testimony, that whatever hands may have raised the first structure, that
which now occupies our attention is of Norman architecture.
<g>The historical</g> details of Llanstephan are meagre and unsatisfactory; we
would desire to learn the circumstances of siege and storm and
surrender, the acts of fortitude and valour which mutually distinguished
the besieged and their assailants, their patient endurance of
privations, their resolute and determined resistance, the nightly
assault, the treachery of professing allies, the regular investment by
open enemies, the daily skirmishes, the nightly advance, the scaling of
the walls, the final struggle, the throwing open of gates, the
dismantling of towers, with mingled traits of personal prowess,
magnanimity, and fortitude. But of these, history observes a mysterious
silence. We learn, however, that
<g>Caddell</g>, Meredydd, and Rhys, sons of Gryffyd-ap-Rhys[405]--the prince so
often named in these pages--having in 1143 succeeded in their enterprise
against Carmarthen Castle, were induced to make a similar attempt upon
Llanstephan, and, directing their march to that point, invested the
walls, and summoning the Norman garrison to surrender, were answered by
a message of contempt and defiance. This, however, served merely to
stimulate the Cambrian leaders into immediate action; for, after a
spirited resistance, they carried the fortress by storm or stratagem,
and planted their own countrymen within its walls. This daring exploit
was instantly reported to the Norman legions beyond the frontier, who
made all possible haste to vindicate the tarnished honour of the
garrison; and mustering all their available strength, soon made their
appearance under the walls of Llanstephan.
The consequence of this movement was a protracted siege, in the progress
of which everything promised a successful issue to the Normans. At last,
while the Cambrian garrison within did little more than regard their
operations with passive indifference, the signal was given to scale the
ramparts, and at the word every Norman flew to the assault. Meredydd,
however, was well prepared to give his unbidden guests a Welsh welcome;
and while the Normans, like swarming bees, were covering fosse and rock
with their numbers, he ordered a wedge to be struck home, and no sooner
was the hammer at work than an avalanche of rocks, suddenly let loose
from the highest point of the ramparts, overwhelmed the invaders, and
hurled the scaling party and their ladders into the ravine below. A
shout of derision followed them from the garrison above; operations on
both sides were suspended; and with their ranks thus suddenly thinned by
a catastrophe as unseen as it was disastrous, the Normans sullenly
withdrew. But it was only to return with increased strength and whetted
vengeance. They had sworn to extirpate the garrison at their next visit,
and the Norman leader was not a man to break his word whenever
stimulated by a thirst of revenge or plunder.
We need not dwell upon the skill and vigour of the besiegers, nor the
spirited resistance of the garrison. But, in the present instance, the
siege was conducted in a more regular and systematic method than
heretofore; they had recourse to all the appliances of military art. The
warlike engines employed against stubborn fortresses were now called
into perpetual action, and night and day the _butting_ of the
battering-rams continued to shake the ramparts, until here and there a
stone dropping from the mason-work, the whole ramparts began to shake
under the feet of the besieged. At length, a breach being effected, the
Normans poured in their best troops, and for a time the conflict was
maintained with desperate fury. Foot to foot the assailants met, fought,
and fell where they stood. Too proud to ask quarter, the fiery Cambrian
rushed upon his adversary with a blind impetuosity that often placed him
at his mercy; while the Norman, adroit in the management of his weapon,
and bent on revenging his countrymen, was only stimulated to
indiscriminate slaughter; and long before sunrise the Norman banner
waved on the Castle of Llanstephan.
<g>In</g> M.CC.XVI the fortune of war was again invoked. The Norman sway, so
intolerable to native independence, had extended its influence and
territory; and with these had inspired into the heart of every
reflecting Cambrian, a deep sense of the wrongs inflicted upon his
country. With an irrepressible and Wallace-like determination to crush
or expel the invader, he rushed to the conflict. This, so far as regards
Llanstephan, was partly effected by Llewelyn-ap-Iorwerth, who, after a
successful attack, entered the fortress, slew or captured the garrison,
and then, to prevent its being again turned against the peace of the
country, dismantled the walls, threw down the gates, filled up the
ditches, and left its towers for a habitation to the owls.
The position of the Castle, however, was too advantageous to be
neglected for more than a season: for, as war continued rampant along
the marches, the demand for garrisons increased; and Llanstephan was
again converted into a fortress, and crowded with troops. In this state
it appears to have continued until the year 1254. But in those days of
mutual hatred and jealousy--when neighbour plotted against neighbour,
and friendships cemented at morning were often changed, by some sudden
exasperation, into mortal enmities before night--the garrison of
Llanstephan could never remain unconcerned spectators of passing events.
Llewelyn-ap-Grufydd, whose name is so familiar in the Cambrian annals,
finding himself in a position to resent, to the very death, some
personal insult from the haughty castellan of Llanstephan, summoned his
countrymen to arms. “This offensive castle,” said he, “must be
demolished! Ye have true British hearts; and if your hands will only
obey those hearts, my countrymen, before two days elapse ye shall drive
your goats to pasture in the courtyard, of Llanstephan!”
This old Griffin kept his word--the raid was successful--his flag soon
waved over the battlements of the castle; and there we leave him for the
present to enjoy the fruits of his new seigneurie.
* * * * *
<g>St. Anton’s Well</g>, in the parish of Llanstephan, was long a place of
popular resort for invalids. Impregnated by some mysterious qualities
which escaped detection by the _ancient_ process of analysis, the water
was lauded as a never-failing resource under those forms of corporeal
malady which had baffled the skill of physicians, and conducted the
sufferer to the very brink of despair. It may, therefore, be imagined,
that the concourse of pilgrims was a source of no little emolument to
the place, more especially to the “hydropathic” friar of the olden day,
who presided at the well, and propitiated, for a consideration, the kind
offices of St. Anthony. But all the medicinal virtues of this holy well
are now left to the gossip of old tradition; and although the fountain
bubbles up as fresh, and clear, and salubrious as ever, public faith in
its qualities has been shaken; and no pilgrim, in these days of
scientific analysis, ever stoops down to taste the water, and, in
testimony of its virtue, leaves his crutch behind him.[406]
[Illustration]