by Anne O'Brien
‘I wouldn’t have agreed to bring you if I had thought I was putting your life in danger. They’ll not kill us, whatever the outcome. I would be more valuable as a hostage, and so would you, but I don’t fear that either. As for Glyn Dwr, he has a stripe of chivalry as wide as this never-ending mountain range beneath his black urge to kill anyone who stands in his way to dominance over Wales. He’ll not shed your blood, nor would he consider a ransom. Who would pay it? Not King Henry. As for me, your royal cousin would consign me to permanent captivity.’
Abruptly, Harry’s words were cut off. Whatever it was between him and the King still disturbed him enough for him to keep it between his teeth.
‘The Earl your father would find the gold somewhere to bring you back to his bosom,’ I offered, to disperse the cold anger. And indeed raised a smile.
‘Ah, but would he pay for you?’
‘I will put that burden on your own heart. So we could all end up as hostages, a family Mortimer gathering. Now there’s a thought to cast me into depression.’
He leaned over to squeeze my hand.
‘What is it that worries you?’ I asked.
‘Naught but what Edmund might have promised his host.’
It was an interesting point. I did not believe that Edmund’s busy doings had caused the set of Harry’s jaw but I replied equably.
‘We will soon discover, for good or ill. I don’t believe Edmund would be lured into treason.’
‘Who knows what Edmund would be lured into, with the right incentives?’
We gathered a Welsh escort on small mountain horses toward the end of our journey but they kept a respectful distance, like well-trained sheep herders ensuring the delivery of the flock, although their bows were well in evidence as we arrived at Glyn Dwr’s hall in the midst of a hailstorm. Even the deluge could not hide the impressive defensive position of this place known as Sycharth. High on a hill that had been sculpted by the hand of man long past, it was a place of woods and running water that I thought would have held much appeal on a day of sun and mild winds. Constructed by craftsmen, more timber than stone, more manor house than castle, it was superbly protected by two moats over which we crossed to reach the gatehouse. This was the home of the Welsh Prince, a palace of wealth and good taste, hemmed in by its church and mill, the pigeon house and fishponds. I imagined deer ran free on the hills beyond.
‘Impressive,’ I said as, closely escorted now, we entered beneath a carved gateway.
‘Let’s see what our welcome will be,’ Harry replied as he helped me to dismount.
Received with grace by numerous servants, our drenched outer garments removed from us, we were drawn into a chamber where wine and a fire awaited us. And so did our host, Owain Glyn Dwr, whom I surveyed with interest as he bowed with words of smooth appreciation for our arrival. Here was no crude Welsh robber and rebel. Here was a lord of wealth and culture. But then I was not surprised. Had he not been raised as a young boy, before he was at odds with the King of England, in the household of the Earl of Arundel, Philippa’s husband? He had training in the law as well as in weapons. Anyone who expected a rough-hewn peasant or wild brigand from the Welsh hills would have been foolishly naive.
He met us alone. No Edmund, no family, no servants. He poured the wine himself with an ease at odds with his status. Here was a confident man who smiled his pleasure at our arrival.
‘You are right welcome. I am gratified that you risked the journey, Sir Henry. It is an honour to welcome you too, my lady. The Mortimers hold a place in my heart since I had the pleasure of knowing your sister, albeit briefly, when I was honoured with Arundel’s friendship until his death. I regret his passing, and the manner of it. As I regret hers.’
He was tall and dark-haired, rugged of feature and striking to look on. Older than Harry but still with the stature of a soldier in breadth of shoulder, he had the accents of a great lord, and an educated one, used to being obeyed in his own domain.
I found myself smiling when he took my hand and saluted it with gallantry.
‘Do the Mortimers indeed hold a place in your heart, my lord? Or only in your plans?’
Which lit an answering smile and a mischievous gleam in his eye. ‘I have many plans that are dear to me, that are far-reaching. But you need have no fear for your safety here. Either of you.’
‘I have no fear,’ Harry remarked, taking Glyn Dwr’s hand in a firm clasp when it was offered. ‘You invited me. I think you have too much honour to kill a man in your own hall, with your invitation tucked in his sleeve.’
Harry too could be as smooth as silk, and equally confident.
‘I know those who would have no qualms in dispatching Hotspur and leaving his body to the crows, but I am not one of them,’ Glyn Dwr replied. ‘As you say, it was a request from one man of honour to another. You will come to no harm here. Now, on a battlefield is quite another matter…’ The light in his eye deepened. ‘I presume you did not inform your King of our proposed meeting.’
‘No, I did not. I was called traitor after our previous attempt at a lasting pardon, so I saw no need to open myself to further infamy. And there were other matters between the King and myself that took my attention on my departure from London. The subject of our meeting here did not arise.’
There it was again. What had Henry said to him – or what had he said to Henry! – that he could not shake off, even now? But Glyn Dwr was addressing me.
‘I have enjoyed the company of your brother, my lady, and look forward to making your acquaintance.’ He bowed. ‘My people will show you to your rooms. Then we will eat and afterwards we will talk business.’
Which stirred an urgency in the air. We were welcomed as innocent guests yet I would wager there was no innocence in Glyn Dwr’s mind. We would do well to remain on our guard despite his considerable charm.
‘Why are we here, my lord?’ I asked, since Harry made no move to do so.
‘All will be made known to you. I wager it will not be to your discomfort, lady.’
After a rapid attention to our attire, we congregated in the great hall where all was seemly and of quality. The food was plenteous and cooked with sophistication, much taken from the estate but with touches of a master cook in the Sycharth kitchens. Pike and carp from the fishponds, pigeon and venison from the estate, but also peacocks and cranes, washed down with best Salopian ale and French wines. I detected herbs and spices in the piquant sauces, worthy of my own still room. Around us the tapestries were rich in content and colour, mostly hunting scenes, the furnishings worthy of those at Alnwick and Warkworth, the conversation about court matters at home and abroad. Glyn Dwr had a knowledge and a web of connections which any leader would envy. His wife, Margaret, daughter of Sir John Hanmer, an English judge on the King’s Bench, had a gentle dignity and firm opinions, not to be overawed by her husband’s newly acquired title. Their four daughters were raised in the manner demanded of a noble household, courteous and well spoken, as were a cluster of sons although his heir Gruffydd was absent on his father’s business. While Iolo Goch, a Welsh lord who joined us as a guest at the board, was a writer of verse and singer of songs, of much repute.
Yet, wary at being seduced by this regal graciousness, I was not ready to be won over. Why were we here? What was in Harry’s mind was impossible to tell as he drank, conversed, discussed with aplomb and enthusiasm. Mostly it seemed about the breeding of stalwart horses fit for the tournament field and the value of archers to a man intent on destroying an enemy that outnumbered him. Not a word about the present situation passed any lip, as I exchanged opinion with Glyn Dwr’s daughters and the Lady of Sycharth on the quality of linen, on child-rearing, the necessary contents of a still room and the recipes used to enhance the preserved fruit.
And here of course, in the midst, was Edmund. Edmund who was smilingly at ease, participating in the general conversation as if he too were an invited guest and had that right. Here was no prisoner under restraint. But then I should have expect
ed no less, since Archibald Douglas sat at our board at Alnwick and Warkworth as an honoured guest. When he greeted me there was no anxiety at his confinement, only an unsettling dark secrecy when his eyes touched on mine.
There was music, singing in Welsh, in soft Welsh voices, from a group of minstrels. Our patience and good breeding were astonishing. Until: ‘It is time for discussion, my friends.’
With a smile Margaret and the young girls left us and, reluctantly, Glyn Dwr’s sons, followed by the servants, leaving the four of us and Iolo Goch. I would remain. Nor was there any suggestion that I should accompany the female household.
‘Let me tell you of my hopes and dreams, that are indeed far-reaching.’ Glyn Dwr raised his cup as if in a toast. ‘Although I think none of them are new to you. I am a man whose lineage straddles the border of Wales and England. I am descended from the ancient Princes of Wales but my grandmother was an Englishwoman of some note, as is my wife. I trained as a lawyer at the inns of court in London. I served as a squire in the household of the Earl of Arundel. I fought for the English against the Scots at Berwick back in 1384. None of which is new to you.’
‘Yet you have sworn enmity to this Lancaster King. You are proclaimed Prince of Wales. You will wage war against him to achieve your hopes and dreams,’ Harry said.
‘Indeed. I was promised a charter from your King to make me Master Forester and Warden of Chirkland in the Marches. I was deceived. I was never to receive such authority. The only way to possess what should be mine was to fight for it.’
‘I think Grey of Ruthin had a hand in your decision.’ Harry’s brows rose as he encouraged our host to talk.
‘More than a hand. Grey of Ruthin, God rot his English soul, threatened to burn and slay and pillage through any part of the March that I held.’ Glyn Dwr shrugged self-deprecatingly. ‘I admit, I retaliated in kind. A rebellion in the making, you could say, but I’ll not take such words from any man. I have too much pride. You know what happened. Ruthin denied his threats, but I’d not trust in him. I was encouraged by my Welsh supporters to take Wales back from the English thieves and rule it as a Welsh prince. Do I not have the blood of the ancient Princes of Wales in my veins? So the fire was lit in me.’ He laughed softly, as if at some memory. ‘Despite some initial defeats, living as a fugitive, I have consolidated my support and am now in a position to hold the English King to account. This land is mine and I will fight to achieve recognition.’ He paused to survey the three who made up his English audience. ‘That is my stand. To take back Wales from English dominion.’
‘And I admire your ambition,’ Harry replied after another pause in which Glyn Dwr motioned to the Welsh bard to refill our cups. ‘I might even have sympathies for them. I know what it is to be tied by unbreakable loyalties to the land and estates of my birth.’ I saw as his eyes narrowed a little. ‘But I also consider myself tied by oath to King Henry. You must be plain, sir. Why am I here, invited to sup with a self-sworn traitor?’
For the first time since the meal had ended Edmund spoke up.
‘We know that you are in serious dispute with King Henry.’
Harry’s glance flashed a warning not to tread too closely into personal matters, yet he agreed. ‘I think that by now the whole realm knows of it. If they do not, they are deaf.’
Unabashed, Edmund continued: ‘We know that you have not been paid for your services to the crown.’
Harry’s mouth curved with a depth of cynicism. ‘Are you offering to make good my losses? I doubt that you are capable of it. Your own resources are much depleted after Henry’s pillaging of your coin and plate.’
With a silencing gesture when Edmund would have responded vociferously on the matter of his stolen property, Glyn Dwr took up the general thrust. ‘No, I think we are not able to recompense you. But we can offer you a different incentive.’
‘An incentive to do what? And who is offering it?’
I glanced at my brother, whose eyes were trained on his hands cradling his cup, his expression superbly innocent. Had Harry noticed? Of course he had. It had been like a herald’s call to arms. We can offer you an incentive. Not I, but we.
What had Edmund done?
There was another little pause. I could not yet fully see the direction we were taking, although enlightenment was building. I looked again at my brother, who now had his gaze trained on his host. Anywhere but on me.
‘You have spoken very little this evening, Edmund,’ I said.
He looked up, a gentle smile touching his mouth. ‘I am a guest here. The offer to be made is not mine.’
‘I was under the impression that you were prisoner?’
‘I cannot fault my lord Glyn Dwr’s hospitality.’
‘Henry will never ransom you,’ Harry said, dragging the discussion back to practicalities, ‘so don’t set your heart on it. He would rather you disappear into the Welsh hills, or indeed into an unmarked grave,’ he added brutally, ‘than return to stoke the Mortimer cause into flames. One less Mortimer is to his advantage.’
Edmund looked between the two of us.
‘My ransom is no longer a matter of importance.’
Once again I could feel the expectation in Harry, as he absorbed what was as clear as if written in blood on the fair cloth under our hands. Yet Harry’s clasp around his cup remained loose, his body relaxed in his chair as he waited for either Edmund or Glyn Dwr to make the grand revelation.
‘How can you be freed if there is no ransom paid?’ It was I who asked the question. ‘You need to use plain words, brother. We are dancing in circles.’
Edmund pushed himself to his feet, to go and stand before the fire, his back to the leaping flames that outlined him in red-gold.
‘Then I will be plain for, as my host says, it is time for truth. I have been well received by my lord, even though I caused the death of his men. As he killed mine. The affair at Bryn Glas was a tragic day for all; for me a disaster. But my lord Glyn Dwr and I have talked.’ Now Edmund’s gaze, bright with assurance that was not that of a captive, swept all present. ‘We all know the true direction that we should take since Richard’s death. The wearer of the crown, if not Richard, should bear the Mortimer name.’
‘I would not disagree.’ I must be careful here. To talk treason discreetly with Harry was one thing. To speak openly in this company was quite another. I glanced at Harry who remained unmoved by the dramatic announcement. ‘You were ready to support our Lancaster cousin, Edmund, justice or no. What has changed?’
‘I have made my decision.’ Walking towards me, Edmund stretched out a hand to close his fingers around my wrist, an intimate gesture between brother and sister. I could read the thought in his mind before he spoke the words. ‘I want you to consider the value of joining hands with me, and with my lord Glyn Dwr, to achieve the rightful inheritance of our brother Roger’s son.’
I studied his face, still youthful, for was he not still a mere twenty-five years, but the lines of determination were strong. Here he saw a pathway to his own ambitions, for as uncle to the future King during the boy’s minority, he would be in a position to exert supreme power. Who would have a better claim to be regent? But I saw that it would also be a difficult, dangerous path. One that could bring bloodshed and pain to all involved.
But was he not right? The old conflictions returned multiple-fold. The crown should be Mortimer; my nephew should rule in place of Henry of Lancaster, and I would never deny it. But to join the ranks of the Welsh insurgents in a combined enterprise against the English throne of Lancaster was no simple decision to make. That was the offer that Edmund and Glyn Dwr were making.
Troubled, releasing my wrist from his hold, I regarded my brother, dispatching all emotion from my voice. ‘So you are going to throw in your lot with the rebels.’
‘I do not see myself as a rebel, my lady.’ Glyn Dwr did not take my accusation harshly. I thought he was understanding of my conflict.
‘No, you would not, of course.’
And was I too not of a mind to be a rebel? The opportunity shone brightly.
But what of Harry?
‘Don’t judge me, Elizabeth.’ Edmund sat beside me again, drawing his stool closer so that he could lean persuasively. ‘I am going to fight for my lord Glyn Dwr against Lancaster. I will write to my tenants to inform them of my intent. We will fight together to restore my nephew to the crown that is his. And when he becomes King of England, my lord Glyn Dwr will have all his rights in Wales recognised.’
Treason indeed, already planned, already envisaged.
‘You have gone so far?’
‘I have gone as far as I can go. The letter is written. It only has to be sent.’
‘And I cannot dissuade you.’
I had no wish to see Edmund end his days at the mercy of an axe on Tower Hill. But did I wish to change his mind? Within me a sense of justice wrapped warm hands around my heart. It was right. That Edmund was willing to fight for it filled me with a strange awe that my brother would be so moved. Would I be willing to join him in his treason?
‘You cannot dissuade me,’ he was saying. ‘I was hoping to persuade you to put your blessing on this venture.’
His words might be addressed to me, and yet his whole concentration was now on Harry. My signature was not the one that he wanted. I would be of no use to him in the battlefield, whereas Harry and the Percy retainers as an ally would be invaluable. But the Percys were King’s men, were they not? They would not betray the man they had helped to bring to the throne. I looked at Glyn Dwr who was leaning back in his chair, allowing Edmund to speak for himself. At Harry who was watching, listening, every sense raptor alert.
‘I wish you would listen to reason,’ I heard myself say.
But what was reason? My heart cried out to give Edmund my blessing in the name of my dead brother whose son had been robbed, and my dead mother whose Plantagenet blood was of such high esteem.
‘I will not change my mind.’ For a moment his face softened infinitesimally, before returning to its stern mood. ‘I have committed myself in the strongest possible way. I feel it an honour to accept my lord’s offer of his daughter Catherine as my wife. We will be joined in blood as well as in our battle for justice. For my lord Glyn Dwr and for our nephew the Earl of March.’