by Peter Murphy
Trevor snorted. ‘I can’t think who that would be, unless you count the Cymdeithas, or perhaps some mavericks on the fringes of Plaid Cymru. I’m not counting the FWA.’
‘Neither am I,’ Caradog replied. ‘With the level of surveillance there is going to be from now on, I think we can rule out anyone who is already on the Government’s radar. The only possible hope of a response on the scale the Mudiad would have in mind is a group whose members are not on the radar – a group composed of men there is no reason whatsoever to suspect.’
‘A group that is small and well-disciplined,’ Dai Bach added. ‘Like a well-coached rugby team.’
Trevor felt his stomach churning. He waited a few moments before he spoke.
‘I still don’t understand what has changed for you, Caradog’, he said quietly. ‘I am married to your sister, you are my friend, we see each other every other day. In God’s name, why haven’t you said something before?’
‘I don’t like to express my thoughts until they are fully formed.’
‘So, now that they are fully formed, explain them to me. Because I’m not sure I like where this is going.’
Caradog was silent for some time.
‘Trevor, the Government tried to portray Tryweryn as nothing more than a planning decision, an engineering project. By going through the motions of debates and public inquiries, they made it all seem so normal. It was a technical problem, no more than that. The English city of Liverpool needed a huge new reservoir to provide for its water supply. What was the solution to this technical problem? Simple. The solution was to flood an entire Welsh valley, to destroy a living Welsh village, Capel Celyn. No matter that they had to remove the village’s inhabitants by force. No matter that they had to destroy their family homes. No matter that they had to destroy the valley’s entire history. Who cares? It’s only a few Welsh people, after all. Who are they compared to the English population of Liverpool?’
‘We protested at the time,’ Trevor said. ‘We all did. We were at the rallies; you two, Arianwen, me. We supported Plaid Cymru. We campaigned for them and we got our first Plaid MP, as a result.’
‘Yes, and Gwynfor is a good man. But he is one voice out of more than 600 at Westminster, and if they decide to flood another valley tomorrow, there will be nothing he can do about it.’
He paused.
‘Tryweryn was not just another event; it was not just a political question.’
‘What was it, then?’
‘It was an act of rape…’
‘Come on, Caradog…’
‘No. That’s what it was. It wasn’t just another annexation of our land for the benefit of England. That would have been bad enough. But this… this was an assault on our people and our culture. More than that, it was an assault on our soul, our sense of self-worth, our identity. This was England saying: “You’re ours, and we can do what we like with you, and there is nothing you can do about it”. It was about our right to survive as a people.’
He paused again.
‘And now, the English are sending their Saxon Queen to foist yet another false Prince on us – another act of rape against our culture. Perhaps either of those things individually, in isolation… perhaps we could look the other way, even though it would make us sick to our stomachs. But, taken together… they cross the line.’
‘The line? Whose line?’
‘Anyone’s line who has any sense of national pride.’
‘Anyone’s line who has any sense of decency, man,’ Dai Bach added.
‘And… the line having been crossed…?’ Trevor asked.
‘The line having been crossed,’ Caradog replied, ‘the situation calls for a response. I can’t rely on the Mudiad to make that response for me, not any more, and in any case, I have no right to rely on them. It is something every Welsh man has to decide for himself, but I see myself as having no choice. I have to do something.’
‘But we are four years on since Tryweryn, Caradog,’ Trevor pointed out. ‘Why this sudden change of heart now?’
‘It’s personal,’ Caradog replied quietly. ‘I’m not sure you will understand.’
14
‘Try me,’ Trevor said.
Caradog hesitated.
‘Trevor, Capel Celyn was our home, our family home. The family had lived there for at least two hundred years. My great-grandparents had a house there. And do you know what happened?’
‘Of course I know what happened. You had family who lost their home. I have met them.’
‘“Lost their home?” No. That’s the journalist’s way of putting it. That’s the sanitised way of putting it, so that no one sees the reality of it, because the reality of it is too disturbing, and it might offend someone’s conscience if they actually stopped to picture it, if they actually had to think about it.’
‘Caradog…’
‘They treated Capel Celyn as if it were just a collection of buildings. It wasn’t just a collection of buildings. It was a living community where people lived and worked, and worshipped, and celebrated. And when you talk of people losing their homes, what you mean is that some English civil servant turns up at your door one day and offers you money, and says “We need your home. We are going to flood it, flood the whole village, flood the whole bloody valley, come to that. It’s in the name of progress, except it’s not your progress, but never mind that, because we are offering you money, so how could any reasonable person possibly object?”’
Trevor nodded.
‘You say no, at first, but they make it clear that they will turn you out, whether you say no or not, and: “If you resist too much,” the civil servant says, “maybe the money will go down or even go away altogether, but don’t quote me, because I’m not supposed to say that”. And one day, they give the chapel one last chance to marry somebody, or bury them, to have their last service. They give you one chance to take a last look at the home your family has occupied for two hundred years. Take a few pictures as a keepsake, to show the grandchildren, they suggest. Then walk away. Go wherever you can, but don’t come back here.’
He shook his head.
‘It’s like bringing a condemned man his last meal. It’s a planned, staged execution, and you have no choice but to play the part of the condemned, and you have to pretend you are happy with their money, which you would like to take and stuff up the Government’s collective arse, if you had the chance to do it.’
He was silent for a moment.
‘And then you go and live wherever you can until you die of a broken heart. But the Government won’t care about that, because Liverpool has its water, and all’s right with the world. And who gives a damn if a few Welsh people have their lives torn apart for it?’
‘I do understand, Caradog,’ Trevor said. ‘But you need to think carefully about taking serious decisions for personal reasons.’
‘Personal or not, I don’t reach such decisions lightly,’ Caradog replied. He raised his voice for the first time. ‘For God’s sake, Trevor, you have known me long enough. Who do you think I am? Do you think I am a violent man by nature? I tell you, I have a horror of violence. I would much prefer to remain in my ivory tower, looking down on the majority of the world that doesn’t speak Welsh, glorying in the unique culture of my nation. But when the enemies of my nation are so determined to destroy it, to commit cultural genocide without any remorse at all, it is my responsibility to stand up and say: “No. Enough.”’
‘Just like Owain Glyndŵr,’ Trevor said. ‘You would prefer the quiet life, but you feel yourself compelled to lead.’
‘He is Owain Glyndŵr, man,’ Dai Bach said. ‘Well, his heir, anyway. Taking up his legacy, putting on his mantle, so to speak.’
‘I think that those of us who stand up for Wales have the right to call ourselves the heirs of Owain Glyndŵr,’ Caradog said. His outburst was over now, and he was speaking again i
n his usual moderate voice. ‘We are the Etifeddion Owain Glyndŵr. It’s not just a name. It is who we are, or who we have been forced to become.’
Trevor looked at Dai Bach, who was smiling happily.
‘And you’re a part of this, Dai, are you? You are one of the heirs of Owain Glyndŵr?’
Dai Bach stood and straightened himself to his full height.
‘Aye,’ he replied, ‘bloody right I am. And this time we will give the Queen of England a black eye, boyo, I’m telling you.’
Trevor exploded.
‘For God’s sake, Dai!’ he shouted. ‘Do you have any idea what you are getting yourself into? This isn’t a game. You’re not at bloody Cardiff Arms Park watching Barry John beat England on the rugby field. You’re talking about causing an explosion that might endanger the Royal Family. Do you have the faintest bloody idea what you will be up against if that happens? Do you have the faintest bloody idea what will happen to you if you get caught even thinking about something like causing explosions which could endanger the Royal Family?’
Dai Bach shrank back down a little, but still tried to look defiant.
‘I understand the risks,’ he protested.
‘Do you indeed?’
‘Causing explosions, Trevor?’ Caradog said calmly. ‘I don’t remember saying anything about causing explosions.’
Trevor pointed a finger.
‘No. Don’t give me that bloody nonsense. What do you take me for, Caradog, an idiot? You come here asking about plans for making explosive devices, you tell me you’re taking up where Owain Glyndŵr left off, and you don’t think I can work out what the two of you are up to?’
Caradog smiled.
‘No, I certainly don’t take you for an idiot, Trevor. But I do take you for a Welsh man. And I don’t believe for a moment that you feel any less strongly about Tryweryn, and about the 1st of July, than I do.’
Trevor rounded on him.
‘Perhaps I do feel those things. But that doesn’t mean I want to go around planting bombs.’
‘I think you want to make a response,’ Caradog replied. ‘Otherwise, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.’
‘A response is one thing. What makes you think I would want to get mixed up in something like this?’
‘Well, you kept the materials in the cabinet, didn’t you?’ Caradog replied gently. ‘Have you ever honestly asked yourself why?’
15
‘How in God’s name would you do it, anyway?’ Trevor asked, after a lengthy silence. By common consent, there had been an interlude to allow the atmosphere in the basement to subside. Dai Bach seemed subdued. Caradog seemed frustrated.
‘You won’t be able to get anywhere near the Castle. The security at the Castle, and in the town centre, will be unbelievable. Or don’t you care about hitting the Castle? Is it enough to set off an explosion somewhere in town, anywhere you can, just to make a point?’
‘No, it will be in the Castle,’ Caradog replied.
‘That’s madness. It can’t be done. You would be bound to get caught.’
‘Not necessarily. What if I had a job there?’
‘A job at the Castle?’
‘Yes.’
‘How are you going to get a job at the Castle?’
Caradog smiled. ‘It’s actually very simple. They are going to close the Castle to the public on 1 February until after 1 July, so that they can have the place to themselves to get all the work done to make it ready. As you say, there will be security in place. But who do you think is going to be doing the security during those four months?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Well, I do. The usual staff will be on duty during the day time. But they are recruiting watchmen for duty at night. I have applied.’
Trevor laughed.
‘You? You’ve applied to be a night watchman?’
‘Why not? I’m not your average night watchman, I agree. But, as it happens, I’m perfect for this particular role.’
‘In what way?’
‘They think it would be a good idea to have one watchman on each shift who has a detailed knowledge of the Castle and the perimeter. Actually, it is a good idea. During the daytime, there are plenty of people to ask if something goes wrong in a particular area of the Castle. They can get expert advice within minutes just by picking up the phone. But not at night. All the experts have gone home. So they want to make sure they have at least one person on site who knows what he is talking about, just in case something comes up. I work for the Inspector of Ancient Monuments for Wales. I am just what they need, and the Inspector is happy to release me for duty.’
Trevor shook his head.
‘All right. Let’s say you are a watchman on duty at the Castle at night. What’s the plan? Would you work every night?’
‘No. Four nights on, three nights off.’
‘So you can’t pick and choose?’
‘No, I would be assigned to certain shifts, but I am sure there will be some give and take, opportunities to swap shifts with somebody if necessary. The main object would be to work on the night of 30 June, the night before the event, or as close to it as I can get. I will try to schedule that with the management. If that doesn’t work, I will try to swap duty with someone else to work that night.’
‘And when you are working, you would do what exactly?’
‘I have to find a place where I could plant a device of some kind with a reasonable chance of it not being discovered. The only real chance is to plant it the night before in a very good hiding place.’
‘Even then, they are going to have specialist teams, sniffer dogs…’
‘I know. But at least, that way, I would have a chance, and I would not be implicating anyone else. It would be down to me on my own.’
‘I doubt that very much,’ Trevor replied.
‘They can’t link me to anyone in the Mudiad or the FWA.’
‘Perhaps not, but they are not going to believe that you built a bomb on your own. You don’t have the background for it.’
‘The devices the Mudiad used were pretty crude. I think anyone with a modicum of intelligence could work it out.’
‘Well, thank you very much for that, I’m sure,’ Dai Bach said, with a nervous laugh.
‘They won’t believe you,’ Trevor said. ‘And where would you get the raw materials for the device, for this person with a modicum of intelligence to use?’
Caradog did not reply.
‘So that’s another link to someone else, isn’t it?’
Again, Caradog remained silent. Trevor allowed some time to pass.
‘Assuming that this hare-brained scheme could actually work,’ he said at length, ‘what is the goal? Are you actually intending to cause harm to members of the Royal Family, or to the guests, or to members of the public – many of whom will be Welsh? What is the goal, exactly? What do you expect to achieve?’
‘The goal is to make a response,’ Caradog replied. ‘There is no specific intention of harming any particular person. But a response must be made.’
‘That’s not good enough. Your bomb maker would need to know exactly what the goal is. If all you want is to make a point, you don’t want a device which would reduce the entire Castle to rubble and take most of the Royal Family with it, do you? And how do you know what size device you could hide successfully? What dimensions does your bomb maker have to work with?’
‘You seem to know a few things about bombs all of a sudden, boyo,’ Dai Bach said. ‘How come? Been doing some reading in the basement, have you?’
‘No, Dai,’ Trevor replied patiently. ‘I’m just asking questions any reasonable person would ask if they thought about it for five minutes, questions you should be asking if you are really thinking of doing this. And I’m not getting any answers that make sense. Do I take it that you will be b
uilding the device?’
‘Why not?’ Dai Bach asked petulantly. ‘A chemist I am, after all. Why shouldn’t I bloody build it? Don’t you think I can?’
‘I have no idea whether you can or not,’ Trevor replied. ‘But you’d better think of the possible consequences and be sure about it before you start. And you’d better make bloody sure you know what kind of device Caradog expects you to give him.’
‘We will work all that out once I am in place,’ Caradog said. ‘I can’t give you answers now. It depends on the conditions I have to work with.’
‘God in Heaven,’ Trevor said.
‘As I said, the goal is to make a response.’
‘Why? What do you think will happen if you explode a bomb at the Castle? Do you really think the English will throw their hands up and say: “All right, we give up. The Welsh have exploded a bomb. Now we have to give in to whatever demands they have”? Because, historically, that has not been the reaction of the English to the use of violence. In fact, from my knowledge of history, the reverse is true. They will dig their heels in as never before. They may take away the few things we have gained.’
‘I’m sure you are right, Trevor,’ Caradog replied. ‘I have no illusions about the English. But I can’t worry about that. I can only do what I have to do to make a response to their endless rape of Wales. As to the outcome, if there is an outcome, I can hope for nothing at all.’
He paused.
‘And now, the question is: are you with us?’
‘I don’t even know how anyone decides to be a part of something like this,’ Trevor said.
‘Sometimes simply by taking over a book shop,’ Caradog replied. ‘Don’t tell me you picked the Tywysog out of all the bookshops in Britain by sticking a pin in a list over a cup of coffee in your office at Foyles, because I’m afraid I won’t believe you.’
Trevor turned his back on Caradog and Dai Bach. He leaned his forehead against the wall between two bookcases, his eyes closed. He remained in that posture, silent, for a long time. Caradog showed no impatience. Suddenly, Trevor slammed his hands down on the shelves of the bookcases, straightened up and turned back to face them again.
