The Brothers of Gwynedd

by Edith Pargeter

  The council conferred long that night, and when the planning was done those two, Llewelyn and Henry de Montfort, sat privately over their wine even longer, and talked of all manner of things, growing close and eager, for they had much in common, being of that open part of humanity that does not hoard its light, but gives it forth upon other men, sometimes too rashly. And so I heard, for I attended them for a brief while, how they spoke also of that letter King Henry wrote when he believed Llewelyn dead, and the plans he made for supplanting him. And young de Montfort said, after some thought:

  "But surely he has put his finger upon your weakness, the only one he could find, saying you are unwived and without issue. With such a princedom as you have to conserve, I do marvel that you have not married and got sons. If I presume, rebuke me but forgive me. For I do know of marriages made, and marriages that could not be made, for reasons of true affection. My father," he said, with that ardour that possessed him always when he spoke of his parents and kin, "never thought to aspire to the king's sister, when he came to England, and she in her child-widowhood was pledged to life-long chastity. A wicked folly, I think, to induce a young girl to swear to such a penance, with the whole world before her! But when they met it was a fatal thing, for each desired the other, and no other thing in this world. And she was gallant enough to withstand all the pressures put upon her, and to be forsworn of her oath for his sake. I am their firstborn, and I tell you, whatever the churchmen may say, I think God did not disapprove their love." So he said, and flushed with pride in those two who begot and bore him. So he well might. They say she was a proud, demanding, difficult lady, this boy's mother, but none ever dared to say that she fell short in her devouring and devoted love to that man she chose and married.

  "I would wish to you and to any man that I revere," said young Henry, "so proud and single a choice. It may be that you are also waiting for an Eleanor." And he laughed, softly and hazily, for he was a little in wine, and because of Llewelyn's silence he feared he had trespassed on an unwelcome theme, where indeed I believe the prince was mute only in surprise at his own want of forethought, that he had never before given serious consideration to a matter of such patent importance as his marriage, and the provision of heirs after him. So the boy went on talking to fill a moment's silence and escape into safer pastures.

  "My only sister," he said, "the youngest of us, is also Eleanor, after my mother. She'll be eleven this year." And he looked at my lord with a face like a flower wide open to the sun, ardent and vulnerable, and I, for one, considered and marvelled what the sister of such a one might not promise of beauty and gallantry.

  Llewelyn had judged rightly, King Henry in the Tower indignantly refused the demands of the reform. He was still so blind to the real enormity of what was happening in his own land that he even persisted in sending out his writs for the muster against Wales at Worcester on the first day of August, but long before that day came, the tide of events had swept on and left the summons awash in its beached pools, like weed cast ashore on Aber sands. For as soon as the word was received of the king's rejection the young marcher confederates struck in arms against their enemies down the border, capturing the bishop of Hereford, shutting him up with all his Savoyard canons in Clifford's castle of Eardisley, and plundering his rich and coveted lands. He was the first and the most hated of the implacable foreign royalists, but after him they turned to others, long since marked out for vengeance.

  By then we were on the border as had been promised. Llewelyn sent out his writs to all his vassals and allies on the day that young de Montfort left us, and by the middle of June we marched. Within one week more we had companies deployed from Mold in the north to Glasbury in the south, from which positions we could move easily into action anywhere in the middle march, according as we were needed.

  The writ went also, as customary, to David at Neigwl, but because of the extra distance he had to bring his men we did not wait for them, but went ahead and set up our base at Knighton, whence we could very rapidly pierce into England by the Teme valley. The orders sent to David were to follow us to that place with his own muster as quickly as he could. And in the brisk excitement of action it never entered Llewelyn's head or mine to doubt but we should see David within three days, for he could never get into the forward ranks of the battle fast enough to please him. It was shocking to awake suddenly to the truth that five days were gone, and no sign of any detachment from Neigwl, and no message.

  "Surely," said Llewelyn, startled, "he cannot still be hating me so much that he will not even fight beside me?" But when another day passed, and still no sign, he was displeased in earnest.

  "This is not to be borne," he said. "He has a right to hold off from his brother as bitterly as he will, but when his prince calls on him for service due he shall meet his obligations like any other vassal, or pay for his neglect as any other would pay."

  I said, though with a doubtful heart, that there might well be some good reason for the delay, and that we should not judge him unheard.

  "Nor will I," he said heavily. "I am too well aware that I was not without blame in my handling of him."

  It was about that time we were called on, by the signal agreed, to advance into English territory far enough to seal the western bank of the Severn at Bridgnorth, while the young marcher lords closed in and secured the town from the east, and Llewelyn had his men massed to march, and himself would go with them.

  "I would not send an officer after him like a bailiff after a defaulter," said Llewelyn

  fretting, "not until I know what occasion I have to treat him so. Samson, do you go! Of all men he'll listen to you, if he will to any. Go as his friend and mine, and bid him come where he is missed and wanted."

  That was a time when I was very loth to leave him, but his need of a better understanding with his brother seemed greater than any need he had of my moderate ability in arms. So I said that I would go, and as soon as his company had ridden, fast and hard along the river valley towards Ludlow, the footmen following at their tireless summer pace, I also rode.

  I had his seal, that I might get a fresh mount along the way wherever I needed. Nor did I hurry, for at every mile I hoped to see the dust of David's column bright on the sunny air ahead, and it was my care to keep the way he would be most likely to use with a body of armed men. I found excuses for him very easily, for if he had first been delayed by some accident, and then kept the foot pace, he had a case for his lateness. But I confess what I believed most likely was that he still burned with resentment against his brother, and was bent on absenting himself.

  At every place where roads met I made enquiry for him and his men, but nowhere did I hear of their passing. Other news I did pick up along the way, but none of David. At the abbey of Cymer there was a drover halted, returning from England, and he told me that Earl Simon with his army had struck south-east to cut off London from the Channel ports and so from France, so that no more foreign mercenaries could be brought in, and though Richard of Cornwall had hurried to try and intercept him, not in arms but with blandishments, the earl had swerved southwards and left him standing helpless and unregarded, and was now in Kent, where all the knights of the shire had rallied to him joyfully, and all the seamen of the Cinque ports welcomed him with open arms. Three reformer bishops, they said, of London, Lincoln and Coventry, had been sent to the king with a form of peace even while the army was on the march, and since the king was isolated in a London very unfriendly to him, and severed from the aid he had hoped for from France, he would be hard put to it to hold out very long. The speed and force of Earl Simon's movements had won the war before it began.

  There was other news to be gleaned when I reached Mur-y-castell, for the seneschal had a daughter married to an armourer in Denbigh, where news from Chester was easily come by, and she had sent him word of what went forward in London, to the great perturbation of the royal garrisons elsewhere, which were helpless to do more than look on from a distance. They said that the Lord Edwa
rd, when he saw the drift of events, rushed to the Temple and broke open the royal treasure-chests, and took away all he could to the castle of Windsor, together with a very strong garrison of mercenaries from France, whom he had brought over with him in April, and there he was determined to create a centre of resistance against the reformers. Doubtless he saw them now not as reformers, but as rebels against his father's rights and his own, and there was much to be said, if not for his good sense, at least for his bravery and determination. Certainly he was safer in Windsor than were his parents in the Tower, and the queen had tried to make her escape by water to join her son, only to have her barge attacked by the hostile citizens, and to be forced to take refuge ignominiously in the precincts of St. Paul's, to avoid actual violence to her person. Poor lady, she was not accustomed to such usage, and there was indeed a terrifying quality about the affair, so far did it delve into final disorder, shocking to both sides and to us, looking on from afar. The king, they said, had already given way so far as to order Prince Edmund to surrender Dover castle, and it was but a step to his total submission.

  After I had crossed the sands of Traeth Bychan and turned into the peninsula of Lleyn I refrained from asking word of David, for this was drawing near to his own lands, and I no longer believed that he had ever set out, or intended to set out, and I would not make public what was amiss, to make it harder to heal. So I came at last down from the hills into Neigwl, to David's Uys. It was late afternoon when I entered the gate, and the courtyard seemed its summer self as I remembered it, only a little listless and unpeopled, like a household when its lord is away. The maids looked out, as always they do, to see who came, and before I set foot to ground the castellan was out to greet me. He was an old man, and lame, no longer fit for a war party. He knew me, and knew from whom I came.

  I asked for David, and his officer gaped at me in puzzlement. "Master Samson, the Lord David rode yesterday, with a company of picked men. Have you not met with them along the way?"

  I said I had not, and told exactly by which way I had come.

  "He said when he left that he meant to make a stay at Criccieth, for he had certain troopers there to add to his company. Did you enquire there? And it may be he had another such halt beyond, before heading for Knighton to join the prince."

  So he said, and clearly Llewelyn's order had been received, and was known to the household here, and it was believed that David had set out to obey it. I do not know, even now, why I did so, but I asked whether news of the Lord Edward's movements and King Henry's humiliations had been brought into the Uys after the prince's summons was received. He said yes, that they had heard from Criccieth how the queen was hunted out of her barge, and how Edward had made an unavailing dash across country with his mercenaries from Windsor to Bristol, intending to make a stand there in his own headquarters, but the townsfolk of Bristol had closed the gates and refused him entry, sending him back to Windsor with his tail between his legs, like a scolded hound. And that, said the old man, was no pleasant hearing to one prince, when another was so humiliated, and the Lord David was indignant and disturbed, and short to question or approach.

  My heart misgave me then, but I would not make public my doubts until the disaster was proven and irremediable. I asked how many men David had taken with him, and their names, and Godred was among them, at which I breathed more freely, for at least I could speak with Cristin without risking the poisoned attentions of her husband. I asked for her. Since the Lady Senena's death she had stepped into the office of chatelaine here in Neigwl, David being unmarried and having absolute trust in her. It was strange that he, who trusted so few and had no illusions about himself, yet was seldom mistaken in those he did trust.

  She came to me in the high chamber, and I told her how matters stood. She was alarmed in the same manner and measure as I, and understood even what I had not had time to say.

  "I knew," she said, "when he received the prince's writ, that he was in no mood to make any haste, yet he did begin preparations. I thought he would take his own time and keep his own distance, and yet he would go, and be reconciled once he was there. After there was so much talk of Edward being shut out of Bristol, and his mother insulted and abused, then he was blacker in mind than ever I knew him, and withdrew from us all. But still he called his men, and the muster went forward. Only it seemed he reduced their numbers, and chose with care. And the foot soldiers he countermanded." She looked at me with wide, wild eyes. "Wait!" she said. "I have all the keys, of his treasury, too. No, come with me!"

  I went with her through David's bedchamber, and into the small room which was his treasury. She unlocked the great chests there, and uncovered the hurriedly discarded hangings and plate and garments that remained, all tossed back at random after the rest was removed. She knew, not I, what should have been there.

  "He has taken all that was easily portable," she said, staring at me wide-eyed across the debris of his flight. "All the gold and minted money he had, all his ornaments and jewels. And documents! What should he want, carrying his wealth about with him, to join his brother's army at Knighton? It is not to the Severn he's bound with all his best men, it's to the Dee! If you had enquired at Criccieth they could have told you when he was there, and which way he rode from there, since it was not towards Cymer."

  But she knew, and so did I, which way David had ridden. Northeastwards for Llanrwst, Denbigh, Mold and Chester, into the arms of the English garrison. Why else should he take with him all the valuables he possessed, and choose with care those companions who would welcome the change of allegiance and not betray him?

  "He must not!" said Cristin. "It means his ruin, and Llewelyn's bitter grief. He is mad!" And she said, seeing clearly and charitably that part of his act which redeemed it in a fashion: "No one can say he did it for his gain! His brother's fortunes have never stood so high, King Henry's never been in such disarray. He is gone to an Edward bereft of friends, back to the troth of his childhood. His mother's wanderings have haunted him." But she said again: "He must not! He will never forgive himself or be forgiven."

  I took her by the hands a moment, forgetting not to touch in her distress and mine, and oh, the touching even of her fingers was such fiery comfort. I asked her to get me food and wine to take with me, while I got a fresh horse saddled in the stables, and to say no word yet to any of what we knew. Not until there was no help for it.

  "There is no help for it now," she said. "You cannot overtake him."

  "I may. I doubt if he expects Llewelyn to make the first move, and he has no reason to believe anyone will be sent to enquire after him. If he stopped to add to his company in Criccieth, so he may again at Denbigh or Mold. Let's make the attempt, at least," I said.

  "May God give you wings," she said, and ran to get me bread and meat, for in this ride there would be no halting but to question and to get a fresh mount. A whole day's start of me was more than enough, he could well be in Chester with all his men, and out of my reach, but since he had no reason to expect pursuit, and every reason to take his best men with him, and make himself as welcome a gift to the English as possible, he might well have moved with deliberation. While there was a hope, I could not relinquish it. I was mounting in the courtyard when Cristin came back with the pack, and I stowed it in my saddle-bag, and touched her hand, and rode. There were others around, not a word was said but the most current of farewells.

  At Criccieth I took heart, for on making enquiry I learned that David's company had halted and passed the night there, and left, augmented by three more troopers, with the dawn. If this pattern held good, he might well have stopped again overnight with the same object in view. I had still a long while of daylight left, and no need to spare my horse, having the order that provided me with new on demand. And I rode hard, and got another mount at the settlement of the Knights Hospitallers at Dolgynwal, and went on through the night, over the mountain road to Denbigh. There were other roads he might have taken, but since I could follow only one I chose the most l
ikely, and prayed I might choose aright.

  David had an interest in Denbigh, and there was a small timber keep there, and a garrison of his men. And there was also the point that remounts for so many would be harder to come by than my single rounsey; it would be better economy to stay overnight and rest the beasts. So I hoped, and reasoned, and prayed, and came by full daylight to Denbigh. And yes, they told me, the company I sought had spent the night there, and left in the early dawn.

  It was now a matter of perhaps two or three hours between us, instead of a day, which was better reckoning, and if they made a stay for a meal, whether innocently in hall at Mold or furtively in the woods by the wayside, I could overtake them yet. I pushed hard towards Mold, through that fine, rolling, forested country that declines into the flats and sands and meadows of the Dee. Once I had fled from Shotwick, on the far side of that river among the salt marshes, with Owen Goch, to confront the boy Llewelyn at Aber, newly bereaved as he was by his uncle's death, and become his servant and friend lifelong. Now I rode that same track, but in the opposite direction, to pluck back, if I could, his best-loved brother from the murderous act of treason.