Rogier was pacing up and down in the house of which he had taken possession. On the table lay, heaped in bags of woven grass, the fine that had been imposed on the tribe. All had been paid. The elders had endeavored hard to induce him to accept two-thirds from them and to levy the remainder on Cadell; but he bade them squeeze their Archpriest—he was not going to trouble himself to do that—and the rest of the silver was produced. The men hoped to be able to recoup themselves later by deducting this third from their payments to the pastor thrust upon them.

As Pabo had been secured, Rogier had released those who were detained in the court-house; they had returned to their homes.

It was anticipated that now the Norman would withdraw along with his men; he had no further excuse for remaining. But he gave not the smallest token of an intention to remove.

Cadell had entered. He also wished to know how long the foreigners would tarry in the place. So long as they were there it would be impossible for him to come to friendly terms with his flock. Yet, though he desired that the bulk of the men-at-arms, along with their captain, should withdraw, he did not by any means desire to be left completely alone in the midst of a population that regarded him with a malevolent eye, were unwilling to receive his ministrations, acknowledge his authority, and even show him ordinary civility.

He had accordingly entered the house in the hopes of arranging with the bishop's brother terms whereby he might have two or four men left in Caio to support him in emergencies without being ostensibly his servants.

A plea might easily be found in the refractory humor of the people for a small guard to be left till they proved more complaisant.

Near the door, against the wall, Morwen was seated, pale but resolved, with her hands folded.

"You seem to be in a vast impatience to see my back," said Rogier, "but let me tell you, Master Chaplain, I like this place. It lyeth well to the sun, the soil is fertile and amply watered. It is suitably timbered, and methinks there is building-stone here that might serve to construct a stronghold. I have looked about me and fancied Pen-y-ddinas. It crieth out for a castle to stand upon it—dominating, as it doth, the whole valley."

"A castle for the bishop?"

"Oh! save your presence and clergy. It is well for one to feather one's own nest first. As to the Church, hers is downy enough without needing to pluck more geese to make her easier."

"Then for whom?"

"For myself, of course. This is a fair district; it is girded about with mountains; it has been occupied for centuries by a thrifty people who have hoarded their silver. Methinks I could soon contrive to make of it a barony of Caio for myself."

"But," said Cadell, aghast, "these be Church lands. You would not rob the Church?"

"By no means are they Church lands. This is tribal land, and it so chances that the head of the tribe has been for some time—how long I know not—an ecclesiastic. But that is an accident."

"It is the sanctuary of David."

"But not the property of the see of David. It is the sanctuary of Cynwyl, I take it; and it has so fallen out that the inheritor of the chieftainship has been for some years—it may be centuries—in priestly orders. But as to belonging to the see, that it never did. Now I take it, there shall be a separation of powers, and I will assume the secular rule, and constitute myself Baron of Caio—and thou, if it please thee, shalt be Archpriest, and exercise ecclesiastical authority. It will be best so—then I and my bull-dogs will be ever hard by to help thee in thy difficulties."

"The bishop will never agree to this."

"He must. Am I going to fight his battles and not be paid for it, and fix my price?"

"Does he know of thy purpose?"

"I care not whether he do or not. I shall take my course, and he cannot oppose me, because he dare not. By the soul of the Conqueror, Sir Chaplain, these fat farmers ooze with money. I have but given them a little squeeze, and they have run out silver—it is yonder, dost mark it? Hast thou seen cider made? They make it in my country. The apples are chopped up and cast into a broad, stone-grooved trough, and a lever is brought to bear, laden with immense weights, to crush them. You should see, man, how the juice runs out, and you would say that there was never another drop of liquor in them. Then the lever is raised, and the weight shifted; next with a knife the apple-cheese is pared all round and the parings are cast up in the middle. Again the lever is worked, and out flows as much as at first, till again it appears that all is drained away. And this process is renewed to five times, and every time out pours the generous and sweet must. It is not with apples as with grapes. These latter once well pressed yield all—apples must be pressed to six and even seven times. My Cadell—these peasants are juicy apples. If I send this first squeeze to my brother, I reserve the after outgushes for mine own drinking."

Cadell looked down disconcerted. He knew very well that Rogier's scheme would mean the shrinkage to but little of his power and profits.

"You do not understand this people," said he, after some consideration. "You will drive them to desperation with your rough treatment. They are a kindly and a gentle folk that are easily led, but ill driven."

"Well, now," said Rogier, and laughed. He halted, leaned against the table, and folded his arms; "it is so; but I have a scheme such as will reconcile the tribe of Cynwyl to my rule. And thou art come here suitably at this moment to assist me in carrying it out."

"What wouldest thou?" asked Cadell sulkily.

"It is even this," answered Rogier, and again he laughed. "Dost see? I have been courting a pretty wench. But it is bad wooing when I cannot speak a word of Welsh and she as little of French. Now, Sir Priest, be my go-between, and say sweet and tender words to her from me, and bring me back her replies of the same savor."

"I cannot! I will not!" exclaimed the chaplain indignantly.

"I ask of thee nothing dishonest," said Rogier; "far otherwise. I have a fancy to make the pretty Morwen my wife—and Baroness Caio. Tell her that—all in good sooth and my purpose honorable, the Church shall be called to bless us."

"She is another man's wife!"

"Nay, nay, a priest's leman—that is all. And if that stick in thy throat, be conscience-smoothed. By this time Pabo is no more. I know my brother's temper. He is a man who never forgives; and the loss of a pair of teeth is not that he will pass over."

"But he does not hold that this man you have sent him is Pabo."

"Pshaw! he knows better. Whether he be Pabo, or whether he be not, Bernard will never suffer him to live a week after he has him between his two palms. Therefore, seeing Morwen is a widow, and free, now, all is plain, my intent is good. If I marry her—who has been the wife of the chieftain of the tribe, I enter upon all his rights so far as they are secular; those that be ecclesiastical I leave to thee."

"Not so," said Cadell sharply. "She is no heiress. She is not of the blood."

"Oh! she shall be so esteemed. Scripture is with me—man and wife be no more twain but one flesh, so that she enters into all his rights, and I take them over along with her. It will smooth the transfer. The people will like it, or will gulp down what is forced on them, and pretend to be content."

"This is preposterous—the heir to the tribal rights is Goronwy, the cousin of Pabo."

"That cripple? The people would not have him before to rule over them. They will not now. Let them look on him and then on me; there can be but one decision. If there be a doubt, I shall contrive to get the weasel out of the way. And, moreover," said Rogier, who chuckled over his scheme, "all here are akin—that is why there was such a to-do about the seven degrees. It hit them all. I warrant ye, when gone into, it will be found that she has in her the blood of——. What is the name?"

"Cunedda."

"Aye, of that outlandish old forefather. If not, I can make it so. There is a man here—Meredith they call him—a bard and genealogist. I have a pair of thumb-screws, and I can spoil his harping forever unless he discover that the pretty wench whom I design for myself, to be my Baroness Caio, be lineally descended from—I cannot mind the name—and be, after Goronwy, the legitimate heir to all the tribal rights. Cadell, you can make a man say and swear to anything with the persuasion of thumb-screws. A rare institution."

The chaplain said nothing to this. It was a proposition that did not admit of dispute.

A good many of the Norman barons had taken the Welsh heiresses to them as a means of disarming the opposition they encountered, perhaps feeling a twinge of compunction at their methods of appropriation of lands by the sword. Gerald of Windsor, as we have seen, was married to a princess of the royal race of Dyfed, though not, indeed, an heiress. A knight occupying a subordinate position, if he chanced to secure as wife the heiress of some Welsh chief, at once claimed all her lands and rights, and sprang at once into the position of a great baron.

"Come, sweetheart!" exclaimed Rogier boisterously, and went up to Morwen and caught her by the chin. "Look me in the face and say 'Aye!' and I will put a coronet of pearls on thy black hair."

She shrank from him—not indeed, understanding his words, but comprehending that she was treated with disrespect.

"Speak to her, you fool!" said Rogier angrily. "She must be told what I purpose. If not by you then by Pont l'Espec, whom I will call in. But by the Conqueror's paunch, I do not care to do my wooing through the mouth of a common serving-man."

Cadell stood up from the seat into which he had lowered himself and approached Morwen.

"Hark y'!" said the Norman; "no advice of thine own. I can see thou likest not my design. Say my words, give my message, and bear me back her reply—and thrust in naught of thy mind, and thy suasion."

"What, then, shall I say?"

"Tell her that I am not one to act with violence unless thwarted, and in this particular thwarted I will not be. Tell her that I desire that she shall be my wife; and say that I will make myself baron over this district of Caio—King Henry will deny me nothing I wot—and she shall rule and reign the rest of her days by a soldier's side, instead of by that of a cassocked clerk."

Cadell translated the offer.

Morwen's large deep eyes were fixed on him intently as he spoke, and her lips trembled.

"I must give an answer," said the priest.

Then Morwen rose and replied: "He will surely give me time to consider."

"Aye, aye, till to-morrow," said Rogier when her words were translated to him.

Thereupon Morwen bowed and left the house.

Rogier took a step towards the door, but Cadell stayed him. "Give her till to-morrow to be alone."

"Well," said he, "to-morrow shall settle it."

Cadell left, and instead of seeking his lodging he went into the church.

There, to his surprise, he saw a woman—it was Morwen, clinging to the wicker-work screen.

"It is sanctuary! It is sanctuary!" she cried, as she saw him. "They shall not tear me hence."

"Nay," said Cadell; "that they dare not. I will maintain thy right to sanctuary. It is well. To Cynwyl thou hast appealed. Cynwyl shall protect thee."