A Prince of Cornwall Part 20

"I heard him boast of the same," he said, and I believed him for the way in which he said it.

"How do they think to slay Owen, and wherefore?" I asked, and my blood ran cold at the thought of the treachery that was round him.

Doubtless this Tregoz was back at court.

"In any way that they may compa.s.s, and if in such a way as to stir up war with Ina of Wess.e.x so much the better, as they say. It is revenge for the death of Morgan, and hatred of the Saxon, mixed."

"Is there any more that I should know?"

"None, Thane. But I have broken no oath in telling you this, as you might think. We outlaws were not bound, for there seemed no need."

It was strange that he should care to tell me this, being what he was. Once more I minded words of Thorgils--that the knave would beguile Loki himself with fair words. Yet there was somewhat very strange in all the looks and words of the man at this time. But I would not talk longer with him, and I cut his bonds and freed him.

He tried to rise and stretch his cramped limbs, groaning with the pain of them as he did so. And that grew on him so that of a sudden he swooned and fell all his length at my feet, and then I found myself kneeling and chafing the hands of this one who had bound me, so that he should come round the sooner. At last he opened his eyes, and I fetched the horn of strong mead that Howel had bidden his folk hang on my saddle bow when we rode out, and that brought him to himself again. He sat up on the snow and thanked me humbly.

"Now, what will you do?" I said. "Let me tell you that Thorgils is after you, and that Howel has set a price on your head, or was going to do so. And it is better that you cross the sea no more, for if ever any one of the men of Gerent or Ina catch you your life will be forfeit."

"I will get me to North Wales or Mercia, Thane, and there will I live honestly, and that I will swear. Only, I will pray you not to tell Howel that I am free."

"I am like to tell no man," I answered grimly. "For I should but be called a soft-hearted fool for my pains."

"Yet shall you be glad that you freed me. Bid Owen the prince look to the door before ever he opens it. Bid him wear his mail day and night, and never ride unguarded. Let him have one whom he trusts to sleep across his doorway, until Tregoz and his men are all accounted for."

"Well, then," I said, "farewell--as well as you shall deserve hereafter. You best know if you have one safe place left to you in England or in Wales."

"I was not all so bad until the law hounded me forth from men," he said. "I have yet places where I am held as an honest man."

Now I had enough of him, and I would not ask him more of himself yet I will say that my heart softened somewhat toward him, for I knew that here also he had been well thought of. Almost did I forget how he had treated me, for now that seemed a grudge against Tregoz. Maybe that was all foolishness on my part, but I am not ashamed thereof today, as I was then.

"Stay, have you any weapon?" I said, as I was turning away. "There are many ills that may befall an unarmed man in a wild country."

"There was a seax here," he said, rising stiffly. "They left it on the ground, that I might see help out of my reach, as it were. Ay, here it is."

He took it up, and I knew that after all he had felt somewhat as he had made me feel when I saw help close to me and might not have it.

I pitied him, for I knew well what his torture had been. Ay, and I will tell this, that men may know how this terror burnt into me.

Many a time have I let a trapped rat go, because I would not see the agony of dumb helplessness in anything. It frays me. There is no wonder that I set Evan free.

I said no more, but left him staring after me with the seax in his hand, and rode on my way, thinking most of all of the peril that was about Owen, and longing to be back with him that I might guard him. It seemed likely now that Gerent could take all these men whose names I had heard without the least trouble, for they could not deem that their plans were known. Ina would surely let me bide with my foster father till danger to him was past.

So I came into the road that runs along the top of the Ridgeway, and then I knew where I was. I could see the great ness of Tenby far before me across the hills, and presently at a turn in the road I saw Howel and Eric and his men ahead of me. They had taken the stag, and knew that I should make my way back, and so troubled not at all for me.

There Howel and I parted from the Danes, they going back to Tenby, while we returned slowly to Pembroke. And when we came to the palace yard we found a little train of horses and men there, as though some new guests had come in lately.

"I know who these will be," said Howel. "You will have company in your homeward crossing. Here is Dunwal of Devon, and his daughter, who have been on pilgrimage to St. Davids, for Christmastide. They knew that Nona returned at this time, and have come hither on the chance of a pa.s.sage home in the s.h.i.+p which brought her. In good time they are, after all."

Presently I met these folk, and very courteous they were. Dunwal was a tall, very dark, man, who chose to hold that he was beholden to myself for the pa.s.sage home, when he heard why I was sailing so soon. And his daughter was like him in many ways, being perhaps the very darkest damsel I have ever seen, though she was handsome withal. With them was a priest of the old Western Church, a Cornishman, with his outlandish tonsure. He was somewhat advanced in years, and strangely wild looking at times, though silent. He seemed to be Dunwal's chaplain, or else was a friend who had made the pilgrimage with him. His name was Morfed, they told me.

I do not think that I should have noted him much, but that when he heard my Saxon name he scowled heavily, and drew away from me; and presently, when it came to pa.s.s that Howel told Dunwal the news I had brought, I saw his eyes fixed on me in no friendly way as he listened. Nor did he join with his friends in the words of gladness for Owen's return, though indeed I had some thought that theirs might have been warmer. It was almost as if something was held back by the Devon man and his daughter, though why I should think so I could not tell. At all events, their way of receiving the news was not like that of Howel and Nona.

By and by, when we came to sit down at table in the largest room of the palace, bright with fair linen, and silver and gold and gla.s.s vessels before us, and soft and warm under foot with rugs on the tiled floor which hardly needed them, as I thought, there was a guest I was pleased to see. Thorgils had ridden from Tenby at the bidding of the princess, as it seemed, and his first words to me were of a.s.surance that all went well for our sailing. The good s.h.i.+p would be ready for the tide of the morrow night. Pleased enough also he was with the chance of new pa.s.sengers, as may be supposed.

I do not think that I have ever sat at a feast whereat so few were present at the high table, and there were no house-carles at all.

Truly, the room was not large enough for what we deem that a king's board should be, but we seemed almost in private. There were not more than thirty guests altogether, but it was pleasant for all that. The princess was on the right of her father, and Mara, the daughter of Dunwal, on his left, but I sat next to Nona, and Dunwal to me again. On the other side of the prince were some of his own n.o.bles, and across the room sat Thorgils next to the Cornish priest, among Welshmen of some lower rank. They seemed an ill-a.s.sorted pair, but Thorgils was plainly trying to be friendly with every one in reach of him, and soon I forgot him in the pleasantness of all that went on at our table.

However, by and by Howel said to Nona suddenly, in a low voice:

"Look yonder at the Norseman. He must be talking heathenry to yon priest, for the good man seems well-nigh wild. What can we do?"

Truly, the face of Morfed was black as thunder, while that of the Norseman was s.h.i.+ning with delight in some long-winded story he was telling. The white-robed servants were clearing the tables at this moment, and the prince's bard, a fine old harper with golden collar and chain, was tuning his little gilded harp as if the time for song had come.

"Make him sing," said Nona. "I bade him here tonight that he might do so. He has some wondrous tale to tell us."

Howel beckoned to the harper, and signed to him, and the old man rose at once and went to Thorgils. It was not the first time that he had sung here, it was plain. Then I noted that the priest was scowling fiercely at myself, and I wondered idly why. I supposed, so far as I troubled to think thereof that he was one of those who hated the very name of Saxon.

Now Thorgils took the harp without demur, smiling at the bard in thanks, and so came forward into the s.p.a.ce round which the tables were set, while a silence fell on the company.

"If my song goeth not smoothly in the British tongue, Prince, forgive me. I can but do my best. Truly, I have even now asked my neighbour, Father Morfed, if it is fairly rendered, but I have not had his answer yet."

He ran his hand over the already tuned strings, and lifted his voice and began. It was not the first time that he had handled a British harp, by any means, but if he played well he sang better. I do not think that one need want to hear a finer voice than his; and though he had seen fit to doubt his powers, his Welsh was as good as mine, and maybe, by reason of constant use, far more easy.

And next moment I knew that he was going to sing nothing more or less than of King Ina's Yule feast, and what happened thereat. He had promised to tell the princess the story, and this was her doing, of course. I could not stop him, and there I must sit and listen to as highly coloured a tale as a poet could make of it.

Once he saw that I was growing red, and he grinned gently at me across the harp, and worked up the struggle still more terribly.

And all the while Morfed the priest glowered at me, until at length he rose and left the room.

I was glad enough when Thorgils ended that song, but Nona must ask him for yet another, and that pleased him, of course, and he began once more. This time he sang, to my great confusion, of the drinking of the bowl, and of my vow, and I wished that I was anywhere but in Pembroke, or that I could reach the three-legged stool on which he was perched from under him. I never knew a man easy while the gleemen sang his deeds, save Ina, who was used to it, and never listened; and I knew not where to look, though maybe more than half the folk present did not understand that I was the hero of the song. Nevertheless, I had to put up with it, till he ended with a verse or two of praise of our host and of the princess who loved the songs of the bard, and so took his applause with a happy smile and went and sat down, while Nona bade her maidens bear a golden cup and wine to him.

Then the princess turned to me with a quiet smile that had some mischief in it.

"This last is more than I had thought to hear, Thane," she said; "you told us nought of yourself and the lady Elfrida when we rode from the hermit's."

And so she must ask me many questions, under cover of some chant which the old bard began, and she drew my tale from me easily enough, and maybe learnt more than I thought I told her, for before long she said:

"Then it seems that, after all, you are not so sure that the lady is pleased with you for your vow?"

And in all honesty I was forced to own that I was not. I suppose I showed pretty plainly that I thought myself aggrieved in the matter, for the princess smiled at me.

"Wait till you see how she meets you when you return, Thane. No need to despair till then."

It came into my mind to say that I did not much care how I was met, but I forbore. Maybe it was not true. And then the princess and the three or four other ladies who were present rose and left the table, and thereafter we spoke of nought but sport and war, and I need not tell of all that. But when I went to my chamber presently, and the two pages were about to leave me to myself some three hours or so after the princess left the board, one of them lingered for a moment behind the other, and so handed me a folded and sealed paper.

"I pray you read this, Thane," he said, and was gone.

It was written in a fair hand, that did not seem as that of any inky-fingered lay brother, but as I read the few words that were written I knew whose it was, for none but Nona would have written it.

"Have a care, Thane. I have spoken with Mara, and I fear trouble.

Dunwal her father is, with Tregoz his brother, at the right hand of the men who follow Morgan. Morfed the priest is a hater of all that may make for peace with the Saxon. He is well-nigh distraught with hatred of your kin."

Then there were a few words crossed out, and that was all. And to tell the truth, it was quite enough. But as I came to think over the matter, it seemed to me that until Dunwal knew that it was his brother who had tried to get rid of me I need not fear him. As for the priest, his hatred would hardly lead him to harm the son of Owen.