A Prince of Cornwall Part 19

Then he beckoned to the two Danes who were waiting him, and made them known to me after they had saluted the princess. Eric the chief was a fine old warrior, iron grey and strong, and the other was his son, who bade fair to be like his father in time. He was a st.u.r.dy young man, and wore his arms well. They shook hands with me frankly, and from their words it was plain that Thorgils had told my story at Tenby already.

"This is the sick man I told you of," he said now. "He turns out to be a Thane of Glas...o...b..ry, and Evan had a hand in some plot of the friends of Morgan. Took him by craft and brought him here for ransom, doubtless. I had not thought that man such a knave, and shall distrust my judgment of men sorely in future."

Then Nona asked them what they would with the prince, and Eric told her.

"The deer are in the valleys, Lady, and we came to tell the prince that we have harboured the great stag of twelve points in the woods beyond Caerau. Will it please him to join our hunt?"

"Doubtless," she said. "Now there is no time to be lost, for the day is high already."

"None the worse, Princess," said Eric. "The last snow is pa.s.sing hourly."

So we went round to the front of the palace toward the gates, and there waited half a dozen more men and horses by a gathering of men on foot with a pack of great hounds, the like of which I had never seen. They were the Danish hounds, which had come hither with their masters, and were big and strong enough for any quarry, even were it the bear that yet lurked in the Welsh mountain wilds.

Then Howel came, and would have me mounted well, and in less than half an hour we were riding eastward along the ancient way they call the Ridgeway, which crowns the long hill between the sea and the valleys where lie the windings of Milford Haven. And so we went till we could see Tenby itself far off on its rocky ness, and at that point left Thorgils to go his way, while we turned northward into the inland valleys, and sought the deep combe where they had harboured the stag.

The snow lay here and there yet, but it was almost gone, and the going was somewhat heavy, but overhead the sky was soft and grey, and the wind was pleasant if chill. North and west it was, and that would be fair for our crossing, if only it would hold, as Thorgils deemed that it surely would.

Now it was good to hear the horn and the cheer of the hunters as they drew the deep cover for the deer, and the half-dozen couple of hounds that were held back in leash while the rest were at their work strained and whimpered to be with them. And at last the great stag broke from the cover, in no haste, but in a sort of disdain of those who had disturbed him, and after him came a few scurrying hinds who huddled to him for safely. They trotted to another cover, and after them streamed the hounds, and then the great stag was driven alone from his hiding, and so the pack was laid on and we were away.

He headed for the far waters of the haven I had seen glittering from the hilltop, even as Howel told me was likely, and the pace was fast at the first. So I settled myself to the work and rode as one should ride on another man's horse, and a good one, moreover, carefully enough. But these hills were easier than ours, for heather was none, and the loose stones that trouble us on Mendips and Quantocks were not to be seen. It was fair gra.s.s land mostly.

So I let my horse go, and in a little while had forgotten aught but the sheer joy of the pace, and the cry of the great hounds, and the full delight of such a run as one dreams of. Whereby I have little more to tell thereof.

For a country may seem to be open enough as one looks down on it from a height, but as one crosses it the difference in what has seemed easy riding is soon plain. Long swells of rolling ground rise as it were from nothing, and deep valleys that had been unseen cross the path, and the cl.u.s.tered trees are found to be deep woods as they are neared. Then the man who knows the country has the advantage, and it is as well to follow him. But I was well mounted, and the pace was good where the gale had thinned the snow, and it came about that before I had time to think what Howel and Eric and the Danes who were on horseback were doing I rode down one side of a little cover, past which the deer had gone with the hounds close on him, while the rest went on the other. I heard one shout, but it did not come into my mind that it was to me, for I thought that they needs must follow, and did not look round. Then I had to turn off yet more to the right as the best way seemed to take me, and meanwhile they were off to the left.

So when I was clear of the thicket and could see across the open again I had lost them. Unless I could hear the hounds I had nothing to guide me, and I drew rein and listened for them. As I heard nothing I rode on until I had a stretch of open country before me, but there I could see no more. Afterwards I learned that the deer had turned and made for the hill again, but it did not seem likely that he would do so with the waters of the haven so close at hand as I could see them. It was more likely that he would head straight for them, and so I spurred on once more in that direction. It was certainly the best thing that I could do, and I had not far to go before a mile of the open water was before me. But there was nought on its banks but a row of patient herons, fishing or sleeping, and the sight of them told me that no man had pa.s.sed this way for many a long hour.

I waited in that place for a few moments, to see if the deer made for the refuge of the water from some cover that as yet hid him from me, but he did not come. It was plain to me then that the hunt had doubled back and that I was fairly thrown out, and I went no farther. By this time Eric might be miles away, and I knew nothing of the lie of the land, save that along the crest of the Ridgeway ran the road from Tenby to Pembroke, and that once on that road I could make my way back in no long time. That, as it seemed to me, was the best thing that I could do, and I headed my horse at once for the hill, going slowly, for it was no great distance, and it was heavy going in the places where the snow had gathered in drifts. I thought that maybe I should cross the track of the horses and hounds, or hear Eric's horn before I had gone far, but I reached the foot of the hill without doing either.

Then I came to a place where the land began to draw upward more sharply, thickly timbered, with scattered rocks among the roots of the trees. Fox and badger and wildcat had their hiding places here, for I could trace them on all sides, and then I saw the track of a wolf, and that minded me, as that track in snow ever must, of Owen and the day when he came to my help at Eastdean. That is the clearest memory I have of my childhood.

Then I thought that I heard the horn, and stopped to listen, nor was it long before what I had heard came to my ears again. It was not the sound of the horn, however, but somewhat strange to me, and for a while I wondered what forest bird or beast had a note like that.

For the third time I heard it, and now it was plainly like the half-stifled cry of some one in pain among the trees to the right of me, and not far distant either. So I rode toward the place whence the cry seemed to come, and as I went I called. At that the voice rose more often, with some sound of entreaty in its tone, and it seemed to be trying to form words. I hastened then, crossing more wolf tracks on the way, and then I struck the trail of many men and a few horses; but these were not Eric's, for the hoof marks were rather those of ponies than of his tall steeds. I followed that track, for it seemed to lead toward the weary voice that I heard, and so I came to a circle of great oaks with a clear s.p.a.ce of many paces wide between them, and there I found what I was seeking. It was piteous enough.

A man was tied to the greatest of the trees, with knees to chin, and bound ankles, while round his knees his hands were clasped and fastened so that a stout stake was thrust through, under his knees and over his elbows, trussing him helplessly. The cords that bound him to the tree were round his body in such wise that he could by no means fall on his side and so work himself free from the stake, and round his mouth was a ragged cloth tied, but not closely enough to prevent him from calling out as I heard him. I think that he must have gnawed it from closer binding than I saw now. Across the snow behind him the paws of some daring wolf had left marks as if the beast had sniffed at his very back not so long since, and surely but for the chance of my coming that way nought but his bones had been left in that place by the pack before morning came again.

It was a strange cry that this man gave when he saw me, for in no way could I take it for a cry of joy for rescue. I could rather think that he had raised the same when the wolf came near him. And when I dismounted and led my horse after me toward him he seemed to try to shrink from me, as if I also meant him harm. I thought that the poor soul had surely gone distracted with the fear of the forest beasts on him, so that he no longer knew friend from foe, and I wondered how long he had been bound here in this lonely place. I had seen no house or trace of men between here and Tenby.

I hitched the bridle rein over a low bough, and leaving my horse went toward him to set him loose, wondering who had left him here.

And as I drew my seax and went to cut the lashings he writhed afresh and cried piteously for mercy in what sounded like bad Saxon from behind the cloth across his face, as though he deemed that I came to slay him. I did not notice the strangeness of his using my own tongue here in the heart of a Welsh land at the time, but thought he took me for one of those who had bound him.

"Fear not," I said, speaking in Welsh to comfort him.

And if anything, that seemed to terrify him yet more.

"Mercy, good Thane--mercy!" he mumbled from his half-stifled lips.

Then it seemed to me that it was strange that he knew what I was, and before I cut the bonds I took the cloth from his face, and lo!

the man was Evan the outlaw, my enemy!

That told me why he feared me in good truth, for he had need to do so, and I stood back and looked at him with the bright weapon still in my hand, and he cried and begged for mercy unceasingly. It seemed but right that he should be bound helplessly as he had bound me, yet he had not the bitterness of seeing a friend look on him without knowing him as had I. It was a foe whom he saw, and that a righteous one.

Then I was minded to turn away and leave him where he was, until the foe from the forest looked on him for the last time, for it was all that he deserved, and I set my seax back in my belt and turned away to my horse with a great loathing of the man in my mind; and seeing that, he begged for mercy again most pitiably.

That is a hard thing to hear unmoved, and I stayed and looked at him again. My first wrath was leaving me as I saw the fullness of the end of his plans, and I do not think that it is in me to be utterly revengeful.

"What mercy can you hope from me!" I said coldly.

"None, Thane--none. But let me go hence with you. Better the rope than these wild beasts. Or slay me now, and swiftly."

"Who, of all your friends, tied you here?" I asked him.

"Howel's men," he answered. "They took my goods at the ford of Caerau yonder, and so brought me here and left me. That was early this morning."

"I marvel that you bided in reach of any who might speak with me,"

I said.

"My comrades left me, for fear of that same. I must hire ponies to get the goods away. I thought you had died on the wild sea that night."

"It seems to me that this is but justice on you. The goods you have lost were stolen from honest men. And it were just if I left you bound as you bound me."

Then the man said slowly: "Ay, it is justice. But will you treat me even as I treated you, Thane?"

I looked at him in some wonder. The man's face had grown calm, though it was yet grey and drawn, and this seemed as if he would own his fault without excuse. I minded that Nona the princess and her father, ay, and Thorgils, had said that they thought well of Evan the merchant up till this time.

"Supposing I let you go--What then?" I said.

"First of all, I would tell you somewhat for which you will thank me, Thane."

"Tell me that first," I said, not altogether believing that he had anything which could be worth my hearing, but with a full mind now to let him go.

Plainly, he had some sort of faith in me, or in the worth of what he had to say, for he began eagerly:

"Thane, when we took you, it was Owen of Cornwall for whom we waited. We were not minding you at all until we saw that we might hurt him through you."

"That I suppose. I know that you laid wait for Owen the prince."

"Ay, for you know the Welsh and heard all that we said. But listen, Thane, this is it. Eight of the friends of Morgan had sworn the death of Owen that morning, and it was the leader of them who set us on. He was not there, for he waited on another road."

"Were you one of the eight?"

"That I am not," he said. "I and my men were but hired, as Morgan was wont to hire us now and then. When we took you methought that it was well for me, for through you I might be inlawed again, even as I told you."

"Who was this leader?" I asked, heeding this last speech not at all.

"Tregoz of the Dart, men call him, for he holds lands thereon. Also there are these of the great men of Cornwall and Dyvnaint."

He called over the names of the other seven, and I repeated them that I should not forget. The only one that I had heard before was that of Tregoz. The outlaws had spoken of him, and now I remembered him as one of those who had seemed loudest in welcome to Owen when he came to Norton. So I told Evan, and he nodded.