy, but with candour and frankness, he explained tothe elder brother how short would be the period of Griffeth's captivity-- how soon and how complete the release for which he was patiently andhappily waiting.

  Wendot gave a great start as the meaning of Alphonso's words first brokeupon him, and then he buried his face in his hands, and sat motionless,neither answering nor moving. Alphonso looked at him, and by-and-by putout his own wasted hand and laid it upon Wendot's knee.

  "Does it seem a sad thing to thee, Wendot? Believe me, there is nosadness for Griffeth in the thought. Nay, is it not a blessed thing toknow that soon, very soon, we shall be free of this weary burden of painand sickness and weakness, and laying all aside will pass away to theland of which the seer of old foretold that 'the wicked cease fromtroubling, and the weary are at rest.' Thou knowest not, perhaps, thesweetness of those words, but I know it well, and Griffeth likewise.

  "Nay, Wendot, thou must learn not to grudge him the rest and the blissof yon bright land. In this world he could look for nothing save wearingweakness and lingering pain. Thou shouldst be glad that the fiat hasgone forth, and that the end may not be far off -- the end of troubleand sorrow; for of the glory that shall follow there shall be no end."

  But Wendot broke in hoarsely and impetuously.

  "If he must die, let him at least die in freedom, with the old hillsaround him; let him be laid to rest beneath their shadow. You say thathe might well escape; that no cry would be made after him so long as Iwere in the king's safe keeping. Let him then fly. Let him fly toLlewelyn and Arthyn. They will give him tendance and a home. He shallnot die in prison, away from all that he holds dear. I cannot brook thethought!"

  "Nay, Wendot," answered Alphonso with a kindling smile, "thou needestnot grieve for thy brother because that he is here. Ask him -- take itnot from my lips; but I will tell thee this, that where thou art andwhere I am is the place where Griffeth would fain end his days. Ah! thoucanst not understand, good youth, how when the great and wonderful callcomes for the human soul, how lightly press the fetters of the flesh;how small these things of time and place appear that erst have been ofsuch moment. Griffeth and I are treading the same path at the same time,and I think not even the offer of a free pardon and unfettered libertywould draw him from my side.

  "Moreover, Wendot, he could not take the journey of which thou speakest.The keen autumn air, which will give thee strength and vigour, would butlay him low on the bed from which he would never rise. His heart is herewith me. Think not that thou art wronging him in taking his name. Theone load lying now upon his heart is the thought that he is leaving theein captivity. Let him but know that thou art free -- that he has beenthy helper in thy flight -- and he will have nought left to wish for inthis world. His soul will be at peace."

  Wendot rose and paced through the chamber, and then returned to the sideof the prince. His face betrayed many conflicting emotions. He spokewith bitterness and impetuosity.

  "And what good is life to me if I take you at your word and fly thisspot? Have I not lost all that makes life worth living? My lands givento my traitorous kinsman; the brother who has been more to me than lifelying in a foreign grave. What use is life to one so lonely and bereft?Where should I fly? what should I do? I have never lived alone. I havealways had another to live for and to love. Methinks death would be thebetter thing than such a loveless life."

  "And why should thy life be loveless, Wendot?" asked Alphonso, withkindling eyes and a brightening smile. "Dost not thou know? -- does notthine own heart tell thee that one faithful heart beats for thee andthee alone? Have I not seen thee with her times and again? Have not youreyes told eloquent secrets -- though I know not what your lips have said --"

  Wendot's face was all in a glow, but he broke in hastily:

  "Prince, prince, speak not of her. If I have been beguiled, if I havebetrayed the feelings which I cannot help, but which I must hold sternlyin check -- be not thou the one to taunt me with my weakness. There isnone like her in the world. I have known it for long. But even because Iknow it so well I may not even dream of her. It is not with me as ofold, when her father spoke to me of troth plight. I am a beggar, anoutcast, a pr
isoner. She is rich, honoured, courted. She is thebrightest star of the court --"

  "And she loveth thee, Wendot," interposed Alphonso firmly. "She hasloved thee from childhood with a faithful and true love which meritsbetter things than to be cast aside as if it were but dross. What arelands and gold to a woman if her lover share them not? Is it meet thatshe should suffer so cruelly simply because her father has left her wellendowed? Wendot, on Lord Montacute's dying bed this daughter of hisavowed her love for thee, and he gave her his blessing and bade her actas she would. Art thou, then, to be the one to break her heart, ay, andthine own, too, because thou art too proud to take more than thou canstgive?

  "Fie, man! the world is wide and thou art young. Thou hast time to winthy spurs and bring home noble spoil to lay at thy lady's feet. Only letnot pride stand in the way of her happiness and thine own. Thou hastsaid that life is dark and drear unless it be shared with some lovedone. Then how canst thou hold back, when thou hast confessed thine ownlove and learned that hers is thine? Take it, and be grateful for thetreasure thou hast won, and fear not but that thou wilt bring as much asthou wilt receive. There are strange chances in the fate of each one ofus. Who knows but that thou and she will not yet reign again in thehalls of Dynevor?"

  Wendot started and flushed, and again paced down the whole length of theroom. When he returned to the window Alphonso had gone, and in his placestood Gertrude herself, her sweet face dyed rosy red with blushes, herhands half stretched out towards him, her lips quivering with theintensity of her emotion.

  He paused just one moment looking at her, and then holding out his arms,he said:

  "Gertrude!"

  Next moment she was clasped in his close embrace, and was shedding happytears upon his shoulder.

  "Oh!" said Gertrude at last, in a soft whisper, "it was worth waitingfor this. I never thought I could have been so happy."

  "Joanna -- Alphonso, it is all settled. He will leave the castle withme. He will help me now in the care of my lands. But he will not movewhilst Griffeth lives. And I think he is right. They have so loved eachother, and he will not leave his brother to die amongst strangers incaptivity."

  "It is like him," said Joanna eagerly. "Gertrude, thou hast found a veryproper knight, as we told thee from the first, when he was but a lad,and held the Eagle's Crag against a score of men. But ye must be weddedsoon, that there be no delay when once the poor boy be gone. Every dayhe looks more shadowy and frail. Methinks that our softer air ill suitshim, for he hath dwindled to a mere shadow since he came. You will nothave to wait long."

  "Joanna speaks the truth," said Alphonso, half sadly, half smilingly."He will not be with us long. But it is very true that this marriagemust be privately celebrated, and that without delay, that when the daycomes when 'Griffeth' flies from the castle, he and his wife may gotogether."

  "Ay, and my chaplain will make them man and wife, and breathe not a wordto any man," cried Joanna, who, now that she was older, had her ownretinue of servants, equal in number to those of her sister, by whom shewas dearly loved for her generosity and frankness, so that she couldalways command ready and willing obedience to any expressed wish of hers.

  "You think he will? O Joanna, when shall it be?"

  "It shall be at midnight in the chapel," said the girl, with the promptdecision which characterized her. "Not tonight, but three nights fromthis. Leave all things in my hands, sweet Gertrude; I will see thatnought is lacking to bind thee lawfully to thy lord. My chaplain is agood and holy man from the west country. He loveth those poor Welsh whoare prisoners here, and spends much of his time in ministering to them.He loves thy future lord and his dying brother, and he knows somewhat ofour plan, for I have revealed it in the confessional, and he has notchided me for it.

  "Oh, I can answer for him. He will be glad that thou shouldst find soproper a knight; and he is kind of heart, and stanch to my service. Fearnot, sweet Gertrude: ere three days have gone by thou shalt be a weddedwife; and when the time comes thou mayest steal away with him thyplighted lord, and trust thy sister Joanna to make thy peace with theking, if he be in any way angered or grieved."

  Gertrude threw herself into Joanna's arms and kissed her a hundredtimes; and Joanna laughed, and said she deserved much credit forplotting to rid herself of her dearest friend, but was none the lessloyal to the cause because Gertrude's gain would be her loss.

  So there came a strange night, never to be forgotten by those whowitnessed the proceedings, when Wendot ap Res Vychan and the LadyGertrude Cherleton stood at midnight before the altar in the smallprivate chapel of the castle, whilst the chaplain of the PrincessJoanna's private suite made them man and wife according to the law ofthe Church. And of the few spectators who witnessed the ceremony twowere of royal blood -- Alphonso and Joanna -- and beside them were onlyone or two attendants, sworn to secrecy, and in full sympathy with theyouthful lovers thus plighting their troth and being united in wedlockat one and the same time.

  Griffeth was not of the number who was present to witness this ceremony.He was unable to rise from his bed, a sudden access of illness havingovertaken him, possibly as the result of the excitement of hearing whatwas about to take place.

  When the solemn words had been spoken, and the bride was led away by herproud and happy spouse -- happy even in the midst of so much peril andsorrow in the thought of the treasure he had won -- she paused at thedoor of her apartments, whither he would have left her (for so long asthey remained within the walls of the castle they would observe the samemanner of life as before), and glancing into his face said softly:

  "May I not go with thee to tell the news to Griffeth?"

  "Ay, well bethought," said Alphonso, who was leaning on Wendot's otherarm, the distance through the long passages being somewhat fatiguing tohim. "Let us go and show to him thy wife. None will rejoice more than heto know that she is thine in very truth, and that none can take her fromthee."

  Griffeth's room was nigh at hand, and thither Wendot led his bride. Ataper was burning beside the bed, and the sick youth lay propped up withpillows, his breath coming in laboured gasps, though his eyes werebright and full of comprehension as Wendot led the slim, white-robedfigure to his side.

  But the elder brother was startled at the change he saw in his patientsince he had left him last. There was something in his look that struckchill upon his heart. He came forward and took the feeble hand in his.It was deadly cold, and the unearthly radiance upon the lad's face wasas significant in its own way. Had not their mother looked at them withjust such a smile when she had slipped away into another world, whilstthey were trying to persuade themselves that she was better?

  "My sister Gertrude," whispered Griffeth. "Oh, I am so happy! You willbe good to him -- you will comfort him.

  "Wendot -- Gertrude --" he made a faint effort, and joined their handstogether; and then, as if his last earthly task was accomplished, heseemed to look right on beyond them, whilst a strange expression of aweand wonder shone from his closing eyes.

  "Howel," he whispered -- "father -- mother -- oh, I am coming! Take mewith you."

  Then the head fell backwards, the light vanished from the eyes, the coldhand fell nervelessly from Wendot's grasp, and they knew that Griffethwas the king's prisoner no longer.

  Three days later the Lady Gertrude Cherleton said farewell to her royalcompanions, and started forth for her own estates in Derbyshire, whichshe had purposed for some time to visit. Perhaps had the minds of thosein the castle been free to wonder at anything so trivial as themovements of the young heiress, they would have felt surprise at herselecting this time to betake herself to a solitary and independentexistence, away from all her friends and playmates; but the mortalillness of the Prince Alphonso occupied the whole attention of thecastle. The remains of the so-called Wendot, late of Dynevor, had beenlaid to rest with little ceremony and no pomp, and the very existence ofthe other brother was almost forgotten in the general dismay and griefwhich permeated through all ranks of people both within and without the
castle walls.

  The lady had a small but sufficient retinue; but it was consideredrather strange that she should not start until the dusk had begun togather round the castle, so that the confusion of the start was a gooddeal increased from the darkness which was stealing upon the place. Hadthere been much time or attention free, it might have been noted by akeen observer that Lady Gertrude had added to her personal attendantsone who looked like a tall and stout woman, though her hood was soclosely drawn that her face was seen by none of the warders, who,however, let her pass unchallenged: for she rode beside her mistress,and was evidently in the position of a trusted companion; for the ladywas speaking to her as they passed out through the gate, and there couldcertainly be no reason for offering any obstruction to any servant of hers.

  If there were any fear or excitement in Gertrude's breast as she and herhusband passed out of the gate and rode quickly along the path which ledthrough the town, she did not betray it by look or gesture. Hereagerness was mainly showed by a desire to push on northward as fast aspossible, and the light of a full harvest moon made travelling almost aseasy as by day. On they rode, by sleeping hamlets and dreaming pastures,until the lights of Windsor lay twinkling in the dim, hazy distancemiles away.

  Then Gertrude suddenly threw back her hood, and leaning towards hercompanion -- they two had outridden their followers some time before --cried in a strange, tense voice:

  "O Wendot husband, thou art free! Tomorrow will see us safe within thosehalls of which thou art rightful lord. Captivity, trouble, peril is atan end. Nothing can greatly hurt us now, for are we not one in bondsthat no man may dissever?"

  "My noble, true-hearted wife," said Wendot, in accents of intensefeeling; and then he leaned forward and kissed her in the whisperingwood, and they rode forward through the glades of silvery moonlighttowards the new life that was awaiting them beyond.

  "Hills, wild rocks, woods, and water!" cried Wendot, with a suddenkindling gleam in his eyes. "O Gertrude, thou didst not tell me thehalf! I never guessed that England had aught so like home as this. Trulyit might be Dynevor itself -- that brawling torrent, those craggy fells,and these gray stone walls. And to be free -- free to breathe the freshwind, to go where the fancy prompts, to be loosed from all control savethe sweet bonds that thou boldest me in, dearest! Ah, my wife, thouknowest not what thou hast done for me. How shall I thank thee for theboon?"

  "Why, by being thine old self again, Vychan," said Gertrude, who wasstanding by her husband's side on a natural terrace of rock above theHall which was to be their home. She had brought him out early in themorning to see the sun rise upon their home, and the rapture of hisface, the passionate joy she saw written there, was more than she hadhoped for.

  "Thou hast grown old and worn of late, too saddened, too grave for thyyears. Thou must grow young again, and be the bright-faced youth to whomI gave my heart. Thy youth is not left so far behind but what thou canstrecall it ere it be too late."

  "In sooth I shall grow young again here, sweetheart," quoth Wendot, orVychan, as we must call him now. He had an equal right to that name withhis father, though for convenience he had always been addressed by theother; and now that Lady Gertrude had brought her husband home, he wasto be known as Res Vychan, one of the descendants of the last princes ofSouth Wales, who had taken his wife's name also, as he was now the rulerof her land; so, according to the fashion of the English people, hewould henceforth be known as Vychan Cherleton. His brother's name hecould not bear to hear applied to himself, and it was left to Joanna toexplain matters to the king and queen when the chance should arrive.None else need ever know that the husband of the Lady Gertrude had everbeen a captive of Edward's; and the name of Griffeth ap Res Vychandisappears from the ken of the chroniclers as if it had never been knownthat he was once a prisoner in England.

  There was no pursuit made after the missing Welshman. The king and queenhad other matters to think of, and the fondness of their son for theyouth would have been protection enough even if he had not begged withhis dying breath that his father would forgive and forget. Lady Gertrudeand her husband did not come to court for very many years; and by thetime they did so, Vychan Cherleton's loyalty and service to the Englishcause were too well established for any one to raise a question as tohis birth or race.

  If the king and queen ever knew they had been outwitted by theirchildren, they did not resent that this had been so, nor that an act ofmercy had been contrived greater than they might have felt justified inratifying.

  But all this was yet in the future. As Vychan and his wife stood on thathigh plateau overlooking the fair valley of the Derwent, it seemed toGertrude as though during the past three days her husband had undergonesome subtle change. There was a new light in his eyes; his frame hadlost its drooping air of languor; he had stood the long days of roughriding without the smallest fatigue. It really seemed as if the oldWendot had come back again, and she smilingly asked him how it was thathe had gained such strength in so short a time.

  "Ah, that question is soon answered, sweet wife. It is freedom that isthe elixir of life to us sons of Cambria. I know not if yourEnglish-born men can brook the sense of fetter and constraint, but it isdeath to us.

  "Let us not think of it more. That page has closed for ever; and nevershall it reopen, for sooner will I die than fall alive into the hands ofa foe. Nay, sweetest Gertrude, look not so reproachfully at me. Thoushalt soon see that I mean not to die, but to live for thee. Here inthis fair, free spot we begin our new life together. It may be even yet-- for see, is not that bright sky, illumined by those quivering shaftsof light athwart our path, an omen of good? -- that as thou showest methis fair spot with which thou hast endowed me, I may one day show theeagain and endow thee with the broad lands of Dynevor."