The Brothers of Gwynedd

by Edith Pargeter

  There was some mild demur over these castles he named, and Peter de Montfort said, justly, that these were great concessions, and could not be lightly made. Llewelyn replied as courteously that he well understood that, and they were not lightly asked, for he was prepared to pay a fair indemnity for his gains. The price he offered was thirty thousand marks, to be paid over a period often years. It was a great sum, and they opened their eyes respectfully at it, as well they might. It must be said that Llewelyn's housekeeping was exceedingly able and practical; he could and did command large sums when he needed them, and his reputation for prompt payment was high, as the English acknowledged. I suppose no prince ever devised a means of moneying so perfect that it did not lean heavily on someone, but there were few complaints of injustice or misuse in Wales during his rule.

  Since every man there desired the treaty, it was very readily made. There were certain elaborating letters written separately, though Llewelyn also stated the gist of them there and then.

  "The agreement is with this lawful government, and with King Henry as head of it. If the king should default from his adherence, which God forbid, my obligation to him ceases, until he shall again be in good faith with his magnates. And should the king die, and leave a successor who adheres to the settlement, then I will go on paying the indemnity to him, or, if the lawful community of the realm so desires, I will pay otherwise, but in all events, I will continue to discharge my debts."

  They agreed this was fair, and thereupon the documents were drawn up. We slept overnight in Llewelyn's camp, and when we left with the dawn, for time was short for Earl Simon's business, the prince drew me aside for the only personal exchange we had during that visit.

  "Samson," he said, "there is one more thing I most earnestly request of the earl of Leicester, and that I would ask of him myself. Say to him that I greatly desire him to meet with me, and ask him to ride the few miles to the abbey of Dore tomorrow, or to appoint me some other place and time, or give me safe-conduct to come to Hereford if need be, for he is pressed, I know. But do not fail me. Unless you send Cadell with other word, I shall go to Dore tomorrow."

  I wondered but did not question, for he asked it as a young man asking favour of someone to whom he owed deference, and that was not his way, and his face had that bright intensity, and his eyes that wonder, that I had seen there whenever he looked within at his vision, as now he was able to see it openly under the sun, without turning his gaze into his own heart. Therefore there was still something secret to him still wanting, and all things else, all that triumph, remained at risk until it was won. So I said that I would press his wish, and was sure it would not be denied.

  Nor was it. For when I preferred it to Earl Simon on my return to Hereford, he lifted his head from the letters he was studying, and looked at me with those deep eyes now so large and lambent in their sockets of bone, and said: "I, too, have long nursed the same wish. Nor will it be time lost, even by the measure of England's need, for I can better plan my movements now with Llewelyn in person than by letter or courier. We go, Samson, south to Gwent as soon as this treaty is made fast, and if Llewelyn will go with me and keep my flank, the rest I will do."

  I was then so close with him, and so concerned for him, and he so acknowledged that bond, that I could and did ask him what plans he had in that southern march.

  "To cut off de Valence and his force from crossing to join the rebels," said Earl Simon, "and to secure such of Earl Gilbert's castles in Gwent as I can, and cross by Newport into the safety of Bristol, and so to Oxford and London. Plainly I shall be dependent on the prince of Wales for supplies and support during that passage. I have sworn, and I will keep my oath, that he shall not be asked—never by me!—to put his Wales in peril by committing himself out of its bounds. But within those bounds he is an army to me. And I will go to Dore to meet him, with all my heart."

  He bade me ride with him the next day, for he would go otherwise unattended. To that great Cistercian house it was no more than ten miles, for him a breath of freedom in this punishing time. For Llewelyn it was a much longer ride, he must have risen before the sun. We went, Earl Simon and I, after morning mass from Hereford, but when we came to that glorious rosy-grey house in the blossoming valley, all gilded and green with summer, Llewelyn was there before us.

  In the quiet courts of the Cistercian house of Dore, golden indeed that June, under a sky like periwinkle flowers, those two met and joined hands at last.

  I watched them come together, I knew the desire that drew them, and the weight of wonder and thought that made their steps so slow and their eyes so wide as they crossed the few paces of earth that parted them. From the moment they set eyes upon each other they looked neither to left nor right, each taking in the other like breath and food and wine. And it seemed to me, when their hands linked and grew together, that there was in them, for all their differences, for they did not look alike at all, some innermost thing that set up a mirror between them, and showed each his own face. Also I saw that Llewelyn had come, like the earl, almost unattended, only one of Goronwy's sons at his back, and that there was a shining splendour upon him, for all this simplicity, that made him unwontedly beautiful and solemn. His dress, that was never planned to impress, was that day most choice in dark and gold. He looked as a prince should look.

  "My lord of Leicester," he said, and stooped to touch with his lips the hand he still held, as fittingly and royally he could, with the awareness of destiny upon him, "I rejoice that I see you at last, and I thank you for this kindness. I have long desired your acquaintance, and I wish the times better favoured me, for I know I trespass."

  "No," said Earl Simon, and looked at him long and hungrily, and saw, I think, as I saw, the heart's likeness that surely was there, for still the mirror shone between them. "No, you refresh me. I have many times had need of you, and need you still. I had believed it was for a cause. I think it was also for my soul's sake. In my desert now there are not many springs."

  He had known deserts in his time, for he had been a crusader.

  "My lord," said Llewelyn, "I desire all of your company that I may have, but my time is silver, while yours is golden, and I will not hamper your movements, not for my life. So I speak directly. Your son, my lord, I have known and loved some years. You I have loved without knowing you. Until today! My lord Simon, you have also a daughter."

  "I have," said the earl, enlightened, and smiled, remembering her. "She is with her mother and my youngest sons in the castle of Dover."

  "And she is not yet affianced? Nor promised to any?" He drew deep breath at the earl's nodded assent, and under his tan he was white to the lips with passion and diffidence, as he said: "My lord, if it will please you to entertain and favour my suit, I would ask of you your daughter's hand in marriage."

  CHAPTER XII

  What he asked, that he had. Earl Simon leaned to him and laid both hands upon his shoulders, and kissed him upon the cheek with the kiss of kinship, for acceptance and blessing.

  "My daughter is yet young," he said, "not quite thirteen years. But there is no man to whom I would more gladly confide her than the prince of Wales, and none among all those not my sons I would so joyfully welcome as a son. With all my heart I promise her to you, and will record the vow here and now, if you so please."

  So simply was this match made, and so hard afterwards to make, so quickly closed with, and so long awaiting fulfilment. Those two went in together and exchanged their vows in the church of Dore, and from that moment Llewelyn's resolution never wavered.

  Until the late afternoon they remained together in the hospice at Dore, and talked together of everything that bound them, first and most urgently of the earl's plans, and the stages by which Llewelyn would match them on his western flank, appointing certain places where messages could readily be exchanged, and further stores delivered for the provisioning of the earl's army. Upon such details they were both brisk and practical, and those few hours were well used. Then they talked also
of what hopefully must become family affairs, and of the child Eleanor, on whom Llewelyn had fixed his heart, never having seen her.

  "And I confess," he said ruefully, "I doubted my right to ask for her, being so much her elder, but I promise you there could no suitor of her own years cherish and care for her as truly as I will, if she also willingly accepts me."

  The earl said, smiling: "Master Samson, who has been in some degree her friend for a while, can tell you that she has already pursued him with many questions about you and your country. I doubt if she had marriage in mind, then, but you could hardly have had a better advocate to satisfy her curiosity."

  "You have not heard him," said Llewelyn, "on the subject of the lady! You do not know how closely I questioned him, or how I have pictured her out of his praises."

  Then her father also talked of her, with love and pleasure, and watching his face soften at the thought of her, I began to understand how great refreshment he found in this day stolen from his immense and crushing cares, all the more because the lady might not many years more have a father to provide and care for her, and it was ease and blessing to him to know that she would have a worthy husband to shield and love her after him. So I came to understand that he entertained ungrudgingly, in that proud, devout and humble mind, the daily possibility of his own death, and took thought for his responsibilities. His wife was the king's sister, and for all her fierce loyalty to the earl could not be allowed to miscarry, for the king's own credit. His sons were men, and could fend for themselves. His daughter was another matter. Lords marry their daughters for many reasons, most of them tied to property and land, and certainly it was no mean thing to be the princess of Wales, but this was no such betrothal for gain, nor was his consent given to persuade Llewelyn to more aid than had been freely tendered. The offer for Eleanor, coming from a man he respected and trusted, was pleasure and release to him. Each of them had come to that meeting bearing a gift of great price.

  By the time they parted, late in the afternoon, they had probed each other deep, and reached into those lofty places beyond the art and practice of government, where Earl Simon's visions still shone undimmed after all his disillusionments, half understood with the mind, half sensed with the heart and spirit and blood, no less valid because all men but one fell away from loyalty to them. And I think those two were content with each other, and that there was no falling short.

  So we rode back through the early evening to Hereford, and Llewelyn to Pipton. And the next day King Henry set his seal to the treaty, naming Llewelyn prince of Wales, and Peter de Montfort of Beaudesert rode to Pipton and delivered it into the prince's hand.

  The day after that we marched, all that great tangle of king, courtiers, officials, clerks, judges, soldiers, south to Monmouth. The last letter patent sent from Hereford was an urgent order to young Simon, in Surrey, to muster all the levies of the shires, and hurry north-west to his father's aid.

  If young Simon had indeed been near enough to get his men to the eastern side of Gloucester before the castle fell, and Earl Simon had closed in to meet him from the west, they might well have broken Edward's army between them. But it is a long march from Surrey to the western border, and I doubt if the young man ever truly realised how urgently he was needed, and how much hung upon his coming. Even if he had, it might well have altered nothing, for about the time we moved from Hereford the castle of Gloucester fell, and there was then no crossing of the Severn left to us but by going south.

  Only then, I think, did even the earl himself realise how desperate was his situation, thus cut off in the hostile marches from that solid body of support for him that habited in the English cities and shires. With both Worcester and Gloucester closed against him, he hastened his march south, and attacked and took, without much trouble, the earl of Gloucester's castles in the vale of Usk, first possessing Monmouth and establishing a base there, then going on to take Usk, and Newport itself. And all this time Llewelyn with his main force kept pace with us, almost at arm's length, and supplied us all our needs.

  As for the earl's first declared objective, to sever the force in Pembroke from all possibility of joining Edward, that hope was lost before ever we reached Usk, for William of Valence was already across the old passage of the estuary of Severn, and had added his strength to Edward's outside Gloucester. That formidable army, most formidably led, came surging south on the opposite bank, and occupied all the English shore.

  The old passage of Severn at the opening of the estuary was well known to us, and quick and easy, given proper use of the tides, but it needed boats none the less, and under archery, and facing a landing upon a shore heavily occupied by an enemy, it was impossible. There could only be a massacre. Earl Simon sent out scouts, and accepted their bitter verdict. For him there was no way over into England by that route. Moreover, detachments of Edward's army were moving along the road between Monmouth and Gloucester, and there was no returning to Hereford by that way, either.

  There was but one way he could go, and that was deeper into Wales, and that at least was made easy for him by Llewelyn's presence in force in the hills, where he had greatly strengthened his hold on the roadways that threaded the disputed land of Gwent. Cadell rode ahead as courier to inform the prince of our need, and he came down himself into the valley of Usk to meet and accompany the earl to a safe camp already waiting in the hills.

  So those two met again, and though Llewelyn in delicacy held aloof from meeting king or officials, and confined his personal encounters to Earl Simon and his son, now his own kinsmen, nevertheless it was strange to see the court of England, sorry and suspect court though it was, guided and guarded and provided food and rest under the wing of the prince of Wales, and so shepherded back by stages in a halfcircle towards Hereford. And safe they were under that guardianship, but ineffective. No man could touch them with impunity, but neither could they advance their own cause. No base in Wales could avail the earl to strike effectively at his enemies. No Welsh army, even had all the forces at Llewelyn's disposal been committed to him, could restore him to his severed support in England. The greater the numbers he had to spirit across the Severn, the more inevitable was a premature battle, before they could join hands with young Simon, hurrying north from Oxford.

  That was a strange time, that journey through Gwent and Brecknock, like the quiet place at the heart of a great storm. For now the stream of ordinances and letters had ceased, as though all the business of state held its breath, and they were but a great multitude of ordinary men, making their way unhindered and impressed through a summer country of hills and forests and heathland, camping in the calm and warmth of July nights, and listening, unstartled by rattle of steel or sound of trumpet, to a silence deeper than memory. And sometimes at night, when the wretched tired, apathetic king was sleeping, and the camp settled into stillness, Earl Simon sat with Llewelyn, and the talk they had was not all of wars and treaties and disputes, but of high, rare things that both had glimpsed and both desired to comprehend more fully, if all the ways by which they sought to reach them had not turned about treacherously under their feet, and brought them round in a circle, as now, to the place from which they had set out. For I suppose that this life is but the early part of the pilgrimage, and the search will continue in another place.

  In the last days of July we came again to the uplands above Valley Dore, and saw below us, beside the stream in the blanched hay-fields, the rosy grey of the great church where they had first met.

  "A month lost," said Llewelyn ruefully, "to reach the same place."

  "No month is ever lost," said Earl Simon. "Certainly not this. Whatever follows, I may tell you so with truth. But now you must come no further with me. For across the Severn I must go, by some means, however desperate, or there is no future."

  "I am coming with you," said Llewelyn, "as far as Hereford, for I have sent some of my men of Elfael, who know these parts and have kin on both sides the border, to spy out the state of the river ahead of you. It's h
igh summer, and little rain now for weeks, there may well be possible fords where no one will think to guard. Our rivers are low, so should Severn be. And I have stores waiting for you below."

  "It could not last," said Earl Simon with a grim smile. "In Wales my cause cannot be won, nor yours out of it. And my men tire of your shepherd's table and long for their bread and ale. It is high time to go."

  It was past time, and I think he knew it already. But one last night they conferred together, with young Henry, and Peter of Beaudesert and a few others in attendance, and Llewelyn offered a company of lancers to be added to the earl's foot-soldiery, though without Welsh captains. Thus drafted into the English ranks, they did not commit Wales and its prince. And that reservation the earl understood, and did not blame by word or look. It was Llewelyn who agonised within himself, ashamed and tempted, torn between two duties that could not be reconciled, and no longer sure what was duty and what desire. And the next day his scouts came back with word that Edward was making his chief base at Worcester, expecting that crossing to be attempted, and also on the watch for young Simon's army, which was known to be approaching from the south, and thought to be heading for Kenilworth. At that the earl drew breath cautiously, and approved his son's choice.