The Brothers of Gwynedd

  "He'll be beset with petitioners clamouring for their own ends," he said disdainfully, "and we'll not press him, but at least we'll let him know that we are here, with both offers and claims to make, civilly waiting for his attention when the time serves." All which the council heartily endorsed. So he wrote requesting letters of safe-conduct, that envoys from Wales might come to pay his respects, and in the middle of December they were granted.

  "If I am to seek a friend at court," he said, "it shall be the highest." And he chose the best and wisest of his lawyers and clerics to go as envoys. Before Christmas they came back to report a very willing hearing, and a degree of interest and sympathy, though the legate's preoccupations at that time were naturally with the most pressing distresses in state and church. "The more pleasure it must be to him," said Llewelyn hopefully, "to hear of one petitioner who has learned how to wait, and who desires peace on present terms, and not the slaughter and ruin of all his enemies. And he shall not forget us, we'll make sure of that!"

  In this same month of December young Simon and his company in the fens at last submitted to Edward, who had them securely penned there at a disadvantage, and who, to do him justice, promised, and this time kept his promise, that if they placed themselves in the king's grace they should have no fear for life, limb or liberty. Lands they might and did lose, and they had to find sureties for their submission, and await the king's pleasure, but they fared better than many others later, who still held out in forests and hills.

  Having done all that could be done at this time, Llewelyn turned homeward to Aber for the Christmas feast, according to custom, feeling secure enough to remove his forces from the border for the first time in many months. Since my return from Evesham I had scarcely been twenty miles into Wales. Now at last I came at his side along the coast road once more, and under the mountains, gazing across Lavan sands at the shore of Anglesey, with a sprinkling of snow over the salt marshes, and the gulls wheeling and screaming above the tide.

  It seemed to me then that I had been away from this place far longer than a year, and had travelled an infinite distance across the world to make my way back to it again. It was even strange to me, like a country seen in a dream, for the soft, rich green and soiled and sorry red of the vale of Evesham filled all the landscape of my mind. I had almost forgotten the faces of people here, and the very echoes were unfamiliar to me. I came as a stranger.

  We rode into the gateway of the maenol, and out of every doorway the household came running to welcome us. And the first person I saw, crossing from the mews to the hall with her arms full of fir-branches, and a hood drawn over her black, silken hair, was Cristin.

  I was speaking to Llewelyn at that moment, and I broke off mute and stricken in the midst of a word. I know I drew hard on the rein and my horse baulked in offence, marking the break. I had thought she was in Neigwl, safe, distant, delivered from my shadow and delivering me from hers, while I died a little with Earl Simon, and grew a little English in desperate, perverse tribute to him. Last Christmas she had not been here either to trouble or fulfil me. I had not seen her for two whole years. For many months I had not thought of her consciously, but with my blood and bones, she being for ever part of me. The compact we had between us was for all time, and did not waver, but the sudden vision of her was more than my heart could bear of bliss and pain, I was not large enough to contain it. Face and voice failed me. And Llewelyn saw. I knew it then, though he never said a word until later. His mind, also, had ventured into far places among alien people, he was shaken as I was, and he saw with newly-opened eyes.

  She was then approaching thirty years of age, but time was of no moment, except that she grew finer, more purely-drawn and to me more beautiful with every year, the whiteness of her skin like sunlit snow under the raven hair, and her eyes iris-grey and clear as light at dawn. So contained and perfect she was within her body, the soul was visible within. Wherever else I had been, whatever else I had done and seen and known, whoever else I had loved after my fashion, for love is an enlargement of the being and lets in other loves, there was no end nor limitation to the love I felt for her. When we were together, brushing arms about our work like other men, I could deal with it and be at peace, but when I saw her newly after so long, and without warning, I doubt it burned in me like a lantern, blinding all those who saw, or all who had eyes to see.

  She looked at us and she stayed, her long mouth curling like a bent bow, and her eyes widening and glowing darkly purple. At me she looked, and it was a renewal of vows, and the strong curve of her lips became a smile to be remembered long. Then she went on where she was going, into the hall.

  I awoke, and Llewelyn's eyes were on me, waiting courteously and patiently. He had reined in to keep pace with me. I said: "I did not know she was here. I thought she was still in Neigwl."

  "Last spring," said Llewelyn, "after you were away from us, I sent a new castellan to Neigwl, the old man being ill and needing to give over such a charge. The new man had a wife. And Godred being now in my household force here, I thought well to send him to bring his wife to Aber." So he said, and his voice was level and low and mild, forbearing from wonder or question.

  I had not seen Godred, either, since returning from Evesham. Until then I had not remembered him. A strange year, maker or breaker, that had been to me. I said: "That was right. I am glad to see Cristin here." And I shook my rein and went forward into the courtyard, and there dismounted, he close beside me.

  So we came home to Aber with all our gains and losses, to keep Christmas of the year of our Lord twelve hundred and sixty-five, the year of Evesham.

  From the moment I saw her in hall among the household, with Godred at her side, it was as it had been with us beforetime, as close, as calm, as sure, as when we made our compact. We met and spoke each other and passed, with every look and every near approach uplifted and sustained, and the manner of our exchanges when we were alone was not different from the manner of them when Godred was at her elbow. The first speech she had with me was when she entered the hall, the night of our arrival, on Godred's arm, and gave me her hand with open and fearless warmth and bade me welcome from the heart, saying she had prayed for me all the days of my absence. Before all, and proudly and simply, she said it, so that he had not even the twisted satisfaction of conceiving that she feigned reserve and indifference. And when I met her alone in the storeroom, folding away newly-mended hangings, she met me with pleasure and serenity, speaking only of the day's work and the season's festivities, with never one word he could not have heard, had he been crouching behind the door again to listen, as perhaps he was. Not one step towards me nor one step away did she swerve from her path to gratify Godred's perverse longings.

  But I think after that Christmas-time there were two who watched us, instead of one, with motives and missions as far apart as darkness and light.

  All the following year the struggle in England continued for all Cardinal Ottobuono's patient mediations, as nest after nest of rebels was painfully smoked out of forest and fen, and brought to submission. Young Simon was ordered to leave England, and swear never again to take action against the king or his realms and Edward took him in custody to London to prepare for his departure. But he was warned secretly that he could not trust his captors, and his life might be in danger before ever he embarked. How much truth there was in this warning we cannot know, for no man then trusted his fellows, and even if Edward's intent was honest enough, as for my part I think likely, it was no wonder that those who wished young Simon well were afraid for him.

  Whatever the truth, he escaped from the Old Temple and made his way safely to the coast, where the independent men of Winchelsea hid him until they could get him away across the Channel in February. Not many weeks later his younger brother Guy, recovered from his wounds, also made good his escape and followed Simon to France. Some people thought that the escapes had been connived at, as the quickest means of ousting from England the last sons of Earl Simon, but by the alarm t
hat followed I think this was not so. The narrow seas were full of reiving galleys sympathetic to the rebels, and now the fear of invasion was turned about, and King Henry dreaded that the Montforts might raise an army and a fleet to return and fight the war all over again. A vain fear, surely! All that remained was a few forlorn camps of desperate men living wild through that winter and defying the crown. There was no possible hope of a recovery, there was no army, almost there was no cause.

  Two men were chiefly responsible for the gradual betterment of this state of disorder, and those two were the cardinal-legate and the Lord Edward. Nor was Edward's part all the fighting and none of the pacification. He did indeed fight, and formidably, and while the fighting endured he was unrelenting. But when he had taken and broken the town of Winchelsea, the most obdurate of the Cinque ports, he did not pillage and burn in revenge, but very quickly turned to offering the merchants good, sensible terms, inviting them to a new age of well-ordered and peaceful trade, and restoring them freely to royal favour and all their privileges. He did so, doubtless, because they were strong and could be either valuable or dangerous to him, and many of his conquered opponents who had not the same power behind them found short shrift and ended on trees. Nevertheless, he showed very shrewd sense, and the ability to rein in his grudges where that was good policy, as King Henry could seldom do.

  But it may be that even the better part of Edward's wisdom came from Cardinal Ottobuono, who did truly endeavour for peace, mercy and forgiveness. So when the final siege of Kenilworth was planned in the summer, the legate still tirelessly haunted both parties and battled for a better ending. And in the meantime, there being a limit to one man's energy, ingenuity and time, our affairs in Wales had to wait.

  What we chiefly noticed from our side the border was the growing rift between Earl Gilbert de Clare of Gloucester and Roger Mortimer. For Gloucester, though he had been the instrument of Earl Simon's fall, nevertheless was heart and soul for conciliation and did his best to save his old associates from disinherison and utter ruin, while Mortimer, who had been absolute against the Provisions from the beginning, desired the ultimate in vengeance, and encouraged King Henry in his obduracy against all concessions. I think it was as a result of this enmity between neighbours that Mortimer took the step he did in May of that year, meaning to strengthen his own influence, to keep alive the king's resentment, and to remind him that Wales was held to be a continuing danger. For in the middle of the month he suddenly gathered all his men and made a determined drive into Brecon, intending to occupy those lands in the teeth of Llewelyn's lordship.

  That was the only time we had to take action all that year. Rhys Fychan moved east from Dynevor to meet the attack, and we drove south through Builth, and between us Mortimer was crushed as in a closing fist, barely escaping with his life back to Wigmore, and leaving behind the greater part of his forces dead or prisoner.

  "He chose his time badly," said Llewelyn grimly. "I might have been content to drive him off, if I had not to maintain before the legate a position I desire him to recognise. He shall be in no doubt whether I am the master of Wales, or whether I deserve the title to add to the reality. Also," he said, "I might have spared him if he had not been among the chief of those who dug Earl Simon's grave. If this display was for King Henry's benefit, I hope he draws the right lesson."

  Then we were again no more than spectators to the turmoil and tragedy of England, for no man raised a hand against us more. The long siege of Kenilworth began that June, and was not ended until December, and even then the castle was never taken. Doubtless the garrison at first believed, as much of England believed, that the earl's sons might yet return with an army from France, but even when that dream was over they did not give in. And all that time, untiring, the cardinal-legate plied between all the parties, procured that parliament convened at Kenilworth, recruited to him all the moderate opinion and goodwill he could find in barons, officials and churchmen, and at last, against long resistance from the king, hammered out a form of settlement by which all who came to the king's grace within forty days should have pardon and indulgence, and those already dispossessed should be able to redeem their lost lands at a fee. Though this form was not all that the legate had hoped for, it was a great gain over anything offered before, and it put an end to retrospective revenges, and made a new beginning possible. Nevertheless, the garrison in Kenilworth fought on until the middle of December, when they gave up hope of aid from abroad, and at last surrendered on these terms. Sick, starving, ragged they marched out of Earl Simon's castle, and on their given word were allowed to depart to their own homes, with their pride and faith unbroken, as a last offering to the earl's memory.

  But in the isle of Ely in the fens the rebels still held out, and it seemed that this last bitter sore was to be left festering, perhaps to start a rot within the whole body of the realm, if the earl of Gloucester had not gone beyond exasperation into action. He resolved to go to London in arms, and stop this long persecution, preventing the worst and most violent of the king's advisers from having their way with England. And shrewdly he made known his design to Llewelyn, and asked and received assurance of quiet on his borders while he went to work, and goodwill from beyond the march.

  "God forbid," said Llewelyn, "that with such a task in hand he should have to look over his shoulder. But who would have thought," he said, marvelling, "that the same man who loosed Edward and won the war for the king should now be the man who may save what remains of the reform?"

  In the event it worked out not quite as we had supposed, or Earl Gilbert, perhaps, intended. He established himself in London, and some of the rebels from Ely joined him there, while the city itself rose hopefully to him, and again created that commune of London which had so strongly supported Earl Simon. For two months the capital city was a rebel camp, and perhaps that very outburst recalled all the forces in England to their senses, and made them aware with what dangerous fire they played. So in the end it served well enough, for king, prince, officials and rebels all were drawn together under the legate's guidance, and forced to come to terms at last.

  Gloucester had come near to being himself a rebel again, yet it was he who put an end to the long-drawn struggle, by showing what was the only alternative, a new war. So he came home unscathed and in due fealty to the king, however suspiciously Edward looked sidewise at him from under his drooping eyelid. And he brought about the final accord that made life supportable and justice at least a possibility in the realm.

  "They have been long enough about the affairs of England," said Llewelyn, drawing satisfied breath, "now let's see if they are ready to turn to the affairs of Wales."

  Courteously and dutifully he wrote to Cardinal Ottobuono, to remind him that we also waited patiently for his attentions, when he should be free to bestow them, and that we desired, as we always had, a just and lasting treaty of peace with England. His messengers brought back a very favourable and even grateful reply, promising early consideration of the request. King Henry also responded agreeably, declaring himself no less anxious than Llewelyn to have a settled peace. And this was the fruit of the prince's policy of confining his rule and his ambitions to Wales itself, and refraining from exploiting the wounds and dissents of England as otherwise he might have done.

  "Perhaps," he said, when I said so. But his eyes looked far and the shadow of Evesham gathered over them. "How do I know," he said, "how can I ever know, that we could not have won both our battles, if I had had more faith? To the day of my death I shall be in doubt. Only in the judgment shall I come to know the degree of my offence, and

  whether God sees it through Earl Simon's eyes or mine."

  So I said no more then, for he was resolute in his self-blame, but the more determined to press home to a triumph the cause for which he had sinned, if sin it was. And the day of that triumph was near.

  At the end of the month of August King Henry came in great state to the town of Shrewsbury, with Cardinal Ottobuono, the Lord Edward, Hen
ry of Almain, and all the servants and officials of his court, and sent safe-conduct into Wales for Llewelyn's envoys to come there into conference. Llewelyn sent two very experienced men, Einion ap Caradoc and David ap Einion, and since the season was again summer, the golden end of the summer when the evenings draw in but the days are radiant, he took his court into camp in the green valley of Severn in its upper reaches, close to Strata Marcella, and himself lodged in the abbey. And there we stayed through the greater part of September, while messages went to and fro busily, and sometimes we fished, and sometimes we rode, our bodies at leisure and our minds at rest, for time was nothing to us. We had a position that could not be shifted, and we could afford to wait King Henry's yielding, for he needed that peace more than we did. Nor did we wish him any ill. Llewelyn wanted no more than his own.