Part 5

The age of Owen Gwynedd and the Lord Rees and Owen Cyveiliog brought a higher ideal still. If the Crusader made war sacred, the monk made labour noble. The chief aim of the monk, it is true, was to save his soul. He thought the world was very bad, as indeed it was; and he thought he could best save his own soul by retiring to some remote spot, to live a life of prayer. But he also lived a life of labour; he became the best gardener, the best farmer, and the best shepherd of the Middle Ages. Great monasteries were built for him, and great tracts of land were given him, by those who were anxious that he should pray for their souls. The monk who came to Wales was the Cistercian. The monasteries of Tintern, Margam, and Neath were built by Norman barons; and Strata Florida, Valle Crucis, and Basingwerk showed that the Welsh princes also welcomed the monks.

Better, then, than the brilliant wars were the poets and the great Eisteddvod. Better still, perhaps, were the orchards and the flocks of the peaceful monks.

X LLYWELYN THE GREAT

ON the death of the Lord Rees, one of the grandsons of Owen Gwynedd becomes the central figure in Welsh history. Llywelyn the Great rose into power in 1194, and reigned until 1240—a long reign, and in many ways the most important of all the reigns of the Welsh princes.

Llywelyn’s first task was to become sole ruler in Gwynedd. The sons of Owen Gwynedd had divided the strong Gwynedd left them by their father, and their nobles and priests could not decide which of the sons was to be supreme. Iorwerth, the poet Howel, David, Maelgwn, Rhodri, tried to get Gwynedd, or portions of it. Eventually, David I. became king; but soon a strong opposition placed Llywelyn, the able son of Iorwerth, on the throne. Uncles and cousins showed some jealousy; but the growing power of Llywelyn soon made them obey him with gradually diminishing envy.

His next task was to attach the other princes of Wales to him, now that the Lord Rees and Owen Cyveiliog were dead. To begin with, he had to deal with the astute Gwenwynwyn, the son of Owen Cyveiliog; and he had to be forced to submit. He then turned to the many sons and grandsons of the Lord Rees—Maelgwn and Rees the Hoarse especially. They called John, King of England, into Wales; but they soon found that Llywelyn was a better master than John and his barons. Gradually Llywelyn established a council of chiefs—partly a board of conciliation, and partly an executive body. It was nothing new; but it was a striking picture of the way in which Llywelyn meant to join the princes into one organised political body.

His third task was to begin to unite Norman barons and Welsh chiefs under his own rule. He had to begin in the old way, by using force; and Ranulph of Chester and the Clares trembled for the safety of their castles. He then offered political alliance; and some of the Norman families of the greatest importance in the reign of John—the Earl of Chester, the family of Braose, and the Marshalls of Pembroke—became his allies. His other step was to unite Welsh and Norman families by marriage. He himself married a daughter of King John, and he gave his own daughters in marriage to a Braose and a Mortimer. It is through the dark-haired Gladys, who married Ralph Mortimer, that the kings of England can trace their descent from the House of Cunedda.

Llywelyn’s last great task was to make relations between England and Wales relations of peace and amity. During his long reign, he saw three kings on the throne of England—the crusader Richard, the able John, and the worthless and mean Henry III. It was with John that he had most to do, the king whose originality and vices have puzzled and shocked so many historians. John helped him to crush Gwenwynwyn, then helped the jealous Welsh princes to check the growth of his power. Llywelyn saw that it was his policy, as long as John was alive, to join the English barons. They were then trying to force Magna Carta upon the King, that great document which prevented John from interfering with the privileges of his barons. In that document John promises, in three clauses, that he will observe the rights of Welshmen and the law of Wales.

When John died in 1216, and his young son Henry succeeded him, the policy of England was guided by William Marshall Earl of Pembroke. William Marshall was one of the ministers of Henry II., and by his marriage with the daughter of Strongbow, the conqueror of Ireland, he had become Earl of Pembroke. It was with him that Llywelyn had now to deal. He was too strong in Pembroke to be attacked, but his very presence made it easier for Llywelyn to retain the allegiance of the chiefs who would have been in danger from the Norman barons if Llywelyn’s protection were taken away. In 1219 the great William Marshall died; and changes in English politics forced his sons into an alliance with Llywelyn.

Llywelyn’s title of Great is given him by his Norman and English contemporaries. He was great as a general; his detection of trouble before the storm broke, his instant determination and rapidity of movements, his ever-ready munitions for battle and siege, made his later campaigns always successful. He felt that he was carrying on war in his own country; so his wars were not wars of devastation, but the crushing of armies and the razing of castles.

He took an interest in the three great agents in the civilisation of the time—the bard, the monk, and the friar. The bard was as welcome as ever at his court; the monk, welcomed by Owen Gwynedd before, was given another home at Aber Conway. Llywelyn extended his welcome to the friar, and he was given a home at Llan Vaes in Anglesey, on the shores of the Menai. The friar brought a higher ideal than that of the monk; his aim was salvation, not by prayer in the solitude of a mountain glen, but by service where men were thickest together—even in streets made foul by vice, and haunted by leprosy. Of the Mendicant Orders, the Franciscans were the best known in Wales; and, of all Orders of that day, it was they who sympathised most deeply with the sorrows of men. And it was this which, a little later on, brought them so much into politics.

Great and successful in war and policy, in touch with the noblest influences in the life of the time, Llywelyn applied himself to one last task. His companions and allies had nearly all died before him; but he wished that the peace and unity, which they had established, should live after them. He had two sons—Griffith, who was the champion of independence; and David, who wished for peace with England. Llywelyn laid more stress on strong government at home than on the repudiation of feudal allegiance to the King of England. So he persuaded the council of princes at Strata Florida to accept David as his successor.

XI THE LAST LLYWELYN

DAVID II., a mild and well-meaning prince, was too weak to carry his father’s policy out. He tried to maintain peace, and did homage to his uncle, the King of England. But, as the head of the patriotic party, his more energetic brother, Griffith, opposed him. By guile he caught Griffith, and shut him in a castle on the rock of Criccieth. The other princes shook off the yoke of Gwynedd, and Henry III. tried to play the brothers against each other. David sent Griffith to Henry, who put him in the Tower of London. In trying to escape, his rope broke, and he fell to the ground dead. Soon afterwards, in 1246, in the middle of a war with Henry, David died of a broken heart.

The sons of Griffith—Owen, Llywelyn, and David—at once took their uncle’s place; and by 1255 Llywelyn ap Griffith was sole ruler. By that year Henry III. had given his young son Edward the earldom of Chester, which had fallen to the crown, and the lands between the Dee and the Conway, which he claimed by a treaty with the dead Griffith. Thus Edward and Llywelyn began their long struggle.

Between 1255 and 1267 Llywelyn tries to recover his grandfather’s position in Wales. In 1255 his power extended over Gwynedd only. He found it easy to extend it over most of Wales, because the rule of the English officials made the Welsh chiefs long for the protection of Gwynedd. The Barons’ War paralysed the power of the King, and Llywelyn made an alliance with Simon de Montfort and the barons. Even after Montfort’s fall in 1265 the barons were so powerful that the King was still at their mercy. In 1267 Llywelyn’s position as Prince of Wales was recognised in the Treaty of Montgomery. His sway extended from Snowdon to the Dee on the east, and to the Teivy and the Beacons on the south—practically the whole of modern Wales, except the southern seaboard. Within these wide bounds all the Welsh barons were to swear fealty to Llywelyn, the only exception being Meredith ap Rees of Deheubarth.

The second struggle of Llywelyn’s reign took place between 1267 and 1277. He tried to weld his land into a closer union, and many of the chiefs of the south and east became willing to call in the English King. Two of them, his own brother David and Griffith of Powys, fled to England, and were received by Edward, who had been king since 1272. Llywelyn and Edward distrusted each other. Edward wished to unite Britain in a feudal unity, and to crush all opponents. Llywelyn thought of helping the barons; he might become their leader. Eleanor, the daughter of Simon de Montfort, the old leader of the barons, was betrothed to him. War broke out. The barons—Clares and Mortimers, and all—joined the King. Llywelyn’s dominions were invaded at all points, his barons had to yield, one after the other; and finally, in 1277, Llywelyn had to accept the Treaty of Rhuddlan. His dominions shrunk to the old limits of Snowdon, his sway over the rest of Wales was taken from him, and the title of Prince of Wales was to cease with his life.

The third struggle was between 1277 and 1282. The rule of the new officials drove the Welsh to revolt; and the chiefs who had opposed Llywelyn, especially his brother David, begged for Llywelyn’s protection. Eleanor, Llywelyn’s wife and Edward’s cousin, tried to keep the peace, but she died while they were arming for the last bitter war of 1282.

It was comparatively easy for Edward to overrun Powys or Deheubarth, if he had an army strong enough. But at that time Gwynedd was almost impregnable. From Conway to Harlech lies the vast mass of Snowdon, a great natural rampart running from sea to sea. Its steep side is towards the east, and the invader found before him heights which he could not climb, and round which he could not pass. If you stand in the Vale of Conway, look at the hills on the Arvon side—the great natural wall of inmost Gwynedd, with its last tower, the Penmaen Mawr, rising right from the sea. The gentle slopes are to the west, and there the corn and flocks were safe.

Edward had to put a large army into the field, and it cost him much. In the war with Llywelyn he had to change the English army entirely; and, in order to get money, he had to allow the Parliament to get life and power. To carry supplies, and to land men in Anglesey to turn the flank of the Welsh, he wanted a fleet. But there was no royal navy then, and the fishermen of the east coast and the south coast—who had no quarrel with the Welsh, but were very anxious to fight each other—were not willing to lose their fish harvest in order to fight so far away.

In 1282, Edward’s great army closed round Snowdon. The chiefs still faithful to Llywelyn had to yield or flee. But winter was coming on, and could Edward keep his army in the field? An attempt had been made to enter Snowdon from Anglesey, but the English force was destroyed at Moel y Don. It looked as if Edward would have to retire. Llywelyn left Snowdon, and went to Ceredigion and the Vale of Towy to put new heart in his allies, and from there he passed on to the valley of the Wye. He meant, without a doubt, to get the barons of the border, Welsh and English, to unite against Edward. But in some chance skirmish a soldier slew him, not knowing who he was. When they heard that their Prince was fallen, his men in Snowdon entirely lost heart. They had no faith in David, and in a few months the whole of Wales was at Edward’s feet.

XII CONQUERED WALES

THE war between Edward and Llywelyn was not a war between England and Wales, as we think of these countries now. Some of the best soldiers under Edward were Welsh, especially the bowmen who followed the Earl of Gloucester and Roger Mortimer from the Wye and Severn valleys.

It is not right that we Welshmen should feel bitter against England, because, in this last war, Edward won and Llywelyn fell. It is easy to say that Edward was cruel and faithless, and it is easy to say that Llywelyn was shifty and obstinate; but it is quite clear that each of them thought that he was right. Edward thought that Britain ought to be united: Llywelyn thought Wales ought to be free. Now, happily, we have the union and the freedom.

On the other hand, I should not like you to think that Wales was more barbarous than England, or Llywelyn less civilised than Edward I. Giraldus Cambrensis saw a prince going barefoot, and the fussy little Archbishop Peckham saw that Welsh marriage customs were not what he liked; and many historians, who have never read a line of Welsh poetry, take for granted that the conquest of Wales was a new victory for civilisation.

In many ways Wales was more civilised than England at that time. Its law was more simple and less developed, it is true; but it was more just in many cases, and certainly more humane. Was it not better that the land should belong to the people, and that the youngest son should have the same chance as the eldest? And, in crime, was it not better that if no opportunity for atonement was given, the death of the criminal was to be a merciful one? In the reign of John, a Welsh hostage, a little boy of seven, was hanged at Shrewsbury, because his father, a South Wales chief, had rebelled. In the reign of Edward I., the miserable David was dragged at the tails of horses through the streets of the same town, and the tortures inflicted on the dying man were too horrible to describe to modern ears. And what the Norman baron did, his Welsh tenant learnt to do. In Wales you get fierce frays and frequent shedding of blood; on the borders you get callous cruelty to a prisoner, or the disfiguring of dead bodies—even that of Simon de Montfort, the greatest statesman of the Middle Ages in England—on the battlefield when all passion was spent.

Take the rulers of Wales again. Griffith ap Conan and Llywelyn the Great had the energy and the foresight, though their sphere was so much smaller, of Henry II. And what English king, except Alfred, attracts one on account of lovableness of character as Owen Gwynedd and Owen Cyveiliog and the Lord Rees do?

When Edward entered into Snowdon, Welsh was spoken to the Dee and the Severn, and far beyond. There were many dialects, as there are still, though any two Welshmen could understand each other wherever they came from, with a little patience, as they can still. But there was also a literary language, and this was understood, if not spoken, by the chiefs all through the country. It was more like the Welsh spoken in mid-Wales—especially in the valley of the Dovey—than any other. There are many signs of civilisation; one of them is the possession of a literary language—for romance and poem, for court and Eisteddvod.