Ida: or, the last struggles of the Welsh for independence

Front matter

IB-ST THE SAME -A.TTT:h:0:R. SECOND THOUSAND. O E L A N D. A TALE OF THE WELSH BORDER. Price, 2s. cloth. " We have said that Oiiland is a highly instructive book. It is much more: it is a tale well told. Many books are instructive without being interesting, and some are interesting without being instructive. Oeland can lay claim to both these essentials of a good book. * * * * The facts are given in simple but chaste and dignified language. ' * * * Whoever reads the first Chapter will feel constrained to read the whole, and whoever reads the book through will not fail to get good practical lessons into his head and heart." — Shrewsbury Chronicle. " An interesting Novel, and one which will amply repay perusal." — Cambridge Independent Press. IDA: OE, THE LAST STRUGGLES OF THE WELSH roK INDEPENDENCE.

B_ ALICE SOMERTON, AUTHOR OF " OELAND." The state that strives for liberty, though foiled, And forced to abandon what she bravely sought, Deserves at least applause for her attempt, And pity for her loss. COWPEE. LONDON: WHITTAKER AND CO. CAMBRIDGE: J. HALL AND SON. 1858. LONDON : SAYTLL AND EDT7ABDS, PEIHTERS, CHANDOS STHEET. So % gltglrf Honourable THE DOWAGER COUNTESS OF DUNKAVEN. Madam, To you, in whom a high order of talent and love for the refined and beautiful are fully combined ; whose extreme benevolence, with all the dearer qualities of woman, has won for you unbounded esteem and veneration, I dedicate this work, by your Lady ship's kind permission. My object in writing it has been to convey a true idea of the manner in which Wales became incorporated with England, and for this purpose I have been particularly careful to collect accounts of historical events from authentic sources, and intro duce them in chronological order in the following pages.

I trust that my attempt to bring before the mind many long-forgotten scenes, in which the wel- DEDICATION. fare of our nation was deeply concerned, and to throw light upon some of the ruined records of the past, may not be in vain, but that this little work will meet your Ladyship's kind approbation. I am, Madam, With sincere respect, Your Ladyship's faithful Servant, Alice Somerton. March 20, 1858. IDA

Chapter I

'Tis liberty alone, that gives the slower Of fleeting life its lustre and perfume ; And we are weeds without it. Cowpee. At the entrance of a lovely valley in the Berwyn mountains, where the dark frowning steep of Arran Fowddy towers high above the surrounding summits, stood Maelor Castle, for ages the paternal home of the Maelor family, who in weal or woe appear to have held important sway over various portions of Wales. Descended from the Royal tribes,* they inherited great possessions, which invested them with power and enabled them to hold a high position in their native country. At the close of the reign of King Richard the Second of England, Griffyth ap Maelor, the possessor of the castle, died, leaving his widow with one daugh ter just seventeen, and one son four years younger. On a bright spring morning in the year 1400, the castle windows were thrown open, and Lady Maelor's * From the ninth to the twelfth century, all the chief families in Wales were classed into twenty tribes, five of which were termed Royal tribes, and fifteen Common tribes.

E IDA. daughter, the young Eleanor, stood with tearful eyes gazing into the valley, so deep in thought that her lover, Gilbert Ddu, entered the room, and stood for some minutes unperceived by her side. A soft touch to the maiden's arm roused her from her reverie, and, as she started round, she saw Gilbert beside her, but instantly turning her head away again, she sought to hide a tear which at that instant was rolling down her cheek; Gilbert, however, had per ceived it, and taking her hand he said, " What ! weeping, Eleanor ? Art thou a daughter of Llewelyn's line, and canst weep because the spirit of thy country burns to throw off the oppressive yoke of England ? Nay, it must not be. I know to gentle ears like thine there can be nothing pleasing in the call to arms ; but to mine it would not be unwelcome; and, dear Eleanor, it is much for thy sake I would join the standard of revolt, for I long to see everything that is English driven out of our land, and the brave men, who are now enduring such cruel tyranny, freed from their oppressors.

This can only be accomplished by a desperate struggle to throw off entirely the power of England. And, dear Eleanor, the time is not far distant when that false man Bolingbroke will know to his hurt, that a few brave hearts still beat in Wales." "Nay, dearest Gilbert," said the maiden, as she returned her lover's caress, " I could not weep to see thee take up arms to rid Wales of oppression ; I could rejoice in thee for that ! but where is the hope ? The chain of servitude becomes stronger every day, and they tell me Henry of England is too powerful a foe for Wales. Hast thou forgotten, Gilbert, that the IDA. 3 new garrison in the valley occupies one of our own castles, which the new King of England has chosen to appropriate to his own use, without our having power to refuse. I have felt to-day that my heart burned to revolt for such a ruthless act ; but I am powerless, and it was of that I thought when the tear was in my eye."

While Eleanor spoke, traces of sorrow vanished, and the proud blood mounting to her brow, a deep tinge settled on her cheek, while her eyes seemed to flash at the remembrance of English oppression, and throwing her arms round Gilbert's neck, she asked if it were possible to see her country free ? " It will, it must be," replied Gilbert, " if only for such as thou. For though there are many who may deny that the spirit of the brave Llewelyn lingers, yet was not thy great ancestress Catherine a daughter of that noble prince ? and it must not be that while one child of his royal line remains, Wales can tamely bear the loss of freedom. Alas ! too many have lately felt the loss but lightly, because England has some what favoured them ; aud in the gaiety of the late King Richard's court, they have allowed their hearts to be won from their own country.

But now the king is dead, they have lost their patron ; the new king is not the man to court their smiles, and they are already returning home, to feel, as we do, some of the evils of oppression." "Who are returning home again to Wales?" in quired Eleanor ; " no one yet has told me." " I have heard," replied Gilbert, " and, dear Eleanor, you must not look upon it as an idle tale; but Vychen, B IDA. Jorwerth Ddu, and Glendower, thy mother's cousin, with many others, will feel it hard to swear allegiance to the very man who they know has murdered the king they loved, and perhaps unjustly wishes to lessen their lands, as he has already done thy mother's ; and if they rise to throw off his power, I shall surely join them." There was much warmth in Gilbert's manner as he spoke, and he seemed to look anxiously at Eleanor for a reply.

" Go ! Gilbert, go !" said the maiden. " Let it never be told that a weak girl's love forbade thee joining in a nation's cause. Nay, Gilbert, I know the tyranny of Henry Bolingbroke will be hard to bear, and I would rather urge thee on than bid thee stay ; anything rather than tamely submit to such injuries. What have we done that a regiment of English soldiers should be stationed so close to us, and more over, placed in one of our own dwellings. It is time Wales showed a little spirit. I should never mourn to see thee join the standard of freedom — no, dear Gilbert, I could love thee all the more for thy brave heart." There was more enthusiasm in Eleanor's speech than Gilbert had expected, for he knew her to be of a gentle nature, and almost feared to tell her aught of the evils which, in all probability, the usurpation of the throne of England would cause to her countrymen; but her family having been one of the first to suffer from the dethronement of King Richard, she awoke to the reality of the oft-told story of subjection, and was ready, too, to revolt against the oppressor.

IDA Gilbert Ddu, Eleanor's lover, was three years her senior; they had been betrothed from their earliest years by their parents, and Gilbert having been early left an orphan, Eleanor's parents had given him a home, brought him up with their own children, and made him an equal sharer in every joy, as he was in every family suffering. Years had rolled by since the art of war had formed the chief lesson taught to Welsh boys. Hunting, fishing, hawking, and such like sports now occupied all the time not employed in the religious services peculiar to their country, or the exploring old legendary lore. Yet it sometimes happened that a Welsh youth learnt somewhat intuitively how to wield a sword or draw the bow more skilfully than the sovereigns of England liked. As a check upon this, it was the policy of King Richard the Second to continue the system pursued by his prede cessors, and while Wales was peaceful, entertain at his court the chief members of the Welsh families, while their young sons and daughters were educated and early initiated into English manners.

Thus by a mild and wise policy, the noble youths of the subju gated country imbibed the principles of the English people, and the spirit of the Bardic and legendary teaching imperceptibly waned. During the unhappy contests between King Richard and his barons, in the early part of his reign, the Welsh chiefs supported him and furnished troops, which being followed by an unshaken fidelity, that sovereign bestowed upon those who attended his court a good share of his patronage, and was less harsh to the Welsh nation than his predecessors had been. IDA. Still the native spirit of freedom only slumbered, and there were many who longed for the hour to come when they might once more struggle to he. free. The mild rule over the Welsh by King Richard, was after all not conducive to their happiness, for the Lords of the Marches * took advantage of * In the reign of William Rufus, Rhys ap Tudor, the King of South Wales, was compelled to take up arms against some of his rebellious chieftains.

Eineon, one of these, being defeated, left his own territory and joined himself to Jestin, the Lord of Glamorgan, who agreed with him, that if he would marry his daughter he would help him to attack King Rhys again. Eineon consented, and then Jestin crossed over to England aud asked some of the Normans to lend their aid. It was the policy of the English not to refuse, so they sent Robert Fitzhaman with an army, and twelve Norman knights, to help in the attack, which was soon made, and King Rhys was defeated. Now Eineon asked Jestin for his daughter, but he refused to fulfil his promise, which so excited Eineon that he secured the assistance of the Normans, defeated Jestin, and deprived him of all his possessions, which the Normans took care to parcel out amongst them selves. Fitzhaman reserved for himself the chief part, with the seignory of the whole ; that which he gave to his knights they held as fiefs under him.

The land given to each knight was called a merch, or manor. Thus, under the Feudal system, the Lords of the Marches were established in Wales. Fitzhaman's success allured several other Norman nobles, and upon their petitioning the King of England, he gave them permission to go at their own cost, and conquer any territory they could from the Welsh, and hold it in fealty to England. This liberty was given on the plea that the Welsh had refused to pay the annual tribute to William Rufus, which had been demanded of them by King Edgar, Harold, and William the Conqueror. The last asylum of the Britons was now broken into, and South Wales was subdued. The Lords of the Marches secured their conquests by thickly peopling their territories with the English, and building strong castles and fortresses.

North Walee, comprising Anglesea, Caernarvon, Merionethshire, and parts of Denbigh and Cardigan, maintained its independence longer, and kept up against its invaders a spirited but unequal con- IDA, it, and exercised undue authority over the subject people. Griffyth ap Maelor was one who felt all the evils of this petty tyranny, and while he thought most deeply of the subjugation of bis country, he cherished a kind of fierce hope that some one might ere long rise up and struggle once more for freedom. Many an old legend and prophetic page of the future glory of Wales inspired his bold heart, and with his daughter Eleanor — his little son upon his knee, and Gilbert, the last scion of a house as noble as his own, beside him, he tried to impress their young hearts with some of the bitterness of oppression.

The same old bard taught them all, chanted in their ears their own peculiar patriotic songs, and while around their mountain home everything spoke peace and resigna tion to the English rule, within the castle, in a small room, every art that could mould a boy into a warrior, save alone the battle-field, young Gilbert learned, and the desire to take up arms against England grew stronger as he grew in years. Not solitary, indeed, was Gilbert's desire, the chief tain's young son David caught the spirit too, and there was a deep earnestness in his boyish eye when, after hearing the conversation we have given between Gilbert and Eleanor, he came forward, and laying his hand upon Gilbert's arm, said, " I too will join the fight." " You, David !" said Eleanor, with surprise ; " you test, until the death of David, the brother of Llewelyn the Great, when the sovereignty of the ancient British empire ended.

Insurrections arose to recover the lost independence ; the most im portant of which was that under Owen Glendower. IDA. are but a boy, and would make but sorry figure before English soldiers." " I know I'm but a boy," said David, his cheek reddening, " but for all that, I will draw a bow with any Englishman ; you know, Eleanor, it was my arrow that slew the wild buck after even Gilbert had more than once tried, and, moreover, I went out alone to the forest to hunt him. I shall not lose my courage then when I face the cowardly English." "I never thought you would, dear David," replied Eleanor, affectionately. " I thought of age more than bravery ; we all know thou art brave." " And we will be very proud of him in our ranks when we declare war with England," replied Gilbert. Lady Maelor sat in an adjoining room, with an em broidery frame resting upon her knee, and a paleness crept over her finely-chiselled features as she heard the conversation of her children, for she knew some thing more of the power of the English king over Wales than to expect that any of their bright dreams of hope would ever be realized.

Moreover, she felt it to be unwise in them to give utterance to such thoughts; so laying aside her frame, she rose from her seat to go to them. " Hush ! hush ! my children," she said, softly, as she entered the room, " be cautious in your words about the power of England ; the injury we have so recently received may well make us speak harshly, but it is mockery to speak of freedom. Gilbert, thou shouldst have known better. Hast thou forgotten that we are now surrounded by English troops, who for aught we know are watching us, especially as it is IDA 9 known that we were reluctant to give up our dwelling yonder in the valley to the English for a garrison. Forbear, then, to repeat what I have just now heard, for if any of those English minions heard thee, their king would brand us all traitors."

" Brand me traitor, dear Lady Maelor," said Gil bert. "No ! that he can never do. When did I ever swear allegiance ? I never swore it, and I never shall. King Richard was irresolute and unwarlike, and thou knowest that I had bitter cause to hate him. But it was not so; I pitied him, even though one of the few acts he did in Wales was to make me penniless. Yes, I pitied him, and to his murderer, the cruel usurper of his throne I shall never bow ; and methinks thou wilt not blame me, for it was thy noble husband who gave my heart the undying love of freedom. Stay me not, then ; but if a struggle comes, and methinks it will, forgive me if I join the Patriots." " Gilbert, thou surely speakst in riddles," replied Lady Maelor. " Why have such strange thoughts possessed thee? Wales never can, be free again.

Nothing but the breeze that sweeps across our country can boast of it, and even that England would chain if it could. My son, it is our lot to mourn; people may come after us who will not mind the yoke, but with us, the near descendants of Llewelyn, it makes the spirit bow." " Listen, Lady Maelor," said Gilbert, " and I will tell thee what I have not even yet told Eleanor. " Not many nights ago, I was standing in the eastern tower, looking from the turret window into the valley, and as if by instinct my eye wandered to IDA my old summer residence, where I saw a proud-looking man, dressed, not as we dress, but in the pampered garb of the English court ; I watched him for some time, and how it was I cannot tell, but with my head resting beside the window I fell asleep ; when I awoke the moon was high, and the strange man was gone.

I never shall forget that night, for I had had a dream. I dreamt that Wales had risen, and a large banner, on which the word Freedom was written, waved everywhere. There was a noble chief who led us on, (for I was there.) I saw the sword, the battle-axe, and the bow, and the red blood-stream dyeing the sides of the mountains. We fought bravely, we conquered, and the English army fled. When the fight was over, we placed our chief upon a throne, put a crown upon his head, and called him King. That moment, — 'Wales is free !' rent the air, and I awoke. Oh ! it was terrible. Alas ! only a vision. I tried to sleep again, and so I did. But this time a dark cloud hung about everything. Still I saw the battle once again, and my own sword gleamed ; but a cry of weeping women seemed to rise above the battle din, and I turned round to see from whence it came ; just then, a spear pierced my left arm, and it fell powerless, but with my right I struck the foeman down.

Again a deep moan fell upon my ear, yet still I heard the murmur — ' Wales is free !' That dream has never left me; its scenes have risen before me at the altar, and I have told it all to the abbot, from whom I've learnt to look back upon it as something dawning for our country." Eleanor had crept nearer to her mother as they IDA. 11 listened to Gilbert, and David's cheek turned pale, though with arms folded he appeared to listen with manly confidence. Superstition as inherent as the love of freedom, readily attached a fulfilment to Gil bert's dream, and a tear started to Lady Maelor's eye, as with earnestness she said, clasping her hands over her bosom — - " Oh, Gilbert, is it possible !" "Why not?" he replied; Henry of England has already added something to the yoke which oppresses Wales, and there are some who will, without a murmur, submit, but not all ; it will be hard indeed, for those who adhered to, and loved King Richard, to bear the usurping power of his murderer without resenting it."

"Peace, rash youth! what is it thou wouldst say?" fell on his ear at this moment, and turning round, he saw the abbot enter the room, but before he could speak to him, the old man approached Lady Maelor, and said — " Pardon me, lady, but methinks this young man's mind is wandering; bid him, I pray thee, with thy son and daughter, join the hunting party which I see making for the castle. Gilbert's cheek is pale, and the mountain breeze will do him far more good than staying in these bright morn ings." ss Lady Maelor accepted the abbot's suggestions, and requested them all to go and join the hunt. They im mediately obeyed her wishes, and bidding her adieu left the room. " Good Father," said Lady Maelor, when her chil- IDA, dren were gone, " Gilbert has somewhat troubled me with a recital of a dream — I scarce know what to think of it ; but I fear something terrible is about to fall upon us.

It was very oppressive of the new king to appropriate one of my dwellings to a garrison for his soldiers. What right had he to send and demand accommodation of me for his hirelings — is it not enough to make one revolt ?" Lady Maelor had now shown a feeling she had checked in her children, and the abbot replied — " But, lady, King Henry only occupies your castle, yonder, for a time, and has he not promised you a recompence ? " "A recompence," said Lady Maelor, with contempt; " is there a recompence, can there be one, for the loss of freedom ? No ! England, with her petty tyrants, has by degrees robbed us now of everything save this one castle; this I suppose will be demanded next, especially when the king hears we are not so loyal as he could wish. We who are older may restrain and smother feeling, but children cannot; and mine too well know the shadow which fell over their father's heart, and as thou hast this morning heard, they will have little scruple in resenting injuries which he had to endure; though, holy Father, /have no hope now;" and turning away, she covered her face with her hands.

Lady Maelor had indeed no hope that her country would ever rise from the abject state into which it had fallen ; the enthusiastic and brave heart which had ever led her to hope, was slumbering with its ancestors beneath a broad stone in the castle chapel, IDA. 13 and she had already felt the increasing power of England. " Despair not, daughter of a Royal line that never knew despair," said the abbot ; " suffering purifies, and when Wales is free, she will know how to prize her freedom." "Ah ! is it so, good abbot; dost thou then hope for Wales ? ill-used, down-trodden Wales." " I do, my daughter. Such dreams as Gilbert's come not from earth. Visions in olden times made weak men brave, the boy a warrior ; and though it is not told that such things often fall to us, yet now and then some favoured one is allowed to look beyond the present and see the future.

Strange tidings come occasionally from England, and if report be true, the usurper is already ill at ease." A shout in the court-yard below caused Lady Maelor to start, and she hastened to the window to learn its cause, when another and another shout greeted her from the full joyous heart of youth. Three sons and two daughters of a Welsh chieftain, two miles distant, had joined her own, and mounted upon horses they were all just setting off. Eleanor was the fairest of them all, and as she sat upon her noble grey, her riding dress fell in graceful folds over her feet ; a silver band fastened it at the throat, and round her slender waist it was confined with a girdle; the sleeves were full, drawn in at the wrist, and her flowing hair was confined in a caul of silver net. Shading her face was a broad-brimmed velvet cap, with a feather falling carelessly back upon her shoulder.

Close to Eleanor's side rode Gilbert, dressed in a dark IDA. tunic reaching to the knees, and from his throat, where a heavy brooch fastened it, fell a kind of loose cloak, brought round behind into the belt at his waist. His legs were bare, and upon his head was a dark velvet cap, upon which Eleanor had worked a hawk, the insignia of his house. His fine manly form, grown to perfection beneath the invigorating air of the mountains, added no little pride to Lady Maelor's heart as she watched him ride away with the fair beauty beside him. IDA.

Chapter II

Upon a great adventure he was bound, * * * * * Which of all earthly he most did crave, And ever as he rode his heart did yearn, To prove his puissance in battle brave. SrEXSEIt. When the last of the hunting party disappeared amongst the windings of the hills, Lady Maelor turned from the window, and again addressed the abbot. " Good Father," she said, " what is it thou hast heard of the English court? Methought they were all very peaceful there ; the barons proud of their new sovereign, and moving hand in hand in everything." " They were, lady, for a time, but it was only while King Richard lived ; now he is dead, and midnight murder stains the new king's hand, it seems as though the blood of Richard cries for vengeance, for the barons have already shown a disaffected spirit, and some of the noblest men in England have fallen."

" But," asked Lady Maelor, " will that affect our country? Isa struggle comes on England, what can Wales do?" " Ah, daughter," replied the abbot, " that is not for me to say; life passed, as mine is, in the cloistei's gloom, in chant or prayer, or training the young, IDA. knows little of the world without ; yet methinks if a struggle comes on England, Wales will struggle too. For some time after the abbot had gone, Lady Maelor sat alone, meditating upon the strange things she had that morning heard. Her heart was sad, for she could not bring herself to think that any hope remained for her country ; for though naturally of a brave fearless nature, she had become sorrowful under repeated injuries from England, and the loss of her husband. Leaving her, however, to her own reflec tions, let us turn to her children.

After they left the castle with their companions, they rode on over bank and brae, for the white doe they had come out to hunt was in the forest about three miles off; and as their good steeds bore them onward, many a laugh rose above the sound of the horses' feet, and echoed amongst the hills, while the faithful hounds, as they bounded along, seemed fully to enjoy the diversion. The forest at length was reached, and it was not long before the white doe was started, when the hunt began. Eleanor kept beside Gilbert for some time, but reaching a thick difficult part of the wood, she halted, with her two fair companions, at the cottage of an aged harper, while the others plunged into the forest after the doe. The old man seeing them approach, rose up from a rustic seat beneath a tree, and began to welcome them by playing an old Welsh air.

"Welcome, fairest daughters of Cambria," fell from his lips as the strains ended ; " mine is a rude dwell ing, and I have rude fare. The oaten cake and yon rippling stream supply my wants, and I rest, at night IDA. 17 upon a heather bed. Mine is a poor welcome ; but if thou hast lost thy way, thou wilt not despise it." "Nay, good Morgan, hast thou forgotten me?" said Eleanor. " Forgotten thee !" replied the harper, gazing in tently at her. " Not now I've seen thy face more plainly ; but thou hast grown since last my cottage gave thee shelter. Ah, 'tis a year since thou and thy brother were overtaken by the storm. It seems thou hast long forgotten me, else thou hadst been here before this. But forgive an old man, almost blind with age, and not always the best in temper." Eleanor and her companions smiled at the old harper's remark, and, after having alighted from their horses, they left them standing beneath the shade of some trees, while they seated themselves upon the grassy bank near the harper's seat.

" Come, good Morgan, wilt thou tell us something, or play upon thy harp?" said Eleanor, "for we must stay with thee until the hunters return." The harp was struck, rich deep sounds also fell with such power from the minstrel's tongue, that the three fair girls were heedless of the passing hour as they listened attentively to the song. They had sat some time, strain followed strain, when the sound of a horse's tramp was heard, and Eleanor turning round, saw Gilbert coming through the trees. " Thou hast returned soon, my son," said the harper; "perhaps thou hast lost thy companions, or maybe, the Lady Eleanor attracts thee back." "Rather say it was thy song," replied Gilbert, leaping from his horse, and sitting down beside c IDA, Eleanor. "It is nearly two hours since we left, and the white doe is slain."