Pabo sat by his fire. In Welsh houses even so late as the twelfth century there were no structural chimneys--these were first introduced by the Flemish settlers--consequently the smoke from the wood fire curled and hung in the roof and stole out, when tired of circling there, through a hole in the thatch. On a bier lay the dead man, with candles at his head--his white face illumined by the light that descended from the gap in the roof. At the feet crouched a woman, a professional wailer, singing and swaying herself, as she improvised verses in honor of the dead, promised him the glories of Paradise, and a place at the right hand of David, and then fell to musical moans. Morwen sat by the side, looking at the deceased--she was awaiting her turn to kneel, sing, and lament--and beside her was a rude bench on which were placed cakes and ale wherewith to regale such as came in to wake the dead. And as Pabo looked at his wife he thought of the peaceful useful life they had led together. She had been the daughter of a widow, a harsh and exacting woman, who had long been bedridden, and with whose querulousness she had borne meekly. He had not been always destined to the Archpriesthood. His uncle had been the ecclesiastical as well as political head of the tribe; but on his death his son, Goronwy, had been passed over, as deformed, and therefore incapable of taking his father's place, and the chiefship had been conferred on Pabo, who had already been for some years ordained in anticipation of this selection. Pabo continued to look at his wife, and he questioned whether he could have understood the hearts of his people had he not himself known what love was. "Husband," said Morwen, "there is a little roll under his hand." Pabo started to consciousness of the present. "I have not ventured to remove it; yet what think you? Is it to be buried with him? It almost seems as though it were his testament." The Archpriest rose and went to where the dead man lay; his long white beard flowed to his waist, and the hands were crossed over it. "It is in the palm," said Morwen. Pabo passed his fingers through the thick white hair and drew forth a scroll, hardly two fingers' breadth in width; it was short also, as he saw when he uncurled it. He opened and read. "Yes, it is his will. 'To Pabo, the Archpriest, my cell--as a refuge; and----'" He ceased, rolled up the little coil once more, and placed it in his bosom. A stroke at the door, and one of the elders of the community, named Howel the Tall, entered. "It seems fit, Father Pabo, to us to meet in council. What say you? All are gathered." "It is well; I attend." CHAPTER VII GRIFFITH AP RHYS The council-house of the Caio tribe was a large circular wooden structure, with a conical thatched roof. There was a gable on one side in which was a circular opening to serve as window, and it was unglazed.