H. C. Bailey

“ So Gruffydd mocked him, wrenched open his mouth, and stuffed in the meat, then after it one of the spurs, and laughed at the wretch spluttering with bleeding lips. They all laughed, and loudest from the doorway rang the mirth of Red Iorwerth, a sturdy dwarf of flaming hair. About his neck and his wrists golden chains were bound. Loudest he laughed, and the sound of it echoed strangely, while without a crag went crashing down to the ravine.
"Aye, give a meal," said Red Iorwerth in Welsh. " 'Tis his last!" ”

“ Behind him, hanging from those mighty shoulders, a shield argent bears three roses gules. But do not heed the red roses nor dream of heraldry. Mark the frown on his brow and the broadening nostrils as he turns to gaze on either side.
For the land is black as the plains of Sodom after God's fire fell. The biting reek of smouldering wood and leaf is heavy in the air. Nor hut nor hovel shows above the dismal earth, nor live man nor beast. ”

“ And dreams is true."
"Mary grant it!" said Sir Bertram.
"I guess thou art very strong?" said Alys. "Art not so strong as bon-père, dost know; and art not as pretty as my own maman." Bertram laughed.
"Little lady Alys, I am but a poor fool with one arm."
"It is a very big arm," said Alys, trying to span it in vain with her two hands.
"And so hard." Then came a maiden much distraught, hunting for Alys, who, ere she was taken, must needs kiss Sir Bertram, whereat that large knight was much ashamed, and the nurse giggled. ”

“ They seek your child. Alys, trust me, then, for I——"
Arose Bertram's voice—
"I seek a certain knight—a knight bearing no crest on his shield—a thin knight, a little knight—a knight that gave certain jewels to one Iorwerth by Llanbedrog brig. Pardi! I find him!" Springing at Sir Eustace, he caught the knave by the neck; but past him broke Sir Roger, and he in his rags and his filth, his lady all in white, were locked in each other's arms. By the neck, speechless in that dolorous grip, Sir Eustace was borne backward. ”

“ You will guess that Sir Bertram fell. Since he was ever a man of resource, he contrived to fall upon that treacherous knight, whereby he broke no more than his left arm and the knight's base neck. Now all that—you will find it engrossed over many pages in the Chronicle of D'Aylesford—has no more to do with the story than this: it explains why Sir Bertram, riding southward through the marches of Wales a six hundred years ago, bore his left arm in a sling.
See him, then, as the autumn sun swings to the west, clad in glistening grey steel, on his war-horse, Pepin. ”

“ Iorwerth must laugh at that. Then thrusting his knaves aside, he walked up to the chained knight and plucked him by the beard.
"Ah, Roger! fool Roger!" he says in French. "Hast had a year of bliss. Comes an end, Roger. In the morn is thy lady widow and the girl-child orphan."
Sir Roger answers him no word.
"Never grieve, Roger. Faith! 'tis for her good you die; she begs your death—nay, Roger, by the bones of Arthur! buys it. Fool! White Alys is light of love as the rest! Fool and double fool! Ha! ”

“ Bertram laid down the axe and drew her to him, and she came with good will. He was strong, and his arm was warm and his eyes were steady.
"Little lady, stupid I am; but your knight. Will you tell me?"
"For sure I will tell. Hast good eyes. The Welshmen, bad Welshmen, took bon-père. Red Iorwerth. He was with Sir Eustace, and Sir Eustace came back alone. I does hate Sir Eustace. And we has tried to get back bon-père—but never, no, never; and maman has been so ill—why dost frown so, sir?"
"It is in my mind that I have played the boor," Bertram muttered.
"Those eyes is good," said little Alys. ”