Battlement and Tower

Front matter

BATTLEMENT AND TOWER BY OWEN RHOSCOMYL AUTHOR OF "THE JEWEL OF YNYS GALON" Youth, with its passionate gaze, Panting to tilt in the maze Crowding life's glorious ways Where they widen on wonderful days WITH FRONTISPIECE BY R. CATON WOODVILLE LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO. LONDON, NEW YORK, AND BOMBAY 1896 All rights reserved •©efctcftfton. NOT DESIRING TO RANK AS ANYTHING BUT A MERE SINGER OF SAGAS, THEREFORE, TO ALL SUCH FOLK AS PREFER THE GLANCING VISTAS OF THE FREE FOREST TO THE NOXIOUS GROWTHS OF THE SOCIAL MIDDEN, THIS BOOK IS MOST RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED BY THE AUTHOR. PRINTED FROM AMERICAN PLATES AT THE ABERDEEN UNIVERSITY PRESS.

Preface

' 1 fly to thy grassy courtyard, away from this other life, And, watching the sun on thy towers, I half forget its strife ; And the old, old Earth seems fairer, and the face of God more near When the breeze to thy ivy whispers and the shadows stoop to hear." —Conwy— by R. S. There may be other high-walled towns and strong-tow ered castles, but there be few to surpass the walls and towers of the town and castle of Aberconwy. Carnarvon's keep may be majestic, but Conwy's is beautiful. And yet it is a pathetic sight to see the pilgrim as he wanders in patient desire by battlement and tower, looking with dumb wistfulness at the hoar stones his long-gone fathers builded. The stately pacing centuries have smoothed and softened them to all the loveliness of reverend years, till now they stand instinct with power to stir the deeps of the stillest-souled beholder.

But the pilgrim is vaguely conscious of a something missing as betwixt himself and them, and there broods above his spirit the monotone of a yearning to know and seize the subtle essence that is lacking. But while I watch him thus, I go swiftly back to my boy hood's days, when first I loved those matchless monuments of eld, and I follow on through the years when, in spite of ocean's roar and the sweep of continents between, I still cherished in my breast the rugged outlines of tower and wall, the while I felt — " That the old, old Earth grew fairer and the face of God more near," -as in fancy I pictured where — "The wind to its ivy whispered and the shadows stooped to hear ■as the bard has since so lovingly sung. For there is nothing lacking betwixt those time-worn walls and me, and in the peaceful silences they whisper of

PREFACE.

all that thoy havo witnessed since first their Eronts arose. So now, when theso others have wandered with slow feet through thoir gates and in their shadows, the Spirits of the Past have marked mo whore I stood, and from Lower Lo Lower along Lhe battlements the whisper has passed, " All! hero is the ono who knows our inmost secrets. Yea. he shall fake a pen, and with a loving hand shall write large within a hook to toll these pilgrim people where bo listen for our voices and catch the meaning of their cadences. This one shall Lell our story, and Lhe link of sympathy shall lie between us and these others also, and they shall sit and listen for themselves the while they ponder over all the meaning of tho years that we have seen." And so, dear, gentle reader, I Look the tusk and tamed Lhe tomes, and lingered over legends, and penned and pon dered long, liy light of day and mirk of the " midnight oil."

But, alack for the faith of the Past in mel For the thing is not to be done in one book, or even completed in many. Thirty generations have come between their day and this, and every generation has its own share of the hoar world's story. So I have been fain to content myself with writing this one tale; thin one link in the chain of lives which binds the Present to the Past. Yet, if the reader shall fine from the end of thin story, feeling that in connection with these grey walls the men of an older day have lived and fought and the women have loved and suffered; that Life and Death and Joy and Grief have linked and shouldered through room and hall of town and castle; then part at least of my endeavour will have heen done, and thereafter, guided by this introduction, he may learn the nature of that subtle essence whose presence heretofore lie wan dimly aware of, but could not recognize.

And after thai, the Peace of the reverend Past shall brood within his soul and teach him— ah, who shall mete the measure of the things it teaches! And thus it cometh, gg^Wga^d, that I have penned this tale of " JJat/.kmknt _hffl#Tow_Git." I "I / , ' - - _ WSSH

Introduction

" The rush of thy grim portcullis, the clank of thy drawbridge chain. The blare of thy trumpet's challenge, shall never be heard again. Thy warder's echoing footstep, the wail of thy dungeon's woe, Are only heard in the rushing night when storms from seaward blow." — Conwy — a ballad by R. S. Not only are the walls and gateways warderless, as the bard has sung above, but the archives of the town have mostly disappeared, and furthermore, in turning outside to seek the materials of this story, I found Dame History her self but a tantalizing jade. For she gives us but the bald mention of one or two situations of the tale, with scarcely an indication of the under-workings which led up to them. With due gravity she informs us of Clenneneu's surprisal of the castle, with that consequent petition of His Grace of York which Captain Martin carried later to the King ; and she also curtly quotes the fate of that petition.

She dis penses two or three dates and duly notches the successive landings of the various bodies of Irish reinforcements, and then, in the most casual manner, drops one statement as brief as it is important, namely, " The lord St. Pol, now (December, 1645) at my house," — the Archbishop is writing. Then follows dry mention of the expedition under St. Pol and its retreat from Rhuthin. Scattered in the pam phlets at large are the results of the various battles which concern us, and, finally, in one particular letter to the " Honourable Houses," we have General Mytton's report of the taking of Conwy : the terse, tense outlines of that grimmest episode of the whole Civil War, the terrible escalad ing of the stormers, and the subsequent fate of the captured Irish. But for the remainder, the personalities of Howel aud David, of Barbara and Morva, of Ynyr and Dickon, and all the rest ; nay, even for gallant Grey Avro's self, I had to delve and grope under the dust of Time and the blossomed bush of Legend until I had patiently found and fitted the scattered fragments of the following mosaic.

One other item there is, though its date is subsequent to the closing of our narrative. It is contained in a letter from Cromwell to his cousin the Archbishop, and is an assurance touching a certain person on whose behalf His Grace had solicited the good offices of his potent kinsman. Here is the passage. "The Drover you mention will be secured, as far as we are able, in his affairs, should he come to ask it." So we may be allowed to believe that this Drover was none other than Ynyr Velyn, as coolly persistent and thorough in the unaccustomed paths of honest trading as he had ever been aforetime in the ways of Ynyr of the Arrows. And for a specimen of the legendary sources I may quote the gentle ghost of Morva, sighing stilly through that chamber of Plas Mawr, above the imjialpable couch and corpse of the man with whom she passed.

And so I leave you to the result of my searches — the tale itself. P. S. One final word to you, dear, gentle antiquarian or genealogist. Should your keen eye detect, in this narrative, any part which you think is somewhat at variance with accepted dicta, then let me beg of you to waste no ink in a kindly attempt to put me right. For the writer of the luminous notes in the appendix has already said your say on that point, with a freedom of speech which was shock ing. If you were to outdo him in " language," then no respectable editor would admit your communication to his columns, and if you only write with the same or less " free- BATTLEaMENT AND TOWER 3 dom," what good will it do ? Take comfort, therefore, in the thought that if you herein discover any sin against the canons of historical lore, I also am to the full aware of it — thanks to the gentleman above mentioned — and that in addition, " Ephraim is wedded to his idols," and it will be just as wise to " let him alone."

Chapter I

" I leave thee naught but this good brand And the stout heart of thy race; But all the world lies to thy hand, Go, hew thee out a place." — Anon. One lonely little llyn, lifted between swelling bosoms of grey rock and brown heather high on the open breast of a vast sweep of savage mountain top, all drearily defenceless and exposed to the wailing storms of Heaven — Above, a darkly looming sky, distilling from torn and trailing clouds a melancholy stress of water — Below, the surface of the llyn, gleaming with a grey which only differed from that of the lift above in its myriad lined and punctured damascening, as, with eerie-low and elfin hissing, the tumbling rain-drops beat upon its writh ing bosom — And, in the midst, emphasizing the cheerless, hopeless aspect of the whole, a gloomy tower, massively seated upon a rocky islet in one corner of the lake, grim and hoary, showing as if it gathered up and focussed in itself all the desolate, foreboding spirit of the scene.

As it appeared now, so had it shown since first the aimless clouds had wreathed it in, an hour before the noon of this April day in the dark and troublous year of 1645. For though the picture might have but little similitude to that unconsciously called up before the mind's eye by the plea sant words "an April day," yet it was none the less a day — though the last — in April, and liable, therefore, to all the swift changes of that fickle moon. So now, when the pall had lain some six hours or more, and premature night seemed to threaten around, the reach to the southwest sud denly showed free of trailing clouds, and hardly did the last white wisp of vapour vanish over the hill to the north- BATTLEMENT AND TOWER 5 east ere a rift in the west heaven tore wide and showed the bright sky beyond, while out in cheering radiance shed the mantle of the sun-god, lighting the dark heath to a tint almost tawny, and resting with warm glow upon the purple softness of the birchen groves and sweeps of hazel thickets.

The dark llyn itself gleamed from dusky sullenness to a sparkling joyousness of aspect, till now the eye could dis cern that the tower on the rocky islet was knit to the near shore of low cliff by a narrow footway of timber, about the mainland end of which grouped a cluster of lath-built cabins, whose wattled sides and thatched roofs rested on foundations of rude boulders, chinked with turf. In like manner, just as the dusky llyn had lightened with out, so within the upper chamber of the close-jawed tower the eyes of the dying chieftain lying therein seemed to cast off their film and blaze forth anew as one bright javelin of gold shot in through the western loophole and outlined the semblance of his form beneath the coverlet of the heavy oaken couch. Dying ! aye, dying ! as the lame figure of a man gazing earnestly at him from the bed-foot knew only too well ; aye, most surely dying, as the long, lithe-limbed lad, kneeling beside the slack-hanging right hand, felt only too heavily in his inmost heart.

But the reappearing ray of the setting sun kindled a reappearing flush of the setting life in the face of the pass ing chieftain. The flash of the sun met a simultaneous answer in the flash of a half -bared blade lying across the form of its dying owner. The gleam of the keen steel leaped to his eyes and struck quick speech from his tongue. " Listen to me, son Howel ! and mark well what I say, for my sight is darkening and my blood runs chill." Then addressing the figure at the foot of the couch, " Madoc," he went on, " take this sword and belt it about thy foster son, my last and latest son — be speedy." With uneven movements, born of a shattered frame, the one addressed hastened round to obey, while Howel rose and stood upright to receive the weight of the sword he so long had dreamed of.

BATTLEaMENT AND TOWER " Now draw it, Howel— back, Madoc !— and let me see thee handle it," went on the voice that still held command in every echo of it. Even in the midst of his natural grief the weight of the hilt in his grasp fired the blood of the son, and his eyes sparkled with a wild gleam through their moisture as he swung the long blade about with a whistling sweep that might well have shorn away life and limb together had any foe been there to receive the edge. A kindred flame leaped up in the dimming eyes of the father as he watched the play, till he broke out with some thing of the old ring in his voice : " Aye ! Aye ! but never forget the thrust : the thrust that stripes in between the joints of the harness and draws the life out after it, while the cut does but drive a dull dent in the armour.

Remember the thrust when thou art hard pressed, and keep the slash and shear for gentler frays. " And now7," he went on, as first the point was lowered and next the blade went home in the sheath with a stern click, " tliat is well for thee, while for me, ah well ! for me the night is falling. I had six sons, six bold and comely sons, from Morus the tall, that was my first-born, to thee, Howel the frank, that art my youngest, and there were four between. Where are the others now ? " When the King shook loose his standard first, and called upon all loyal gentlemen to aid him, 1 was too old and too useless, from the arm I lost in Ireland and the ague I got in Holland, to ride to the field as I wished. But I put my hosting harness upon my eldest son and sent him forth, with his foster-father at his elbow and his seven foster brethren at his back, to stead his father and keep his King's honour in battle — and they lie all on one stern field, with the grass of English meadows for their coverlet in place of the dark heather.

" Then the King called again— I saw his written letter— and I sent him Griffith, my second son, and with him Mere dydd, his next brother, and they took ten men of their foster-kin. They sleep on as many fields and skirmish- BATTLEMEaNT and tower 7 grounds, but with the church bell to quiet them, and not the eagle's scream. "And again the King cried, and I sent forth Owen, my son, and Evan, his brother, but with them went only each his foster and the lave of the men not reckoned fit before : and so they passed away to glut the fat meads of England ; they lie where true men lie as thick as leaves in autumn, 'neath the oaks of Coedmor. " And now I have but one remaining, and the King's voice grows more earnest as his foes trample ever nearer. Howel, I cannot set thee forth as a gentleman of thy race should be set when he goes to ride under the banner of his King.

All, all is swallowed up and gone — flocks and herds, coin and gear ; the King has had them all, and this place of Twrynys * has neither money to dress thee in laced doublets nor to buckle thee in armour of proof. Neither can it muster a train of proper men ; nay, since thy foster-father took his great hurt, it cannot further thee with even one poor squire or so much as a little foot-page to run at thy knee. But one thing it can give thee that shall stand thee in stead of all these other things — the sword of John, ap Evan, ap Rhys Gethin, with which he went to Bosworth and there won back the lands his father had lost. "From his day to this, from his hand to mine, it has come down, to the grandson of his grandson, and never one of us but has carved his name deep with it upon some stubborn field.

Now do I give it to thee for thy sole inheritance, saving the honourable name of thy long descent and these barren lands and waters, with the widows and orphans for whose safety and sustenance thou must covenant ere thou goest forth. So let it stand to thee for all else that a gentleman should have. If any jackanapes do curl his lip in scorn of the grey doublet, then do thou with the blade lace his own afresh. If, upon a meeting, thou findest thy foe full harnessed, then keep the point warily, and let it be arms and armour in one to thee till room opens for *If the reader pronounces it " Toor innis " he will be near enough, though in "Toor unnis," with the "u" as in English run," he will do better yet. the master-stroke. Remember ever, as thou goest, to be just and merciful to those beneath thee ; proud and ready with thine equals ; and, for the matter of thy superior, there are rules at court for the guidance of any man who seeks the King's presence.

"For thy first step, follow the waters of this Llyn Conwy to where they meet the tide under the walls of Aberconwy. There my cousin, John, Archbishop of York, sometime Lord Keeper of the Great Seal, now keeps that town and castle for the King. Tell him of what place and lineage thou art and he will be quick enough to call thee nephew, for he will not forget that he is cousin to me and so uncle to thee.* " And now I have spent the strength that might have stayed me through another day of life in this last speech to thee ; but it was needful : therefore take my last blessing. God keep thee, son, till thine hour shall come, and then send thee to me in proud and lordly death from some red field of victory, my youngest-born son, Howel ! " Scarcely had the echo of the name hushed in the corners of the room, ere, with a long sigh that died in faint flutter ing, the grey head fell back, and Idwal of Twrynys was gone to the shades, for a link between his slain forefathers and slaughtered sons in the halls where the souls of brave men await the last stern summons to Armageddon.

Presently the son rose up to close his father's eyes, and, as he drew down the lids, even so the clouds outside drew down again over the dying sun, and day went out under a torn and ragged drapery of dreary vapours, matching well with the wild and mournful voices of the women wailing the dirge beside the conch of the departed chief. They were not likely to miss the significance of any, even the least word of that wail, for here in sad and grim verity could the truth of the dead man's words show forth. In the clustering cabins on the shore and in the two lower floors of the tower could be seen women and children enough, but not one single male capable of bearing arms. •That is, "Welsh uncle." Only on the upper floor, sitting at the head of the candled couch, while the women strewed the herbs and placed the salt amidst their wailing, was any representative or figure of manhood.

Three there : one dead ; one grey and maimed out of all potency ; and one, the last, scantly come to man's full estate, with the down of youth upon his chin and the fire of youth in his heart, smouldering though it was under the ashes of natural grief for his father, — albeit the custom of fostering tended always in those days to make such grief less keen than if the father had brought up his son upon his own knee. The feelings of the youth were of a nature easily read by the maimed one, for while ever and anon he looked upon the face of the dead as a deep sigh strove forth, so would he later close his fingers afresh upon the pommel across his knees, or, loosening the blade, draw it gently from the sheath till a good handbreadth of it flashed back the light of fire and candle. When at length the night was half spent, the foster-father rose up : " Twrynys," — and the youth first started and then flushed deep red at this reminder of his new dignity, — "your duty to the dead is thus far done so well that you may now spare time to take thought for your duty to the living.

An' it please you, we will step below and away to where we shall meet one who now becomes of great use." "Who is that?" " Come and you shall see," answered Madoc. Thus urged, Howel rose and followed, for the foster-son could not quite instantaneously change into the master of his foster-father, and in truth it was the latter who was most anxious to intimate that the Howel of yesterday must sink in the Twrynys of to-day. Accordingly the young man still insisted upon aiding the other's difficult descent of the rude oaken stair until they stood in the square cham ber of the ground floor, amidst the subdued signs of sorrow which the younger portion of the inhabitants of the main land cabins had gathered to indulge. The stir of the young chief's coming amongst them, however, was suddenly broken by a stir at least as great, when through the low-browed entrance at the opposite end strode in the figure of a man, long, lean, and full of lusty life, — strange enough sight within the walls of Twrynys this many a long day past.

" Ynyr* Velyn ! " spoke one of the nearest women under her breath — because of the twinkle in her eye that would have been out of place, shown here and now. " Ynyr Sae thau ! " belled a boy in half glee that procured a stout blow from his mother by way of teaching him manners. " You see, Twrynys," quoth Madoc quietly, " folk have not forgotten my brother, and neither have you yourself done so, as I am right glad to find. And this is the man we were on our way to meet, — the man of great use ; the one who is to be squire and groom and page in one. And though he be my own brother, yet I will warrant him worth more to you than all the train your brothers took when they rode away to the wars." By this time the lean figure was come to a halt in front of them, standing in plain justification of both the names given to him, for the long beard on his breast was yellow \ as the flame of the gorse in bloom, while in his left hand he bore a bow that overtop]3ed even his height by half an arm's length, and at his back a quiverful of arrows of wondrous length and feather.

Belted upon his hip also was one of what ancient chroniclers call " long Welsh knives," lineal descendants of the short swords which con tested the beach when Julius Cæsar landed to the invasion of Britain. This eighteen inches of massive "cleddyf "\ or glaive had been to Bosworth also ; possibly in wake of the longsword, for its hilt was fitted to receive a stout ashen shaft, thereby to become a pike, in the fashion so shrewdly * A Welshman would understand if you pronounced this name as " Inner," but if you said " Unner " he would catch it still surer. f I have retained a free hand not only here, but throughout the book in the spelling of names. X Pronounced somewhat as if spelled in English " clay thy v," with the "th" soft as in "with." Colloquially it is liable to be docked of its last syllable in the mouths of certain speakers, and then its kinship with the " claidh more " of Scots writers is seen at once. followed and bravely justified by the Welsh mountaineers in that epoch-making field.

For the rest, his eyes gleamed like a new blade under his bushy brows as he addressed his brother, first making due obeisance to Howel. ' ' I heard the wail, and so came at once to save you the trouble of sending." "Aye," answered Madoc with the ghost of a smile in his eyes, " that was ever thy way ; and if thou hadst never gone till they sent for thee, how many a man would have been the richer this night ! " " None ; not one," quoth Ynyr stoutly. " Look you, these new Commissioners of Array would have swept up all, and it would have gone to grease palms and pay papishers, and only rogues would have benefited. As it was, we, proper men all, had many a rare day and merry night in the March towns, and so honest drovers and alewives bene fited and paid more taxes on increase of trade, — a better trade than the one the Commissioners are increasing.

I would any day liever see red wine spilled than red blood." " Then what of the High Sheriff ? " quoth Madoc insin uatingly. " Why now, brother, that goes beyond fair words. You know that was no fault of mine, and I would give more than I shall ever own to see so gallant a gentleman back in life again, though that would but mean his losing it in the next battle." " And besides," followed Madoc in kindly warmth, " then must thy brother have come to shame, for he would have been able to find no substitute for himself when his foster son went to the wars. This is the hour I waited for, and so kneel down, Ynyr, brother, and swear upon the sword to be as true and faithful in my stead to my foster-son as I would have been had Heaven but left me the strength (as I have the will) to follow him to the field."

Deep silence fell upon the room at these last words, seeming to deepen still more as Ynyr knelt upon one knee and, placing his hand upon the sword of Howel, swore to be to him as a foster-father to a foster-son. Then the young chief lifted him to his feet with one BATTLEMENT AND TOWER 12 hand while he placed the other upon the shoulder of Madoc in silent sympathy with the tear that trickled furtively down his furrowed cheek. One moment thus, and then the lame brother set him self in front of his substitute. " Be true to me, Ynyr," he cried in ill-concealed emotion. " But, there ! "—he broke off suddenly—" I know thou wilt be that, being my brother, let alone what thou hast ever been of thine own self."

Chapter II

" Farewell the pleasant greenwood tree, Farewell the waste so wide : My sworded chief hath need of me Where the harnessed horsemen ride, — Ballad. It was the forenoon of next day ere Howel bethought him to inquire further touching the opportune appearance of his welcome squire. " That ! " answered Madoc readily, " that was all planned months ago. You know what Ynyr is, and the way he ever lived. Well, last year he had a misfortune out of the com mon way : he fell foul of another gentleman of his own trade, and somehow a High Sheriff turned up with a company of forest-bills at his back — though I do think it was more in the way of an ordinary gentleman's riding than in the capacity of sheriff. And the end of it was that he went home ujion the handles of the bills, feet first and shoulder high, while Ynyr came here to me with many a rude and raw witness of the affair in different parts of his body.

I looked to the hiding of him yonder in Cerig-y-lladron, and to the tending his hurts, so that now he is fit and well to take the place I would so fain have filled." " But why was he not brought here into the tower ? and why was he hidden not only from enemies but friends — my father and myself ? " demanded Howel. " Softly, my son, softly. We had good grounds. Be think you : your father would have welcomed him ; but supposing word had gone about and come to the ears of the dead man's family. For the wars were not so deeply eaten in then, and the King's writ, or a writ from the King's law officers, might still have had power against the gentleman who would harbour so noted a red-hand. So we judged it best to give Twrynys no chance to run himself into hazard. And while my brother grew sound again, Twrynys himself grew sick with grief for the tall men and gallant sons lopped off before him, till we reckoned that this day could be no long distance off, and so resolved to bide a little longer yet.