by K. M. Ashman
‘Wait,’ said Maelgwyn. ‘Mother, what’s happening?’ He stepped forward but two men armed with pikes stepped before him, blocking his way.
‘Be brave, Maelgwyn,’ said Gwenllian. ‘And worry not for me, for I will soon stand alongside your brother in heaven.’
Maelgwyn’s face fell as one of the men beside Maurice drew his sword.
‘No,’ roared Maelgwyn as he realised what was about to happen and he tried to rush up the mound.
More soldiers leapt forward to force him to his knees while another stood behind him with his blade pressed against Maelgwyn’s throat. Others joined the initial pike men to provide a wall between the mound and the angry Welsh.
‘Hold there,’ shouted Maurice, ‘or you will all die where you stand, agreement or no agreement.’
‘Do as he says,’ shouted Gwenllian. ‘I choose this fate of my own free will, and not for you or for me, but for your children yet unborn and the families of every man who gave their lives this fateful day. Your task is not to mourn those who fell but nurture those that still live.’
‘No,’ gasped Maelgwyn, as tears started to flow. ‘Don’t allow this, Mother, it is too great a price.’
Two men pushed Gwenllian to her knees before grabbing her wrists and stretching her arms out wide. Another soldier pushed her head forward exposing her slender neck. The executioner stepped forward and took a few deep breaths before adjusting his grip on the sword.
‘Make it clean,’ said Maurice. ‘She deserves no less.’
At the last moment, Gwenllian raised her head once more and looked into the eyes of the stunned Welshmen below the mound.
‘Let history know of this day,’ she shouted through her tears. ‘And I ask no more than this, that generations yet unborn know the name I bore. I, Gwenllian ferch Gruffydd, beg only one thing . . . that you remember me!’
The soldier pulled her head forward by her hair, and as the remainder of her army looked on, the executioner cut Gwenllian’s head from her shoulders, killing the most effective and loved rebel leader that Wales had ever known.
Maelgwyn broke free from his captors before running up the hill and collapsing to his knees before his mother’s mutilated corpse.
For a few moments everyone stared in shock, including the English. Right up until the last moment, nobody thought for a second that Maurice would go through with it but they were wrong, and Gwenllian now lay dead at the feet of Maurice de Londres, castellan of Kidwelly castle.
‘You men,’ said Maurice, turning to the Welsh. ‘I gave my word that you would be released. Be gone from this place by nightfall and if I ever set eyes on any one of you again I shall burn you alive.’
The men mumbled amongst themselves and turned to walk away.
‘What about him?’ asked one of the other knights, nodding towards Maelgwyn still kneeling at the side of his mother’s body.
‘I have no time for the futile quests of children seeking revenge,’ said Maurice. ‘Cast him in chains.’
‘I thought you promised . . .’ began one of his men.
‘What I promised was between me and Gwenllian,’ said Maurice. ‘She is now dead so will not judge. Do as I say and tomorrow at dawn, I will hang him from the battlements.’ He turned to his cavalry. ‘Escort these filth to the tree line in safety,’ he said. ‘After that, any who shows his face is free game. Let us leave this place forthwith for this day is done.’
Without another word he turned towards his own horse and, within ten minutes, the last of the combatants left the burial mound, leaving the slaughtered Welsh army and the decapitated corpse of the most famous female leader since Boudicca lying cold on the field of battle. The rebellion was finally over.
Kidwelly Castle
February 18th, AD 1136
Nesta lay bruised and beaten on the bed in one of the rooms of the keep at Kidwelly. The door was locked from the outside and her aggressor, John of Salisbury, had long gone after subjecting her to a night of beatings and sexual assault. For an age she had lain motionless on the bed, her horrified mind going over and over what she had witnessed throughout the day. Compared to the slaughter and the brutal execution of Gwenllian, the past few hours were nothing and her heart ached at the fate of so many good men who had suffered so much worse.
She got to her feet and staggered over to the window, looking down into the courtyard below. The drop was inviting, tempting her to end her pain, both physical and mental. All she had to do was push open the window and let herself fall. Her eyes glazed over and her hand unconsciously stretched out to push the windows wide. She climbed upon the chair, her breathing coming faster and deeper. How sweet were the last few moments of life? With her heart racing, she sought the courage for the final movement, the action that would start the journey to peace she so desperately craved, but just as a calmness came upon her, someone knocked on the door and a voice called her name.
‘Nesta.’
She turned her head slowly to look at the door.
‘Nesta,’ came the voice again. ‘I have a message for you. Come to the door.’
Nesta hesitated and looked back down into the beckoning courtyard.
‘Lady Nesta,’ hissed the voice. ‘Please come to the door. There is little time.’
Nesta climbed down from the chair and walked over to the door, sliding down the wall to sit alongside the door frame.
‘What do you want?’ she asked.
‘I have a message for you,’ said the young girl’s voice.
‘From whom?’
‘I cannot say, nor do I know the contents, but here it is. My mistress asks that you burn it as soon as it is read. Now I must go before I am discovered.’
Nesta looked down to see a piece of parchment slide beneath the door. She picked it up and limped over to the single candle in the dark room. Nervously she broke the seal and opened the message. It consisted of just one sentence.
‘Your brother was not amongst the dead.’
Nesta’s hand flew to her mouth to mask the gasp of joy begging to be released from deep within her soul. Whatever had happened out there that day, no matter how brutal or how depraved, the fact that her brother may still be alive gave her hope renewed.
She looked up at the open window – the perceived route to everlasting escape only moments earlier – now nothing more than the source of a bitterly cold breeze. She walked across the room and stared out, the icy-cold westerly wind washing over her like a cleansing waterfall, and all thoughts of killing herself evaporated like a mist. If the note was correct, and she had no reason to believe it was not, then Tarw still lived, and if that was indeed the case, she knew he would never rest until he had avenged the death of his beautiful wife.
It may take years to rebuild, but if she knew her brother, and as long as Gwenllian’s name remained upon the voices of the people of Deheubarth, the rebellion could never be over.
Indeed, it had only just begun!
Author’s Note
Though historical dates for famous battles and coronations are often recorded from so long ago, the finer detail of an individual’s life usually disappears with the passing of time. Consequently, it falls to authors to use their imaginations to fill in the detail of their characters’ lives.
As is usual in these types of books, there is little documented evidence as to the facts and details of what really happened so far back in history. This often includes the names of some of the main characters, for example, in this case, the names of Gwenllian’s sons are often different depending on which source is used. In such cases I have opted for the version that seems more popular or, indeed, used a different name if it helped the flow.
In addition, as it was common for boys to be named after their fathers, it was often the case that several men in the same family were called by the same name. Obviously, this would be far too complicated to follow in a novel so, where needed, I have changed names to help the storyline read a little easier.
Finally, the notes below indicate
the rough brushstrokes of what is known or surmised from the little data available. It also contains my own theories and understandings along with a liberal sprinkling of artistic license. For those who are more enlightened than I in such things, if I have misrepresented anything either in error or in the pursuit of a smoother storyline, then I can only apologise.
Nesta ferch Rhys
Nesta ferch Rhys was the sister of Gruffydd ap Rhys (Tarw) and lived with her husband, Gerald of Windsor, in Pembroke castle. As a young woman she had a passionate affair with Henry the First and bore him a bastard son. Eventually she was married off to Gerald of Windsor, a well-respected knight of the English Crown and lived at Pembroke Castle for many years, bearing Gerald several sons.
Gruffydd ap Rhys
Gruffydd ap Rhys (known as Tarw in our tale) was the son of Rhys ap Tewdwr, the last king of Deheubarth. When he was young, Gruffydd was sent to Ireland for his own safety and was brought up by one of the Irish kings. When he was old enough he returned to Deheubarth and often stayed at Pembroke castle with his sister Nesta and her husband Gerald of Windsor before turning to the life of a rebel.
John of Salisbury
Around this time, Gerald disappears from the records. In our story, he is obviously replaced by John of Salisbury and though Nesta eventually did end up marrying the constable of Cardigan, John of Salisbury is a character made up for the continuation of the storyline.
Gwenllian Ferch Gruffydd
In the early years of the 12th century AD, a young princess of Gwynedd in North Wales fell in love with a southern prince and eloped to live with him in the kingdom of Deheubarth in the south, living the life of a rebel and freedom fighter. Using the homes and castles of those still loyal to her husband’s family, they lived for years amongst the forests and hills of South Wales, basing themselves mainly in the vast area known as the Cantref Mawr, a wild and lawless place covered with dense forests and hidden valleys. It was a perfect hiding place for those outside the law and they used it as a base for their constant harrying of the English, French and Flemish forces that had occupied Deheubarth for so many years. Over time, Gwenllian became famous for her prowess in battle and she became the figurehead for the rebellion across South Wales, despite being constantly outnumbered and hunted by the Crown.
Gwenllian’s life with Gruffydd ap Rhys
During this time, Gwenllian bore at least four sons to Gruffydd and as they grew older, her thoughts became more and more concerned with her family’s safety. Henry I, King of England at that time, placed a price on both Gwenllian and Tarw’s heads but, though many sought to collect the reward, those around the fugitives were fiercely protective and they were relatively safe within the Cantref Mawr.
It seems that during this time, Henry was so concerned with the continuing struggle in France, he offered Gwenllian and Tarw an amnesty in return for abandoning the life of rebels. Worried for the safety of their sons, some records seem to indicate that they accepted the amnesty and, for a while, lived a quiet life in a village somewhere in the Cantref Mawr. Eventually, however, circumstances forced them to return to their previous lives as rebels and they once more took up the sword of freedom.
The Death of Henry the First
In December 1135, King Henry died and though the crown had been promised to his daughter, Matilda, many of the barons were unhappy and turned against the idea of having a woman on the throne. During the confusion, Stephen de Blois, the grandson of William the conqueror, took the opportunity of sailing to England with his army and claiming the throne for himself. Matilda was livid and set out with her own army to confront Stephen and reclaim what had been promised to her. The situation was confused and dangerous and led to the period of English history known as ‘the anarchy’, a period of civil war stretching over the next nineteen years.
The Battle of Gower
Early in 1136, an army of Welshmen led by Hywel ap Maredudd confronted and defeated a large English force near the coast of Gower in modern-day South Wales. The implications were enormous and it gave great hope to those still embarked upon the path of rebellion, especially with English attentions being taken up with the political struggle in London. Knowing they needed more men, Tarw rode to North Wales to ask Gwenllian’s father, Gruffydd ap Cynan, to send his army south and take advantage of the situation. Tarw also took his two youngest sons with him on the journey, leaving his two eldest behind with Gwenllian.
The Death of Gwenllian
While Tarw was away, it seems Gwenllian became aware of another English army preparing to attack the Cantref Mawr. Various sources seem to indicate that even though she was outnumbered, in order to gain her husband time to return with reinforcements, she decided to confront the English. She split her forces in two with one half targeting the supply lines and the other half lying in ambush for the main force. However, they had been tricked, for the army had landed days earlier and many were hidden amongst the hills and forests behind Gwenllian’s ambush position having been led there by a traitor. Without warning they fell upon Gwenllian’s position and forced them out onto the open plain. Seizing the opportunity, Maurice de Londres, castellan of Kidwelly Castle, led his own garrison from the castle to join the battle. Gwenllian’s army had no chance and were slaughtered.
During the fighting, Morgan, Gwenllian’s son, was killed and when she saw that defeat was certain, she surrendered, hoping the enemy would show mercy.
Maurice de Londres accepted her surrender but in a cold-blooded message to anyone who dared to rebel against the Crown in the future, he had Gwenllian beheaded right there on the battlefield in front of her men. Gwenllian’s last words are reported to have been ‘Remember me’, and for centuries after the terrible defeat, the battle cry of the Welsh in their never-ending search for freedom became ‘Remember Gwenllian!’
About the Author
Photo © 2015 Steve Powderhill
Kevin Ashman is the author of eighteen novels, including the bestselling Roman Chronicles and highly ranked Medieval Sagas. Always pushing the boundaries, he found further success with the India Sommers Mysteries, as well as three other standalone projects, Vampire, Savage Eden and the dystopian horror story The Last Citadel. Kevin was born and raised in Wales and now writes full-time. He is married with four grown children and enjoys cycling, swimming and watching rugby. Current works include the Blood of Kings series: A Land Divided, A Wounded Realm and Rebellion’s Forge. Links to all Kevin’s books can be found at www.KMAshman.co.uk.