The couriers who rode back and forth between Strata Marcella and the town of Shrewsbury, where the king was lodged at the Benedictine abbey outside the walls, brought us the current news as well as the quibbles and counters of argument requiring answer.
"My lord," they let Llewelyn know, early in September, when the lawyers had barely fleshed their pens, "your brother, the Lord David, is there in the abbey in the Lord Edward's own retinue. And very well found and attended, and with the prince's arm about his neck as often as not."
"A passing heavy torque that must be," said Llewelyn and grimaced. "Still, I thank you for the warning!"
The conference continued through three weeks of September, while the original proposals from both sides were rejected, amended, amended again, declined again and again rephrased, in the fashion to be expected of so large an enterprise. By that time each side knew what the other would and would not stomach, and the ground between was open to manoeuvre. That was the point when King Henry, never tenacious when it came to fine detail, turned over the whole negotiation to Cardinal Ottobuono.
Then it lasted but four days.
On the twenty-fourth day of September the envoys came with the last draft of the terms. Many items had been agreed already, but a few had been disputed, and some stipulations were only now put forward, though they had clearly been held in reserve until agreement was near.
"King Henry makes one exception," said Einion ap Caradoc, "in his willingness to cede to you the homages of all the Welsh princes. He insists on retaining for himself the direct fealty of Meredith ap Rhys Gryg of Dryslwyn."
"Doubtless at Meredith's urgent entreaty," said Llewelyn drily, for though the old bear of the vale of Towy had submitted to him after his defection, and kept out of trouble since, he had done as little as he could to aid and support his overlord, and absented himself and his forces from all our recent activities, and it was no secret that he had still not forgiven the reinstatement of his nephew Rhys Fychan, or the prompt punishment of his own treason. "I said when he came to my peace that he loved me no better than before, and had not changed his mind. This is his first opportunity to slide out of my grasp." And he thought it over, but briefly, and shrugged the item by. "It is not worth rejecting the whole for the sake of one Meredith. Let the king keep him, since that is what he wants. But let there be a clause permitting the cession of his homage to me hereafter, if King Henry should ever be so reconciled and reassured as to want to part with it, I would have him if I could, I admit it. A pity to spoil the whole."
"The king would certainly insist on a further payment for it, in that case," said Einion, having now had considerable dealings with King Henry.
"He shall have it, if the day ever comes. And let's set it high enough to tempt him," said Llewelyn, "since his coffers are empty. I would pay five thousand marks for the homage of Meredith ap Rhys Gryg."
So that, too, was written into the draft.
"There is another matter," said Einion, "which has lain somewhat in the background until now, though I own I have scented it waiting there, and I believe, my lord, so have you. The king requires that suitable provision be made for the Lord David. That you give him again all that he held at the time when he departed from you, or, if reasonable Welshmen now think that portion too small for his needs, that it shall be added to. A committee of Welsh princes, it is suggested, could decide on what is fit for a prince, and your brother."
I was watching Llewelyn's face as he heard this, and certainly there was no surprise in it for him. He smiled a little, and again was grave, remembering, I think two other brothers he had, both in close ward, as both had offended against him, like David, though these two had no royal patron to take up their cause.
"This he owes to Edward," he said with certainty.
"It is true, the Lord Edward shows him great favour," said Einion, "and he has already been given lands in England. What is better worth thinking about, by this token it must be his own wish to return home."
"In the teeth of my lordship and at my cost," said Llewelyn, and laughed aloud without rancour. "No suing for David! He makes his return, as of right and without penalty, the condition of my recognition. But he comes, if he comes at all, as my vassal. So be it! He surely does not think I will throw this peace away, after eleven years of pressing for it, simply to spite him? He rates himself too high! He has cost me somewhat, but he cannot cost me near so much as that."
So that, too, was accepted without demur, even without regret. His hot hatred, if it had ever ranked so high, had cooled and vanished long ago. And the terms were written and agreed, and the whole sent back to Shrewsbury, where the next day king, prince and council also accepted it, and Cardinal Ottobuono breathed relief and joy, and blessed the settlement.
That same day King Henry sent back to Llewelyn letters of self-conduct to come to Montgomery on the twenty-ninth of the month, to meet the king and do homage to him at the ford, to be entertained in the castle, and enter into his household as the greatest of his vassasls and the closest of his fellow-princes. For though the treaty made him the king's liege man, yet his own principality he held as of independent sovereignty, with its own laws, customs and right entirely free and separate from those of England.
And these were the provisions made in that famous treaty: As to what Llewelyn gained, above all he gained the full recognition by England of his right and title as prince of Wales, to whom were ceded, for himself and his heirs after him, the homages and fealty of all the lesser princes excepting only Meredith ap Rhys Gryg. And of lands, he kept all of what he held, the four cantrefs of the Middle Country, Kerry, Cydewain, Builth, Gwerthrynion and Brecon, even Maelienydd so far as he could establish his present tenure of it, and also the castles of Whittington and Mold, though he agreed to release his prisoner Robert of Montalt, whom he had taken at Hawarden, and to restore that manor to him, but without the right to build a castle there for thirty years to come.
As to what he gave in return, there was the provision for David, his formal homage to King Henry as his accepted overlord, saving the rights of Wales, and a great indemnity to be paid in money, twenty-five thousand marks, though this was five thousand less than he had pledged at Pipton, the remaining five thousand being reserved to compensate for Meredith's homage should it later be granted to him. I doubt if King Henry had that sum, or anything near it, in his coffers at that time, and the treaty made very careful provision for the payment at certain dates of the amounts due, until all had been paid, for certainly in this bargain Llewelyn was helping to restore solvency in an England blighted and poverty-stricken from its long and bitter war.
For eleven years he had striven for this, fending off out-and-out war with truce after truce, paying what he promised, and, saving provocations from others and the occasional outburst of anger, keeping the truce unbroken, always desiring, always requesting, what he now held in his hands by the waters of Severn, peace with recognition, freedom to turn his powers to the arts of government in tranquillity.
In the church of Strata Marcella Llewelyn heard mass, and gave devout thanks to God.
CHAPTER XIV
On the twenty-seventh day of September King Henry removed with his court from Shrewsbury, and took up residence in the castle of Montgomery. Two days later we, being so much nearer, rose and made ready early for the day, and rode in great state to the meeting at Rhyd Chwima, by the ford of Montgomery.
All down the river meadows the grass was seeded and white with ripeness, full of moths, and the late flowers nested in it like larks. The sun shone, and the trees were turning gold, and over us the sky was deep blue without a cloud, and we went gaily caparisoned as for a festival, for that was a ride of no more than ten miles, a pleasure journey along the great river all the way, under Griffith ap Gwenwynwyn's castle of Pool, and so round into the coil of the spreading stream between the willow groves, where the gravel shone clear under the water, and the woods and meadows on the further shore rose into the folded hills that shield Mont
gomery.
They had pitched a splendid pavilion in the meadow by the water, draped with cloth of gold, and king, legate and court were there to meet us, a great assembly of knights, barons and officers, and two sons of kings. Edward, like his father, had consented fully in the treaty of Montgomery, I believe in good faith and even goodwill. He lost what pretensions he had to the title of prince of Wales, but he was still the heir of England, and his thoughts then, I believe, were fixed elsewhere, for the new settlement had brought him in thankfulness to consider taking upon him, as regards the legate's urging to the crusade, both his father's vow and his own. And he took the assumption of the cross, I grant him that, more gravely than did his father.
Down the blanched and rustling meadows Llewelyn rode, to the spit of sand and turf that ran out into the river, and all we after him. Into the shallow water he splashed, and the silver danced at his horse's heels. When he rode up the green sward on the further shore, towards where King Henry sat before the pavilion on a gilded throne, royal esquires came to take his bridle, and all we who served him dismounted with him and lined the shore. The king's knights kneeled to do off his spurs and ungird the sword-belt from his loins. He wore no mail and no gauntlets, and his head was uncovered, and thus he walked alone up the slope of green turf, his sombre brown made resplendent with scarlet and gold, and kneeled upon the gilded footstool at the king's feet, lifting to him his joined hands and his fierce and joyful face.
King Henry sat in shade, just at the rim of the pavilion's canopy, for the brightness of the sun somewhat troubled his eyes. But Llewelyn kneeled in sunlight, and when he raised his head the sunbeams blazed upon him and touched his sunburned face into minted gold, and the king paled and dwindled into a spectre beside him, like a candle in the noonday.
In a loud, clear voice Llewelyn rehearsed the oath of fealty, saving his own sovereign right within Wales, while the king's thin white hands, a little knotted with increasing age, enclosed his own. And thus he became vassal to King Henry and magnate of England, and also acknowledged prince of Wales, at sworn peace with his neighbour. And as he owed allegiance to the king, so did the king owe the loyal support and protection of his overlordship to Llewelyn, with right and justice in return for this feudal due.
I did not take my eyes from him until it was over, and he rose and stepped back from the throne. As English knights had disarmed him, so Welsh princes, of lineage as long as his own, girded him again with belt and sword, and did on the spurs at his heels, and the lord abbot of Aberconway set upon his head the golden talaith of his estate, as royal a crown as King Henry's. It was then that I drew breath and stirred to look all round that brilliant circle of two courts, and my eyes lit upon David as birds fly home, as though no other in the ring of English faces bore any difference from his neighbour, and only he was marked out from all, the one Welshman upon the wrong side of the throne.
He was close at Edward's side, as they said he was constantly, but he had eyes for no one but his brother. Very wide and blue those eyes were, in a face intent and still, and I could not tell what it was I read in them, whether love or hate, regret for his desertion or resentment that it had achieved so little for him, and that little only at Edward's urging, and lightly granted by Llewelyn out of his own rich plenty.
Too lightly! I saw it then. So lightly that, though he knew as well as I that David must be present here in Edward's train, he had forgotten him utterly, and never looked for him among the bright cavalcade, even when he was riding up the broad track between the rising hills towards Montgomery, at the king's side. Not one thought did he give to him until in the hall of the castle, led by King Henry to the high table between the ranks of his barons and knights, he came face to face with his younger brother, and could not choose but see him.
They were of a height, the two faces eye to eye, and Llewelyn checked for an instant, astonished and reminded, but his flushed and joyful countenance never lost its brightness. I watched David closely then, for he looked as I had seen him look once, years back, before he fell senseless on the field of Bryn Derwin, of which he had been the sole and deliberate cause. Unsparingly he kept his high and arrogant countenance, but behind the defiant stare of his eyes, blue and brilliant as sapphires, it seemed to me that there was another being gazing out from a private prison, and when he said, with the sweet insolence of which he was master: "My lord, after all I see you do remember me!" what I seemed to hear, in the thread of a voice, warning and entreating, was: "Kill me! You were wise!"
I think there were some in the hall who held their breath, expecting a rough exchange and a flare of ill will to besmirch the feast. But Llewelyn clapped a hand upon David's shoulder, and said: "Very heartily I remember you! Perhaps I can hope now to improve the acquaintance?"
And suddenly he laughed, wildly generous in his triumph, and leaned and kissed the marble cheek that suffered his salute like a blow, and burned where his lips had touched. Then lightly he took his hand from his brother's arm, and passed on to his place of honour beside the king. And David blazed and paled, all the blood forsaking his face, and slowly turning his black, glossy head, watched his brother go to his seat, and never took his eyes from him thereafter all that evening. As I know, for very seldom did I take my eyes from David, smouldering in black and bitter resentment, but to glance for reassurance at Llewelyn, who shone like a golden lantern with his joy and fulfilment.
There was much music that night in Montgomery, the king's music and the music of the bards. And we sat late, after the treaty was sealed and ratified, and as the wine flowed there were calls for this song, and that, and some of us went back and forth ordering the festivities as we were bidden. So I came late in the evening where David had withdrawn below his station and apart, altogether sober still, and from his shadowed place endlessly watching Llewelyn, with such fixed and famished eyes that I was drawn to go to him for pity and dread. Even then he was not aware of me until my shadow fell upon him, and then he shuddered, and his long gaze shifted and shortened to take me in, and was slow to know me, but knew me at last with such recognition as I found hard to fathom. There was compunction in it, and wonder, and a kind of drear self-derision. He said: "What? Is it you? Now of all times I least need you to set me right."
I thought, and said, that he well might need me more than he knew. And then he truly looked at me, who had looked through me before, to continue seeing Llewelyn. His face shook. Very strangely minded he was, that night. A little, and I think he would have wept, if there had not been so much anger in him. He said: "Samson, how is it you haunt me still, seeing I slew you long ago?"
"Slew me and saved me," I said. "If you wanted me to remain dead you should have drawn the covert you spared to draw, after Evesham."
"Dear God!" said David. "Was it you taught him so to despise me?"
I understood then the ground of his despair and rage. "Fool," I said, "do you not know how much that cost him?"
"It cost him no more than a pat to a hound," said David bitterly, "and he lets me back to him good-humouredly, as he would a hound that had gone off on a false scent, coming back shamed with his tail between his legs. He sighs and bears with me, like an experienced breaker with a useless pup. He values me not a pin!"
I began to exclaim against him that he judged well his own desert, but greatly misjudged his brother's largeness of mind and heart. But he cried me down with sudden breathless ferocity.
"Fool, if he had cared a toss for my desertion, do you think he would not have struck me down before all this company, and ordered me out of his sight?" And he spread his arms upon the board before him and sank his head into the crook of them, and shook terribly, like a man in fever, with grief and laughter. "And I would have let him!" said David, groaning and cursing into his brocaded sleeves. "And I would have gone!"
Even then, though daunted, I would have stayed with him and made him hear me, but when I laid my hand upon him he started up, very tall and erect, and made his face marble-calm and smiling in a breath
, and so turned and stalked away from me towards the high table and his own place, and his gait as he went was long and lissome and soft as a cat's, forbidding all concern or question.
After Montgomery we went back in state to Aber, and David did not go with us, which caused no man wonder, for his offences had been gross, and the requital needed time and a certain ceremony. There were even many, English as well as Welsh, who held that Edward should have kept his favourite out of sight on this occasion. The forms of courtesy have their values and uses. No one took this to be an easy matter, and the delicate legal exchanges concerning his stipulated lands were to go on for more than a year, that being an aid to healing.
Some miles along the great sea-road from Aberconway the men of the royal household of Aber came out to meet us, all the garrison and the bodyguard but for a few duty men, and among them came also Godred, my half-brother, my fair mirrorimage, to remind me that my life had still a secret side where there was no victory and no achievement. I was aware that as soon as they met us he looked for me at Llewelyn's left hand, which was ever my place. And since we rode those last miles at joyous ease, keeping no formal order, he made his way to my elbow very soon, and clung there, close to my ear, out of reach of Llewelyn's. And there he spoke with his blithe, serpent voice, and smiled his smooth, guileless smile all the way into Aber.
The Brothers of Gwynedd Page 66
