Part 2

Mogneid came up the hill, smiling to himself. He knew the lie of the country of Gwrtheyrnion well by now, and the disposition of its people. He entered the castle hall. To his surprise, early in the day though it was, Gwrtheyrn sat propping himself nicely in his chair of state: a gold cup, relic of the sack of some Romano-British villa, lay at his feet, and there were splashes of metheglin on the floor. The King's mood was benign and expansive.

"Want thee--tell me," he greeted him. "Old preaching devil! Alleluia! and they all ran away! Whatshisname?"

"Garmon, perhaps," answered Mogneid. Affecting indifference, he watched his kinsman narrowly.

"Garmon--yes--yes--that's he. Father of the king of devils! Well, Garmon--he's here. He's sent me a message." ... Gwrtheyrn seized his cousin's arm. "I'll tell thee a secret. Knowest thou my first wife's niece? Knowest her? A most sweet lass! She came to me, two years ago, being widowed and very young, and having no protector. I have her now, in the little summer dwelling of Rhaiadr Gwy. None know--the Queen knows not. Well.... It has leaked out somehow.... Holy Garmon sends to tell me that we are a scandal far and wide, and bids me mend my way of life. The old fool! Calls her my daughter! Understand, she's not my daughter. Not my daughter! Wife's niece!"

"Thou must send her away!" cried Mogneid.

"Don't want to send her away. 'Tis a pretty chuck--she pleases me.... Besides"--he beamed--"we have a son."

"All this is nought!" Mogneid insisted harshly. "Will you risk all we have schemed for, my lord, for one girl? Put her from you, I say!"

He had used too rough a tone. A look of distress crept across the stupor of the King's countenance.

"This priesthood! 'tis a cursed powerful thing," he said, with the stirrings of cunning apparent. "Old Garmon--he has the ear of Ambrosius. And these Christians show forth miracles in plenty."

"My lord, they are not the only wonder-workers. Can it be that the wise men of old, who raised the giant stones for the temples, and forged the swords and shields that none now can fashion, were weaker than these unlettered saints? And their lore abides in me, and in some few instructed ones in the west country. Now, Gwrtheyrn, my king, what can a man's will do not, if he foster and train it by supernatural discipline? And what is the first work of the will but to sink our enemies?"

"What is the end of man, Mogneid?" said Gwrtheyrn. "Shall he be born again, Mogneid? Perhaps from the crop of a hen? Shall he? From the crop of a hen!"[5]

[5] Gwrtheyrn had Taliesin's mystical account of his incarnations in mind.

"There is no end to the soul," Mogneid replied. "And every soul returns to a body when he may find one. Come, O King, take heart. We shall trample upon the necks of Ambrosius and Garmon."

"Kinsman, do what you can," said the King. "I rely on you."

Mogneid left him then, and sought the Queen's apartment. He despised the King's wife, but as a tool she might be useful.

Gwrtheyrn, sobered now, beat his brow in turmoil of another sort.

"Beast or bird"--he cried--"man or woman--or wandering, bodiless spirit! Or purgation by fire--or to roast in flames for ever! I believe--I believe in hell! God--if Thou beest God ... O Christ, Christ! I am lost--I cannot repent!"

Germanus of Auxerre and his colleague Lupus came to Caer Gwrtheyrn, aflame with zeal for God and for the Church. In his palace hall they upbraided King Gwrtheyrn, calling him the shame and scandal of all Britain. As for the royal culprit, he would not hear them patiently. Furious words were bandied between them.

"Things shall be as I will!" roared Gwrtheyrn. "Am I not lord in my own dominions? Presumptious shaveling! what thinkest thou I care for thy preachments?"

"O Gwrtheyrn, egregious sinner!" said Germanus. "Know that we have power behind us. Ambrosius, who is near at hand with his army, will soon be here, to punish or to break thee. Who will comfort thee with the rites of holy Church if we proclaim thee outcast? Fortunate art thou if thou escape so easily. Lupus and I will fast upon the Lord God until He grant our demands concerning thee. Ere many days, heaven will pour down fire upon thee, to shrivel up thee and thine and all thine ill-famed land!"

This curse carried such terror to all standing by that even Mogneid durst not suggest that the King should order the seizure of the holy men, and they two passed out and went their way. Said Mogneid to Gwrtheyrn:

"If Ambrosius come upon us, and Garmon and his monks from Llanharmon, we are undone, and they will surely do thee to death. I can think of only one resource. Thy Queen--has she not Saxon kindred about Pengwern, not forty miles away? I think she will be persuaded to send them messages. We will make allies of them; and should Ambrosius besiege this fortress, we can hold out within, until the Saxons come to deliver us."

"Do what thou wilt," answered Gwrtheyrn. "Speak thou to my wife. By now she must have heard some story of my pretty dear."

The Queen was not jealous; and very readily she dispatched a runic writing and another token to a kinsman of hers whom she knew to be commanding the Saxon outposts at Pengwern. These were entrusted to three huntsmen of the King's, who had by heart every path and by-track in the country. Gwrtheyrn and Mogneid made fast the defences, and provided arms for every man of the King's subjects near at hand who could be spared from gathering in the harvest in feverish haste.

But, on the morning of the next day, Eliseg brought dire tidings to Caer Gwrtheyrn. The monks of Cilfachau had taken all three messengers, and had carried them off to Germanus at Buallt. And the army of Ambrosius had been seen moving upon Gwrtheyrn's palace.

"We must to Llanaelhairn, in the valley that opens into Lleyn from the bay of Arvon," said Gwrtheyrn. "There it will be hard for them to follow us."

"My plans have failed," thought Mogneid. "I came hither too late. Cousin Gwrtheyrn cannot weather this storm."

In a very little while, their preparations were made and they set out: the King and the Druid; the Queen upon a pillion behind Eliseg; Dyfnwal and all the men of the household, a few of the women whose homes were inaccessible, and every man of the royal hamlet who could be quickly armed and mounted--leaving Caer Gwrtheyrn to whatsoever might befall.

For seven hours they rode to the north-west. After passing the confines of Gwrtheyrn's own lands, they kept to the course of the Wye, which river became narrower and more rapid with every frequent bend. They travelled slowly, for they were an unwieldy party. About sunset, an ominous smoky glare appeared in the sky in the region they had abandoned.

"They burn Caer Gwrtheyrn!" said the King; and he wept uncontrollably.

At nightfall they came to the outskirts of the waste about Plinlimmon. This was an uninhabited tract, part oak and elm thicket, part alder-shaded swamp. In the higher reaches, huge craggy hills arose like spectral scaly monsters gathering their strength for a spring. Beyond lay the open moorland where Wye has its rising, and where Severn is a tiny trickle, whose source is unknown to man. Owls hooted in this wooded valley, and there were strange flutterings, squeakings and snappings, and patterings over the ground. The King's men refused to go farther.

"The dogs of hell are abroad, lord!" cried one. "Arawn's hounds--yes, yes! Once it is dark, they roam this desert place. There is fearful they are now. White they are, every one, with rose-red ears, and their jaws foam and drip. And the man who sees them--sure to be ailing from that very hour, and die before long, and that is a fact. Very, very unlucky! Let us stay where we are, now!"

They wailed and besought so piteously that Gwrtheyrn had to permit a halt in spite of the friendly moonlight, and of Mogneid's whispered urgings. A long low cave was near at hand: into it they packed, shivering in the night-mist, for they durst not kindle a fire.

They passed a restless night; only the Queen slept soundly in the cave on the borders of the haunted forest. Then on once more over the rocky track that led through Arwystli and Meirionedd to their goal, the peninsula of Lleyn.

"I dreamed of Garmon," said Gwrtheyrn, as they started. "His face glowed white, like hottest iron, kinsman Mogneid--I cannot forget it. He is fasting upon his God, to procure my destruction."

Mogneid answered nothing, but gnawed his lip.

"Llanaelhairn must we make upon the morrow," continued the King. "It is a little old fortress of my father's building, for to guard the valley beneath Yr Eifl from attack by sea: I myself have not set foot there for more than thirty years. The way thither is little known, and I wager Emrys will be finely entangled once or twice if he endeavour to follow us. But there are caretakers, and there should be flocks and herds for our regaling."

That night they spent in Arthog. A hospitable Goidelic lord overwhelmed them with attentions, giving them what food he had, and they passed the night in and about his dwelling. Across the estuary of the Mawddach, the forsaken druidic stones showed white and awful.

By noon next day, they had reached the borders of Lleyn. By late afternoon, as they pursued their rough, scarcely distinguishable, interminable way, the Queen grew querulous. She could ride no longer; every muscle in her body ached; she must drink deeply from a tumbling spring that ran across their path, and bathe her face, hands, and feet; she was hungry, and here were bilberries. Surely they were safe from their enemies? And every one was sun-dried and speechless!

Well, she might rest a breathing-while: they might all stretch their limbs and eat and drink their fill.

"But come thou on with me, cousin," said Gwrtheyrn. "I cannot stay still. We will go ahead, and spy over the hills before us, and seek the readiest way." To the commander of the men-at-arms: "Look you, tarry not long, for sunset will soon be upon us."

Said Eliseg to Dyfnwal, "They are gone together, the King and he. I like not the evil lowering of his face this day. We should follow them."

"At once!" said Dyfnwal. "The bay and the roan are the fleetest."

The sky had clouded over, and there was a rainy light in the western quarter.

"Look yonder!" cried Mogneid, when they had ridden some two miles farther.

A great army of horsemen was winding about the foot of the hills of Pennant, and at their head was something, broad and scarlet-gleaming, that flapped in the evening breeze--surely the dragon-standard of Ambrosius.

"Then the end is come," said Mogneid.

"On to Llanaelhairn!" Gwrtheyrn exclaimed. "Once there, we can get the cattle within, and hold the ford, belike, with my people that dwell there. Hasten, kinsman, hasten! The others have sure guides; they cannot miss the way."

When they reached the ford of the little brook, now called by King Gwrtheyrn's name, that flowed beneath the walls of the fortress of Llanaelhairn, the moon was shining, and the clouds were fewer. They crossed the castle forecourt. Not a soul was about, for the land-maer and his family had gone to the upper pastures to bring in the sheep and cattle. As they opened the hall door, the stifling atmosphere beat heavily against their faces. A fierce fire was burning, upon which the women of the household had lately roasted whole the carcasses of several sheep. After glancing around, Mogneid sped up the stairway leading into the look-out tower, and Gwrtheyrn followed him into the small, low chamber at the top. He found Mogneid before its half-ruinous window, tugging at the rusty iron grating that screened the aperture.

Presently the mortar that had held it crumbled, the whole frame-work came away in Mogneid's hands, and he cast it violently upon the floor. Then he returned to the window. Above him the heights of the Rivals towered; away to the west, the sea-waves lapped sullenly; below, Nant Gwrtheyrn ran very low in its stony bed.

"What hope is there now?" cried Gwrtheyrn the King. "What hast thou done for me, Mogneid my kinsman, who promised so much? Garmon is a greater curser than thou--his magic mightier. The ancient gods have lied to thee, Mogneid--they delude thee--thou art not their favoured one! Wilt thou give me back my kingdoms, thou who hast all things of power at thy fingers' ends!" He rushed upon the other with a snarl like a wild beast's.

Mogneid son of Votecori turned upon him a look that scorched, and Gwrtheyrn cowered back against the wall, shaking from head to foot.

"Thou scum of dross! Thou refuse thing! Thou drunkard and son of drunkards! Aye, a high destiny hadst thou once--until thou gavest over thy will to sloth and rottenness! Talk ye of hope, my lord? Was Ambrosius ever known to spare? Well, there is one way--by this opening, see you?--it is fully wide enough: a man may lower himself; it is a swift ending. Concerning what will follow, these Christians lie. Perchance thou wilt become a silvery salmon, very wise, in Wye or Dyfi; or a wallowing hog; or Emperor of the West, perchance, or Pope of Rome. Jump, Gwrtheyrn, King of Gwrtheyrnion, Buallt, Erging, Ewyas, and Caer Glouwy, sometime Pendragon of all Britain, and flee shame!"

"Shame--only that ... I must flee shame!" muttered Gwrtheyrn, climbing into the window as though compelled by the fascination of Mogneid's eye. "I must--I will ... I cannot...."

He faltered on the edge, but the Druid, standing behind, pushed him, and his long body fell hurtling through the air.

After peering for a moment at a certain motionless dark patch upon the stones below, Mogneid descended the staircase, in haste to make his escape.

Eliseg and Dyfnwal caught him in the doorway. They carried him, bound hand and foot, into the hall, and threw him upon the fire that still burned brightly. After a little while, they took him off the fire, and hacked off his head with a chopper that was used for jointing meat.

Dewi Sant

"_O holy David, our bishop, take away our sadness._"

David strode along the winding road: his feet were bare, his head was bare and tonsured, and one garment, of coarse felt, but snowy white, was his only bodily covering. The sun beat down upon him; the sky, of a deep, throbbing blue, held few clouds, and they silvery and sweetly-curved as the breast-feathers of a dove; on his left, the sea dazzled; before and about him, small columns of dust twirled mischievously. David's eyes, dark and bright, feasted untiringly upon the life and growth around him, and he sang as he went.

"Dancing is the sea, the winds are dancing also: Breath of angels hath the sun-warmed hay, the poppies are out in scarlet. Good thing it is for a man to strive in his lifetime.

"A mighty chorus echoeth from the bed of ocean: There is also the poem of the flight of birds. Who would conquer sin, must learn praise and gratitude.

"Who hath set the thrift in the rocks that are smooth and barren? Who nourisheth the little sweet rose that maketh a garden of the sand-dunes? How can a man wander, when for him the Love of God is nailed on high?

"The corn-ears are purple-ripe: Generous gifts bring the apple-boughs against the season of All Saints. Very good is song, that giveth cheerfulness."

He turned him about, and looked back upon the whitewashed walls of Mynyw, his darling among his many foundations. To the little company of religious who followed his steps, he cried:

"I do think that of all the lands in all the world the fairest is our land of Cymru. And of all the parts of Cymru, look you, the fairest and the sweetest is this Dyfed."

Aidan, Teilo, Ismail, and some few more clustered round him. Said they all together:

"Indeed, indeed, blessed, holy father, blessed is our Dyfed!" and many were the looks of affection they cast upon their little abbot.

"I have been in the Holy Country," said David. "That is the very marvel of the world--a jewel set in the desert; but hard and bright, dear me! there is unplayful it is! I can never give thanks enough, children, that I am permitted to dwell here where I was born."

So saying, he resumed his journey. They had left the monks' cultivated domain behind them, and were now in the shade of a broad lane between willows and hazels, where the mallows and the bellflowers grew rankly. Of a sudden, the lane came to an end, and they emerged upon the little promontory below Porth Mawr. Carn Llidi loomed above them, on their right hand, and at its foot rose Ty Gwyn, the deserted college of Patrick, with its grave-stones round about it. In the western distance, far away, appeared a green fairy land, with the hazy forms of mountains melting into the skyline.

"Let us pray for our brethren of Ireland," said David, "of the Second Order of Saints."

About an hour later, David was still some few paces at the head of his people, and repeating to himself, hands folded, the prayers for the third hour after noon, when he felt his shoulder seized in a brawny grip, and he was forcibly twisted round until he faced a sturdy individual, with a broad, smiling red face, sandy hair, and twinkling green-grey eyes, and fully equipped with the war-sword, flowing robe, and shoes of dressed leather which only a nobleman might wear. Near him were his retinue of horsemen, one of whom held the steed from which his lord had just dismounted.

"David, little cousin," was his greeting, "whither so fast, I pray thee, with thy chin to the ground? Have you mission to punish wrong-doers, O very powerful saint?"

"Why, kinsman Cadfan," David replied, "sweet is the sight of you to the eyes. It is seldom we meet now. But I am not abroad to deal with evildoers, look you. Dyfed, thanks be to God! is a very peaceful place; the religion of Christ reigns even in the farthest nooks. I have enough to do, kinsman, to order mine own house and the brethren and disciples over whom I rule. The bishops hold synod at Brefi, and I must be there with the rest; though little doing, say I, follows much talking."

"Hast indeed won all this land by thy words and wonders?" cried Cadfan, who, though he had great affection for David, could never, in his presence, master an uncontrollable desire to tease him. "Look that they deceive thee not, the pigs of Dyfed! and pay not double tithes to their Druids, and turn to them first at birth and at death! What did I hear of thee and of a monstrous old stone? Some tale spread by women...."

"Dost thou doubt the power of God?" exclaimed David, with flashing eyes. Then, as he caught sight of his interlocutor's face, he could not help smiling. "Cadfan, they would not give up the old stone of Cetti--slew beast and fowl upon it, to obtain prosperity, or for blessing or cursing, and slept beneath its shade that dreams might visit them! Then, on a day, when a great crowd was there assembled, I prayed, and took a sword in my hand, and climbed upon the old abomination, to the very top; and I smote with my sword in the face of all the people, and lo! the stone split in twain with a hideous scream. Oh, joyful was my heart for that God had deigned to heed my supplication! And so was the unbelieving remnant drawn into the Church's fold."

"Well done, well done!" said his jovial kinsman.

"And the Gwyddel chieftains? Are they forbearing towards thee?"

"Boia is dead. Leschi came out of Ireland and slew him and all his in one night; and Leschi is for holy Church. But it was pity for Boia. He suffered us gladly, and I think would have hearkened to the word ere long. A brave soul! I say mass for him often, as Cattwg does for worthy Virgil. But the wicked shrew, his wife! she urged him with all her might against us; and when we would take no notice of her handmaidens whom she sent to bathe in the stream that runs before our very doors, one day she lured Dunawd her step-daughter to an ancient altar in a forsaken spot, and sacrificed her to the Siddi, her underground gods. First shore off the little one's hair,[6] and then slit her throat! A sweet innocent child! who would come to our church door, to peep and to listen, and then flee shyly away. Alas! alas! a grievous happening!"

[6] In sign of dedication.

"And wilt thou spend all thy days in lonely Dyfed, little holy one? I did hear of thee at Afallach,[7] where Joseph's thorn grows. Didst thou not bestow there some very rich treasure? Would that not be a kingly centre for thee to dwell in?"

[7] Glastonbury.

"At Afallach left I the sapphire altar which I brought from Caer Salem. Afallach will be great and famous, I doubt not; but, Mary be aiding! I will live and die yonder in Glyn Rhosyn, nursery of the dearest of my sons. Lonely we are, yes. We control no state policy, for Britain is the dominion of the Saxons; but Cymru shall render us thanks in days to come: we shall have great power of prayer."

"O cousin, it is marvel to me that thou canst thus go barefoot in the dust, and hang rough texture of the taeogion[8] about thee, and drink nought but tasteless water. I am but an ordinary man, and I would not forego my pleasures of everyday for any miracles which might be sung of down the ages. Well, well! each man to his own taste! I go to old Aunt Angharad, at Porth Mawr. The blessed woman! she has found me a dainty maid to wife, says she. Now speak me a blessing, David, and let me have your prayers."

[8] Villeins.

"Our Lord God be aiding thee, kinsman Cadfan! May He preserve to thee thy good tenderness of heart!"

"And may He prosper thee, my David! Fare thee well, little kinsman."

Cadfan departed on his way, and David and his companions set their faces northwards. They were not a solitary party. The road swarmed with priests and monks, and was trodden also by many laymen and some few women whom devotion or curiosity drew to the synod of the bishops at Brefi in Ceredigion. As evening drew on, the abbot-bishop of Menevia led his tired followers up the slope of a wooded hill, where he knew were dry caverns to pass the night in, and a spring of water. When they neared their proposed resting-place, a tonsured figure ran out from under the trees, and stood in their path-way, waving his arms.

David whistled to the mongrel greyhound that padded by his side. Then, suddenly, he hastened his steps, his face aglow.

"Padarn! Dear, dear me! My Padarn! Are ye many? Or may we spend this night with thee and thine in this God-given spot?"

"Well met, well met, David!" cried Padarn, "And well met all, ye road-stained travellers! There is surely room for all." He hurried through the thicket to the clearing before the rocky bank which the aforesaid caves perforated, calling out: "Brethren! whom see ye here, whom see ye? Look you, this is David of Mynyw. Teilo, he, and I did journey together to the holy Jerusalem, one in soul, in joy, and in sorrow; and is it not a gladsome thing that he should be here amongst us this night?"

An enthusiastic welcome ensued, and before long David, Teilo, Aidan, Ismail and the rest had been seated by the fire and supplied with food and drink. This was the Age of the Saints. Besides the newcomers there were some dozen holy men, whose names are living yet, sitting about upon the ground, each one bound for the great synod of the Cymric priesthood. In the mouth of the largest cave squatted an elderly man, sallow and wrinkled, with a beak-like nose and weary eyes; he had vellum, pen, and inkhorn, and wrote sedulously, giving himself no respite, with a heavy frown between his brows the while. David knew him for Gildas of Strathclyde, the apostle of Ruys in Lesser Britain.

They yielded early to their fatigue, and lay down where they best might, most of them within the shelter of the caves. Gildas put aside his pen.