The Heirs of Owain Glyndwr

by Peter Murphy

  He put a hand on Ben’s shoulder.

  ‘On the other hand, if he left something behind which the jury think confirms the prosecution’s suspicions about her, it may be the worst of all worlds. It helps the prosecution case, but you have no one to cross-examine about it. I know you would like to have him in the trial – so would I in your position – but at least count your blessings that it isn’t any worse than it is.’

  Ben smiled. ‘I’m glad I still have my pupil-master to keep me on track.’

  ‘I’ll send a fee note for my advice when we are back in London.’

  ‘How about a couple of pints later?’

  ‘Done,’ Gareth said. ‘Come on, let’s go and take a look at the Castle.’

  29

  They stood together for some time just inside the King’s Gate, the main entrance to Caernarfon Castle. Ben looked around slowly, as he absorbed the sheer scale of the place, the majestic space it occupied, the massive solidity of the stone walls, the dominating height of the towers, the sudden quiet of an ancient fortress from which the bustle of a modern town was abruptly cut off the moment you walked through the gate.

  ‘You can just imagine the effect of a network of castles like this across North Wales, can’t you?’ Gareth asked. ‘As we were saying, in the Middle Ages it must have been an incredible statement of royal power.’

  ‘It must have seemed impregnable,’ Ben replied. ‘But it wasn’t always, was it? There were successful Welsh uprisings.’

  ‘There were, but they didn’t last very long, and whatever was destroyed was rebuilt, even stronger than before. You can’t blame the king, in a way. It was difficult to keep control over distant parts of the country in those days. Travel and communication were slow at the best of times. That’s why the king had to leave reminders of his power, like this. It’s also why he had to leave such powerful nobles in charge of key places like Chester and Durham, and hope to God he could trust them not to go over to the other side.’

  ‘The king must have resigned himself to having subjects, but not friends.’

  Gareth laughed.

  ‘I think that’s part of being king,’ he replied. ‘You remember what Shakespeare said about it: “Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown”, or something like that.’

  He pointed across the Castle grounds slightly to his right.

  ‘That’s where the great hall was. It is long gone, but you can tell how big it was from the way they’ve marked out where the walls stood. You can almost see it, can’t you? A hundred or more packed in there for dinner, with minstrels playing and the wine flowing freely. You can imagine them carrying dishes from the kitchens, behind us to the right there, across to the hall for banquets, can’t you? It would have been interesting to be a fly on the wall during some of those dinners, I’m sure.’

  They turned left and started to walk slowly. It was a quiet day in the Castle, with only one or two tourists occupied in photographing the Eagle Tower on the far side to their right. No members of the staff were to be seen in the grounds.

  ‘That was where the Royal Party entered the Castle,’ Gareth said, pointing towards the tourists. ‘The Queen received the keys from the Constable as a symbol of welcome and submission, though of course she was expected to hand them back. The grassy space at the top of the rise to our left is where the royal dais was, and where the ceremony took place.’

  They walked up the incline to the spot.

  ‘After the ceremony, the Queen led the new Prince of Wales to the Queen’s Gate, just over here, to present him to his people. It is the one part of the Castle that was never properly finished but, as a result, you can stand here and wave to the people down in the square, and be seen by everybody.’

  ‘What some people thought of as the final insult,’ Ben said.

  ‘Yes. No doubt.’

  They stayed, looking down, for some time as the square carried on with its daily life, the market stalls still in full swing.

  ‘And if we walk back this way we come to the Black Tower, and the Chamberlain Tower is the next one down.’

  ‘So, it was in here, somewhere, that Caradog was going to plant the bomb,’ Ben observed.

  ‘Yes. Let’s go inside and walk around.’

  ‘I suppose it’s too much to hope that the site will be marked in some way,’ Ben said.

  ‘They might have left a chalk mark,’ Gareth replied. ‘But they would have put the flagstone back in place and cemented it shut after they photographed it. Well, they would have to, wouldn’t they, with visitors coming and going all the time? It wouldn’t be safe to leave it exposed, not in the dark like this. They would have to keep a guard here all the time, just to make sure visitors didn’t break an ankle.’ He smiled. ‘Were you expecting yellow tape and a notice saying “crime scene” and warning people to keep away?’

  ‘Well, it is a crime scene, isn’t it? What if we wanted to take a look at it?’

  ‘I’m sure we could ask the police to open it up for us. Perhaps that would be a good idea, once we’ve seen the photographs. We can ask Eifion to arrange it if we need to. But I would like to get an idea of approximately where it is, now, if we can. Let’s see what we can find.’

  ‘So we are looking for…?’

  ‘Chalk marks and new cement. It’s a pity we didn’t think to bring a torch.’

  As they entered the tower, Ben felt chilled to the bone. The Black Tower itself was a small, dark space, and the staircase leading up to the battlements was roped off, with a sign declaring it to be closed to visitors. They moved slowly along the corridor towards the Chamberlain Tower, feeling their way and searching the darkness with their eyes. It took time for their eyes to begin to adjust and, even then, progress was slow. The flagstones were uneven; and it would certainly have been easy to trip and sprain an ankle, Ben thought. But what he noticed most was the cold. On the outside wall, the sun’s rays penetrated only through the occasional narrow arrow slit in the walls. The front was open to the grassy area, but somehow the heavy stone seemed to suck any hint of warmth out of the air. He had expected the interior to be colder than the grounds outside, but the chill he felt seemed more intense than simply a sudden absence of sunlight, more like an almost total absence of heat.

  He tried to focus his eyes and his mind on the likely site. What would Caradog have been looking for? Undoubtedly, a quiet spot where he could work unseen. He would have to prise the flagstone out of its space without anyone noticing. True, he could do it a bit at a time, and replace it as often as he wanted. It was unlikely that anyone would notice markings in the cement unless he was very unlucky. But every time he worked on it he would be taking a risk, that would be unavoidable. The bomb Dai Bach was building was not huge. He would have to put it somewhere reasonably close to the front wall if he wanted to do anything more than make a big bang, and the nearer he got to the front wall, the more risky the work was.

  They stopped.

  ‘We are almost half way to the Chamberlain Tower,’ Gareth said. ‘We can’t be too far away.’

  They turned to their right and walked over the huge flagstones which covered the floor in front of the low front wall.

  ‘It could be any one of these, couldn’t it?’ Ben asked.

  ‘He wouldn’t be digging right next to the wall,’ Gareth replied. ‘In fact, the witnesses say it wasn’t up against the wall, don’t they? But anywhere here, two or three flagstones back, has to be a possibility.’

  ‘He’s taking quite a chance on being seen.’

  ‘Yes, although if he works in the hours of darkness, he has a good chance, doesn’t he? He has a clear view of anyone approaching, and it’s easier for him to see out into whatever light there is than for someone to see in. And you can’t walk silently in here. He would have warning of anyone approaching from one of the towers.’

  They looked in vain for chalk marks and new cemen
t.

  ‘Perhaps it doesn’t matter,’ Gareth said. ‘All will become clear when we see the prosecution’s photographs. It’s not hard to see the most important thing, is it? There were seating stands right outside the wall, and beyond the seating stands, the Royal Family and their guests on the dais.’

  ‘He was out to cause mayhem,’ Ben said. ‘It wasn’t just about making a scene, was it? If you plant a bomb here, you are certain to kill and maim people. A lot of people. He knew that. He must have known.’

  ‘I am now going to take you to the most interesting pub in Caernarfon,’ Gareth said, as they left the Castle.

  ‘It’s a bit early, isn’t it?’ Ben smiled.

  ‘It’s work,’ Gareth insisted, ‘part of your case preparation. We are here to give you a feel for Wales, Caernarfon in particular, and you can’t get that without visiting a pub or two.’

  They crossed the street and walked towards the square.

  ‘This is Hole in the Wall Street,’ Gareth said, as they turned left into what looked like a narrow alley, ‘so called for the obvious reason that it in fact begins with a hole in the town’s wall. If you look at the wall, you can just see the remains of what, at one time, was a stone staircase leading up to the top of the battlements.’

  ‘It looks rather colourful.’

  ‘It was more than colourful in its day. It boasted several houses of ill repute, and the sale of alcohol has always flourished, even in the heyday of the Welsh Temperance Movement.’

  ‘The Four Alls,’ Ben smiled, indicating a pub to his left. ‘Is this where we are going?’

  ‘Strange name, isn’t it? But I wasn’t going to take you there – well, perhaps we will have a second pint there on the way back. But for the moment, we are going a few yards farther down the street. Let me do the talking here, Ben. This is one of the places where it’s definitely better to speak Welsh.’

  ‘I will stand mute of malice,’ Ben grinned.

  They turned into a small tavern on the right, where Gareth ordered two pints and some peanuts, and they found a corner table in the tiny snug bar.

  ‘This is the Hole in the Wall, as you see,’ Gareth said. ‘By reputation, it’s a real hotbed of nationalist sentiment. This is where the locals like to come. They are quite happy to leave the tourists to enjoy the Castle Hotel and the Black Boy. It’s a safe place to talk, so it has the reputation of attracting people who need a safe place to talk, which can include some pretty unsavoury types, at least from the point of view of the authorities. If you come in here not understanding Welsh, you will stick out like a sore thumb, and they will find a way to get rid of you in short order.’ He grinned. ‘Don’t worry. You will be all right as long as you stick with me.’

  They took a deep drink of beer. It had been an intense day, and they were both tired, but the pleasantly cold shock of the beer and the saltiness of the nuts slowly revived them.

  ‘So, tell me, what is your impression of Caernarfon so far?’

  Ben thought for some time.

  ‘It’s really been fascinating. Not just seeing where various events in the case took place, but, as you say, getting a feel for it. It’s been… well, it’s hard to define.’

  ‘Try.’

  Ben sat up in his chair.

  ‘It started this morning, when we had our early-morning walk to see the Menai Strait. It was so beautiful and peaceful, but I had the strangest sensation… no, it’s silly, I’m embarrassed, I shouldn’t be asking you to listen to this…’

  ‘No. Go on.’

  He hesitated. ‘Well, I had the strangest sensation that Arianwen was standing by my side, and somehow directing my eyes to what they needed to see.’

  ‘That’s interesting,’ Gareth replied. He adopted an outrageous stage-German accent. ‘Tell me, Herr Schroeder, for how long have you been experiencing these symptoms?’

  Ben laughed.

  ‘I’m not psychotic, Gareth – well, at least, I hope not. I’m not seeing visions or hearing voices. It’s just a sense of having her with me in spirit.’

  ‘And what did she direct you to see, in spirit?’

  ‘The place, that’s all. I don’t know how to describe it. It was as if she just wanted me to see what she sees when she looks at Caernarfon, so that I can understand what she feels for it.’

  Gareth nodded.

  ‘Are you sure it’s not because there is some attraction between you, rather than an attraction to Wales?’

  ‘Gareth…’

  ‘There would be nothing strange about it. It happens to all of us from time to time, and Barratt tells me that there is something bewitching about her, that she is something of an elemental force.’

  Ben laughed uncomfortably, feeling himself blushing.

  ‘Yes, I suppose she is, in a way.’

  ‘Yes, well there you are. It’s an occupational hazard, nothing to worry about. All the same, discretion being the better part of valour, probably best not to tell Jess that Arianwen’s following you around town, don’t you think?’

  ‘She will understand,’ Ben replied, without hesitation.

  Gareth looked at him keenly. ‘If you say so. But if I said something like that to Margot, I would be in for a very thorough cross-examination, believe me.’

  They laughed.

  ‘How are things with Jess?’ Gareth asked. ‘Has your family forgiven you for marrying a Gentile girl?’

  Ben nodded. ‘It was only ever my father, really. My mother was always understanding. Both she and my grandfather liked Jess the first time they met her. It was when my grandfather had his heart attack while I was doing that capital case in Huntingdon with Martin Oldcastle. Jess drove me home and was a pillar of support for everyone. My father has very entrenched views, but he was overruled by the rest of the family. They are very proud of their Jewish heritage, but they don’t want to run their children’s lives.’

  Gareth laughed.

  ‘That’s the grandfather who always calls you “Viceroy” in honour of Rufus Isaacs?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well, I’m glad it worked out so well. In my case I would have been in real trouble if I hadn’t married a Welsh girl, but fortunately I fell in love with one.’

  ‘You’ve had a very happy marriage, haven’t you, Gareth?’

  ‘Yes. We would have liked to have children. Margot can’t, you know. We did think of adopting, but somehow we never quite did. But, yes, we’ve been very happy, despite that.’

  He looked briefly around the snug.

  ‘Well, let’s drink up. We will have one at the Four Alls on the way back, and then we will seek out an early dinner. We have to be up betimes tomorrow to catch our train to Cardiff.’

  Ben smiled.

  ‘And what awaits us in Cardiff?’

  ‘The second part of your initiation into the mysteries of Wales,’ Gareth replied. ‘Actually, we are meeting Donald for dinner tomorrow evening, and then on Saturday – well, let’s just say we have very special plans for Saturday.’

  30

  Friday 3 April 1970

  Gareth had booked them into the Angel, a striking Victorian hotel in the heart of Cardiff city centre. Donald Weston was waiting for them in the bar when they arrived just after 6 o’clock, tired after a slow train journey from Caernarfon.

  ‘I’m glad to see you’ve made a start, Donald,’ Gareth said.

  ‘I didn’t know what time you were arriving,’ Donald grinned, ‘so I decided it was better to wait here with a pint than in my room without one. What can I get you?’

  ‘Quite right. A pint of whatever you’re drinking,’ Gareth said.

  ‘Same for me,’ Ben added.

  ‘How was Caernarfon?’ Donald asked, when they were all seated with their drinks. ‘Do you feel any more Welsh now than you did before, Ben?’

  Ben laughed.

>   ‘I’m not sure I can answer that. Was that the objective, Gareth?’

  ‘No,’ Gareth smiled. ‘You can’t become Welsh. It was about soaking up the atmosphere and getting inside your client’s head to some extent, which I think we achieved.’

  ‘Yes, I think we did,’ Ben agreed. ‘Caernarfon is an odd place. Have you been there, Donald?’

  ‘No, never.’

  ‘It’s amazing. It’s such a small town, dominated by such a grand castle. That gives it an incredible atmosphere.’

  ‘And if you are born and bred there,’ Gareth added, ‘that is part of your psyche. You grow up in the shadow of the Castle, and you know its history and its associations with the English domination of Wales. You grow up surrounded by all of that, and you can’t escape it. It’s mother’s milk. It’s not surprising that, in some cases, it turns into an obsession, and obsessions can get out of hand, and that’s what we are dealing with now. But it’s one thing to understand that intellectually, and it’s another thing to feel it for yourself.’

  ‘I think I did feel something of it,’ Ben said. ‘And if it made an impression on me in a couple of days, I can only imagine what it must be like to be aware of it every day of your life.’

  ‘Yes. In Caradog’s case you are probably dealing with an intellectual who sees everything in black and white, and if you see everything in black and white you tend to see conspiracies against you everywhere, and from there it’s a short journey to outright paranoia. And one day, it suddenly seems perfectly logical to you to build a bomb and plant it where it will cause enormous loss of life, and it doesn’t bother you at all because it is a necessary and proportionate response to the evil done to you. And because you then have an absolute belief in yourself and your convictions, you can easily recruit a follower like Dai Bach, who is looking for a cause to make some sense of his life, and has been waiting all his life for someone to lead him to it. How Arianwen fits into that I don’t know, but if the prosecution are right, she fits in somewhere. Your job is to work out whether he recruited her too, or whether she managed to stay on the right side of sanity.’