The Heirs of Owain Glyndwr

by Peter Murphy

  ‘My Lord, I accept that your Lordship will pass a prison sentence of some length. But I urge your Lordship to accept the jury’s recommendation in favour of clemency. I ask your Lordship to make a clear distinction between Mrs Hughes and the other defendants, both because of her limited role and because of the overwhelming likelihood that she is here today in large part because of the actions of Trevor Hughes. I urge your Lordship to allow her the realistic hope that she may be reunited with her son before time elapses to such an extent as to leave them as no more than strangers to each other. I even urge on your Lordship not to take away any hope that she may become a mother again, if circumstances permit.’

  ‘Stand up,’ Mr Justice Overton said.

  The three defendants stood, white and tense.

  ‘You have all three been convicted on the clearest evidence of a crime which ranks with the worst in the annals of British criminal history. If your deadly plan had not been discovered and interrupted by the outstanding work of the Gwynedd Police, Special Branch, and MI5, you would have succeeded in concealing a lethal explosive device under a flagstone in Caernarfon Castle, only a few yards from the dais where the Queen and the Prince of Wales were to be engaged in the ceremony of Investiture, and only a few feet from where seating stands had been erected for the use of guests. The device would have been set to detonate during the ceremony, at a time when the maximum damage would be caused. There was potential for substantial loss of life, and terrible injuries. You intended that result, or at least were content to accept it.

  ‘I accept that you were motivated by what you considered to be the idealistic goal of resisting what you saw as the unjust treatment of Wales by England. I accept that you felt a sense of grievance, and I accept that you saw yourselves as the ‘Heirs of Owain Glyndŵr’, throwing off the yoke supposedly placed by the English, or the British Government, around the neck of the Welsh people. I do not doubt that your sense of grievance was, and is, genuine. Indeed, I will go further and say that it is to some degree justified, certainly by the lack of respect shown to the Welsh language and culture, which in my view reflects no credit on Great Britain or on our Government. But these are matters which must be resolved through political channels, not by the use of deadly violence.

  ‘I also have my ideals, and one of my ideals is this: that neither the British people, nor the courts which uphold the law on behalf of the people, can for one moment give in to the use or threat of violence. On the contrary, it must serve only to strengthen their resolve to uphold the rule of law and the democratic process throughout the United Kingdom.

  ‘In the light of what I have said, even bearing in mind the points made in mitigation, it follows that the court must pass sentences of the greatest severity. Caradog Prys-Jones, Dafydd Prosser, the sentence of the court in each of your cases is that you go to prison for 40 years. Arianwen Hughes, in your case, bearing in mind the lesser role you played and bearing in mind the recommendation of the jury, the sentence of the court is that you go to prison for 22 years. Take them down.’

  The prison officers had been instructed to remove the defendants before any protest could be made, but any anxiety they might have had was unnecessary. They were led away like lifeless statues. The shock which permeated the courtroom as the sentences were announced was tangible. There was total silence in the courtroom for some time, and only after one or two minutes did a hesitant exchange of whispers begin in the press box and the public gallery. None of the lawyers in court moved a muscle. If the judge noticed the sense of shock, he did not show it.

  ‘Members of the jury, you are entitled to the grateful thanks of your fellow citizens for your work in what must have been a most distressing and difficult case. In recognition of this, I will exempt you all from further jury service for life.’

  The foreman stood again.

  ‘Thank you, my Lord.’

  ‘Mr Roberts, it is my intention to ensure that some officers receive appropriate commendations for their work in this case, which has not only led to the conviction of these defendants, but also prevented almost unimaginable harm befalling this country and our way of life. Because of the lateness of the hour, I shall say no more about it this evening, but I shall ensure that steps are taken so that the officers receive the recognition they deserve.’

  Even Evan Roberts seemed to have difficulty in stirring himself.

  ‘I am most grateful, my Lord,’ he replied, managing to stand only half way up.

  The judge was already almost out of court, and there was no one to hear the sigh of relief he gave as he gained the sanctuary of his chambers, gratefully tore off his wig, and threw it down on top of his desk.

  72

  Ben took a taxi home, and opened the front door as quietly as he could. It was after 1 o’clock by now, and he assumed that Jess would be asleep. She had left the downstairs lights on for him, and she had uncorked a bottle of Burgundy, leaving a wine glass and a plate with crackers, cheese and olives by its side. He dropped his briefcase and the bag containing his robes on the floor, and walked quietly upstairs. The upper floor was in darkness, but her reading lamp was on, and she opened her eyes and sat up as soon as he entered the bedroom. He sat by her side on the bed.

  ‘You’ve heard, I suppose?’

  ‘Yes. Barratt called. He told me that he was going to take you and Eifion out somewhere and get you both drunk. I left the wine downstairs in case it didn’t work.’

  ‘None of us felt like getting drunk by the time we had been down to the cells to see Arianwen.’

  He bent over and kissed her. She started to get out of bed, reaching for her dressing gown.

  ‘She must have been devastated.’

  He shook his head. ‘We couldn’t even talk to her. She wasn’t in the same room with us, except in body. They will have to give her a sedative to knock her out when they get her back to Holloway. I don’t know how long it will be before she recovers, if ever. I don’t even know how long it will be before we can talk to her about an appeal. She couldn’t have taken any more tonight.’

  ‘Is there any realistic ground of appeal?’

  ‘Nothing comes to mind right now. But I’m in no better state to think about that tonight than she is.’

  She had put on her dressing gown.

  ‘Come on,’ she said. ‘If Barratt couldn’t get you drunk, perhaps I can.’

  They made their way downstairs together, and she brought a second wine glass. Ben filled the glasses, she switched off the main lights, switched on two floor lamps, and they sat together on the sofa in the mellow light and the quiet of the early morning. He drained a glass of the Burgundy, and allowed his head to sink into his hands. She put her arm around his shoulder and pulled him gently against her. He began to cry, and she held him for a long time. When he eventually pulled himself up, she refilled the glasses.

  ‘Was it the “Charles Windsor” thing? It couldn’t have been just that, could it?’

  He shook his head, and wiped his nose. He did not reply for some time.

  ‘No. It wasn’t just that. I think we have to face the fact that her brother, her husband, and Dafydd Prosser had every intention of killing the Queen or Prince Charles. In time of war they would all have been charged with high treason. Any jury would want to punish anyone involved in that, if there’s any evidence at all. And there was evidence. She was in the car with the bomb. Her husband escaped, and I think the jury decided they weren’t about to give the whole family a free pass just because she said she knew nothing about it.’

  Jess nodded.

  ‘But you believe her, don’t you?’

  He nodded. ‘Yes. I believe her.’

  ‘Is that why you’re crying?’ she asked gently.

  He was silent.

  ‘Before you say anything,’ she said. ‘I understand, and it’s not a problem.’

  He turned to her. ‘What isn’t a pro
blem?’

  ‘The Arianwen effect,’ she replied.

  ‘What?’

  She smiled. ‘I heard about it from Barratt and from Eifion,’ she replied, ‘the effect Arianwen has on men. She is very beguiling…’

  ‘Jess…’

  ‘No. Let me finish. I don’t mean beguiling in any sinister way. She’s not what you call beautiful in the classical sense, but there’s something about her that draws people to her. I don’t know what it is exactly, a kind of animal magnetism, an intense emotional connection. I’m a woman, but even I felt it in the short time I was with her. I’m sure men must feel it far more strongly. She has this gift of connecting with people almost instantly, and on a very deep level. You were representing her in a case in which everything was at stake for her – her freedom, her son, her whole life. How could you not feel connected to her? How could you not feel devastated when she is convicted? I’ve seen you lose cases before, and you get over it almost straight away. It’s something I learned from you that I’m trying to apply to myself in my own practice. Losing happens; it’s part of the job. You move on. But not this time. All I’m saying is: I understand why.’

  He turned and kissed her.

  ‘I am right, aren’t I?’ she asked.

  ‘It is really bizarre,’ he replied. ‘When I went to Wales with Gareth, I had this feeling that I couldn’t shake that she was with me in some way. Obviously, that’s silly. But I couldn’t shake it. I would be standing there looking at something in Caernarfon, especially when we were in the Castle, and I had the sensation that she was pointing things out to me. And even when we went to watch the rugby in Cardiff, she was telling me to immerse myself in the atmosphere, in those overwhelming waves of sound and passion all around the ground when they were singing. It was as if she wanted me to understand something. But I could never quite work out whether it was something about her, or about Wales. It was… well, it was something I’ve never experienced before. I wasn’t going to say anything because…’

  ‘Because you didn’t want me to think you had fallen in love with her?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Have you?’

  ‘No,’ he replied. ‘There was a connection, there still is, but it’s not about falling in love. I got too close, I suppose. It’s just that I desperately wanted to win. I wanted to set her free, and I wanted you to get Harri back for her.’

  She nodded. ‘So did I. But things don’t always work out the way we want them to. And I don’t think there is anything silly about what you felt when you were in Wales. I think it was something real.’

  She poured more wine.

  ‘I really wouldn’t blame you at all if you felt some attraction to her.’

  ‘Jess…’

  ‘No, I’m serious. I think I would, if I were a man, and I know Barratt did – I know him too well for him to hide it from me.’

  ‘Jess…’

  ‘Why shouldn’t you?’ she said. ‘’Just because you’re married doesn’t mean you can’t find a woman attractive.’ She kissed him. ‘Don’t you know that? I won’t mind if you tell me you find someone attractive, as long as you don’t do anything about it.’

  He kissed her back and smiled.

  ‘But what if I did do something about it?’

  ‘Well then, I’d have to kill you, obviously. Come on, let’s finish this bottle and go to bed for a couple of days.’

  73

  Wednesday 20 May 1970

  Ben had asked Merlin for the first two days of the new week out of court. He told the clerk that he needed time to prepare for a fraud case at the Old Bailey which was scheduled to start within the next few weeks. The reason was plausible enough, but the real reason was not the case he had coming up, but the case he had just finished.

  He had asked for time off because he felt tired and drained, and no amount of sleep seemed to repair the damage. Jess had taken care of him throughout a long weekend, sitting or lying quietly with him when he needed her, leaving him alone with his thoughts when he wanted to be alone. But on Monday she had a child custody case in the High Court, and the reality of a new week had set in for both of them. Being at home by himself on Monday and Tuesday did not improve matters. The case of Arianwen Hughes would not go away, and he had not yet come to terms with the fact that he could see no ground of appeal which had any real hope of success. He had made a mental note to consult Gareth about it when he returned to Chambers, but he harboured no illusions that Gareth could magically produce a ground he had overlooked, like a rabbit from a hat. He had enough experience to know a solid conviction when he saw one.

  When he returned to Chambers on Wednesday, he found it difficult to concentrate on the fraud case for more than a few minutes at a time. His client had allegedly defrauded one of the London Boroughs of a large sum of money over a period of several years. His small family firm had a contract to repair the Borough’s paving stones, and it was alleged that he had systematically invoiced for work his workmen had not done, and inflated invoices for work that had been done. The prosecution had supplied several binders filled with schedules of invoices, and reports by employees who had inspected the work. The client had supplied a confusing account, justifying some, but by no means all, the invoices he had submitted. Under normal circumstances, Ben would have made good progress by now on a chart showing the differences between the prosecution’s allegations and his client’s version of events, but he had barely started on it, despite sitting resolutely at his desk for most of the day. It was some relief to him that, just after 4.30, his phone rang. He was hoping to hear Jess’s voice telling him her case had ended well, and suggesting an early dinner.

  ‘I have Mr Barratt Davis on the line, sir,’ Merlin said. ‘May I put him through?’

  ‘Yes, of course, Merlin,’ Ben replied automatically. There was an eerie, echoing silence on the line for a moment before Barratt’s voice came through.

  ‘Ben, I’m sorry to disturb you,’ Barratt said, ‘but something has come up.’ He sounded hesitant and tentative; Ben had the impression that he was making an effort not to speak too loudly. ‘I know you’re busy, but can you spare a few minutes?’

  ‘Yes, of course, Barratt,’ Ben replied. ‘What is it? Have you heard from Arianwen?’

  ‘No. Holloway are still keeping her fairly heavily sedated. I’m hoping I may be able to see her on Friday.’

  ‘I’m still wrestling with possible grounds of appeal,’ Ben said. ‘We can talk about it now if you like, but…’

  ‘No, it’s not that. Well, not directly. Actually, I would prefer not to go into it over the phone,’ Barratt replied.

  ‘All right, come to Chambers. I don’t have any conferences this afternoon.’

  ‘Ben… I know this is a bit irregular, but could you possibly come to my office?’

  Ben hesitated. ‘Irregular’ was no exaggeration. Professional etiquette demanded that Barratt come to Chambers for a conference of any kind. Attending a solicitor’s office professionally was not permitted in any but the most exceptional circumstances. Besides, Barratt’s office held the uncomfortable memory of just such an exceptional circumstance. It was in that office that Ben, Jess and Barratt had held an all-night vigil for their client Billy Cottage: first while waiting for the Home Secretary to decide whether or not to commute the death sentence imposed on Cottage for a brutal murder; and later, during the few but interminable hours after they had learned of the Home Secretary’s decision that the law must take its course. Only when the execution was announced on the morning radio news did the dreadful night at last come to an end. It was a memory which still haunted Ben occasionally, even though it was now almost six years ago.

  ‘I have someone here you should meet,’ Barratt was saying. ‘He is not keen to venture out to Chambers, and in the circumstances I can’t say I blame him. I don’t want to say any more.’

  Ben glanced down at
the schedule he had been staring at unproductively for the past hour and suddenly realised how grateful he was for any excuse to leave it behind.

  ‘Give me ten minutes,’ he replied.

  The clerk’s room was at its busiest at this time in the late afternoon and, without interrupting, Ben opened the door just wide enough to wave to Merlin to indicate that he was leaving. He made his way down the building’s main staircase on to Middle Temple Lane, turned left, and cut across in front of Middle Temple Hall to leave by the Little Gate, then left again by the Devereux into Essex Street, where the firm of Bourne & Davis had its offices. Barratt was waiting for him by the main door.

  ‘Thanks for coming, Ben,’ he said, as he held the door open for him.

  ‘We are not to be disturbed,’ he called out to Mandy, the receptionist, as he led Ben across the entrance hall towards the door of his office, ‘unless World War Three breaks out.’

  ‘Yes, Mr Davis,’ Mandy called back.

  ‘Actually, not even then,’ Barratt added, shepherding Ben inside.

  Ben smiled. ‘It must be important if we can’t be disturbed even for…’

  His voice suddenly trailed away as he saw the man standing, facing him, by the bookcase to the left of Barratt’s desk. There was no need for Barratt to introduce him. They had never met, but his face was familiar from any number of photographs.