Morgan's run (1)

Maredudd ap Gruffudd, lord of Hirfryn in south Wales, died at Llandovery castle in 1270 and was buried in the chapter house at Strata Florida. He had previously spent a year in prison in Ireland, after Earl Gilbert de Clare annexed his lands in Glamorgan and took him prisoner. 

Clare's action was in response to the decision of Lord Edward, who had granted Maredudd's lands and homage to Prince Llywelyn of Wales. This enraged Clare, who waited until Edward departed on crusade and then launched an invasion of the Glamorgan uplands. His conquest marked the end of the descendents of the old kings of Morgannwg, who had clung onto their patrimony for almost two hundred years. 

Maredudd's heir, Morgan, was left with Hirfryn in Deheubarth. Via the treaty of Montgomery in 1267, the homage of virtually all the lords of Wales was now owed to Prince Llywelyn. Morgan was duly summoned to Snowdonia to perform the ritual act of homage and fealty to the prince. As soon as the oath was sworn, Llywelyn declared Hirfryn forfeit and confiscated it. 

Morgan was now landless, completely shorn of his inheritance. The bare facts of the record give no reason for Llywelyn's action, which is puzzling. He had previously re-granted Hirfryn to Morgan's father after taking it out of the hands of the former lord, Maredudd ap Rhys Gryg. Llywelyn then insisted the lordship be held direct of him as a Welsh barony. Edward consented to this, at the expense of Clare. 

Llywelyn may well have considered that Morgan's family had expended their usefulness. After losing their lands in Glamorgan, they were now minor lords, of no great power or influence. In terms of hard politics, it made far more sense to take their last land under direct control. This gave Llywelyn a foothold in Deheubarth, and some potentially useful leverage against the rival lords of Dinefwr. The prince's decision was typically ruthless: his neighbours, Henry III and Edward I, were dab hands at this sort of barely legal theft. It was a question of dressing it up as legal process. 

As for Morgan, he could go and die in a ditch. He was an extra prince now, and extra princes in this era only went one way – down. 

Morgan said no.

Plot, plot, plot, plot, plot

“The cruel Thomas Turberville, disturbed our peace with wicked will.”

In September 1295 Sir Thomas Turberville was tried and executed for treason. After his conviction, he was dragged on a hurdle to a gallows and hanged on an iron chain. This was part of a bizarre ritual execution, in which the hangmen wore special uniforms of 'trowsers' and furred jackets, and beat the prisoner with clubs on his way to the gallows. Afterwards his body was torn to pieces by horses.*

Turberville was a former household knight and trusted servant of Edward I. In 1294 he was captured by the French in Gascony and agreed to turn traitor. The French sent him back to England, where he spied on English military preparations and sent a detailed report back to Paris.

The king of France, Philip the Fair, had great plans for Turberville. Two English chronicles state that, after he had conquered England, Philip meant to install the traitor as Prince of Wales. The idea of appointing a Welshman does not seem to have occurred to him: Philip was close kin to the Anglo-Norman ruling elite, after all. At this stage Anglo-French rivalry was a family quarrel over sovereignty, as opposed to the national conflict it later became.

The details of Turberville's capture are murky. We know he was lurking close to the Welsh border shortly before his arrest; on 23 September a fee of £1 was paid to William Wither, a royal agent, for watching Turberville's movements in Gloucestershire.

Now, in his report to Paris, Turberville twice claimed to be in secret contact with a certain 'Morgan' in Wales. These are worth quoting. In the first instance, Turberville wrote that he had met Edward I in London, and assured him the land of Wales was at peace:

“...wherefore I did not dare to deliver unto Morgan the thing which you well wot of.”

This would imply that Turberville was carrying some message from the French, which he dared not deliver to Morgan while he held the king's attention. Second, he claimed to have organised a widespread revolt in Scotland and Wales, and that the Scots and Welsh would rise in arms against the English as soon as Edward sailed for France:

“And this I have well contrived, and Morgan has fully covenanted with me to that effect.”

The Morgan in question can only be Morgan ap Maredudd, a descendant of the old kings of Morgannwg. Whether or not he was really plotting against the king, or acting as agent provocateur, is uncertain. What we do know is that he suffered no punishment after Turberville's arrest, and is later found acting as Edward's spy and commissioner of array.

However, between the arrest and his later royal service, Morgan did lead a major revolt in south-east Wales. These medieval folk did love a good plot. Plot, plot, plot. It was the spice of life. Right up until the point they got horribly killed.

*Please don't ask me why they wore trousers and furred jackets. I have absolutely no idea. Maybe it was the fashion. 

Hammer of the sots

The news of Stirling Bridge, fought on 11 September 1297, probably reached Edward I in Flanders by early October. On the 9th he agreed a truce with his enemy, Philip the Fair, a tacit agreement which left both kings free to deal with their problems in Scotland and Flanders.

Or at least, that is the standard interpretation. The tendency is to cut-frame straight to the battle of Falkirk, which gives the impression that Edward steamed home at a billion miles an hour to crush William Wallace with his mighty hammer.

The reality could not be more different. Despite the truce, Edward remained on the continent for another six months, and delegated the Scottish crisis to his subordinates. Earl Warenne, who had made such a fool of himself at Stirling Bridge, was entrusted to deal with the Scots. Meanwhile the king remained focused on the French war.

When he negotiated the truce, it was laid down that Edward could resume hostilities, if his ally Adolf of Nassau arrived in Flanders with a German imperial army. Adolf had sent some help, but most of the Germans fighting in Flanders were contractors on Edward's payroll, acting independently of their king. Unless he arrived in person, the ceasefire held.

So, Edward and his other ally, Count Guy of Flanders, spent the next two months with their eyes fixed on the German border. Shortly after the truce, they received encouraging news that their allies in Burgundy and Bar-le-Duc were assembling reinforcements. However, there was no word from Adolf.

Finally, in late November, Edward gave up hope that Adolf would come, and asked for an extension of the truce. This was obtained, and the war suddenly turned into a party. After knighting his son-in-law, Duke John of Brabant, the king staged a massive banquet at the convent of St Bavo, outside Ghent. Here, Edward and his allies spent the winter months getting very drunk and competing to stage the most impressive feast.

Anxious to make things go with a swing, Edward summoned a troop of musicians and professional acrobats from England. They included Matilda Makejoy, a dancing girl or saltatrix, and minstrels with names such as Grease-Coat and Maggot. The troop had been part of the household of Hugh Cressingham, recently slaughtered and flayed at Stirling Bridge. Now he was dead, perhaps Edward got them at a discount.

Thus, while Scotland slid into chaos, Longshanks spent his time under a table in Flanders, 'carousing' with Matilda Makejoy. This interesting interlude is nowhere to be seen in Braveheart or Outlaw King, alas. It casts a slightly different light on the Plantagenet, generally viewed as an 'iron man' compared to other members of his dynasty. To historians, medieval warfare is a grim old business; all stats and payrolls and complex treaties. To the kings and princes who indulged in conflict, it was often a bit of a game, fought between close relatives.

When his hangover had worn off, Edward went to Brussels to visit his daughter and her husband, Duke John. The king was all business again, and in February 1298 received the extraordinary grant of Antwerp and adjoining towns from his son-in-law. This meant that Edward had effectively annexed the Duchy of Brabant, which enabled him to install a permanent English wool staple and mercantile community. Several years later, in 1305, the English wool merchants obtained a grant of special trading privileges from the anglophile duke. 

Monstrous erections

 

In September 1267, at the ford of Montgomery (Rhyd Chwima), Prince Llywelyn ap Gruffudd knelt before Henry III and swore the double oath of homage and fealty. The treaty left Llywelyn in possession of much of Wales along the border from Chester to Abergavenny, and gained him formal recognition of his title. In exchange he and his heirs were made perpetual vassals of the English crown, and he agreed to pay a mortgage of 25,000 marks (about £20,000 in English sterling) at set rates per annum. 

To really understand what followed, we have to look at what the treaty did not say. There is no mention in the text of the lordship of Glamorgan, which remained intact in the hands of its lord Gilbert de Clare, earl of Gloucester. 

Gilbert had succeeded his father, Richard, as earl in 1264. He pursued a vacillating course in the Montfortian wars in England, changing sides as it suited his interest. In 1267, before he marched on London, Gilbert came to agreement with Llywelyn: according to Brut y Tywysogion, the attack on London was a joint enterprise between the two men, and Gilbert raised his army in Wales. Hence, when he seized the capital in the summer of that year, London was effectively conquered by an army of Welshmen. Before anyone gets too excited, bear in mind they were led by an English earl. 

The following year, October 1268, Gilbert and Llywelyn met again, this time in Cantref Selyf in Brycheiniog. The text of their treaty survives (attached, third pic), and is arguably just as significant as the better-known treaty of Montgomery. The Cantref Selyf agreement shows the state of play in Glamorgan at this time. When Gilbert switched sides to join the king, in 1265, Llywelyn seized the opportunity to invade the lordship. According to the treaty, he had pushed on from the valley of the Usk and gained effective control of Northern Miskin as far as Pontypridd and Senghenydd above Caeach. There is no other record of Llywelyn's conquests in northern Glamorgan, but the Cantref Selyf agreement is sufficient proof. This was a serious bit of diplomacy, and neither Llywelyn or his rival were messing about. 

Both men were anxious to prevent their dispute being transferred to the ging's court (Coram Rege). This would take the final judgement out of their hands and into those of royal justices, which had to be avoided at all costs. Hence they reached a compromise: the men of Miskin and Senhenydd, who had been withdrawn to Llywelyn's lordship, would remain in his possession along with their goods and chattels. Otherwise the status quo would be maintained in the Glamorgan uplands, and neither party would wage war on the other.

Gilbert had already thought of an insurance policy. In April 1268, several months before the meeting at Cantref Selyf, he started work on the mighty fortress of Caerphilly. As JE Lloyd remarked, the terms of the treaty make the story of Caerphilly 'clear as day'. The Welsh prince had advanced deep into southern Glamorgan, so Gilbert's monstrous erection was intended to guard Cardiff and the coast lands. Llywelyn, for his part, was just as determined to knock it over. 

Troupe Alemande (1)

 

On this day in 1294 Adolf of Nassau, King of Germany and titular Holy Roman Emperor, formally declared war on Philip the Fair of France:

“Adolf, by the grace of God king of the Romans, forever august, to the noble sovereign lord Philip, king of France. Since the goods, possessions, laws and administration of justice, and territories of our empire have been held by your ancestors and yourself for so long as a result of unlawful occupation, having been appropriated without cause, the evidence of which being manifest in many and various places, we, being unable henceforth to ignore the truth of these matters under the guise of forbearance, inform you by these present letters that we intend to pursue the redress of such great injustices and to bring the forces within our power against you. Given at Nuremberg, on the 31st day of August in the year of our Lord 1294 and the third year of our reign”.

Philip's response was less grandiose. He sent a sheet of parchment to the German court with just two words written on it: 'Troupe Alemande', which translates as Stupid German. This was a gross insult, but Philip could get away with it. Despite his royal title, Adolf was virtually powerless, and had only been elected because he had no money. Thus the German electors could safely ignore him, or slap him about, as they wished.

The 'unlawful occupation' referred to Philip's policy of expanding the borders of Capetian France. Apart from invading Flanders and Gascony, he also sought to gobble up the border provinces of the empire. For several years he had been fighting a way by proxy in eastern Burgundy, the Franche-Comté, where Adolf and a coalition of Burgundian nobles defied French ambition.

Adolf's position improved when he agreed to ally with Edward I against France. This was formally agreed on 21 August, ten days before he sent his letter of defiance to Paris. The German king was promised a lavish English subsidy of £120,000, to be paid over in three installments. This money was to be used to raise an imperial army to fight the French.

Adolf's subsequent actions are murky, and the fine detail has to be extracted from non-English language sources. 

Gory executions

 

On this day in 1305 Sir William Wallace was executed with gruesome savagery at Smithfield. He was the second of Edward I's political enemies to be killed in this way, after Prince Dafydd of Wales in 1283, and the third criminal in England to suffer this form of execution. The first was a would-be assassin, name unknown, who had tried to murder Henry III in his bedchamber.

It is difficult to know, exactly, the motive for Wallace's barbarous execution. Unlike Dafydd, he had no personal relationship with the king. As a military commander, he posed significantly less threat than his fellow Guardians, all of whom Edward had pardoned and taken back into his peace. In terms of status, he was a mere knight, whose brief reputation and influence had been shot to pieces at Falkirk, seven years earlier. One might say – as many will – that Edward I was simply a vicious brute. If so, why did he pardon everyone else?

Perhaps the bare facts of Wallace's career are misleading. So much is implied by Edward's consistently hostile attitude towards the Scot. When the Guardians surrendered to the king, he insisted that several of them prove their loyalty by hunting down Wallace. On another occasion he informed Sir Alexander Abernethy, a Scot in English service, not to to accept Wallace's surrender on any terms. One English chronicler, Pierre Langtoft, even claimed that Wallace offered to surrender personally to the king, but was angrily rebuffed.

The final record of Edward's 'Ordinance' for the government of Scotland shows that all the Scots were permitted to submit on terms, with the sole exception of Wallace. He could only surrender unconditionally, which meant that Edward might – might – be persuaded to spare his life. Or not. Unsurprisingly, Wallace declined to accept.

So, to an extent, Wallace's reputation as an uncompromising resistance leader stems from Edward's unwillingness to let him surrender. Whatever unfathomable psychology was at work here, between two men who never met, is lost to history. 

We are all spies

 

In August 1273 Edward I swore the oath of homage and fealty to his cousin Philip III for the duchy of Gascony, the last substantial Plantagenet land holding in France. Via the Treaty of Paris, this made Edward the vassal of a fellow king, an unworkable relationship that bedevilled Anglo-French relations and led to the Hundred Years War.

While in Paris, Edward attempted to put an end to the damaging feud with the Montforts. His late father, Henry III, had requested that Earl Simon's widow, Eleanor, be admitted to royal grace. Edward complied with his father's instruction and made contact with Eleanor (also his aunt) conveying his wishes to put an end to their quarrel, receive her into his peace and grant her the income from her English estates. He helped Eleanor financially, loaning her £200 which she only repaid with difficulty.

For good measure, Edward also sorted out Eleanor's dower, a hideously complex business that went back decades to her first marriage. The Dunstable Annalist maintains that he returned all her dower lands, although Eleanor would only enjoy them for another twelve months. She died in May 1275, aged about 63, at the convent of Augustinian nuns of St Dominic at Montargis in France. The house had been founded by Earl Simon's sister and was the burial place of her mother, Alice de Montmorency, and other women with Montfort connections. Eleanor's outstanding debts, however, would not be paid off until 1286.

Right up until the end, Eleanor may well have been playing a double game. J Beverley-Smith, in his magisterial biography of Prince Llywelyn of Wales, argued the widowed countess had secretly received Welsh agents at Montargis:

“...the Montfortian sanctuary at Montargis had been a meeting-place for a confluence of influences calculated to secure a new link between the lineage of Simon de Montfort and the principality of Wales”.

One of the go-betweens was almost certainly Nicholas of Wantham, a key member of Eleanor's household who served as her proctor and executor. In 1286, years later, Nicholas was summoned to court at Oxford to answer charges that he had spied on the English court and passed state secrets to Prince Llywelyn in North Wales and the Montforts in France. Rather than face the charges, Nicholas fled into exile.

“From infancy on, we are all spies.” - John Updike