The Heirs of Owain Glyndwr

by Peter Murphy

  ‘What if Caradog comes back tonight instead of staying over in Carmarthen?’ he asked, to give voice to the nervousness.

  ‘What if he does?’ she countered. ‘Caradog is my brother, not my guardian.’

  They went upstairs together, hand in hand.

  After that night they were open with everyone. Often, she came to stay with him in the flat above the Tywysog, and if Caradog had any reservations about their relationship, he did not express them.

  ‘Have you thought about what marriage will mean?’ he asked.

  ‘Marriage generally, or marriage to you?’

  ‘Both.’

  She considered.

  ‘I’ve often thought about marriage in the abstract,’ she replied, ‘as an idea. But you can’t think about it the way it really is until you meet someone you want to marry.’

  ‘So, you’ve thought about marriage to me?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘What have you thought?’

  She smiled. ‘I have thought that when two people feel about each other as we do, they are already married. The ceremony and the festivities are for the benefit of others, so that they know about it, and can celebrate it too. I don’t think it changes anything between the people who are getting married.’

  He sat up in bed.

  ‘Arianwen, what if we get married and you find you don’t really know me, that I am really someone else?’

  ‘We are all someone else,’ she replied.

  They were married in April 1963 and, after enduring the cramped conditions of the flat above the Tywysog for some time, they went to live in an old house in Penrallt Isaf. Their son, Harri, was born in May 1965.

  11

  January 1969

  Once the New Year festivities had subsided, Trevor re-opened the Tywysog to begin another year of its life. He had enough experience by now to know that business would not be particularly brisk until people had convinced themselves that the holiday period was finally over, and had resigned themselves to resuming their daily routines. He was a part of the daily life of Caernarfon now. People still remembered Madog, but Trevor’s presence as the owner of the Tywysog was now accepted without rancour. It had required a lengthy diplomatic struggle, but the struggle had paid off. The time for curiosity was over, and his English past had merged into his new Caernarfon identity. It was noted that he was not above attending rallies in support of Welsh causes, and that he had expressed a cautious support for Plaid Cymru, and these things had gone down well. As had his marriage. Arianwen and Caradog were liked and respected in Caernarfon, for their own sake and for the sake of their parents, who had had many friends in the town.

  Trevor was by no means as religious as Madog about staying open until 6 o’clock when business was slow, and at just after five on this evening, as he watched the wind and rain pound the windows and the street outside, he had decided to call it a day. But as he was reaching for his jacket and keys, he looked up to see two men approaching the door of the shop. They were tightly bundled up against the weather, but he knew them at once by their size and gait. He opened the door and beckoned them inside.

  ‘You look like a couple of drowned rats,’ Trevor said. ‘Take your coats off. Hang them up by the door.’

  ‘It’s the flood, man,’ Dai Bach said, struggling to extricate himself from his sodden raincoat. ‘It’s the bloody biblical flood, I tell you. It’s a judgment on us, aye. It’s going to rain for forty days and forty nights, and we will all be swept away. God, I’m soaked.’

  They shook hands warmly.

  ‘How’s Harri?’

  ‘Doing very well, Dai, thank you.’

  ‘He’s a good boy. I can’t get over how well he speaks in Welsh for his age. I enjoy just listening to him talk and, as a teacher, that’s not something I say about children every day. A bard he will be by the time he’s ten, aye.’

  Trevor smiled.

  ‘He gets that from Arianwen. But it helps that we are keeping him on the one language for now. We both feel he should have a solid start with Welsh at home. He will have plenty of time to learn English once he starts school.’

  He took Caradog’s heavy coat and draped it over the top of the tree-like coat rack which stood in the corner behind the door.

  ‘What are you two doing out in this weather? Do you want a cup of tea?’

  ‘Aye, that would go down a treat,’ Dai replied.

  ‘Yes, please,’ Caradog added.

  Trevor walked to the tea area and put the kettle on to boil.

  ‘We have come out because we need to talk to you,’ Caradog said. ‘And it’s not a conversation we can have at home. But we can wait until you’ve closed the shop.’

  ‘That sounds intriguing. Actually, I was just about to close up anyway. Five minutes and you would have missed me. No one is going to come out to buy books in this weather.’

  He walked to the door and locked it, turning the sign from ‘Open’ to ‘Closed’.

  As the kettle approached boiling, he warmed the teapot and added three good size scoops of tea.

  ‘Do your own milk and sugar.’

  ‘If you don’t mind, I’d prefer to talk in the basement.’ Caradog said. ‘You could turn the lights off in here, so that we won’t be disturbed.’

  Trevor looked at Caradog for some seconds.

  ‘Yes. All right. Are we going to be some time? If so, I’ll phone Arianwen to tell her I’ve fallen in with bad company and I may be home a bit late.’

  ‘Yes, that would be a good idea.’ Caradog said.

  12

  ‘What happened to all those materials Madog had locked away in the cabinet when you took over?’ Caradog asked. ‘Are they still here?’

  There were only two old, unstable chairs in the basement, so they were leaning against the bookcases in the dim light provided by four naked yellow bulbs hanging down from fixtures in the corners of the room. Trevor did not reply immediately.

  ‘They are still in the cabinet,’ he said eventually.

  Caradog was also taking his time.

  ‘It’s just that you did say, at one time, that you might destroy anything you didn’t want to put on display in the shop. You weren’t even sure it would be legal to possess some of the materials.’

  ‘That’s right. But I never got round to doing anything about it.’

  ‘I warned you that certain people – nationalists – might come in and ask for them.’

  ‘Yes. I remember.’

  ‘And did they?’

  Trevor shifted uncomfortably and looked down at the floor.

  ‘Do you mind my asking why you want to know?’

  ‘It’s because of the Investiture, man,’ Dai Bach jumped in.

  ‘What is because of the Investiture?’

  ‘The harassment. And it’s only going to get worse.’

  Trevor shook his head. ‘I’m sorry. You’ve lost me. What are you driving at?’

  ‘I don’t like to use the word “Investiture”,’ Caradog said, ‘but whatever we call it, on the 1st of July the Queen is going to foist her son, another member of their Saxon Royalty, on us as our Prince.’

  ‘I know that, Caradog,’ Trevor replied. ‘It’s hardly news. They announced it over a year ago.’

  ‘Yes, but now it’s getting close, and they are worried because they have suddenly woken up and realised that they don’t have the whole-hearted support of the people of Wales. In fact, they think that some of us may have something to say about it, or even something to do about it.’

  ‘Do about it?’

  ‘Protests, demonstrations,’ Dai Bach interjected, ‘or even some direct action to prevent it from going ahead.’

  ‘Well, of course there will be protests,’ Trevor agreed. ‘But the police are used to dealing with things like that. What is there to get excited abo
ut?’

  Caradog paused again.

  ‘The word is,’ he said, ‘that they have already placed people from MI5, people from Special Branch, here in Caernarfon.’

  Trevor laughed.

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake.’

  ‘What? You don’t think they would do that?’

  ‘It seems a bit far-fetched, if you ask me. During the Investiture itself, during the week or two beforehand, yes, I’m sure security will be tight, but that’s true whenever the Queen goes somewhere. So what?’

  ‘The word is,’ Caradog replied, ‘that they have people in place already, to try to ferret out anyone who may be planning something more than your basic peaceful protest, and then infiltrate them, and neutralise them.’

  ‘If they do discover anyone planning anything,’ Dai Bach added, ‘they will arrest them on some charge or other and even put them on trial, to keep them out of the way.’

  Trevor laughed again. ‘Where are you getting this from?’

  ‘Contacts,’ Caradog replied.

  ‘Contacts. And you don’t think these contacts may be just a little bit paranoid?’

  ‘No, I don’t,’ Caradog said firmly.

  ‘They have already arrested a few people,’ Dai Bach continued. ‘Public order charges, or some such nonsense. Some of them are supposed to go on trial in Swansea, and they say it could be a long trial. It could even last until after the Investiture. Now, there’s a coincidence for you.’

  ‘All right,’ Trevor said. ‘Let’s assume for the sake of argument that you’re right. Why are you telling me this? What do you want me to do about it?’

  ‘We don’t want you to be caught in possession of the stuff you’ve got in there,’ Caradog replied, nodding in the direction of the cabinet.

  Trevor looked up sharply. He did not reply immediately.

  ‘You think they might arrest me?’ he asked, after some time.

  ‘No, probably not,’ Caradog replied. ‘I think it is more likely they would see you as a source of information. They know that the Tywysog is a gathering place for Welsh-speaking intellectuals, and they know that the people likely to cause the most serious trouble are Welsh-speaking intellectuals. So I don’t think they would want to close you down. But I would expect them to be very interested in who comes and goes here, and I would be very surprised if they don’t stop by for a chat once every so often.’

  ‘I see,’ Trevor replied thoughtfully.

  ‘Which is why we are interested in who may have been coming to ask about the materials in the basement. They may not have been who you thought they were.’

  ‘And we wouldn’t want them to catch you with that stuff, would we?’ Dai Bach said. ‘You might have a bit of explaining to do, like.’

  Trevor ran his hands through his hair.

  ‘I’ve only had two or three approaches in all these years,’ he said. ‘Two of them were definitely FWA, Free Wales Army.’

  ‘How do you know that?’ Dai Bach asked.

  Trevor smiled. ‘They might just as well have been wearing badges with FWA on them. They make no secret about it. They strut around as if they own the place, and you get the impression they have no sense of basic discretion, let alone security.’

  Caradog laughed. ‘You’re absolutely right. The police don’t have to worry about the FWA. If they ever get organised enough to do anything, they will probably call a press conference, or put a notice in the Western Mail, just to make sure everybody knows where and when it will happen.’

  ‘The third time,’ Trevor continued, ‘was two or three months ago, two far more serious gentlemen. I thought they were probably with the Movement, the Mudiad. They could have been Cymdeithas, the Language Society, but they have already announced plans for peaceful protests, haven’t they?’

  ‘That’s not necessarily the whole story, though,’ Dai Bach said.

  ‘What did they ask you?’ Caradog asked.

  ‘They asked whether I still had any materials which Madog might have stored in the basement. It was all very cryptic. They didn’t say in so many words what they were interested in, but I knew what they were talking about, and they knew that I knew.’

  ‘What did you tell them?’

  ‘The same thing I told the FWA, that when I took over from Madog I cleared out the basement, and that any doubtful documents, which I might get in trouble for storing, were destroyed.’

  ‘Did that satisfy them?’

  ‘It had to. They weren’t going to force their way into the basement in broad daylight.’

  ‘They might try at night,’ Dai Bach suggested.

  ‘Possibly,’ Caradog said. ‘But they would have to recruit a real professional for a job like that in the middle of town, when the premises are alarmed. That’s on the assumption that they were Mudiad, not Special Branch or MI5.’

  ‘You’re getting me worried now,’ Trevor said.

  ‘You should be, boyo,’ Dai Bach said. ‘Look, forget about the Mudiad. Just think about the Government. The way this is going, they are going to get extremely paranoid between now and the 1st of July. They are going to start imagining that there is a threat to the Royal Family on their big day. Believe me, there is no telling what they might get up to.’

  ‘Well, what do you think I ought to do? Perhaps it’s time to do what I thought of originally, take the whole lot out and make a bonfire of them.’

  ‘That’s one approach,’ Caradog replied. ‘Another is that you let us take them to a place of safety.’

  Trevor stared at him.

  ‘Why would you want them?’ he asked.

  ‘Why would you want them? Caradog countered.

  ‘Who says I want them?’

  ‘Well, you haven’t destroyed them,’ Caradog replied. ‘Have you?’

  13

  There had been a long silence.

  ‘Cards on the table?’ Caradog asked.

  ‘Cards on the table,’ Trevor agreed.

  Caradog raised his eyes to the ceiling, and took several deep breaths.

  ‘I’m speaking to you, not only as a Welsh man, but also as my brother-in-law,’ he began. ‘And I hope, as a friend.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘You know where I stand on questions about Wales. I resent everything England has done to us since Edward I. But I am a realist. I know that after so many centuries of living as one country, after so many centuries of inter-marriage, of business and social connections, we can’t just turn the clock back. So I have never insisted on political independence. I have no hatred for the English people, though I despise their imported Saxon Monarchy, and I don’t like the way their politicians and military leaders still act as though they own most of the world.’

  Dai Bach laughed. ‘All those pink places on the map. I remember from being a boy at school. “We own all of this,” my teacher used to say. Imagine!’

  ‘Yes. But now we participate in government ourselves, and we have the opportunity to influence the law and the Government’s policies. If Plaid Cymru wins a few more seats, we may be within reach of a substantial measure of self-government, which will look and feel almost like independence. What we have to do in the meanwhile is preserve our language and our culture intact.’

  ‘That’s what you’ve been saying ever since I’ve known you,’ Trevor said.

  ‘Yes,’ Caradog agreed. ‘But now I say more.’

  ‘You mean you have changed your mind about something?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Why? Because of the Investiture? The Queen announced that she was going to make Charles Prince of Wales over ten years ago. She announced the date at least one year ago. And it’s not as though it’s the first time. George V made the Duke of Windsor Prince of Wales in this very castle, here in Caernarfon, in 1911. None of this is exactly new, Caradog.’

  ‘No, but there is T
ryweryn too,’ Dai Bach said.

  ‘Tryweryn was four years ago,’ Trevor said.

  ‘Does that mean we should just forget about it?’ Caradog asked.

  ‘No. Of course not. Look… what I’m trying to say…’

  ‘Trevor, listen to me. It was Tryweryn that led to the only serious armed resistance we’ve ever had. It wasn’t the Investiture of the Duke of Windsor, or anything else. It was Tryweryn that gave birth to the Mudiad Amddiffyn Cymru, the Movement for the Defence of Wales.’

  ‘There’s some serious people for you,’ Dai Bach said, shaking his head.

  ‘They are very serious people, and in their day they did some serious things. Emyr Llewelyn Jones detonated a bomb near a transformer at the site of the dam. That was five or six years ago now. He was convicted and sent down for twelve months. On the very same day Emyr was convicted, Owain Williams and John Jones blew up a pylon, and then they were both convicted too. John Jenkins took over, and he is suspected of being responsible for the bomb at the Clywedog dam three years ago. But because of all that they have a track record. Tell me, Trevor, where does that leave the Mudiad today?’

  ‘With the police keeping a careful eye on them.’

  ‘Exactly. They know that the Mudiad has not forgiven them, and never will forgive them, for Tryweryn, for Capel Celyn.’

  ‘That would explain why the Mudiad might pay a call on me,’ Trevor suggested. ‘It might explain why they are interested in what Madog had stashed away in the basement.’

  He looked up.

  ‘Is that why you want the materials? So that you can pass them on to the Mudiad?’

  ‘No,’ Caradog replied. ‘I don’t see how they can function now. They would like to do something to mark the 1st of July, I’m sure. But the Government will be watching them like hawks between now and then. They may even have infiltrated an agent. If there is going to be an effective response to the 1st of July, it will have to come from someone else.’