trying to repel a sea attack by Gruffydd’s raiders, and the Norman’s severed head was displayed on the mast of their ship. With such a history, it is no wonder Gruffydd’s life was recorded and held up as an example to his successors. Tenacity and perseverance, then, should be added to the list of qualities admired in a Welsh ruler.
As far as political skill and diplomacy go, though, it would be difficult to find a more successful Welsh prince than the Lord Rhys. In September 1171, Rhys had a formal meeting with King Henry II in the Forest of Dean, and the two entered a non-aggression pact whereby Rhys would pay annual tribute to the English king; Henry in return agreed to enter Wales only for the purposes of transporting troops to Ireland. Henry even turned a blind eye when Rhys failed to deliver the promised tribute. The frequent absences from the kingdom of Henry’s successor, King Richard I, gave Rhys the opportunity he needed to expand and consolidate. He and his sons had just completed another successful campaign against the Normans in 1197 when the Lord Rhys died suddenly, of a ‘pestilence’ that was ravaging the country. Although he had been excommunicated as a result of a falling out with the Norman bishop of St David’s, he was buried in the cathedral there, in full recognition (according to Brut y Tywysogion) of his status as ‘unconquered head of all Wales’.
SON OF PROPHECY
By the thirteenth century, there was something else the Welsh were looking for. They awaited the ‘mab darogan’ or ‘son of prophecy’, who would come to save them from the English yoke. Saxon or Norman, English rulers were all much the same as far as the Welsh were concerned. The concept of ‘mab darogan’ is credited to Myrddin, better known to us as Merlin, a mystical figure linked with the legend of Arthur. The first recorded use of the term, however, is in a poem addressed to Llywelyn Fawr by his bard, Prydydd y Moch. Prydydd says that this Messianic figure will be ‘o hil eryron o Eryri’, a descendant of the eagles of Snowdonia, suggesting the royal family of Gwynedd. Llywelyn had more sense than to claim the title of ‘mab darogan’ for himself; better to leave that implicit in the words of his bard.
A hundred years later, one of Llywelyn’s dispossessed descendants, Owain Lawgoch (c.1330–78), would be recognized by his followers as the son of prophecy and would make a serious but unsuccessful attempt to invade Wales in 1372. Owain Lawgoch was assassinated shortly afterwards, but within thirty years another would-be claimant had arisen.
It was alleged by some that Owain Glyndŵr (c.1359–c.1416) ate eagles’ flesh to make himself worthy of his people’s expectations. The prospects looked bright for a few years, until the advent of a brighter star, Henry of Monmouth, who destroyed Glyndŵr’s plans for the renewal of Wales’s independence.
The Welsh had to wait until 1485 for their true Messiah, but when Henry Tudor came along, there was no longer any doubt. Born in Pembroke and carrying the royal blood of England, Wales and France, Tudor had been the subject of a prophecy made by his uncle, King Henry VI, who had by some psychic or magical power recognized the boy as a future king. Snatching the throne, in a shrewd but violent manner, from the usurper Richard III, Henry Tudor proceeded to establish a dynasty that would rule England and Wales for over a hundred years and make the country an international superpower. The search for the son of destiny seemed to be at an end.
The Normans invaded England in 1066, but did not attempt to take Wales at that point. They preferred a piecemeal approach, and within ten years, William the Conqueror had created three new earldoms along the Welsh ‘march’, the border land that kept the Welsh and English apart. Hitherto it had been difficult to tell where England ended and Wales began. The border populations spoke both languages, and England up to now had been, like Wales, less of a nation than a collection of petty kingdoms. The new earls of Hereford, Chester, Shrewsbury and, later, Gloucester, were loyal to the new ruling dynasty of England, and recognized it as their duty to subdue Wales on behalf of the Norman kings.
Some of the Norman lords began stealthily, lulling the Welsh into a false sense of security through marriage alliances. Others immediately embarked on an expansionist strategy, building castles and raiding Welsh territory. It was not until 1081 that King William himself first entered Wales. William claimed to be on a pilgrimage to St David’s, but he had other motives. Along with the government of England, he had taken on its church, and to emphasize his control of the kingdom’s spiritual life, he had installed his mentor, Lanfranc, former abbot of Caen, as archbishop of Canterbury. While at St David’s, the king took the opportunity to ensure that its bishop knew his place and recognized the authority of Canterbury. (There would not be an archbishop of Wales until 1920, the year in which the Church of England in Wales was finally disestablished, disendowed and replaced with its independent Welsh counterpart.)
Needless to say, William was as interested in the secular life of his kingdom as in the spiritual. His journey into Wales was an opportunity to make a show of power and to put fear into the hearts of the local population. Rhys ap Tewdwr, ruler of Deheubarth, was prepared to pay William £40 a year protection money in order to keep his own little kingdom. (Significantly, this was the same amount paid to the king by the Norman lord Robert of Rhuddlan to retain his territories in north Wales.) More important than the financial incentive, in symbolic terms, was the ‘homage’ William obtained from the Welsh ruler. The Norman tradition was a ceremony in which the vassal would kneel bareheaded before his lord and pledge his loyalty. As a result, not only did the vassal owe service to his new overlord, but in return he could expect the support of that lord in times of trouble.
The Marcher lords who were too timorous to venture into Wales sometimes delegated their responsibilities to their own vassals, lesser lords such as Eustace de Cruer, who is credited with the building of the first castle at Mold. Eustace was granted the lordship of Mold by King William II, son of the Conqueror, but the territory was by no means firmly in Norman hands. Some fifty years later, when the original castle had been upgraded by Robert de Montalt, Owain Gwynedd seized it, and in 1149, at Consyllt, he gave the Norman earl of Chester, Ranulf de Gernon, a bloody nose when the latter tried to take back ‘his’ territory. At some stage, the English got their castle back, but kept it only until 1198, when Owain’s grandson Llywelyn Fawr retrieved it and held it. Mold Castle remained a bone of contention in 1245, when Llywelyn’s son, Dafydd (d.1246), was ordered to give it up to the Norman ‘seneschal’ of Chester. Dafydd refused and the dispute continued. In 1263 that hardy prince of Powys, Gruffydd ap Gwenwynwyn (d.1286), destroyed the castle, symbolic as it was of English dominance. By 1302 it had been rebuilt by the English and was the recognized property of the new ‘prince of Wales’, the future Edward II. In 1322 it was again being besieged by a Welsh rebel, this time Sir Gruffydd Llwyd, the very man who is reputed to have brought Edward I the news of his son’s birth at Caernarfon Castle. Five years later it passed into the hands of Queen Isabella, regent of England and the mother of King Edward III.
The history of Mold Castle typifies the struggle for supremacy in the Welsh Marches, particularly in the north, where the landscape was more hostile to English armies. In 1114, Henry I invaded Gwynedd and Powys, but he did not stay there. He was more successful in the south, where he made other conquests, apparently including Princess Nest (d.c.1136), the daughter of that same Rhys ap Tewdwr who had been prepared to pay homage to Henry’s father. As a result, Nest is said to have given birth to a son, Henry Fitzroy (1103–58). Both King Henry and Princess Nest developed far-from-spotless reputations in the bedroom department, and it seems safe to assume that she was a willing partner in the liaison (if it really happened).
It was not only in the Marches that the struggle between the Normans and the natives went on. As the king of England effectively controlled the activities of the church, his influence continued to be felt as far west as Pembrokeshire. Henry I issued a ‘charter of privileges’ to St David’s, conferring the status
