"Not dead nor near it," said Llewelyn, lingering to see the last of him. "The old bear will live to fight again many a day." And I think he was glad. But for this long while Meredith's right arm would strike no blows in battle, and as I knew, having seen him in combat many times, he had but an awkward use of his left, like most men who have not strenuously practised the exercising of that member.
A few dead we left behind us there, but no prisoners, and, though we took some minor wounds away with us, none were grave. We reckoned it, in its measured fashion, a victory, as we rode back towards Dryslwyn from the bridge of Carmarthen. With de Chaworth's hands full, as they surely were, with the salvaging of wounded men and scattered horses, and the shattered order within the town, it was the best time to test out the defences of the castles along the Towy.
Well I knew that I could not escape company on that ride. From the moment we formed and marched, Godred took his captured mount out of the line, and watched our ranks pass until he found me, and then fell in at my side. His yellow head was bared to the early sun falling between the trees, and though his face was bruised, and bore a pattern of shallow scratches over the cheekbone, where the metal of his helm had scored him as it tore free, his youthfulness and brightness were no less than when last I had seen him, the greater part of a year ago. No, they were still more marked because of the lining of the passing shadow of death. I had heard him cry out against it; I knew he had recognised it as it stooped upon him. I have heard a hare scream so before the hawk struck.
I do not know if he looked sidelong at my face and found in it something that made him approach warily, or whether it came naturally to him at all times to touch lightly and turn gravity to gaiety, even in matters of life and death. For he leaned down first from his taller mount and patted my mare's moist neck, fondling along her mane.
"I owe you as good a fill of oats as ever a pony ate," he said to her twitching ear. "Remind me to honour the debt when we halt at Dryslwyn." And to me he said, no less lightly and agreeably, yet with a note of carefulness, as if he felt some constraint: "And to you, Samson, I owe a life. When will it please you claim it back from me?"
I could not choose but think then how I had once been tempted to take it from him unlawfully, and how I had now but rendered him in requital what I owed to him, leaving him no debt to me. But I said only, I hope truthfully, that I was thankful indeed to see him none the worse.
"Faith," said he, "you come always to be my saving angel. I thought my last hour was come and, I tell you, a good clean lance-thrust would have been welcome, rather than be pounded to pulp among the hooves. Make as little as you will of it, you cannot make it less than a life to me, and I shall follow you round with my gratitude until I can repay you, though I promise to do it without overmuch noise or importunity. I know you have no appetite for being thanked," he said, watching me along his wide shoulder with a gleaming smile, "or you would not have ridden away from Dolwyddelan without a word, and left Cristin and me to hunt you in vain, last year when you brought us together again. That was a great grief to her."
He had a gift for double-edged words. Surely if he had known of my grief he would not have probed my heart with hers. He spoke of things he believed he understood, though he knew no more than the surface. And that was his strength and my weakness, that he could prattle by my side of Cristin, and the time of her loss, and the bliss of her recovery, without one tremor of pain or uneasiness, while every shaft he loosed pierced me to the soul. All his honey, which he poured innocently and assiduously, was gall to me. And in my agitation of mind I began to suffer another disquiet, for now I could not be sure whether I had indeed wheeled my mare astride him on the ground to save or to trample him. Such doubts he never failed to arouse in me, because he sought and praised and affected me, and trusted in my returning his kindness, while to me he was hateful, and his presence a torment. That undoubted guilt tainted all my dealings with him, even those which were clean in intent.
He rode beside me all that day, as good as his word in pursuing me with attentions and thanks which were more than I could bear. Even the work we had to do could not long shake him off from my neck. We circled Dryslwyn castle in cover, hoping the garrison would think us departed and send out some party we could pick off, perhaps with profitable prisoners. If King Henry could persuade Welshmen to his peace, so, perhaps, could Llewelyn recover the fealty of some thus handed over against their will. But the castellan continued very wary, and clearly had no lack of provisions within.
"We should have brought siege engines," said David, scanning the towers and fretting for an opportunity lost. "There would have been time."
"With de Chaworth calling in reinforcements from as far as Pembroke by now?" said Llewelyn. "Never think he'll hold still in Carmarthen for long. One week, and he'll be moving this way against us. And we have still work to do in Gwynedd before the seventeenth of June. No, let's use our time here on Dynevor, since it may well be short."
So we marched on, and camped for the night about the uplands that overlooked Dynevor upon the north. Here we could not have used siege engines even had we brought them with us, for Rhys Fychan wanted his castle restored undamaged, if that were possible, and in particular did not wish to risk the life and limb of those of his men now prisoners within. So we gave free rule to the archers, and let them pick off any of Meredith's men who showed themselves too rashly about the walls, and any who ventured out, giving them no rest, and no chance to bring in further supplies for the garrison. By such means a castle may be taken, given time enough, but our time was running out. Whether the king's muster came to fruit or not, it behoved us to be ready to receive the shock.
In the second week of May our scouts sent back word from Carmarthen that reinforcements were moving in from the south in some strength, and it appeared that a massive attempt against us was being prepared. It was high time for us to turn homeward.
"A pity to go with the work half-done," said David, chafing and burning. "Leave me here with my own men, and Rhys and I between us will go on with this harrying. With Carreg Cennen to fall back on we can well avoid battle at the worst, and still do Chaworth and Meredith damage enough, and keep them from re-victualling Dynevor. If King Henry gets his muster into motion, you have only to send for me, and I'll be in Gwynedd before him."
Which was true enough, for the royal army could move but slowly among our forests and mountains, while every hidden path was at our disposal.
"I grieve," said Llewelyn, frowning upon the distant towers of Dynevor, with Dynevor's lord at his shoulder, "to leave your castle still in other hands. I promise you it shall not be so long."
Rhys Fychan, who had sworn fealty to him less than a year ago, pledging it as the last fealty of his life, and never went from it again, made no complaint, but reassured him.
"Lend me David, and between us we will take and hold more land than Dynevor could buy. For the walls and towers I can wait," he said.
So David remained, making his headquarters with Rhys Fychan at Carreg Cennen, and entered gleefully on a campaign of pinpricks against the king's seneschal, while Meredith ap Owen, true man namesake to our traitor, retired to his own country along the Aeron, and we turned back into Gwynedd to receive whatever manner of blow King Henry might launch against us. As for Meredith ap Rhys Gryg, according to the reports we had he was nursing his wound in Carmarthen still, and was not likely to stir from there for many weeks, so we had no hope of getting him into our hands at this time, and he small hope of meddling with us.
I was not sorry to be turning my back upon that region where I knew my love so near and yet by the width of the world out of my reach. This time of year, with the ripening spring so sparkling and fair, brought me the sharpest reminders of her. Once I saw her coming down the fields at Bala at the Easter feast, with a new-born lamb in her arms. Well for me that I should go back to labour and possible danger, for there was no other remedy to medicine me from my longing after Cristin, excepting only my devotion to
Llewelyn.
We made our last night camp in the woods, intending to march before dawn. Rhys Fychan had already withdrawn his foot soldiers on the way to Carreg Cennen, and all that day I had not seen Godred, until towards midnight I sat wakeful by the last fading ashes of our fire, and he came silently through the trees, stepping lightly as a wildcat. I saw the faint glow from the live embers catch the glitter of his eyes, which were always wide and candid to all appearances, like a child's. He smiled on me with his warm, ingratiating smile, that was like a tentative hand laid affectionately on my arm.
"Did you think," he said in a whisper, for there were sleepers all round us, "that I would let you go away without a word of farewell?" And he sat down beside me in the grass, and told me the events of his day, how duty had kept him from me until now, as though I had a right to all his company and devotion, and he a need to excuse himself. He said it was a grief to him that the time had not been right for Llewelyn with all his force to visit Carreg Cennen, so that Cristin might have had the joy of seeing me again, and adding her gratitude to his. For they owed me, he said, so much, more now than she yet knew, and her thanks would have had a grace he could not match, and given me a pleasure it was not in his power to give.
So he chattered softly into my ear, and I was chilled and fretted by his nearness so that at first I hardly noted his words, or looked deeper than their surface meaning. Then it was as if a curtain had been drawn from between my understanding and his matter, and I heard clearly the light, insinuating urging of his voice, very cheerful and winning, as though he held out to me certain delights by the gift of which he hoped to win my somewhat morose and difficult favour. And what he was holding out to me, with discreet invitation, was Cristin.
Shallow and easy I had known him from the first, able to live as well without his wife as with her, able to make do with other company wherever it offered, and to make himself comfortable under any roof and at any table. But that he should value her so little as to parade her before me like a pander, and think it an earnest of the great value he set on me into the bargain, this turned my blood so curdled and bitter that I could not abide to sit beside him. And in this same moment I realised at last that to this man, pleasant, well-intentioned, born with only a thistledown mind and a vagrant heart, I was bound by more, much more, than the blood in our veins. I had plucked him back from death, and I was committed to him, the body of my act for ever hung about my neck. He might escape me, as the receiver of benefits may forget lightly, but I should never escape him, for the giver can never draw back his hand from the gift.
He saw me shiver, or felt it, perhaps, for our gleam of hot ashes was almost dead. He leaned confidently close against my side.
"It grows cold," he said quickly. "I am keeping you from your sleep, and tomorrow you march."
I said yes, that it was time I slept, glad at least of this help he offered me, for the one good gift he had to give was his absence. And I rolled myself in my cloak, to hasten his going. He rose and made his farewells in a whisper, wishing me good fortune and a smooth journey home. And even then he seemed reluctant to go without some last insinuating proffer of goodwill, for as he withdrew into the darkness of the trees he turned to look back at me. I saw the pale rondel of his face, and seemed to see again the winning, intimate smile.
"Can I carry any fair message for you," he said softly, "to my wife?"
CHAPTER II
In the last days of May, when we had been home barely a week and were busy about our preparations to meet the king's muster, a young man with one attendant came riding into the llys at Aber, and asked audience of the prince. Very young he was, barely twenty years, shaven clean and with his thick brown hair cut short in the old Norman fashion. There was a Norman look about him altogether, for he had the strong, prominent bones of cheek and chin, and the sturdy build, and the wide way of planting his feet, as though no wind that ever blew could overset the rock that he was. And yet it was the face of a clever and venturous child, and he looked upon Llewelyn, when Tudor brought him into the high chamber, with great eyes of David's own blue, but unveiled, lacking that soft, deceptive haze that shielded David's thoughts at all times.
He spoke, this young man, in declaring his errand, with a largeness, and as it were piety, in his cause which said much for those who had sent him, and the purposes that drove him, and he had a kind of purity very apt to those purposes, possessing it in some natural way, as swans possess whiteness, even among the mire of ponds.
"My lord," he said, when Llewelyn had greeted and made him welcome, "I bring you letters from King Henry of England and his council of the reform, and am to take back your reply when you have considered the matter put forward. And I am commanded by king and council to answer whatever questions you may put to me concerning this embassage, so far as is in my power. And that you may know my credentials, my lord, I am the eldest son of the earl of Leicester, and my name is Henry de Montfort."
So for the first time we looked upon one of that family whose name was to sound so loud, glorious and lamentable a fanfare in the fortunes of England and Wales. But the boy, having delivered the official part of his message, suddenly softened and smiled, abating the severity of his stance like one stepping from a dais or a throne. And a little he blushed, submitting to his own diminished humanity.
Llewelyn looked upon him with some pleasure and much curiosity, for this was not the ambassador he would have expected from King Henry, nor, indeed, had we looked for any communication from him at this time but the ominous news of the first contingents reporting at Chester. He accepted the scroll, thanked the messenger for his errand, and promised him due consideration and an early reply to take back with him. Then he commended him to the chamberlain, to see him well lodged and his man and horses cared for, and desired his company in hall at supper and the pleasure of a long talk with him afterwards. When the door had closed behind him, and only Goronwy and Tudor and I were left in the room with Llewelyn, he broke the seal and unrolled King Henry's letter, and all we watched him read.
When he had done, he let the opened scroll lie spread on his knees for a long moment, while he pondered it still, and then he looked up at us, and smiled.
"Will you hear what King Henry writes to us? The seal is the king's, the style is the king's but the voice speaking has another sound. He writes that he has called a parliament at Oxford on the eleventh day of June, and that he invites me to attend there, or to send proctors in my place with full powers, to discuss the making of a new truce between England and Wales." He laughed for pleasure at the startled and calculating joy in our faces. "Meurig was a good prophet, and the rocks have fallen, not upon us. We may put away our plans; there'll be no need to pit the fords or break the bridges this year, and nothing to interfere with the harvest or the stock. England wants trace. Now tell me, does that sound like King Henry speaking?"
"Not to my ears!" said Goronwy. "There has been some mighty persuasion used upon him, to bring about this change of tone. You might well question the messenger, my lord. It seemed to me he was instructed to be open with you."
"If that was his meaning," said Llewelyn, "we'll get what understanding of it we can. But make use of it we surely will, whether or no. We are offered a truce, we'll take it. More, we'll carry it to the issue of a full peace if we can, and not grudge paying for it, if King Henry wants for funds for his Sicilian venture."
"You will not go yourself, my lord?" said Tudor doubtfully.
"We'll let the council speak as to that. But I think not. Not at the first summons, as though we had done the suing, or were in haste to get rid of the threat of this June muster. No, we'll choose grave and reverend proctors and do credit to this parliament. Surely one of the most auspicious of King Henry's reign," said Llewelyn, marvelling, "at least for us, if not for him."
So in great elation, though still cautiously, we went about the business of calling the council and preparing letters of accreditation. And at supper in hall young de Montfort sat at the p
rince's right hand and was pledged from the prince's cup, and his bearing continued open, friendly and serious, though his eyes grew rounder with wonder as he looked about him, and listened to the unfamiliar music of the Welsh tongue, and the singing of the bards. Doubtless that was the first time that he had ever stepped into our country. Now and again, confused by the strangeness of an alien language, he stumbled from English into French, for he spoke both freely. His mother was King Henry's sister, and most of his young life had been spent in England, though his father the earl still had lands in France also.
Afterwards Llewelyn took the boy with him into his own chamber, and kept only me in the room with them, for he wished to talk without formality, and make his own judgment, as yet uncomplicated by any other advice. And that I could be a silent witness he knew, and so had used me many times.