The Brothers of Gwynedd

by Edith Pargeter

  So it went that day. "There goes one, at least, who has got everything he prayed for," said my mother's husband, as we struggled back out of the crowd in the street, and drew breath in the courtyard of the house. And so we all agreed, except perhaps my mother, who went in to her mistress very thoughtful and absent, though she said no word.

  We waited, and looked for the Lord Griffith to come to us and take up his dwelling in this same house, but instead a page came from the court in the abbey bearing a message from him, desiring his wife to remove herself and the children and all her party, to join him there. And so she did, proudly and in haste, for it seemed that her household was to be of the king's own circle. It was therefore in a guest apartment at the abbey that she at last embraced her lord, and he took his children also into his arms.

  I think she had hoped, somewhat against reason, for a quick return to Wales, but she conceded that he spoke good sense when he said that this could not be done overnight. There would be no return until the question of the equitable division of lands had been settled, and that could only be by discussion, and under King Henry's patronage, and would take time and patience. Did it matter, when the end was certain justice? And she owned that indeed they owed everything to the king, and must abide his judgment, as the homage for the lands granted would be due directly to him. And first, said the Lord Griffith confidently, it was fitting and necessary that they should move south to London in the king's train, as was his wish, for thither the defeated David must come the next month, according to the agreement, to appear before a council of the king's magnates and ratify the peace. And at that the Lady Senena was well content, for she longed to see that humiliation visited upon her lord's rival and enemy.

  "Let him eat the hard bread he has doled out to others," she said vengefully. "And we shall sit among the king's honoured companions, and watch him swallow it."

  So when the king dispersed the middle English part of his muster, and moved

  on southwards to London, all our party went in his train, just as she had foreseen, and she and her lord and her children were favoured with King Henry's frequent notice and conversation on the journey, and their comfort attended to by his officers wherever we halted by the way. A daily allowance was made for their maintenance, generous enough for all expenses, until the Lord Griffith should be established in his own lands and as the king's vassal. And in due time David ap Llewelyn came, as he had promised, in what state was left to him, to meet with King Henry's council on the twenty-fourth day of October. And if his bearing was proud enough, and his person gallant, yet his humiliation was as deep as even the Lady Senena could have wished, for the king made still new inroads on what remained to him, demanding that Degannwy be handed over to the crown in payment of the expenses of the war, and David had no choice but to submit even to this deprivation. Everything he had pledged he made good. Roger of Montalt got back his castle of Mold, Griffith ap Gwenwynwyn took possession of his father's lands in Powys, the king's lieutenant in the southern march garrisoned Builth, Degannwy passed to the crown, and the king began the building of a new castle at Diserth, near Rhuddlan, for the better containing of his half-ruined neighbour. Everything the Lady Senena had foreseen came to pass, but for one particular.

  Neither she nor the Lord Griffith witnessed the despoiling. Very richly and comfortably they were lodged in London, when they reached that city, and their generous allowance continued, enough for all their needs. But their apartment was high in the keep of the Tower of London, that great White Tower, and their privacy well guarded by chosen attendants, though none of their choosing, behind safe lock and key.

  It was done so smoothly and plausibly that it took her more than a week to realise that, in spite of all the smiles and promises, she had but rescued her lord from a Welsh prison to fling him into an English one. The king's whole train took up residence in the Tower—for this tower, as they call it, is a city in itself—as soon as we came to London, and there King Henry kept court some days, while the southern part of his host was dispersed again to its own lands. So there was no occasion to wonder that all our party were quartered there, too, the royal children in a small house within the green, with my mother and me in attendance, and my mother's husband as groom and manservant, the Lord Griffith and his lady in a well-furnished apartment in the great keep. The men she had brought with her as escort from Wales were withdrawn to the guardrooms with the garrison, the steward and the clerk had a small lodging in another corner. And thus we were distributed about that great fortress, within easy reach one of another, yet separate. But the whole place being, as it were, one vast household, there was no occasion to wonder, or to question the host's use of his own house and his arrangements for his honoured guests.

  For two days no one of us felt any need to look beyond the walls, for we had this new and strange world to examine, and it did not appear until the Lord Griffith made to ride out and take a curious look at London, on the third day, that the gates were impassable to him. The guard turned him back, without explanation but that he had his orders, which it was not for him to question. The Lord Griffith applied forthwith to the officer, with the same result, and then, still in good-humour, for he suspected nothing but a mistake, or some misapprehension as to who he was, to the lieutenant. The lieutenant entreated his patience, but the order did indeed apply to him, for the king was concerned that he should not yet adventure his life in the streets, where he was not known to the citizens, and might be all too well known to some stray Welshman embittered by the recent war, for many such worked and studied in the city, and some who favoured David's cause would certainly be gathering in preparation for his coming. This he accepted as a compliment, that the king should be at such pains to guarantee his safety, however this kindly care limited his movements for a while.

  But some few days later he enquired again, growing restive, and on being refused exit without his Grace's own orders to the contrary, requested an audience with the king. But it seemed King Henry had withdrawn for a few days to Westminster, having unfinished business with his council there.

  Perhaps he had, for at this time it may be he had not quite made up his mind where his best interests lay. If that be true, in two days more he had come to a decision, for that day the Lord Griffith was stopped not at the outer or the inner gate, but at the door of his own apartments. Two officers, unknown to him, unimpressed by him, perfectly indifferent to his protests, informed him that they had orders to allow the Lady Senena to pass in and out as she pleased, that she might visit her children when she would, take exercise, spend her nights either here with her lord or below in the house where her family was lodged. But that he was to remain within these rooms. They no longer cared to pretend that it was for his own protection. Whatever he needed for his comfort should be provided, the maintenance the king paid him would continue, he should not want for service. But he was not to pass the door of this chamber. Nor did he, ever again.

  It was she who raged, protested, harried every official she could reach with her complaints. He had known captivity before, and recognised its familiar face instantly, and knew his own helplessness. Nor had he the refuge she possessed, for a time at least, in disbelief. If she could get to King Henry, if she could but speak with him in person, all this grotesque error would be quickly set right. She had his promise, somewhat of the price he had asked she had already paid, she would not believe that he knew how her husband was used, or would countenance it for one moment when he did learn of it. So she went valiantly from man to officer, from officer to minister, always put off, always persisting, passed from hand to hand, never getting any answers. As for her husband, he let her do what she would, but he expected nothing.

  And as long as she continued resolute, indignant and bold, she never reached King Henry's presence, for he well knew how to protect himself from embarrassment. Still he was at his palace at Westminster, and when she begged to be received by him there, he was unwell, and could see no one. Then she grew cunning, and came
mildly with a request for some minor concession to her lord's comfort, and King Henry, receiving these reports of her tamed and pliant, granted her an audience, and talked with her affably of the Lord Griffith's health, promising her the amenities she asked. But when she took heart and spoke of freedom, and of a promise given, the king, still smiling, looked the other way, and the audience was over. Then she, too, knew that she wasted her pains.

  She did not go back at once to her husband, for she was too bitter and too deeply shaken. She came to us to shed her grief and rage. For then she believed that she understood what had happened to her and hers.

  "They are in conspiracy together," she said, "uncle and nephew, the one as false as the other! This was all agreed between them, behind what was written into this peace. David, since he must, would give up what he could not hold, and give it up with the better will since he was promised then, he must have been promised, his brother should never take from him the half of what was left. This is what they have done to him between them!"

  There were many, as I know, who thought as she did. But I cannot believe it was so. All defeated as he was, and helpless, what persuasion had David to induce his uncle to prevent Griffith from claiming the half of his shrunken realm? None! There was nothing he had to offer in return, and King Henry gave nothing for nothing. No, I think there was a more private argument that swayed that devious personage. I do believe he had meant to do as he had promised, but after his return to London had considered again, more carefully, what might follow. For if he set up Griffith in the moiety of Gwynedd, thus forcibly removing the worst enmity between these two brothers, and turning them into neighbours of one blood who must both make the best of straitened circumstances, might they not, once the old bitterness had receded by a year or two, come to consider that they had a mutual interest in enlarging that realm to its old borders? And had they not, together, the backing of all the Welsh princes, a solidarity David had never enjoyed? Nor could there soon be such another summer, traitor and vindictive to Wales. Yes, after his fashion I think King Henry reasoned wisely enough. For if he held Griffith in his power, not so vilely used as to alienate him incurably, he could be held for ever over David's head, the strongest weapon against him should he ever take arms again for his lost lands. One move in rebellion, and Griffith could be in Chester with English arms to back him, and hale away half the Welsh princes to his side as before. No, while Griffith lay here in the king's hand, like a drawn sword, David could not stir.

  I am the more firmly convinced of this by all that King Henry did in the matter thereafter. On the one hand, he took every precaution to secure his prisoners more impregnably. It soon occurred to him that a vigorous woman like the Lady Senena, who had had the courage and decision to act once for herself and appeal from Wales to England, might have it in her yet, given a suitable focus for her cause, to appeal as fiercely from England to Wales. She could not make use of her husband now, except as a distant symbol, not apt for rousing men to arms, but there was still Owen Goch, his father's image and now, by Welsh custom, a man. Thus with every personal flattery and consideration, but implacably, Owen Goch was removed from our household, upon the pretext of providing more suitably for his father's heir, and made prisoner in a room high in the keep, like the Lord Griffith himself. True, he was allowed exercise within the walls, but with a retinue which was in reality a guard, and armed. The younger boys were thought no threat, and could be let run on a loose rein. And the lady, while her chicks were cooped here—all but one, and that stray was neither heard of from Wales then nor mentioned in England—would not forsake them. Also, all the Welsh men-at-arms were gradually dispersed from the Tower. Some, I know, took service with the king's men, some, I fancy, vanished when David drew the rags of his royalty about him and rode again for home. Only we who cared for the children were left. No doubt we seemed harmless enough. Even the servants who waited on Griffith and his lady were now English. The old steward they let alone until he died in the winter, for he was past sixty years. And the clerk vanished to some new service, I never knew where, for I was considered able enough to shift for us all, should there be need of any drawing of documents in Welsh and English thereafter. Thus we were stripped of the reminders of our own land.

  But on the other hand, the king was by no means inclined to alienate us in other ways, once he had us tightly secured. For as soon as he was aware that the Lady Senena had fallen into some state between resignation and despair, and accepted her fate, she was invited very often and as of right into the queen's company, and became a minor figure of this court. And since she could do nothing about her deprivation, she took what she could get and made the best of it, and as I believe, those two strong-willed, resolute women got on well together by reason of their likeness, where had they met on truly equal terms they might have clashed resoundingly for the same reason. But the queen could be generous and warm without condescension to one who was not a rival, and the Lady Senena could take with dignity from one she felt to be at once her creditor and debtor. The Lady Gladys, too, with her budding beauty, became an admired figure among the young women of the queen's retinue, and was much favoured by her, and after some months whispers began to go round that a good match might be made for her. As for the two little boys, they went in and out freely among the other noble children about the court, and being very young, soon took this lavish state for their right, and forgot the more austere customs and habits of Wales. David in particular, with his beauty and his winning ways, was made much of by the noblewomen, and became a favourite even with the king. And surely this imprisonment seemed to them rather an enlargement, for never had they been so indulged and lived so finely.

  Thus King Henry hedged his interests every way, keeping his puppets close under his hand, but treating them with every consideration and make-believe honour that should maintain them sharpened and ready for use at need. And their efficacy was made plain, for that year ended with no word of any unrest in Wales, and all through the two years that followed the same heavy quietness held. David of Gwynedd knew only too well the sword that dangled over his head, and he went peacefully, minding his lopped princedom and biding his time, with never a false move.

  As for us, what is there to tell? We lived a life unbelievably calm on the surface, but it was a furtive, watchful calm, in which all but the children moved with held breath. Yet no man can live for ever taut like a strung bow, and I remember days when indeed this life of ours seemed pleasant enough, comfortable and well-fed as we were, and like the children we drew perilously near to being content with it.

  But not the lady. She closed her lips upon her great grievance, but in her heart she thought of nothing else. I think she hoped at first that David would blaze up again in revolt, and cause her husband to be taken hastily out of his cage and sent with a strong force to draw off Welsh allegiance from him. But as the slow year wore away, and the uneasy peace held fast, she lost hope in this, and fretted after some other way. And she took into her confidence the only Welshman left her, but for myself, still a boy, and that was my mother's husband.

  It was fitting that those two should cleave together, for next to her, and doubtless the Lord Griffith himself, whom now we never saw, my mother's husband was the unhappiest among us. For that slothful ease of mind under which the rest of us laboured in this well-furnished prison was impossible to him. There was no taste but wormwood ever in his mouth, and no weather but winter and cold about him, his torment being perpetual, for my mother was ever before his face and by his side, and even in his bed, and at all times submissive and dutiful, and at all times indifferent to him, and by this time he was assured, whether he admitted it or no, that there was nothing he could do, between this and death, to change her or himself. He had her, and he would never have her. Her hate he could have borne, but as she could not love, so she could not hate him. She was now thirty-four years old, and even more beautiful than as a girl, and he could neither live happily with her nor without her.

  So i
t was some relief at least to his restlessness when the Lady Senena began to employ him as news gatherer for her about the Tower. I was not in their confidence, but I saw that he spent much of his time wandering about the fortress, observing at what hours the guard was changed at every gate, and when the wardens made their rounds, and every particular concerning the daily order of this city within a city. To this end he made himself agreeable and useful to the guards, and made himself out, surely truthfully enough, as weary and discontented for lack of work, so that after some weeks he had a few regular familiars among them who were willing to use him as messenger, and would talk freely to him. So patiently was all done that there were some he might truly call his friends. From them he brought in morsels of news from Wales more than were to be heard about the court, where the Lady Senena might pick them up for herself. Also, being very wise with horses, he made himself well accepted in the stables, and was several times among the grooms who went out to buy or to watch at the horse sales at Smithfield on Fridays. And as I know, after the second such occasion the Lady Senena gave him money for some purposes of her own.