The Brothers of Gwynedd (107 page)

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Authors: Edith Pargeter

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BOOK: The Brothers of Gwynedd
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  "Good!" said Llewelyn. "Then they will have no excuse for detaining in their own hands any letter expressly addressed to the king." And he dictated to me the following letter:
  "We have received the letter written in your Grace's name, and dated at Westminster on the twentieth day of June, forbidding us to build a castle on our own land near Abermule, or to found there a town and establish a market. We are certain that the said letter was not sent with your Grace's knowledge, and that if you were present in your kingdom, as we would you were, no such mandate would ever have been issued from your royal chancery. For your Grace knows well that the rights of our principality are entirely separate from the rights of your realm, notwithstanding that we hold our principality under your Grace's royal power. You have heard, and to some degree have seen for yourself that we and our ancestors have always had power within our boundaries to build castles and fortresses, and to set up markets, without prohibition by any man, or any announcement of such work in advance. We pray your Grace not to give ear to the malicious suggestions of those people whose desire it is to exasperate your mind against us. Dated at Dinorben, on the feast of St. Benedict, the eleventh day of July."
  Thus with clarity, force and dignity did he reply to the unjustified and illegal demand made upon him, and with absolute confidence exempted Edward from any part in the insult. And in this I think he was right. Even now I think so. And the letter was sealed and clearly superscribed to the king in person, and the prior's attention called to this when he undertook to carry it, as I am sure he did faithfully. But it had to pass through other hands than his before ever it could be delivered to the one man for whom it was intended.
  "And the building," said Llewelyn shortly, "goes on." And so it did, in the face of the garrison of Montgomery, so that its progress could hardly have been overlooked.
  Now in the matter of this letter, which plainly is of great importance, I must set down here that we never heard word more of it, nor, indeed, of any objections to the founding of Abermule, or any attempts to prevent the raising of the castle on the hill above. I do not know what happened to the letter. It may be that it was duly sent on to King Edward, that he entirely agreed with what Llewelyn had written, and instructed his regents to cease interfering with the prince's actions. I say it
maybe
so. But in that case I should have expected the king to write personally to Llewelyn in acknowledgement and reassurance, for he was punctilious in correspondence and courtesy in the normality of business. And no such reply ever came. Or it may be, and for my part this is what I believe, that the regents, in spite of the personal nature of the letter, arrogantly considered it within their mandate to open and use it freely, and retain it in their own hands instead of forwarding it to the king. Its content may well have persuaded them that they had better not attempt to press a demand which could be so firmly resisted at law, let alone in practice, and therefore they took no further action, and perhaps were very glad to let the attempt go by default. In either case, the effect upon the building of Dolforwyn was the same, but the effect upon the future relations of Wales and England was by no means the same, for if the letter remained in the chancery records, then Edward can never have been made aware of his lieutenants' overbearing and illegal demand or Llewelyn's justified resentment of it, and he cannot have seen and known what absolute faith Llewelyn had in the king's goodwill and intent to do right, and how little in his officers. If, therefore, that letter was detained and suppressed in Westminster, then I say that whoever took that act upon him took also a heavy burden of guilt upon his soul.
  Nor had he any excuse, for by the end of July a great number of the nobility were flocking to France, some to greet Edward, clear some point with mm, and return, some to accompany him and work with him in his duchy of Gascony, whither he departed late in August to rejoin his queen. There were messengers enough and to spare, sailing weekly from Dover. Even though affairs kept him in Gascony so long, from this time the reins of government were in Edward's hands, though the regents still held great power at home, and I could not but remember David's warning that Edward would support his officers against all men as though they partook of his sovereignty.
  However, there was still a year to run before Edward came home. This delay was not at first expected, for in August, about the time the king left Paris for Gascony, Llewelyn received a letter from the justiciar of Chester, Reginald de Grey, informing him that the king had fixed on the octave of Easter of the next year for his coronation, and cordially inviting the prince to be present. It is true that in the same letter he reminded Llewelyn of the amount of the indemnity still owing, and requested payment, but that hard touch of business was softened by a more friendly request that Wales would supply venison for the king's larder on the occasion, as Llewelyn had sometimes done before when a feast was toward.
  The prince replied as warmly, acknowledging the invitation, guaranteeing to provide the venison by the date required, and diplomatically evading the question of the money, since he had only David and one or two other of his counsellors with him at that time, but promising a proper answer to the regents at Michaelmas. For as he had complaints to those officers still unredressed, he chose to conduct any correspondence about the money also with them, pointedly making the two issues one. A course which had not yet produced for us much in the way of amends or compensation, and for them nothing in sterling, but he persevered, and hoped for Edward's coming.
  Later, because of the many matters occupying the king in Gascony, this date was changed to the nineteenth of August, by which time many things had also changed.

As I remember, it must have been after the building of Dolforwyn began that Griffith ap Gwenwynwyn's eldest son, Owen, began to frequent David with open admiration, and to spend much time in his company. This Owen was a man about twenty-seven years old, a good-looking young fellow enough, not over-tall, and not burly like his father, but rather taking after his English mother, Hawise Lestrange, who was the daughter of a former sheriff of Salop. Slender and well-proportioned like her, and of rather fair colouring, Owen had followed his father's example, no doubt due to her influence, and adopted the English manner of dress, harness and all besides, being to all appearances a marcher lordling rather than a Welsh prince. Indeed, the English called these men of Powys by the name of de la Pole, after their castle of Pool, and often in the past, before he came to the prince's peace, Griffith had taken part with the English of Shrewsbury against Wales. But at this time they had been ten years in fealty to Llewelyn, by no means to their loss, for in the treaty of Montgomery they, too, had gained and kept some lands won with the prince's aid.

  Griffith ap Gwenwynwyn was the greatest vassal the prince had, and he valued him accordingly, and also respected his hardihood in battle and his forceful qualities in peace. The community of Wales would have been maimed without Powys. But their relationship had been always a matter of shrewd business, not a close friendship, such as the prince had had with his brother-in-law Rhys Fychan, or Meredith ap Owen of Cardigan, both now dead. To come down to stony truth, they did not love each other. Griffith grudged the prince's ascendancy, even while he subscribed to it for his own gain, for he was a proud and envious man, whose narrowed eyes measured every vantage, and his tongue complained of every slight, real or imagined. Llewelyn disdained such jealous and calculating minds—Griffith would have said he could afford to, being supreme—but made what accommodation his warm nature could manage, to make the alliance work harmoniously. And so it had, whatever the difficulties and reserves, for ten years.
  "I'm glad Griffith's boy has fallen under David's spell," said Llewelyn once when we rode from Dolforwyn, late that autumn.
I have been prepared for some coldnes
s in that quarter, knowing our friend's temper, though God knows Pool is far enough away to hold its own in trade, and my castle is no threat to him. But if his heir is cultivating my brother, the sire can hardly be nursing too great a grudge. That one has his family well in hand. All but his wife!" he added honestly, and laughed, for that lady, elegant and fragile as she appeared, was known all along the march for her iron will and quiet but steely tongue, and the thin white hand she extended for kissing was rumoured to have a firm and regal grip on her husband and all her children.
  Dolforwyn was then rising against the sky in a great rectangular enclosure of walls and wards, without corner turrets, for the height of the ridge was such that it commanded a view all around and a well-manned curtain wall would be its main defence. The keep was first planned upon a square base, but in the building the masons changed to a round tower, for what reasons I now forget, but the shell rose sheer and strong, almost ready to be filled with household and garrison. It was a noble, solitary, sunlit place, the river like a silver serpent below.
  "By next year, say Easter, we'll have a garrison and a castellan within," said Llewelyn, "and take good care that Griffith and his lady shall be among the first guests, and very honourably received. Whatever I can to reassure him, that I'll do."
  In such a mood, contented but cautious, did we approach that Christmas season. And as was the custom still, we repaired to Aber for the keeping of that feast.
  David came from Lleyn with all his household, and a retinue of knights and troopers somewhat larger than usual. He was in great finery and very wild spirits, and constantly Elizabeth watched and worshipped him, herself seeming the quieter for his exhilaration, as though he dazzled her into stillness. There was nothing to be observed about her body yet to make me wonder, she was slim as a willow, but that quality of brightness about her caused me to look for enlightenment to Cristin, who was close at her side with the year-old Gladys in her arms. Cristin understood the look, and smiled her slow and radiant smile. When it was possible to have speech together she told me it was as I supposed.
  "She is again with child. But not a word yet. There's hardly a soul knows but David, and now we two. She wants a son for him, she will have a son. She so prays, heaven can hardly deny her. But she dreads some stroke of fate if she lets it be known too soon."
  "And David?" I asked, watching the arched security of her arm under the child, and the easy way her body leaned to balance the weight, and all the natural accomplishment of motherhood that came by grace to one deprived of all hope of bearing children. I marvelled that she, so deeply aware of loss, should yet be so little saddened, for she had genuine joy in these daughters not her own.
  "This time David is sure. This time it will not fail. He is as you see him, exalted as high as the mountains. But he has his moments of doubt, too, and then there's no going near him. I never knew him so lofty when up, and so black and brittle when down. And he has six months or more to wait in this perilous state yet! You would think his fate was in the balance this very December."
  During that Christmas festival we saw far more of his ups than his downs, the stimulus of company, music, wine and feasting naturally turning him towards the light. He drank more than was usual with him, he danced, and sang, and rode, and hunted while the weather was bright, and was never still for a moment but when he slept. Sometimes, indeed, his gaiety seemed too feverish and too strung, designed to fill his days to the exclusion of all thought. And what I noted most was that never once that December did he seek me out, as often in the old days he used to, in the late evening when he tired of the music and smoke and ceremony in the hall. He spoke me blithely in passing, among other people, but never did I encounter him alone. For my part, I would have done so gladly. For his, as I came to understand, he wanted no close companionship with me, for I knew him too well.
  Llewelyn beheld his brother's elation with pleasure, seeing him drop at last the formal deference he had for so long preserved in his dealings with his prince. "If he is coming out of his sulks with me at last," he said to me privately, "so much the better for us both. It has been hard to know how to have him without offending, he is thornier than a holly-bush."
  So when David proposed, if he might, to stay on through January with all his people, and prolong this family party, Llewelyn was glad, and said so heartily, forgetting the extreme caution of his recent handling to throw an arm about David's shoulders and hug him boisterously.
  "You could do nothing to please me so much. Stay as long as you will, and most welcome. You bring life into the court with you."

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