The Brothers of Gwynedd

by Edith Pargeter

  So little was I enlightened at that point, that my dismay and my understanding stopped there, when I had so much more knowledge, had I been able to arrange the pieces in their true pattern. If, indeed, to this day I know the true pattern. Perhaps only God knows it, and just as well. In his hands justice is assured, and mercy possible.

  "Griffith's son has been paying court to him a year and more," said Llewelyn, vainly fending off what he knew he must do. "Why should he not pay a visit to Pool, since he was welcome there? There's nothing in that."

  "Softly, and almost unattended?" said Tudor. "Without his wife and children?"

  "It is not like him, no. But what is like him? He changes like the sky. I will not believe he has taken pan in anything aimed against me."

  "Would it be the first time?" said Tudor harshly.

  I said, and it was labour to say it: "I have somewhat to tell you that perhaps should have been told earlier. But I thought it was over and done, and no grief to any man. Hold me excused, for I did not deliberately keep it from you, but only let it lie as something finished, something I had no cause to remember. I have cause now!"

  Llewelyn turned his head and looked at me curiously, all troubled and saddened as he was, and a little smiled, seeing me as lost and daunted as he was himself. "Tell me now," he said.

  I told him everything I recalled about that night, even to what David had cried out to Elizabeth when she ran to clasp him, how she should not, for she might soil her hands. And I reminded him how, after that night, David had been gentle and calm and almost humble, like a man grateful for deliverance out of danger. "For so it always was with him," I said, "that as often as his right hand struck a blow at you, his left hand would reach to parry it."

  "It was God parried it this time," said Llewelyn grimly, "with snows and rains."

  I said: "David prayed."

  "For better weather to prosper his design?" said Llewelyn.

  "So he bade me pray," I said. "But what his own prayer was at the chapel in Aber before I came, only God knows, and David."

  "I have not judged him," said Llewelyn heavily. "Not yet. I shall not be his judge." And he laid aside Cynan's letter with a steady hand, and said to Tudor: "Call a council, and let them deal. I am the complainant, they must advise me what to do."

  And so in due course they did, with one voice ordering that David should be summoned to appear before a court at Rhuddlan on a date in the middle of July, to answer to a charge of implication in treason. As I remember, he sent back word, as it were with raised brows and a disdainful smile, that in view of the tone of the summons, which was to him incomprehensible, he must refuse to appear except under safeconduct. Llewelyn without comment issued the required letters. But his face, when he thought himself unobserved, was so full of grief that it was hard to bear.

  And just at this most unhappy time came the news that Edward was again in Paris on his way home, and that his coronation had been fixed for the nineteenth day of August. All England was waiting for its king, and we hung upon David's word from Lleyn, David's word which was always and endlessly fatal for us, as if he had been created to destroy what his brother built, whether he would or no. For if he was fatal to us, how much more fatal was he to himself.

  "In the name of God," said Llewelyn, wrung, "how can I go to Westminster for this crowning? What, and leave this dangerous riddle still unsolved behind me? Unless I can get to the bottom of it and resolve all, I will not go to England. I'll send and excuse myself from attending, and by all means send venison for Edward's feast, but I'll not leave Wales in such a tangle of treachery and secrets. He will have to hold me excused for the sake of my own realm, and there's none should understand that better."

  As he had said, so he did. For indeed there was great danger to Wales in the eruption of such a case at law between the prince and his own brother, worse than the more understandable clash with the lord of Powys, and it was vital that Llewelyn should be seen and known to be present in his principality, and in full control of its destinies. The stability of Wales was too new and fragile to withstand any shocks. Moreover, David accepted the letters of safe-conduct, and condescended to set out to face the council at Rhuddlan in the middle of July. At that time Edward was on his way from Paris to Montreuil, and thence, after concluding a sound trading pact with the countess of Flanders, he soon embarked for Dover.

  Now I know that afterwards there were many men willing to swear that even at this time the prince had resolved, in his own mind, not to attend King Edward's coronation, and to reserve his fealty and homage if by any means he could, having turned against the king on the suspicion that he had some part in, or at least approved, the border infringements that constantly plagued us, and even the affair of Griffith ap Gwenwynwyn. But I know that this is not true, that his mind towards Edward was as it had always been, and he had not then even considered the possibility of enmity or ill design on Edward's part. I know, for I wrote the letter at his command, that was sent to Reginald de Grey in Chester as late as the twenty-sixth of March of that year, pointing out that he had not yet been informed of the king's intended date of arrival in his kingdom, or the new arrangements for his coronation, and asking to know as soon as possible. And this letter was sent from Aber just before we set out for Dolforwyn, which was after the first news reached us of the treachery of Griffith ap Gwenwynwyn. It never entered his head, until much later, to suspect Edward of anything, or to seek to evade the fealty and homage due to him. He would have attended the coronation in due state, and certainly in friendship, if it had not been for this far more grave matter of David's implication, and the dangers it threatened to the unity of Wales.

  Thus David came with a small retinue of knights to Rhuddlan in the latter days of July, when Edward was already preparing to embark for England. Elizabeth he left at home in Lleyn, not only because of the grave nature of this visit, but for good reason enough, which he told court and council with proud and ceremonious intent upon entering the hall. He looked as always immaculate and graceful, stepping clean through all the foulness he engendered at his worst, and spurning those impulsive human virtues he showed at his best. Alone he came before the assembled council in hail, leaving his train outside and wearing no weapon, and he stood well back from us all, to be single and beautiful as he well knew how, and said in a clear voice:

  "My lord prince and brother, you must excuse me some small delay in obeying your summons. Family affairs kept me. If you can forget for a moment the cause for which I am called here, and be glad with me, I pray of you that goodness and grace. In the morning of the day before yesterday my lady bore me a son."

  Thus very becomingly he announced his news, but his face was not as his voice, but arrogant and bright, his eyes blindingly blue with triumph, and upon Llewelyn he suddenly smiled, and his smile was sweet, cruel and vindictive, as he avenged himself in advance for whatever could be said of him or done to him. But it was his mistake, for though he never looked at me, it was then he struck all the pieces of that puzzle together in my mind, and I remembered his voice saying, in wilful mischief then not wholly serious, but now, perhaps, gone beyond mischief: "A kingdom, and he will not give it a prince! While I have heirs—perhaps a prince by now—but no kingdom!" And truly now he had his prince, while Llewelyn was still barren and alone.

  If his intent was to pierce to the heart, as I think, then it fell blunted. For Llewelyn was large of mind and generous, and could not, for all his own longing, grudge blessing to another, even his suspect brother. Indeed, in another way David's shaft did him good service, for it disarmed the prince's judicial sternness to such purpose that I think he began almost to doubt what his own ears had heard, even to feel a little ashamed of suspecting his brother. He gave him joy openly and warmly, and enquired after Elizabeth. And even David, I believe, was shaken into some small burning of shame at being so rewarded for his venom, for he flushed as he made answer:

  "My lady is well, and the child well, I thank you. He is whole and strong
and perfect, and we have called him Owen."

  Judge how difficult it was, after such an exchange, to bring the affair back into the shape of an impeachment. But Tudor was not and never had been dazzled by David, and reminded the assembly drily that it would be well to proceed to business.

  "You say well," said David as roundly. "I am here to listen to certain charges against me, as I understand, and to answer them as best I can, or to be appointed a day later to answer them. It is fitting that my own affairs should be left out of it. I am at the prince's and the council's disposal." But always he kept in his eyes that blue, exulting, affronting brightness, and still he smiled upon Llewelyn.

  Then Tudor spoke out what he knew, and what we suspected, and told him strongly: "You stand impeached of conspiracy and treason. If you can show that these facts mean something other than they seem to mean, and that you are clear of all offence against the prince and his realm, we are ready to hear your answer."

  "My answer," said David, aloof and cool, even scornful, "is to deny that ever I entertained, since those my offences that are all too well known, any wrong intent against the prince, or committed any traitorous act, or joined in any dark conspiracy against his power or his possession. I say that I am guiltless of what you allege against me. That part of your story that is true I accept, that is, that I did visit Owen ap Griffith at Pool, at the time you mention. Why should I not? I went there for no ill purpose, but because I was invited. If there was any plotting done in that place, I knew nothing of it and saw and heard nothing of it, and if there was any action taken, as you say and as Owen now says, by the men of Pool against your head, my lord, then it comes as news to me as to you, for I had no part in it. I deny all your charges. And since I hear them now for the first time, I ask leave to examine them at more leisure before I refute them all, as be sure I shall."

  "It is within your power," said Llewelyn, "to refute them now, or at least to make fuller answer than a mere denial. That every man accused can make, guilty or innocent. Will you not satisfy us now, and set suspicion at rest?"

  "These are serious charges," said David, "and to me particularly serious, since I am your brother, and owe you closer allegiance than any." So proudly, and with such lofty injury he said it, I swear Llewelyn for an instant felt himself the one accused. "This I promise you, you shall be satisfied, with a full and final answer, but that requires other witness and other proofs than mine, and I need the help of my own clerks to muster evidence. Either accept my word, and discharge me now from all blame, or appoint a day for me to come to trial, and give me fair time to make ready my defence."

  "So be it," said Llewelyn heavily, for he had hoped to be rid of that load without a further delay. "It is your right." And the council conferred, and at the prince's urging set the date for the hearing later than otherwise they would have wished, in October, at Llanfor in Penllyn. And David, on his word to appear there, was dismissed, and left Rhuddlan without waiting to exchange a word in private with his brother, that being the only smart he had left to administer, like a blow in parting.

  After he was gone I was torn two ways, whether or no to speak out to Llewelyn what was in my mind. But I could not deny him what might well be strength to his case, and I knew I could trust him not to let it prejudice David's. For the whole torment of this matter was that even in our suspicions we could well be wrong. The men of Pool had confessed their treachery, but David denied all, and for all the weight of circumstance, his visit to Pool, his strange behaviour at Aber in February, there might be no more in his guilt than the harbouring of a partial knowledge, even a suspicion, which he did not reveal. Of so much, in my heart, I knew him guilty, but his guilt might go no further than that.

  In the end I told the prince all, all those things David had said concerning his children, and in particular the son of whose coming he was so sure, and who was now newly arrived in this world.

  "I dread," I said, "that since becoming father to children he has found his lands growing too cramped for him, and for his ambitions for them, and has turned yet again to his old complaint, that all Welsh land is partible, and he has never received his due. For himself he accepted his lesser estate, but for them? It is his aim to leave a dynasty well endowed, and to send his son out into the world like a prince."

  "That I can understand," said Llewelyn wearily, "though even so I could not countenance or condone it. Wales is not truly mine, or only mine as everything I am or have belongs to Wales, all but the soul. What is not mine I cannot give away, even if I would. Yet I do understand his impatience with me, who live alone and sleep cold, and nurse, as he says, a kingdom without an heir. And I had thought he had wit enough to see, and knew me well enough to be sure, that I am not without an heir, though I have none yet of my body. If I die unwed, David is my heir, and his son after him," But in a moment he said sharply: "No! He was my heir! If he proves guilty now, does he think I will let Wales go to one who turned traitor to Wales?"

  So David had had everything to lose, and nothing to gain, and that was always his fate, to spend all his energy and wit to waste, and only in moments unguarded, and very lightly valued, to give out those small acts and impulses of warmth that endeared him to so many men. I do remember how once he broke to me the news of my mother's death, with such skilful sweetness, and a touch so gentle, and tears in his own eyes, for she had been his nurse. But not even his affection was a safe gift, though precious, and worth the risk.

  "But the mystery remains," I said, "for what would it profit his purpose to muster an armed band from Powys, and seek to enlarge his lands by force? No, it will not do. He would do better asking you for more, and he could have made a good case, with his first son in his arms. And you would have listened. He should have known it!"

  "I am as lost as you," said Llewelyn. "This matter is very dark, and I will use all the men I have to seek out and find some light upon it. I pray David will show sense and speak out whatever he knows, but I cannot rely upon it. Our own hunt must continue."

  And so it did, both in Powys and along the Dee, and to some extent in David's own Lleyn, for if he had plotted, then some of his own people must be in the plot. Nor was this the only anxiety we had then, for word had come from Maelienydd that Roger Mortimer was building a fine new castle at Cefnllys, a stone fortress, whereas the treaty gave him leave only to repair the old one and put it in good order. A wooden enclosure and keep is a sensible means of defence on a border, but a stone castle with ditches and fortifications is a base from which to move outward, and we knew enough of my lord's cousin Mortimer to know that he would not scruple to use that base illegally if he saw the opportunity, and would hang on tooth and nail and with all the resources of law to what he got without benefit of law. Only a day after David had left us, in the castle of Mold, which he had set out to inspect, Llewelyn wrote a letter of protest to King Edward about the building, with a sting in it for Mortimer above the open reproach, for he was one of King Edward's regents, and should have been foremost in maintaining his law and treaty obligations. But Roger was always a headlong creature, and would not brook restraint.

  A miserable August we had of it, while the summer weather invited to joy, and the harvest began in very good heart. For with the whole burdened business of a principality there was now overladen this distress and suspicion between brothers. And still Owen ap Griffith in my lord's prison clutched at his well-known story and would not part from it, though fright ate at his innards, and sturdily he swore that there had never been collusion between him and David, but he felt simple admiration and worship for David, and his only act had been against Dalforwyn, for dread and envy of its influence on the market and township of Pool.

  And while we in Gwynedd agonised, and sifted, and probed after the truth of a complex matter, King Edward of England landed at Dover on the second day of August with his queen, and his daughter Joan of Acre, and the baby son Alfonso, born in Gascony, two foreign fruits brought back from the crusade. After the voyage, though undertaken
in the best time of year, doubtless they were all glad to break their journey and rest as guests of Earl Gilbert of Clare at Tonbridge, and the Earl Warenne at Reigate, before they made their state entry into a London cleaned and festively arrayed for their reception, on the eighteenth of the month. At Westminster all the space within the island enclosure was filled with bright pavilions, and all the halls painted and furbished for the occasion. And on the day following, being a Sunday, Edward and his queen were crowned in the abbey, and for fifteen days thereafter all London feasted and made merry. But without the prince of Wales.