Edward Marston - The Hawks of Delamere

‘Not if I delivered them myself.’

‘Well, no,’ he agreed thoughtfully, warming to Idwal. ‘That might indeed make a difference.’

‘Besides,’ said Idwal with a smile of admiration, ‘you are renowned for your bravery. Nobody could compel you to write something against your will.’

‘That is true.’

‘Your followers realise that, my lord. They would recognise your true voice. A letter from you would have the power of an edict.’

‘Not necessarily.’

‘What do you mean?’

Gruffydd did not answer and Gervase once again had a feeling that he was dissembling slightly. He kept the prince under even closer scrutiny when Idwal took up his argument again. A new thought dawned on Gervase. The hesitation and evasiveness of Gruffydd ap Cynan might not arise from a natural craftiness at all. The man was in a quiet panic. Events were moving too far and too fast. Things over which he patently had no control were being done in his name and throwing his own life into jeopardy.

It was time for Gervase himself to join the conversation.

‘Do you have any rivals, my lord?’ he asked.

‘Rivals?’

‘People who would take advantage of your imprisonment to advance their own claims to the throne.’

Gruffydd was insulted. ‘My position is unchallenged.’

‘Are you certain?’

‘Nobody would dare to supplant me!’

‘How can you know that when you are locked down here?’

‘I am the Prince of Gwynedd.’

‘In that case,’ said Gervase, ‘you must approve of all the action that has been taken for your people have, in a sense, only been carrying out your orders. Is that not so?’

‘I will not discuss my policy with a Norman.’

‘I come from Breton and Saxon stock, my lord.’

‘You are not Welsh,’ said the other dismissively.

‘No,’ said Gervase, ‘but if I were, I would swear my fealty to my prince and look to him for leadership. Earl Hugh holds you hostage in order to subdue Gwynedd yet it is now massing for battle.

Why? Your people are either obeying some plan devised by you or acting on their own accord. If you are not leading them, my lord, who is?’

Gruffydd was momentarily perplexed. Idwal stepped in.

‘You can hardly expect him to divulge secret matters of state, Gervase,’ he scolded. ‘We are here to sue for peace, not to interrogate the Prince of Gwynedd for information which the most arduous torture would not extract. In common with other Welsh princes, Gryffydd ap Cynan rules by right and title. His court is constantly on the move around his domain. Unlike your king, he is a visible monarch.’

‘Not while I am buried down here!’ protested Gruffydd.

‘I am glad that you mention other Welsh princes,’ said Gervase as a new idea occurred to him. ‘Could it be the case that one of them is trying to seize power in Gwynedd?’

‘No!’shouted Gruffydd.

‘Cadwgan ap Bleddyn of Powys, for example?’

‘He would never dare!’

‘How could you stop him, my lord?’

‘This is irrelevant,’ said Idwal sternly. ‘May I remind you that you are supposed to observe, Gervase, and not to examine? I am trying to work towards a peaceful outcome of the present hostilities but I cannot do so if you keep interrupting us.’

‘I am sorry, Archdeacon Idwal,’ said Gervase deferentially, before turning to Gruffydd. ‘And I apologise for any offence I may inadvertently have caused. Ignore my wild guesses. They have no place in this discussion.’

‘No place at all,’ stressed Idwal.

‘Cadwgan would never supplant me!’ said Gruffydd, deeply hurt by the notion. ‘While I live, I rule in Gwynedd.’

Idwal smiled. ‘Then let us do all we can to protect that life, my lord. Peace will not only safeguard your own position, it will put Earl Hugh in a more generous frame of mind. You will be rewarded with privileges.’

‘My freedom is the only privilege I seek.’

‘That, too, will come in time.’

‘It will,’ vowed the other.

A look passed between them but Gervase was unable to translate it. For the first time since they had been in the dungeon, he began to suspect that Idwal might not be as impartial a negotiator as he pretended. Gervase was stung. He hated the thought that his affection for Idwal had blinded him to the man’s deeper purpose. Scrutinising the little archdeacon now, he found himself wondering if Idwal really was an honest mediator with a commitment to peace or an artful manipulator who was holding one conversation with Gruffydd while simultaneously passing messages to him by other means.

Idwal tried to move the prisoner towards a decision. ‘Will you help us, my lord?’ he cooed.

‘Us?’

‘The doves of peace.’

Gruffydd smiled for the first time. ‘You are an unlikely dove, archdeacon.’

‘I speak for the Church and it abhors warfare.’

‘Yet it condones holy crusades.’

‘That is not what we have here, my lord.’

‘I believe that it is,’ argued Gruffydd. ‘A crusade for freedom from Norman overlordship. Surely you should be giving your blessing to that instead of acting as the lackey of the Earl of Chester?’

‘I am nobody’s lackey!’ asserted Idwal indignantly.

‘Then what are you doing here?’

‘Searching for peace.’

‘What use is peace without freedom?’

‘What use is freedom without peace?’ countered Idwal. ‘A nation constantly at war is doomed to misery and hardship.’

‘Until they throw off the yoke.’

‘We all pray for that deliverance, my lord, but most of us would prefer to live quiet and useful lives in the meantime. And we cannot do that if we turn Wales into a battlefield once more.’ He lowered his voice. ‘Freedom can be achieved by other methods than force of arms.’

Another glance passed between them and Gervase was again puzzled by its meaning. There was a long silence. The two men seemed to be at once weighing each other up and haggling over the terms of some private contract.

‘I ask again,’ said Idwal at length. ‘Will you help us?’

Gruffydd erupted. ‘I will not help Hugh the Gross! That fat pig deserves to be put on a spit and roasted throughout eternity. He has been the scourge of my people. I will never help Earl Hugh.’

‘Help your own people through him,’ urged Idwal. ‘Stop bloodshed, save lives, ensure a future. I am not here at Earl Hugh’s bidding, as Gervase will testify. He refused to let me near you at first. I come in spite of him, my lord.’

‘That is true,’ corroborated Gervase.

‘The earl is a soldier. He relishes battle.’

‘He is an animal!’ said Gruffydd contemptuously.

‘Do you want to let him loose on your people once again?’

Gruffydd held back his reply and turned away to ponder. His expression was blank but Gervase sensed that his mind was in turmoil. The Prince of Gwynedd was being asked to make a crucial decision, based on incomplete information, about a situation that was not of his own making. He was lost in meditation for some time and Gervase wondered if his hesitation was prompted by the distant fear that, even if he did urge his followers to sue for peace, they might not obey him. Policy in Gwynedd was now being hatched by someone else.

Idwal’s patience gave way to muted irritation. ‘Well?’ he pressed.

‘Time is fast running out.’

Gruffydd turned to face him. ‘How do I know that you are telling me the truth?’

The archdeacon was appalled. ‘Would I lie to you?’

‘Probably.’

‘I come in good faith, my lord.’

‘On whose authority?’

‘The forces of reason.’

‘Earl Hugh is a force of reason?’ sneered the other.

‘We persuaded him to let me come here, my lord. I am grateful to him for that concession. Your choice is simple. You can either send word to your people and intercede before warfare breaks out again. Or,’ he added, raising his voice for emphasis, ‘you can stay down here like a rat in a trap while your people are being butchered. Yes, there will be losses on this side of the border as well, I know that. It will be a Pyrrhic victory. But your army will lose. Your men are fine warriors but they are greatly outnumbered and they lack their prince to lead them in battle. Do you want them to suffer another ignominious defeat?’