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Bardd is based on real events. History has noted that, after visiting Vale Royal Abbey earlier in the month, King Edward summoned a thousand Welsh bards to him at Overton-on-Dee in September of 1284, for another opportunity to celebrate his conquest of Wales.
What happened at the festival is not recorded, but it is indisputable that it served as yet another step on the road to undermining, if not eliminating, the influence of the Welsh bards in daily life. A first step had been the near-destruction of the Welsh nobility, particularly in the north, since it was their patronage that had for centuries allowed the bards a living.
Hundreds of years later, in 1757, the English poet Thomas Gray published The Bard, a poem about a confrontation between King Edward and the last bard in Wales. In another document, Gray writes that King Edward had “hanged up all their Bards, because they encouraged the Nation to rebellion, but their works (we see), still remain, the Language (tho' decaying) still lives, and the art of their versification is known, and practised to this day among them.”
Historians have found no evidence that King Edward actually massacred any bards, but that hasn’t stopped the legend that he did from growing. A massacre of five hundred Welsh bards is further memorialized in a poem titled, The Bards of Wales, which Hungarian school children are taught to memorize even to this day.
What is uncontested is that King Edward’s efforts to limit, contain, and even eliminate the power and influence of the Welsh bards were extended throughout subsequent centuries. In 1402, the English Parliament enacted the Welsh Penal laws, which read, In order to eschew many diseases and mischiefs which have happened before this time in the Land of Wales, it is ordained that no waster, rhymer, minstrel nor vagabond be in any wise sustained in the land of Wales to make gathering upon the people there.
The law was enacted to prevent bards from singing of a glorious Welsh past and encouraging the people to support Owain Glyndwr’s rebellion against England.
And yet, despite the best efforts of King Edward and those who followed him, the Welsh musical tradition continued. To this day, the annual National Eisteddfod of Wales, which includes eight days of performances with upwards of six thousand competitors and one hundred and seventy thousand attendees, is the largest musical and poetry festival in Europe.
... and the Cymry will rise.
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Read on for the first chapter in The Good Knight, another mystery series set in medieval Wales, available for free! in ebook at all retailers worldwide.
https://books2read.com/thegoodknight
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August, 1143 AD
Gwynedd (North Wales)
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“Look at you, girl.”
Gwen’s father, Meilyr, made a tsk of disgust under his breath and brought his borrowed horse closer to her side of the path. He’d been out of sorts since early morning when he’d found his horse lame and King Anarawd and his company of soldiers had left the castle without them, refusing to wait for Meilyr to find a replacement mount. Anarawd’s men-at-arms would have provided Meilyr with the fine escort he coveted.
“You’ll have no cause for complaint once we reach Owain Gwynedd’s court.” A breeze wafted over Gwen’s face, and she closed her eyes, letting her pony find his own way for a moment. “I won’t embarrass you at the wedding.”
“If you cared more for your appearance, you would have been married yourself years ago and given me grandchildren long since.”
Gwen opened her eyes, her forehead wrinkling in annoyance. “And whose fault is it that I’m unmarried?” Her fingers flexed about the reins, but she forced herself to relax. Her present appearance was her own doing, even if her father found it intolerable. In her bag, she had fine clothes and ribbons to weave through her hair, but saw no point in sullying any of them on the long journey to Aber Castle.
King Owain Gwynedd’s daughter was due to marry King Anarawd in three days’ time. Owain Gwynedd had invited Gwen, her father, and her almost twelve-year old brother, Gwalchmai, to furnish the entertainment for the event, provided King Owain and her father could bridge the six years of animosity and silence that separated them. Meilyr had sung for King Owain’s father, Gruffydd; he’d practically raised King Owain’s son, Hywel. But six years was six years. No wonder her father’s temper was short.
Even so, she couldn’t let her father’s comments go. Responsibility for the fact that she had no husband rested firmly on his shoulders. “Who refused the contract?”
“Rhys was a rapscallion and a laze-about,” Meilyr said.
And you weren’t about to give up your housekeeper, maidservant, cook, and child-minder to just anyone, were you?
But instead of speaking, Gwen bit her tongue and kept her thoughts to herself. She’d said it once and received a slap to her face. Many nights she’d lain quiet beside her younger brother, regretting that she hadn’t defied her father and stayed with Rhys. They could have eloped; in seven years, their marriage would have been as legal as any other. But her father was right, and Gwen wasn’t too proud to admit it: Rhys had been a laze-about. She wouldn’t have been happy with him. Rhys’s father had almost cried when Meilyr had refused Rhys’s offer. It wasn’t only daughters who were sometimes hard to sell.
“Father!” Gwalchmai brought their cart to a halt. “Come look at this!”
“What now?” Meilyr said. “We’ll have to spend the night at Caerhun at present rate. You know how important it is not to keep King Owain waiting.”
“But Father!” Gwalchmai leapt from the cart and ran forward.
“He’s serious.” Gwen urged her pony after him, passing the cart, and then abruptly reined in beside her brother. “Mary, Mother of God...”
A slight rise and sudden dip in the path ahead had hidden the carnage until they were upon it. Twenty men and an equal number of horses lay dead in the road, their bodies contorted and their blood soaking the brown earth. Gwalchmai bent forward and retched into the grass beside the road. Gwen’s stomach threatened to undo her too, but she fought the bile down and dismounted to wrap her arms around her brother.
Meilyr reined in beside his children. “Stay back.”
Gwen glanced at her father and then back to the scene, noticing for the first time a man kneeling among the wreckage, one hand to a dead man’s chest and the other resting on the hilt of his sheathed sword. The man straightened and Gwen’s breath caught in her throat.
Gareth.
He’d cropped his dark brown hair shorter than when she’d known him, but his blue eyes still reached into the core of her. Her heart beat a little faster as she drank him in. Five years ago, Gareth had been a man-at-arms in the service of Prince Cadwaladr, King Owain Gwynedd’s brother. Gareth and Gwen had become friends, and then more than friends, but before he could ask her father for her hand, Gareth had a falling out with Prince Cadwaladr. In the end, Gareth hadn’t been able to persuade Meilyr that he could support her despite his lack of station.
Gwen was so focused on Gareth that she wasn’t aware of the other men among them—live ones—until they approached her family. A half dozen converged on them at the same time. One caught her upper arm in a tight grip. Another grabbed Meilyr’s bridle. “Who are you?” the soldier said.
Meilyr stood in the stirrups and pointed a finger at Gareth. “Tell them who I am!”
Gareth came forward, his eyes flicking from Meilyr to Gwalchmai to Gwen. He was broader in the shoulders too, than she remembered.
“They are friends,” Gareth said. “Release them.”
And to Gwen’s astonishment, the man-at-arms who held her obeyed Gareth. Could it be that in the years since she’d last seen him, Gareth had regained something of what he’d lost?
Gareth halted by Meilyr’s horse. “I was sent from Aber to meet King Anarawd and escort him through Gwynedd. He wasn’t even due to arrive at Dolwyddelan Castle until today, but—” He gestured to the men on the ground. “Clearly, we were too late.”
Gwen looked past Gareth to the murdered men in the road.
“Turn away, Gwen,” Gareth said.
But Gwen couldn’t. The blood—on the dead men, on the ground, on the knees of Gareth’s breeches—mesmerized her. The men here had been slaughtered. Her skin twitched at the hate in the air. “You mean King Anarawd is—is—is among them?”
“The King is dead,” Gareth said.
https://books2read.com/thegoodknight
[1] Pryce, H. (2000). Lawbooks and Literacy in Medieval Wales. Speculum, 75(1), 29–67. https://doi.org/10.2307/2887424
[2] Spenser, Edmund (1596). A View of the Present State of Ireland: Discoursed by Way of a Dialogue between Eudoxus and Irenaeus.
