The Brothers of Gwynedd (99 page)

  David's dark and beautiful face did not change, but by the sudden light flush that stained his high cheekbones I knew the mild sting had gone home. It was not so long since David had forsaken Llewelyn in time of war to join Edward, though God knows his motives may not have been near so simple as Llewelyn or any of us supposed. But he said only: "So I have great liking for him. Too great for my good, perhaps. But not because I see him as big in the soul as in the body. He is a man, faulty like other men, and the more dangerous because born to so much power, and so largely gifted. I take him as he is. And you had better do the same, and enjoy what part of him you can."

  "You have had better opportunity to study him than I," Llewelyn owned generously, open-minded but unconvinced, "but my experience is all I can use. Yours is yours, and there's no borrowing. And now there'll be no more studying him for a while; he's bound for the Holy Land, and for my part I wish him good use of my five thousand marks, for he shall have them, and I'll take back my old bear of Dryslwyn."

  "You were a fool else," said David. "I never said there was anything wrong with the bargain. But see it as a bargain, for so it is."

  So it was done, with no pretence or reluctance on either side, and the fealty and homage of Meredith ap Rhys Gryg, the old lord of Dryslwyn, the only Welsh prince then out of Llewelyn's jurisdiction, was restored to him.

  The consultations that accompanied the transfer were brief and businesslike indeed, since the exchange suited all parties, except, perhaps, the over-persuaded and overdevoted Edmund of Lancaster. And what I chiefly remember of them is the person of this same confidential clerk, Robert Burnell, already of formidable reputation, and to be ever greater thereafter. He arrived without great ceremony, attended well but not ostentatiously. I noted his seat and manner in the saddle before he alighted, for he rode like a merchant or a farmer, that is to say, as one who rides on his own errands, and not to be seen and admired by others, and therefore must ride well, sensibly and durably, to last out long days and hard ways, rather than to dazzle other men and wear out mounts. He had no affectations, but lighted down unaided, himself handed over his bridle to the groom, and eyed the way it was handled, even so, until he was content. So I saw, before ever I truly looked at the man and made note of his stature and visage, that here was one who had mind and eye and heart for every detail, and was not interested in the flowers of his office, however interested he might be—and he was, shrewdly!—in its fruits.

  He was above the middle height, and straight as a fir tree. His dark gowns were always of the finest cloth, never of the showiest cut. He was, I suppose, of much the same age as Llewelyn and myself, though I never enquired. If I am right, he was then around forty-one years of age, ten years older than his lord and friend, Edward. He had been in that prince's household since it was formed, when Edward was fifteen years old and being prepared for his marriage to the princess of Castille, and therefore fitted out with an appanage suitable to a married prince and heir to a throne. Burnell was from a small border family of no great importance until he graced it. His abilities were his appanage, and equipped him well enough to found a house and an honour, if he had not been a priest. As it was, there were great horizons open to him in another sphere.

  "Old Boniface is dead," David said to me, coming into my copying-room from the hall, that first evening, flushed and restless with wine, but not drunk. There was a core in him then, I dread of brotherly bitterness, that would not let him get drunk, his wits so raged against surrendering their edge. "We lack an archbishop of Canterbury, and Edward has made his mind known. Did you not hear of it? Before he took his legions out of England he made a rush to Canterbury, to tell the monks what heavy responsibility they bear, having the election of the high priest in their hands. It was hearing of the old man's death in Savoy that sent him there, with a candidate ready chosen. He told them plainly he wanted Burnell. What could suit him better? Burnell is his man, heart and soul. That's why he's left here, ready and waiting, instead of sailing with the crusaders, as he intended. We shall see, we shall see, what the monks of Canterbury think of Edward's nominee."

  It seemed to me then that the chapter of Canterbury would hardly be likely to flout the wishes of the Lord Edward, but it had to be remembered also that he was now out of the country, and likely to be preoccupied with other high matters for some time to come, so that they had not to confront him face to face if they chose to ignore his orders. Nor was he yet king, at least not in name. In all else I must say his was the ruling will in England, and King Henry was content to have it so, finding his giant son a shield and comfort rather than a tyrant.

  Whatever their reasoning, we heard later that the monks of Canterbury in solemn session had elected as candidate for the primacy their prior, a somewhat obscure person hardly known out of their own company, certainly with no great reputation for learning or doctrine. I have forgotten his name, and that in itself says most of what there is to be said about him. I do remember that the election caused anger at the king's court, and was received with cold disapproval in Rome. But the affair hung unresolved for two years after, and England was without an archbishop, because of a long and disputed interregnum in the papacy, and even when a new pope was chosen in the person of Cardinal Tedaldo Visconti, later to be known to Christendom by his chosen name of Gregory X, the new pope-elect was absent crusading in the east with the Lord Edward, and indeed had already become his close and loyal friend. When he returned to give his attention to his new duties, he examined the prior of Canterbury, and found him wanting in the qualities an archbishop should have, and chose instead the provincial of the Dominicans in England, Robert Rilwardby, a man of learning, purpose and character, who had never looked for the honour, and received it dutifully but with astonishment.

  But in this summer of twelve hundred and seventy all this was still to do, and we saw Robert Burnell at work as man of affairs and trustee for Edward his lord. And I think that affairs of state were more his province than matters of faith and doctrine, and as archbishop he would have been wasted. He went straight to the heart of an errand, worded clearly, made decisions firmly and sensibly, was not to be diverted or provoked. By the time all was agreed, the royal charters delivered, and the fee of Meredith's homage paid in full, I found it no wonder that Edward should choose this man as one of the regent-administrators of his affairs and lands in his absence, and in the event of Richard of Cornwall's death, one of the guardians of his children.

  He was of powerful build for his height, and moved like one in as firm mastery of his body as of his mind. His colouring was fair, with thick, short hair of a light brown, and eyes as light, flecked with green, and his smooth-shaven face was square and strong, every line sharply drawn. But all this force of decision and judgment he voiced in tones quiet, reasonable and brief. Llewelyn, as I saw, warmed to him, for good reason, being used to grappling with officials whose only intent was to avoid making any clear answer or bringing any doubtful matter to a conclusion. So it was no wonder that he took the opportunity of broaching with Burnell the issue of Senghenydd, and his grievance over the castle building at Caerphilly.

  "I know," said Burnell, "that both you and the earl of Gloucester have made out strong cases for your rival claims in those parts, both as to the commote itself, and the homage and fealty of its lord, who is now imprisoned in Ireland. You made representations to the king's Grace some time ago, to obtain his release."

  "I did," said Llewelyn, "for to my knowledge he has committed no treason against the earl, and it is no fault of his if two overlords both lay claim to him, and he prefers one of them. His Grace replied that it was open to me to bring action on his behalf in the king's courts against Gloucester, since the crown lawyers held that the lord of Senghenydd is of the Englishry. But I cannot bring such action without acknowledging the right of the court and the English dependence of Griffith, and this I do not acknowledge. The man is Welsh, and the land was his by hereditary right. I preferred the arbitration commission, old and good practice, drawn from both sides where disputed rights are concerned. But it moves not as such commissions used to do, but by legal delays and deferments which I find rather English than impartial. And meantime, Earl Gilbert continues to build. It is my contention that building should cease until we have agreement."

  Instead of bandying words to conceal art, Burnell spoke out freely. "It is truth, you will find the nature of such joint commissions changed. I will not deny it. I do not say it was ever intended, but it is implicit in your lordship's present relationship with the crown. Think how great is that change. Never before has Wales stood in this same interdependence. You are nearer now than you ever were to the crown, and I tell you freely, English officials, by the very nature of your treaty, think of you as reliant upon the royal courts for the maintenance of justice wherever it touches both countries. Law
is
slow. I trust it may also be sure and just, but slow it is, and I well understand how that may gall. I cannot offer you hope of a reversal there. But as to the ban on building until the case is settled, I think there you have a strong argument, and it can be looked into. Can and shall, if I can procure it."

  "I have waited," said Llewelyn, "a great while, but to wait until the fortress is complete would be too much to ask of me. The earl claims he is in fear of Welsh incursion, and means only to make his own defence possible. But Senghenydd was never his, though he did impose homage on its lord, and it is not his own he is defending, it is what he had taken unjustly."

"But you do not claim Senghenydd as yours?" said Burnell with his small, dry smile.

  "Senghenydd belongs to Griffith, and should be restored to him, together with his freedom. Ultimately I claim Griffith as my vassal, yes. By treaty I was given acknowledged title to the fealties of
all
the Welsh princes, saving only this Meredith who is now also given to me. But the issue of Griffith's allegiance and Welshness can wait the slow processes of arbitration. What I claim now is that building at Caerphilly should cease. De Clare should not build, nor I destroy. But if he builds," said Llewelyn bluntly, "then I shall destroy. I have let the work go too far already."

  And Burnell smiled, and said that he valued the candour of the exchange. He did not say, but it was implicit in his manner, that he himself found Gilbert de Clare a difficult, slippery and insubordinate man, and the Lord Edward would not be gravely vexed to see him curbed.

  "Yet I doubt," said Llewelyn, after the envoy had departed with his strong entourage and his treasure, "if that gives us free leave to do the curbing. Gilbert is troublesome, but Gilbert is English, a marcher lord, one of their own. It would be folly for us to rely too much on new friendships, when they cross old ones."

  So he waited still for a while, measuring the days until the point should come when for the maintenance of his royal dignities he must act. And as I know, he was well aware that miscalculation might be exceedingly dangerous, whether he moved too soon, and inflamed old animosities, or too late, and encouraged insolent presumption of his weakness. And the danger of hesitation, of threatening action and then not acting, or of acting by derisory half-measures, was the most acute of all.

  I believe that Burnell did urge the king to impose a halt to Gloucester's building; he may even have succeeded in getting Henry to make some gesture of prohibition, but if so, it was ignored. And at the beginning of October Llewelyn judged his moment to be upon him, and struck.

  We went in force, led by the prince himself, for he would not make this assertion of his rights through any other hand, surrounded Gilbert's great earthwork, and drove the English guards, builders and all, south in haste for their lives, though it was done with such method and deliberation that they recognised the impossibility of preventing us doing what we would, and withdrew without offering battle. Gloucester himself was not there, for parliament was then in session, and he was present in full cry, urging his right to build and the danger that threatened his lands, for once truly, though he did not know it. At the very hour, perhaps, when King Henry was writing urgently to Llewelyn that he had impressed upon Gloucester the necessity for keeping the peace, and that the prince should also observe the like restraint, we were setting fire to Gilbert's timber keep, tearing down his boundary walls, and levelling his earthworks. We destroyed everything, and then, to mark our own reading of restraint, withdrew from the entire commote, making no attempt to occupy it and hold it, as we could have done.

  Of course there was great turmoil when the news reached the court, and Gloucester got something out of it in payment for his castle, for there was never any more said about his pledged duty to follow Edward to the Holy Land. Now he could settle vengefully in his marcher lands and purport to be the guardian of the realm as well as of his own claims. Llewelyn was loudly blamed for taking action, but that moved him not at all, and it seemed he had not gravely misjudged his hour, for king and council continued to urge the use of arbitration, and to support the meetings of the commission, though these still tended to talk endlessly and arrive nowhere, as before. However, we had a breathing space, and kept Senghenydd under careful watch, in case of further attempts to build. Gilbert was an incalculable creature, given to bouts of breathtaking audacity, sometimes deservedly successful, sometimes undeservedly, and sometimes disastrous, but also to long periods of unruly and incompetent muddling, arrogantly sure of his rightness and tangling himself and everyone about him in quagmires beyond the capacity of other men. So one never knew what to expect from him. I do not know whether he had breathed in an emulous desire to outbuild King Henry, from his belated and sullen visit to the abbey at Westminster, but this year following found him at a high pitch of excellence rare in him, choosing men ably, appraising their plans modestly and sensibly, and giving ability its head to design such a castle as barons dream of. But until past the end of this year twelve hundred and seventy we had no hint of what went forward, for the site at Caerphilly remained desert.