The Brothers of Gwynedd (85 page)

If young Simon had indeed been near enough to get his men to the eastern side of Gloucester before the castle fell, and Earl Simon had closed in to meet him from the west, they might well have broken Edward's army between them. But it is a long march from Surrey to the western border, and I doubt if the young man ever truly realised how urgently he was needed, and how much hung upon his coming. Even if he had, it might well have altered nothing, for about the time we moved from Hereford the castle of Gloucester fell, and there was then no crossing of the Severn left to us but by going south.

  Only then, I think, did even the earl himself realise how desperate was his situation, thus cut off in the hostile marches from that solid body of support for him that habited in the English cities and shires. With both Worcester and Gloucester closed against him, he hastened his march south, and attacked and took, without much trouble, the earl of Gloucester's castles in the vale of Usk, first possessing Monmouth and establishing a base there, then going on to take Usk, and Newport itself. And all this time Llewelyn with his main force kept pace with us, almost at arm's length, and supplied us all our needs.

  As for the earl's first declared objective, to sever the force in Pembroke from all possibility of joining Edward, that hope was lost before ever we reached Usk, for William of Valence was already across the old passage of the estuary of Severn, and had added his strength to Edward's outside Gloucester. That formidable army, most formidably led, came surging south on the opposite bank, and occupied all the English shore.

  The old passage of Severn at the opening of the estuary was well known to us, and quick and easy, given proper use of the tides, but it needed boats none the less, and under archery, and facing a landing upon a shore heavily occupied by an enemy, it was impossible. There could only be a massacre. Earl Simon sent out scouts, and accepted their bitter verdict. For him there was no way over into England by that route. Moreover, detachments of Edward's army were moving along the road between Monmouth and Gloucester, and there was no returning to Hereford by that way, either.

  There was but one way he could go, and that was deeper into Wales, and that at least was made easy for him by Llewelyn's presence in force in the hills, where he had greatly strengthened his hold on the roadways that threaded the disputed land of Gwent. Cadell rode ahead as courier to inform the prince of our need, and he came down himself into the valley of Usk to meet and accompany the earl to a safe camp already waiting in the hills.

  So those two met again, and though Llewelyn in delicacy held aloof from meeting king or officials, and confined his personal encounters to Earl Simon and his son, now his own kinsmen, nevertheless it was strange to see the court of England, sorry and suspect court though it was, guided and guarded and provided food and rest under the wing of the prince of Wales, and so shepherded back by stages in a halfcircle towards Hereford. And safe they were under that guardianship, but ineffective. No man could touch them with impunity, but neither could they advance their own cause. No base in Wales could avail the earl to strike effectively at his enemies. No Welsh army, even had all the forces at Llewelyn's disposal been committed to him, could restore him to his severed support in England. The greater the numbers he had to spirit across the Severn, the more inevitable was a premature battle, before they could join hands with young Simon, hurrying north from Oxford.

  That was a strange time, that journey through Gwent and Brecknock, like the quiet place at the heart of a great storm. For now the stream of ordinances and letters had ceased, as though all the business of state held its breath, and they were but a great multitude of ordinary men, making their way unhindered and impressed through a summer country of hills and forests and heathland, camping in the calm and warmth of July nights, and listening, unstartled by rattle of steel or sound of trumpet, to a silence deeper than memory. And sometimes at night, when the wretched tired, apathetic king was sleeping, and the camp settled into stillness, Earl Simon sat with Llewelyn, and the talk they had was not all of wars and treaties and disputes, but of high, rare things that both had glimpsed and both desired to comprehend more fully, if all the ways by which they sought to reach them had not turned about treacherously under their feet, and brought them round in a circle, as now, to the place from which they had set out. For I suppose that this life is but the early part of the pilgrimage, and the search will continue in another place.

  In the last days of July we came again to the uplands above Valley Dore, and saw below us, beside the stream in the blanched hay-fields, the rosy grey of the great church where they had first met.

  "A month lost," said Llewelyn ruefully, "to reach the same place."

  "No month is ever lost," said Earl Simon. "Certainly not this. Whatever follows, I may tell you so with truth. But now you must come no further with me. For across the Severn I must go, by some means, however desperate, or there is no future."

  "I am coming with you," said Llewelyn, "as far as Hereford, for I have sent some of my men of Elfael, who know these parts and have kin on both sides the border, to spy out the state of the river ahead of you. It's high summer, and little rain now for weeks, there may well be possible fords where no one will think to guard. Our rivers are low, so should Severn be. And I have stores waiting for you below."

  "It could not last," said Earl Simon with a grim smile. "In Wales my cause cannot be won, nor yours out of it. And my men tire of your shepherd's table and long for their bread and ale. It is high time to go."

  It was past time, and I think he knew it already. But one last night they conferred together, with young Henry, and Peter of Beaudesert and a few others in attendance, and Llewelyn offered a company of lancers to be added to the earl's foot-soldiery, though without Welsh captains. Thus drafted into the English ranks, they did not commit Wales and its prince. And that reservation the earl understood, and did not blame by word or look. It was Llewelyn who agonised within himself, ashamed and tempted, torn between two duties that could not be reconciled, and no longer sure what was duty and what desire. And the next day his scouts came back with word that Edward was making his chief base at Worcester, expecting that crossing to be attempted, and also on the watch for young Simon's army, which was known to be approaching from the south, and thought to be heading for Kenilworth. At that the earl drew breath cautiously, and approved his son's choice.

  "In Kenilworth we could be safe enough, and hold off siege as long as need be. If he makes all secure, and I can get my men across and reach him there, we have time to rally the rest of England. The Severn is the only bar."

  "My lord," said the messenger, "I have had speech in Hereford with the steward from the bishop of Worcester's manor on the river at Kempsey. The water is low, he says it might be forded there with care, the country people use it in dry summers. But it is barely four miles from Worcester, you could only attempt it by night."

  "There will be guides," said Llewelyn, "to show the way." For the country people were always, without exception, silently but dourly upon Earl Simon's side.

  So the army rested that night, and the next day—it was the last day of July—we left the Welsh forces behind, all but those lancers who were drafted into the earl's foot companies, and with a small party escorted the wandering court of King Henry some way beyond the border, and parted from them only when they were drawing near to Hereford.

  They did not halt the march, but Earl Simon laid a hand upon Llewelyn's bridle, and checked and drew aside with him to a knoll above the road, and young Henry and I reined after them, and waited. Henry, being also a kinsman, and I, unasked, because I had here two masters and two roads to go, and was as doubtful as Llewelyn what was right and what wrong. So we sat a few moments watching the knights and troopers riding by, and after them the ranks of the foot soldiers. And I watched Llewelyn's face rather out of compassion than for guidance, and saw how he was torn. His countenance was set and still, but not calm. There was sweat on his forehead.

  "Here you must leave us," said the earl, and again, reining close, offered the kiss, and Llewelyn leaned to it and embraced him. "For all your aid, and for your company," said Earl Simon, "I thank you, and with all my heart I wish you well."

  "In the name of God!" said Llewelyn in anguish, and still held him. "How can I let you go to this trial without me?"

  "You have mapped your own way," said Earl Simon, "and I approve you. In your place I would do as you have done. Go back to your own fortune, and bear your own burden. And take this with you," he said, and shook out from the pocket in his sleeve a small rondel that caught the sun in a delicate flash of painted colours, like an enamelled brooch. "I had forgotten I had it with me," he said, "until last night I made my peace, and destroyed all that I carried of regrets and vain memories. This is not vain. I give it to you as a visible pledge and earnest, against a future too dark to be seen very clearly at this moment. At such times it is well to see one thing clear."

  And he smiled, a sudden brightness as though his soul soared like a bird, and laid the rondel in Llewelyn's palm, and so would have wheeled away from him and spurred after the head of his column, but I reined into his path, for I, too, had rights and duties and desires.

  "My lord," I said, "if my prince releases me still, I am still in your service, and I have not deserved dismissal."

  He looked from me to Llewelyn, who sat holding the earl's gift in his hand like the relic of a saint, but had not so much as lowered his eyes to it, so captive was he to the giver.

  "No!" said Earl Simon. "Neither have you deserved that I should take you with me where I am going, and you have no protection but mine, all fallible as it may prove. Go back with your lord, Samson, friend, and serve him as before."

  Then I, too, looked at Llewelyn, stricken and torn between us, and I said: "He is my lord, and it is his bidding I take, and him I shall be serving. And his command I wait, my lord earl, and not yours."

  There was a moment while everything hung like a hawk before the stoop, and I held my breath, feeling my desire and Llewelyn's desire burn utterly into one, as we two shared the same stars at birth. And after a moment he got out of him: "You have my order. I bid you go with the earl of Leicester, and see him to his triumph in my name!" His voice was sudden and vehement, yet quiet as the flood of a lowland river in spring. I knew then that he had understood me as I understood him, and in obeying him I took him with me wheresoever I went.

  "So I will, my lord," I said, "and bring word to you again."

  Once before I had thought that Earl Simon might deny with anger, being so used to obedience, and he had not denied. Even so now he looked back and eyed us mildly, my lord and me, and found no fault. For he so felt the largeness and dignity of his own person that he could not grudge the same to others.

  "In the name of God!" he said. "So, come, and welcome!" Then he looked a moment upon Llewelyn, his head reared and his eyes wide to take in all that hunger and thirst that coveted me my place, and next he shook his rein, and was away after the slow-moving head of his column, and I as dutifully after him.

  From the corner of my eye I saw young Henry de Montfort embrace and kiss with Llewelyn, I think without words. He overtook me soon. We fell into our places near the head of the marching column, and the last day of July declined slowly in sunshine and heat.

In the evening and night of the second of August we forded the Severn opposite the manor of Kempsey, making down to the water where there was cover from willows. Some of Bishop Walter's people had been on the watch for us, and stood by to show the best passage. The water was still high enough, but leisurely in its flow, and the bottom firm and smooth, without hazards. A slow business it was, but accomplished before dawn, and at Rempsey we had some rest before the sun rose, for the bishop's household was staunch like its master, and willing to take risks for the earl's cause.