THE PYLGAIN OF DYFED
Like an explosion of fire-damp in a coal-mine--sudden, far-reaching,
deadly--so was the convulsion in South Wales.
All was quiet to-day. On the morrow the whole land from the Bay of
Cardigan to Morganwg, was in flames. The rising had been prepared for
with the utmost caution.
The last to anticipate it were the soldiery under Rogier, who were
quartered in Caio. Notwithstanding imperative orders from the bishop at
Llawhaden to return to him, they had remained where they were, and had
continued to conduct themselves in the same lawless manner as before.
They scoffed at the tameness with which their insolence was endured.
"They are Cynwyl conies--des lapins!" they said. "Say 'Whist!' and
nothing more is seen of them than their white tails as they scuttle to
their burrows."
For centuries this had been an oasis of peace, unlapped by the waves of
war. The very faculty of resistance was taken out of these men, who
could handle a plow or brandish a shepherd's crook, but were frightened
at the chime of a bowstring and the flash of a pike.
Yet, secretly, arms were being brought into the valley, and were
distributed from farm to farm and from cot to cot; and the men whose
wives and daughters had been dishonored, whose savings had been carried
off, who had themselves been beaten and insulted, whose relatives had
been hung as felons, were gripping the swords and handling the
lances--eager for the signal that should set them free to fall on their
tormentors. And that signal came at last.
On Christmas Eve, from the top of Pen-y-ddinas shot up a tongue of
flame. At once from every mountain-side answered flashes of fire. There
was light before every house, however small. The great basin of Caio was
like a reversed dome of heaven studded with stars.
"What is the meaning of this?" asked Rogier, issuing from the habitation
he had appropriated to himself, and looking round in amazement.
"It is the pylgain," replied his man, Pont d'Arche, who knew something
of Welsh.
"Pylgain! What is that?"
"The coming in of Christmas. They salute it with lights and carols and
prayers and dances."
"Methinks I can hear sounds."
"Aye! they are coming to church."
"With torches--there are many."
"They all come."
Then a man came rushing up the hill; he was breathless. On reaching
where stood Rogier, he gasped: "They come--a thousand men and all
armed."
"It is a river of fire."
Along the road could be seen a waving line of light, and from all sides,
down the mountains ran cascades of light as well.
"There is not a man is not armed, and the women each bear a torch; they
come with them--to see revenge done on us."
Then up came Cadell. He was trembling.
"Rogier," he said, "this is no pylgain for us--the whole country is
stirring. The whole people is under arms, and swearing to have our
blood."
"We will show these conies of Cynwyl that we are not afraid of them."
"They are no conies now, but lions. Can you stand against a thousand
men? And--this is not all, I warrant. The whole of the Towy Valley, and
that of the Teify, all Dyfed, maybe all Wales, is up to-night. Can you
make your way through?"
Rogier uttered a curse.
"By the paunch of the Bastard. I relish not running before those
conies."
"Then tarry--and they will hang you beside Cynwyl's bell, where you
slung their kinsmen."
Rogier's face became mottled with mingled rage and fear.
Meanwhile his men had rallied around them, running from the several
houses they were lodging in; a panic had seized them. Some, without
awaiting orders, were saddling their horses.
"Hark!" shouted Rogier. "What is that?"
The river of light had become a river of song. The thunder of the voices
of men and the clear tones of the women combined. And from every rill of
light that descended from the heights to swell the advancing current,
came the strain as well.
"They have come caroling," said Rogier disdainfully.
"Carol, call you this?" exclaimed Cadell. "It is the war-song of the
sons of David. 'Let God arise, and let His enemies be scattered: let
them also that hate Him, flee before Him. Like as the smoke vanisheth,
so shalt Thou drive them away: and like as wax melteth at the fire, so
let the ungodly perish----'"
"I will hear no more," said Rogier. "Mount! And Heaven grant us a day
when we may revenge this."
"I will go too," said Cadell. "Here I dare not remain."
Before the advancing river of men arrived at the crossing of the Annell,
the entire band of the Normans had fled--not one was left.
Then up the ascent came the procession.
First went the staff of Cynwyl, not now in its gold and gem-encrusted
shrine, but removed from it--a plain, rough, ashen stick, borne aloft by
Morgan ap Seyssult, its hereditary guardian, and behind him came
Meredith, with his two attendant bards, all with their harps, striking
them as the multitude intoned the battle-song that for five hundred
years had not sounded within the sanctuary of David. The women bore
torches aloft, the men marched four in breast, all armed and with stern
faces, and Pabo was there--and led them.
The Archpriest, on reaching the church, mounted a block of stone, and
dismissed the women. Let them return to their homes. A panic had fallen
on those who had molested them, and they had fled. The work was but
begun, and the men alone could carry it on to the end.
Rogier and his men did not draw rein till they had reached the Ystrad
Towy, the broad valley through which flowed the drainage of the
Brecknock Mountains. And there they saw that on all sides beacons were
kindled; in every hamlet resounded the noise of arms. At Llandeilo they
threw themselves into Dynevor, which had but a slender garrison. But
there they would not stay; and, avoiding such places as were centers of
gathering to the roused natives, they made for Carmarthen.
The castle there was deemed impregnable. It was held mainly by Welsh
mercenaries in the service of Gerald of Windsor. Rogier mistrusted them;
he would not remain there, for he heard that Griffith ap Rhys, at the
head of large bodies of insurgents, was marching upon Carmarthen.
Next day the brother of the bishop was again on the move with his men by
daybreak, and passed into the Cleddau Valley, making for Llawhaden.
In the meantime the men of Caio were on the march. None were left behind
save the very old and the very young and the women.
They marched four abreast, with the staff of Cynwyl borne before them.
Now the vanguard thundered the battle-song of David, "Cyfoded Duw,
gwasgarer ei elynion: afföed ei gaseion o'i flaen ef."
They sang, then ceased, and the rear-guard took up the chant: "When thou
wentest forth before the people; when thou wentest through the
wilderness, the earth shook and the heavens dropped." They sang on and
ceased. Thereupon again the vanguard took up the strain, "Kings with
their armies did flee, and were discomfited; and they of the household
divided the spoil."
Thus chanting alternately, they marched through the passage among the
mountains threaded by the Sarn Helen, and before the people went Pabo,
wearing the bracelet of Maximus, the Roman Emperor, who took to wife
that Helen who had made the road, and who was of the royal British race
of Cunedda.
So they marched on--following the same course as that by which the
Norman cavalcade had preceded them. And this was the Pylgain in Dyfed
in the year 1115.
The host came out between the portals of the hills at Llanwrda, and
turned about and descended the Ystrad Towy, by the right bank of the
river; and the daybreak of Christmas saw them opposite Llangadock. The
gray light spread from behind the mighty ridge of Trichrug, and revealed
the great fortified, lonely camp of Carn Gôch towering up, with its
mighty walls of stone and the huge cairn that occupied the highest point
within the enclosure.
They halted for a while, but for a while only, and then thrust along in
the same order, and with the same resolution, intoning the same chant on
their way to Llandeilo. There they tarried for the night, and every
house was opened to them, and on every hearth there was a girdle-cake
for them.
On the morrow the whole body was again on the march. Meanwhile, the
garrison had fled from Dynevor to Careg Cennen, and the men of Ystrad
Towy were camped against that fortress, from which, on the news of the
revolt, Gerald had escaped to Carmarthen.
By the time the men of Caio were within sight of this latter place, it
was in flames.
And tidings came from Cardigan. The people there had with one acclaim
declared that they would have Griffith as their prince, and were
besieging Strongbow's castle of Blaen-Porth.
But the men of Caio did not tarry at Carmarthen to assist in the taking
of the castle. Only there did Pabo surrender the bracelet of Maxen to
the Prince, with the message from his sister.
They pushed on their way.
Whither were they bound? Slowly, steadily, resolvedly on the track of
those men who had outraced them to their place of retreat and defense,
the bishop's Castle of Llawhaden.
Now when Bernard heard that all Caio was on the march, and came on
unswervingly towards where he was behind strong walls and defended by
mighty towers, then his heart failed him. He bade Rogier hold out, but
for himself he mounted his mule, rode to Tenby Castle; nor rested there,
but took ship and crossed the mouth of the Severn estuary to Bristol,
whence he hasted to London, to lay the tidings before the King. And with
him went Cadell, the Chaplain.
It was evening when the host of Caio reached Llawhaden, and Rogier from
the walls heard the chant of the war-psalm. "God shall wound the head
of his enemies: and the hairy scalp of such a one as goeth on still in
his wickedness ... that thy foot may be dipped in the blood of thine
enemies: and that the tongue of thy dogs may be red through the same."
He shuddered--a premonition of evil.
Pabo would have dissuaded his men from an immediate assault; but they
were not weary, they were eager for the fray. They had cut down and were
bearing fagots of wood, and carried huge bundles of fern. Some fagots
went into the moat, others were heaped against the gates. The episcopal
barns were broken into, and all the straw brought forth.
Then flame was applied, and the draught carried the fire with a roar
within.
By break of day Llawhaden Castle was in the hands of the men of Caio.
They chased its garrison from every wall of defense; they were asked
for, they gave no quarter. Those who had so long tyrannized over them
lay in the galleries, slain with the sword, or thrust through with
spears. Only Rogier, hung by the neck, dangled from a beam thrust
through an upper window.