This eBook was produced by Tapio Riikonen
and David Widger
The sun had just cast his last beams over the breadth of water intowhich Conway, or rather Cyn-wy, "the great river," emerges its windingwaves. Not at that time existed the matchless castle, which is nowthe monument of Edward Plantagenet, and the boast of Wales. Butbesides all the beauty the spot took from nature, it had even someclaim from ancient art. A rude fortress rose above the stream ofGyffin, out of the wrecks of some greater Roman hold [159], and vastruins of a former town lay round it; while opposite the fort, on thehuge and ragged promontory of Gogarth, might still be seen, forlornand grey, the wrecks of the imperial city, destroyed ages before bylightning.
All these remains of a power and a pomp that Rome in vain hadbequeathed to the Briton, were full of pathetic and solemn interest,when blent with the thought, that on yonder steep, the brave prince ofa race of heroes, whose line transcended, by ages, all the otherroyalties of the North, awaited, amidst the ruins of man, and in thestronghold which nature yet gave, the hour of his doom.
But these were not the sentiments of the martial and observant Norman,with the fresh blood of a new race of conquerors.
"In this land," thought he, "far more even than in that of the Saxon,there are the ruins of old; and when the present can neither maintainnor repair the past, its future is subjection or despair."
Agreeably to the peculiar uses of Saxon military skill, which seems tohave placed all strength in dykes and ditches, as being perhaps thecheapest and readiest outworks, a new trench had been made round thefort, on two sides, connecting it on the third and fourth with thestreams of Gyffin and the Conway. But the boat was rowed up to thevery walls, and the Norman, springing to land, was soon ushered intothe presence of the Earl.
Harold was seated before a rude table, and bending over a rough map ofthe great mountain of Penmaen; a lamp of iron stood beside the map,though the air was yet clear.
The Earl rose, as De Graville, entering with the proud but easy gracehabitual to his countrymen, said, in his best Saxon:
"Hail to Earl Harold! William Mallet de Graville, the Norman, greetshim, and brings him news from beyond the seas."
There was only one seat in that bare room—the seat from which theEarl had risen. He placed it with simple courtesy before his visitor,and leaning, himself, against the table, said, in the Norman tongue,which he spoke fluently:
"It is no slight thanks that I owe to the Sire de Graville, that hehath undertaken voyage and journey on my behalf; but before you impartyour news, I pray you to take rest and food."
"Rest will not be unwelcome; and food, if unrestricted to goats'cheese, and kid-flesh,—luxuries new to my palate,—will not beuntempting; but neither food nor rest can I take, noble Harold, beforeI excuse myself, as a foreigner, for thus somewhat infringing yourlaws by which we are banished, and acknowledging gratefully thecourteous behavior I have met from thy countrymen notwithstanding."
"Fair Sir," answered Harold, "pardon us if, jealous of our laws, wehave seemed inhospitable to those who would meddle with them. But theSaxon is never more pleased than when the foreigner visits him only asthe friend: to the many who settle amongst us for commerce—Fleming,Lombard, Ge