There was one castle left to him – that of Bere, and when he heard that the Earl of Pembroke had stormed and taken it, he had no place of refuge. He had become a wanderer in the mountains and every morning when he awoke it was to find that his band of followers had dwindled still further.
There came a time when all but three had gone. Thus was Davydd, a Prince of Wales, wandering in the mountains like an outlaw, which he supposed he was. Wales was Edward’s now. ‘By God,’ he cried, ‘it shall not remain so. I will show him that Welshmen will not remain vassals for ever.’
He was forced to take shelter where he could – in any lowly cottage he could find. He did not always say who he was for fear of betrayal, for even those who would offer him succour were afraid to because the King of England – who was their master now – had said that he was a wanted man.
One night, exhausted and hungry, he came to a cottage and begged for food and shelter. He was given a dish of meat and a flagon of ale which he devoured while the man and his wife questioned him as to his purpose in being in the mountains.
He said he was a soldier who had escaped when the Welsh army was in retreat and he was trying to get back to his wife and family.
They listened sympathetically and agreed to help him.
‘But you need a night’s rest first,’ said the cottager. ‘Make yourself comfortable and in the morning I will help you on your way.’
He sank into a grateful sleep.
When he awoke it was to find soldiers standing over him.
The cottager and his wife were peering into the room.
‘Davydd ab Gruffydd,’ said one of the soldiers, ‘you are our prisoner. Get up. We are leaving at once.’
‘It is so then,’ said the cottager’s wife. ‘We made no mistake.’
‘Mistake?’ replied the cottager. ‘Of course not. I told you, did I not? I served with him before he went over to the English.’
‘He’ll go back to the English now,’ said the cottager’s wife with a certain grim humour.
They took him to Rhudlan and there he was put in fetters. He sent a messenger to Edward begging for an interview, reminding him that they had once worked together.
Edward’s reply was that he did not parley with traitors, and Davydd realised that the fact that he had once worked with Edward would not be a point in his favour. Edward had had a respect for Llewellyn who had always stood firm in his cause, but for a man like Davydd who changed sides according to the way the wind blew, he had nothing but contempt.
Edward’s orders were that Davydd should be taken to Shrewsbury and there the trial of this traitor (as Edward called him) should take place.
At Shrewsbury were gathered together the earls, barons, judges and knights to assist at the trial and the King made it clear that he was determined to have justice. This man on trial was a murderer, sacrilegious and a traitor to the King. He must be made to suffer the full penalty.
He was quickly found guilty and sentenced to death. The method of his killing was to be one which had never been carried out before. It was called ‘hung, drawn and quartered’. It was the most barbaric form of killing which had ever been devised and Davydd would be remembered as the first man on whom it was carried out.
Davydd’s suffering was intense on the last day of his life.
He was dragged through the streets of Shrewsbury at a slow pace to the gallows and there in the view of a great crowd he was hanged. Before he was dead he was taken down and his entrails were torn from him and burned. Mercifully for him he was then beheaded and his body quartered that parts of it might be displayed in five towns. There was a dispute between York and Winchester for his right shoulder which Winchester won. York had to put up with another presumably less desirable part, and Bristol and Northampton shared the other grim honours. The head was preserved for London and it was placed beside that, now unrecognisable, of his brother.
Edward could survey them with satisfaction. He had conquered Wales.
But of course it was not easy to subdue such a proud people. They resented the conqueror, and there continued to be small pockets of rebellion throughout the country. All were aware though of the strength of the English King. He was as unlike his father as it was possible for one man to be from another; he swept through the castles of the land and brought builders with him in order to improve them. Where there had been stone fortresses, magnificent castles were beginning to appear. Being a man of great energy Edward allowed no slackness in those about him. No sooner had he decided that a castle should be improved than the workmen were busy obeying his orders.
Many Welshmen realised that if they would accept him as their King they could grow prosperous, but there were always the rebels. For this reason it was necessary for Edward to keep a strong force on the borders and as he was still unsure of his newly acquired territory he wished to be close at hand himself.
Rhudlan remained the headquarters and there he kept his family, spending as much time as he could with them. He was struck by the coincidences which had allowed him to keep his beloved daughter with him, although he guessed it was but a temporary respite. Still he enjoyed it. She was now nearly twenty years of age, in the prime of her beauty. Of course she should have been married long ago, but he preferred to forget that.
It was a happy family atmosphere at Rhudlan. The conquest of Wales was virtually complete. Everywhere Edward was accepted as the strong man England had lacked since the reign of Henry II, for Richard, strong as he was, had not been a good king for England and had squandered his strength elsewhere. No, Richard was a legend, not a king. Who wanted a king, however brave, however popular a hero in legend, who was so fond of his own sex that he failed to get an heir? They preferred Henry II who scattered his seeds all over the land. Better still great Edward – victorious general, strong king determined to bring justice to the land and a good family man. There had never been any scandal about extra-marital relations in which he indulged for there was none. That was rare in a man of power. He had been a faithful husband and a devoted father. He was a rare king.
The only drawback was that he could not get a healthy son. Alfonso was growing more and more weedy every day. Pale of face, feeble of body, he was not the king to follow on such a father.
But glory be! The Queen was pregnant once more.
Would it be the old familiar pattern? The easy confinement, and then … another girl.
The King loved his girls dearly and some said that he did not greatly want a boy because he was so enamoured of his eldest daughter that he would like to see her on the throne. That could not be true. Much as he loved her and admired her he would rejoice in a boy. It was only because he looked on her as a substitute that he made so much of her.
In early April of the year 1284 he was at Caernarvon Castle, a place of which he was immensely proud because he had recently completed the building of it. The structure which had been there before he had raised his impressive castle had been by comparison nothing more than a fortress. And what a spot on which to build. The castle stood on a rock projecting into the Menai Straits. On one side was the sea, on another the river Seiont. Its castellated architecture filled the King with pride. It gave an immediate impression of beauty allied with strength. It was both a delightful dwelling place and an impregnable fortress. Of all his castles in Wales this was his favourite. Turreted towers rose above the embattled parapets. There were thirteen of them and he had ordered that there should not be one exactly like another. He had said there should not be another castle like Caernarvon and there was not. The towers were pentagonal, hexagonal and octagonal.