The elders of the Caio tribe assembled as enjoined. Some few were not present, risking the anger of Rogier rather than appear before him. But the majority conceived it advisable to attend; and, in fact, a gathering of the notables was necessary for the apportionment of the fine that had to be raised. Although a mark in silver was what had to be exacted from each house, yet, as the majority of the inhabitants were too poor to pay such a sum, the richer would have to supplement the deficiency. The fine was imposed on the district as a whole. The amount was calculated by the hearths, but each householder was not expected to pay the same fixed sum.

This was well understood, and the adjustment of the burden had to be considered in common. There was, so it was generally supposed, no exceptional cause for further uneasiness. The tax must be raised, and when the silver had been paid, then the valley would be rid of its intruders—with the exception of the renegade Cadell, forced on the tribe as its ecclesiastical chief. That Rogier had any fresh cause of complaint against the inhabitants was not suspected.

They assembled accordingly, and entered the council-hall.

It was not till all were within that the young men and women without were filled with alarm and suspicion by seeing the men-at-arms slowly, and in orderly fashion, close in and completely surround the edifice, and a strong detachment occupy the door.

Rogier had remained outside, and gave directions. Presently he stepped within, attended by two men, one of whom served as his interpreter.

The sun was shining, and it had painted a circle on the floor through the opening in the gable.

Then the Norman took his sword, and drew a line in the dust with it from the president's seat to the doorway.

"I give ye," said he, "till the sun hath crossed this line, wherein to discuss and arrange as to the payment of the fine. Till then—no one leaves the hall. After that—I have a further communication to make."

The men looked in one another's faces and wondered what this meant. A fresh impost? They were not aware that occasion had been given for this; but who could be sure with one so rapacious as Rogier! It was the case of the Wolf and the Lamb in the fable.

The Norman now left the court-house and sauntered about outside, speaking to his men, looking pryingly among those of the natives who, in an anxious, timorous crowd, remained in every avenue between the houses, ready at a threat to escape.

After the lapse of approximately an hour the Norman reentered the hall and walked directly to the principal seat to take it.

Then up started an aged man, and with vehement gesticulations and in words of excitement addressed him: "That seat is taken by none—save of the race of Cunedda. It belongs to our chief, who is of the blood royal. None other may occupy it."

"I take it by the right of the sword," answered Rogier. "And let me see the man who will turn me out of it. I take it as deputy to my brother, the bishop."

He laughed contemptuously, and let himself down on the chair.

"Well," said he, looking round, "have you settled among yourselves as to the contribution? The round gold patch touches my line. I give you till it has passed across it to conclude that matter."

Then Howel ap John stood up.

"We have considered and apportioned the charges," he said, and his cunning eyes contracted. "Amongst ourselves we have arranged what each is to pay. But, inasmuch as we are nothing save tribesmen of our chief, and as the right over the land was at one time wholly his, but has since suffered curtailment, so that portions have become hereditary holdings of the chief men, yet as still the common lands, as well as the glebe and the domain, belong to the chief, it has seemed reasonable and just that he should bear one-third of the fine, and that this shall be levied on his land and homesteads, and two-thirds upon us."

When this was translated to Rogier, he laughed aloud.

"I see," said he, "the holder of the benefice is to bear a third. What will Cadell say to that?"

"It is a decision according to equity," said Howel.

"I care not. Cadell is not here to protect himself. So long as I have the silver to hand to the bishop, it is indifferent to me whether you bleed your own veins or fleece your pastor. He has been put in a fat pasture by my brother; it is right that he pay for it."

"In two days the silver shall be brought here and weighed out."

"It is well." Rogier looked at the sun-patch. "That is concluded; now tarry till the sun traverses the line. Then we will broach other business."

All sat now in silence, their eyes on the soil, watching the patch of light as it traveled.

The men of Caio were aware that the doorway was guarded. But what was threatened they could not conjecture. They had endured intolerable provocations without resistance. They were anxious at heart; their breasts contracted at the dread of fresh exactions. Some looked at Rogier to endeavor to read his purpose in his face; but his, as well as the countenances of his attendants, was expressionless.

The sun-round passed on. Then a cloud obscured the light, a fine and fleecy cloud that would be gone shortly.

All tarried in silence, breathless, fearing they knew not what—but expecting no good.

Then the sun burst forth again, and the circle of fire appeared beyond the line.

At once Rogier stood up.

"You men of Caio, you have thought to deal with a fool, and to deceive me by your craft. But I know what has been done, and will make you to understand on whom ye have practised your devices. Pabo, the chief and Archpriest, is not dead. It was not he who was consumed in the presbytery. Ye played a stage mystery before our eyes to make us believe that he was dead, and that you were burying him. Pabo is alive and is among you, and you know where he is concealed."

The interpreter was interrupted by outcries of, "We know not. If that were not he, we cannot say where he be. We found a man burned to a cinder. Were we in error in supposing him to be our chief? Show us that it was so!"

Rogier remained unmoved by the clamor.

"Ye are like a parcel of lying, quibbling women," he said. "Pabo is in hiding. Ye are all leagued together to save him. But have him from his lurking-den I will."

"We cannot say where he is. There is not one of us who knows."

"You will admit that he whom ye pretended to be Pabo was some other?"

They looked doubtfully at each other.

"We could not tell. The dead man was found in the ruins of the burnt house. We thought it was Pabo."

"Ye did not. Ye contrived the device between you."

"We will swear that we know not where he is. Bring forth the staff of Cynwyl."

"The staff has been stolen. But I will not trust your oaths. Did not the wife of Pabo swear thereon?" Then Rogier laughed. "She was crafty as the rest of you, and deceived us in her oath. Nay, I will trust no oaths. I will place my reliance on something more secure. Hey! bring forward my bassinet!"

At his order, one of the attendants went to the door and received a steel cap from a soldier without.

"In this bassinet," said Rogier, "there are short willow twigs. There are more twigs than there are householders and notables here assembled. Of these twigs all but six are blank; but on half a dozen a death's head has been scored with a dagger point, rubbed in with black. He who draws such a figured twig shall be hung on the gallows, where is suspended your church bell—one to-day, a second to-morrow. On Sunday, being a sacred day, none; on Monday a third, on Tuesday a fourth, on Wednesday a fifth, on Thursday the sixth. And on Friday ye shall all assemble here once more, and again draw the lots. I shall hang one of you every day till Pabo be delivered up to me, alive."

Then there broke forth cries, protests, entreaties; there were hands stretched towards the window through which the sun entered, in oath that the whereabouts of Pabo was not known; there were arms extended to Rogier in assurance that Pabo was actually dead. Some cried out that they had had no cognizance of any plot to deceive. Many folded their arms in sullen wrath or despair.

Then Rogier lifted his sword and commanded silence. "No word spoken," said he, "will move me from my purpose. One thing can alone rob the gallows of its rich burden—the delivery of your late chief, Pabo."

"We cannot do it. We know not where he is."

"Then let justice take its course. This I will suffer. When each has drawn his lot from the cap, he shall bring it in his closed fist to me, and open it where I stand in the ray of sunlight. If he have an unmarked stick, he shall go forth by the door unmolested. But he who shall have the death's head in his hand shall tarry here. And when all six are selected, then will I suffer each in turn to be conducted to his home, there to bid farewell to his family, and so to dispose of his worldly affairs as pleaseth him. I will allow each one hour to effect this; then he will return hither. The first man who draws the bad lot shall be strung to the gallows to-day. If ye be wise men, he will be the only one who will go to make a chime of bells. If Pabo be delivered to me before noon to-morrow, then no second man shall hang. If he be given up on Monday before mid-day no third man shall swing. But—if you remain obstinate, I will go on hanging ye to the last man. Come, in your order, as ye sit; draw to the bassinet and take out your lot. I lay the steel cap on what ye call the seat of your chief."

Then the old man advanced, he who had protested against the occupation of the chair, and said—"I am ready to die, whether in my bed or on the gibbet matters little to me. God grant that I be the man taken. My time at best is but short. Another year to me matters not a hair."

He walked to the bassinet, without hesitation drew his lot, carried it to the Norman—who stood in the sun-ray—and unclosed his withered hand. In it was an unmarked stick.

"Pass forth," said Rogier.

"Nay," said the old man. "My son comes after me—let him draw."

A tall, well-built man walked boldly to the cap, drew, and approached the sunbeam.

"Open!" ordered Rogier.

He held a marked stick.

"On one side—food for the crows," said the Norman.

Then the old man fell on his knees. "I beseech you take me and spare him. He has a young wife and a child. He has life before him, mine is all behind."

"Away," ordered Rogier. "The lot decides—the judgment is with heaven, not with me."

"Father," said the young man, "I am willing to die for my chief."

Then followed several who went free, and escaped into the open air, where they drew long breaths, as though their lungs had been cramped within.

The next who drew the death's head was a mean little man with pointed, foxy face and red hair. He fell into convulsions of terror, clung to Rogier, implored for life, promised to betray whatever he knew—only, unhappily, he did not know where Pabo was concealed, but undertook, if pardoned, to find out. The bishop's brother spurned him from him with disgust. Then came three with blanks and were sent outside.

The third taken was Howel.

"One can but die once," said he, and shrugged his shoulders. "My old woman will have to look out for a second husband. May he be better than the first."

He stepped aside without the exhibition of much feeling, but avoided the whimpering wretch who had drawn the death's head before him.

"Hah!" said Iorwerth the Smith, as he opened his palm and disclosed the marked twig, "I thought something would fall to me for striking that blow which disabled the captain's arm. Would to heaven I had aimed better and broken his skull! He did not know me, or I should have been hung before this." Singularly enough, the very next to draw was also one who drew an unlucky stick, and this was Morgan the Sacristan.

"Since the Sanctuary of David has been invaded, and the wild beast of the field tramples on the vineyard, I care not; and now the secret of where is hid the rod of Cynwyl will perish with me."

Next came a whole batch who drew blanks, and gladly escaped with their necks.

The last to draw the death's head looked steadily at it, and said: "She is always right. I thought so; now I'm sure of it. My wife said to me, 'Do not go to the meeting?' I said, 'Why not?' Like a woman, she couldn't give a reason; but repeated, 'Do not go.' I have come, and now shall swing with the rest. It's a rough way of learning a lesson. And having learnt it—can no more practise it."