Any hopes King Henry had that the death of Richard would ease pressure on him and establish the new regime more securely were quickly dampened. In September 1400 Henry mounted a major military expedition into Scotland in support of the Percys’ ongoing campaign there. But the Scots declined to meet the massive invasion force in battle, adopting a ‘scorched earth’ strategy until the English were forced to withdraw.
And Henry soon faced an additional threat nearer home.
Although the last independent Welsh rulers had been crushed in 1283 by King Edward I and Wales brought under the English crown and the Marcher lords, even over a century later the Welsh remained dry tinder, which a spark was likely to ignite. There had been a major rebellion in 1294-1295, and several lesser outbreaks subsequently, while at the height of Edward III’s campaigns in France, Owain Lawgoch, a descendant of the last Welsh princes, had presented a serious threat until killed by an English hired assassin.
Although troops recruited in Wales had made up a significant proportion of Edward’s forces in France, large numbers of the Welsh people remained restive under their English overlords, while the partially Welsh ancestry of the Mortimers, among the greatest of the Marcher lords, made support in Wales for their claim to the English throne a potentially serious factor.
Edward I had attempted to cement English control of Wales by establishing a series of towns, usually associated with castles, which he populated with English settlers. Few of them flourished. The Welsh were excluded from the new towns, and could be punished by death if found within their walls after the evening curfew. They were denied trading rights and privileges, which were only granted to the English townspeople, and were forced to sell their own produce to the settlers on disadvantageous terms.
Perhaps because of this, the English settlements remained isolated and often paranoid outposts of alien rule. Even though by this time the rules against Welsh residents had been somewhat relaxed, in the minds of the settlers, and the government officials who were also based in them, they were surrounded by a hostile sea of Welshmen, and, although this view was at times exaggerated, by the latter part of the fourteenth century it still contained a good deal of truth.
Outside the immediate confines of the English settlements, the traditional Welsh way of life had been only superficially altered by the Edwardian conquest. When settlers brought in from England increasingly occupied the more fertile river valleys and narrow coastal plains, the dispossessed Welsh perforce established themselves in the harsher upland hills and moors. ‘Welsh’ Wales was a land of small villages and scattered farmsteads, where the raising of cattle, driven in great herds to sell as far afield as London, and to a lesser extent sheep-rearing, were the basis of the ‘native’ economy.
Although normally subject to English overlords, the native Welsh squirearchy (‘uchelwyr’) controlled many aspects of Welsh life, and were regarded by their Welsh tenantry, bound by ties of kinship and occasionally as the result of threats or actual violence, as their natural lords. The uchelwyr, although they had, in many cases, received an education in England and fought in the English armies in France and Scotland, remained fiercely wedded to the Welsh past, proud of their sometimes convoluted descent from the old Welsh royal dynasties, encouraged in this way of thought by the wandering bards and minstrels, who recalled the past glories of the Welsh people, and promised the return of King Arthur or the rise of a new leader who would regain Wales its freedom from the ‘Saxon’.
The total population of Wales at the start of the fifteenth century was probably around a quarter of a million, reduced, as in other parts of the country, by the recent ravages of the ‘Black Death’. There were two distinct systems of rule in Wales. Much of the east and south of the country, and much of the area just to the east of the rather vaguely defined Welsh border, was divided into around forty lordships, under the collective name of the ‘Marches’. The Marcher lordships, originally consisting of territory granted to Anglo-Norman nobility on condition they conquered it from the Welsh, still had a considerable amount of autonomy, with their own legal and administrative systems. By far the largest of the Marcher lordships, extending through much of northeastern and Central Wales, was held by the Mortimer family, closely followed in extent by the lands of the Arundel family.
The relationship between the Marcher lords and their Welsh subjects varied. Some of the smaller Marcher lordships had their owners in residence, which, depending on the character of the lord concerned, might affect relations with their tenants either favourably or otherwise. The larger lordships, however, were more often run by officials, usually English, whose dealings with the tenants were largely governed by the desire to extract as much in money or produce as they could. In these cases there was often a power vacuum waiting to be filled.
About a third of Wales – mainly the territory that had been conquered by Edward I in the north and west of the country – formed the ‘Principality’, and was a possession of the crown. Although both here and in the Marches, it was possible for the Welsh gentry to occupy minor and middle-ranking office, the higher posts were generally filled by Englishmen.
There was a similar situation with regard to the Church in Wales. Between 1372 and 1400, out of sixteen bishops, only one was Welsh. The alienation of the Welsh clergy, often providing vital leadership in the local communities, was a major factor in arousing discontent against English rule.
By 1400 Wales was a land of mounting unrest. Its population was divided into two increasingly polarized factions: on one side the English settlers, garrisons and administrators, with some of the minority of Welsh who had prospered under English rule, and on the other the bulk of the increasingly alienated ‘native’ Welsh population. The sense of bitterness and regret for the past among many of the Welsh was apparent: ‘Where once there were Britons, we now have Englishmen; Welshmen suffer daily thereby.’
The increasing demands of English landlords, themselves having to cope with the demographic and economic consequences of the ‘Black Death’, increased the disaffection. Coupled with this, the running down of the war with France lessened the opportunities for Welshmen to advance or enrich themselves by deeds of prowess, and was creating a reservoir of discontented veterans living in poorer circumstances at home in Wales.
The political turmoil at the end of the fourteenth century added to the sense of alarm and unease in Wales. The death of Roger Mortimer, Earl of March, in 1398, had left the great Mortimer lordships in the hands of a minor, inevitably followed by a lessening of firm government there. The relative favour shown to the Welsh by Richard II had raised hopes of an improvement in conditions, to be dashed by the ‘revolution’ of 1399.
All these discontents were fuelled by the Welsh love of mythology and yearning for a past, which although it had perhaps never quite existed, was potent in the Welsh national consciousness. Thus, by 1400, Wales was ripe for revolt, needing only a leader – and a spark – to ignite it. It found both in Owain Glyn Dwr.
Glyn Dwr was one of the wealthiest of the uchelwyr, and one of the few to hold his lands, mainly around Sycarth on the Welsh border near Oswestry, and Glyndyfrdwy, in the Dee valley near Corwen, directly from the crown. Significantly, in light of what was to follow, he could also claim descent from most of Wales’ former royal dynasties. Details of Glyn Dwr’s early life are scanty, but he was most probably born in 1359, making him just over 40 years of age in 1400. His upbringing conformed to the traditional pattern of contemporary English and Welsh gentry: his late childhood spent in the household of the Earl of Arundel, then several years of legal training at Westminster, followed by military service with Arundel, quite possibly including being present at Radcot Bridge in the forces of the Lords Appellant. He certainly served in Richard II’s expedition to Scotland in 1385, his military prowess celebrated by the Welsh bards, and possibly in one or both of Richard’s Irish expeditions. By the closing years of Richard’s reign, Glyn Dwr was leading the life of a prosperous country landowner, his home and hospitality praised by his near-neighbour, the bard Iolo Goch. So far as he had any political sympathies, they were just as likely to have been with Henry as with Richard.
Yet in September 1400, when Wales at last flamed into open revolt, Glyn Dwr was at its head. The immediate cause seems to have been a dispute over land with Owain’s powerful Marcher neighbour, Reginald, Lord Grey of Ruthin, who, unfortunately for Glyn Dwr, was a close associate of the new king. It was also said (though on uncertain grounds) that Grey deliberately withheld from Glyn Dwr a summons for him to join the Scottish expedition of 1400, and accused him of being a traitor.
In reality there were probably a number of reasons for what followed. Although he did not yet openly proclaim himself Prince of Wales, Owain was regarded as such by many of the 160 or so relatives and followers who met at Glyndyfrdwy on 16 September, and two days later, armed with bows, spears and swords, crossed the hills and sacked and burnt the town of Ruthin, on market day. From there they forged a trail of destruction across north-eastern Wales, burning and looting the towns of Denbigh, Flint, Harwarden, Holt and Rhuddlan, although, significantly, in every case the associated castle continued to hold out.
From Holt the insurgents headed south, their target the town of Welshpool on the River Severn. But here, not for the last time, the lightly-armed Welshmen found themselves outclassed by better trained and better equipped English forces, and were quickly scattered by a determined attack by the Sheriff of Shropshire, Hugh Burnell, reinforced by levies from Staffordshire and Warwickshire.
Nevertheless, the potential for serious trouble in Wales remained, Glyn Dwr was still at large, and in North Wales his Anglesey cousins, Rhys and Gwyllim ap Tudur, regarded as the leading Welsh military figures of the area, were now in arms.
News of the outbreak reached King Henry at Northampton. His advisers tended to minimize the severity of the threat, and the king evidently concluded that a chevauchée, or mounted punitive raid, would be sufficient to quell the outbreak. The levies of ten Midland shires were ordered to join him at Lichfield and Shrewsbury, and from here marched into North Wales, crossing the Menai Straits into Anglesey without serious opposition, although a detachment of his men was evidently worsted in a skirmish with the Tudurs near Beaumaris.
In reprisal, the king ordered the burning of the nearby friary at Llanfaes, and then led his forces back over the border to Shrewsbury. Having bared his teeth, so to speak, Henry now adopted a conciliatory stance, offering pardons to most of the leading rebels, excluding only a handful, including Glyn Dwr himself, whose estates were declared forfeit.
The king evidently hoped (and partly convinced himself) that his show of strength had achieved the desired effect. Certainly, as winter approached, although Glyn Dwr and a handful of followers were still at large in the mountains of North Wales, there was reason to hope that the uprising was a spent force. It is indeed possible that extending the pardon to include Glyn Dwr himself might have ended the rebellion.
But there were hardline forces on both sides which had no desire for reconciliation. It was reported that many Welsh labourers in England, and Welsh students at Oxford, were either secretly returning home to join the rebels, sending back money, or were in touch with irreconcilable Ricardian plotters in England.
When it met in January 1401, the English Parliament was in no mood to offer clemency. The rebellion had hardened the already strong anti-Welsh sentiment of many in England. In February the commons presented Henry with a series of anti-Welsh measures. Welshmen living in England and the Marches would be stripped of their entitlement to hold a large number of offices, including the constableships of castles. The people of a district would be held responsible for any breaches of the peace within their area, and would be liable personally for any felonies, robberies or trespasses. All criminals were to face English justice, instead of the old Welsh laws permitted to continue in some places. The Welsh were to pay for the upkeep and repair of castles and town walls in North Wales.
The problem for the English government lay in enforcing this new legislation, for, as spring approached, there were fears that Owain Glyn Dwr might soon resume his activities.
To co-ordinate operations against the rebels in North Wales, a council, under the nominal control of the 13-year-old Prince Henry, was set up, based on Chester. Although the prince was regarded as being on the verge of manhood, he required an experienced adviser by his side. The Percys remained high in royal favour. The Earl of Northumberland had been made Constable of England, and Hotspur Warden of the East March of Scotland and Berwick, and Constable of Roxburgh Castle.
Chevauchée
AFrench term meaning ‘promenade’ or ‘horse charge’ used to describe raids designed to lay waste to enemy territory. It was intended to weaken the authority of an enemy regime or cause disaffection among its subjects – though often it had the opposite effect.
Generally associated with the English forces during the Hundred Years’ War, the chevauchée had been used at least as far back as the Norman invasion of England in 1066. However, it was developed and refined during the campaigns of Edward III and the Black Prince. It utilized relatively small armies of fast-moving mounted troops. Taking booty and hostages, as well as causing destruction, were the primary objects of these raids.
Chevauchées were ideally suited to light horsemen or ‘hobilars’, who, as well as destroying crops and buildings, could also drive off livestock. Similar raids were used by the Scots in Northern England.
Some of the English chevauchées in France covered considerable distances. Perhaps the most famous, and destructive, was that mounted by the Black Prince in 1355. Leaving Bordeaux in the autumn with 5,000 mounted men, Edward devastated Angoulême and Armagnac, with the city of Toulouse as his apparent objective. In fact the English lacked the means to besiege the city and eventually returned to Bordeaux. A second large-scale raid the following year also failed to achieve any clear result.
Although villages and farmsteads would always remain vulnerable to chevauchée-style operations, French cities were gradually more strongly fortified, leading to a decline of the chevauchée.
Henry IV’s use of the chevauchée in Wales had limited results, partly through lack of targets, and because the Welsh, like the French in the later years of the war, declined to offer battle in the open, contenting themselves with picking off stragglers.
Early in 1401 Hotspur was appointed as Justice of North Wales, Justice of Chester and Constable of North Wales. Apart from in effect making him military commander in the area, Hotspur was also given stewardship of large areas of the Mortimer lordship, with his uncle, Thomas Percy, Earl of Worcester, being given similar powers in Central Wales.
There is no reason to think that Hotspur, who established his operational headquarters in the Mortimer castle at Denbigh, was reluctant to assume his new role. As uncle by marriage of the young Earl of March, he was an appropriate choice to administer part of his estates.
Despite the ordnances of the English Parliament, Hotspur had been given powers to continue the policy of clemency, which had hitherto been the hallmark of many of Henry’s proceedings. However, Glyn Dwr himself, and a number of the other major participants in the rising of the previous autumn, were still excluded from pardon, and it was they who now rekindled the revolt.
The English still relied on the chain of castles constructed by Edward I from 1277 onwards, to contain any rebellion. And for the most part, they had had considerable success. Second only to the great fortress of Caernarvon in its impressive strength was Conwy Castle, commanding the crossing of the river of the same name, its white lime-washed walls dominating the associated English-inhabited town protected by its own strong walls.
Despite being strengthened after the outbreak of the rebellion, Conwy’s garrison consisted only of fifteen men-at-arms and sixty archers, under the command of John Massey of Puddington, a highly experienced professional soldier from Cheshire, who had served both Richard and Henry, and whose father had died at Crécy.
Massey and his garrison should, in normal circumstances, have been strong enough to see off any attack that Rhys and Gwyllim ap Tudur would have been able to mount. He was, however, expecting any opponents to obey the generally accepted laws of war, which, among other things, forbade bloodshed on major religious festivals. So on Good Friday (1 April) Massey felt it safe to take all but two of his men for morning service in the parish church, which lay just outside the castle walls.
The Tudur brothers had no such scruples. A party of forty insurgents made their way stealthily to the foot of the castle rock, then one of their number, dressed as a carpenter, made his way to the castle gates and claimed to have been sent to carry out repairs. The two unsuspecting custodians opened the gates to give him entry. They were rushed by the hidden rebels, led by Gwyllim ap Tudur, and both were strangled. This method of killing was probably adopted both for its relative silence and as a way of being able to claim not to have shed blood in contravention of the Church’s edicts. Conwy Castle was in Welsh hands.
Before entering the castle, Gwyllim and his men, aided by a larger force under Rhys ap Tudur, lurking in the wooded hills outside Conwy, had set part of the town ablaze. While the terrified townspeople and his own men tried to quell the blaze, a humiliated and angry Massey sent word of the disaster to Hotspur.
The Tudurs, as they would have been aware, had no prospect of holding Conwy Castle indefinitely – such was not their aim. Their plan was to use the castle as a bargaining counter with which to obtain the pardons from which they had been excluded.
For Hotspur the loss of Conwy Castle was a major humiliation. Its fortifications and great store of provisions meant that it was unlikely to be retaken except by means of a costly and prolonged siege. And for as long as the castle remained in Welsh hands, it would serve as a symbol likely to kindle further acts of rebellion.
Hotspur, at the head of 120 mounted men-at-arms and 300 archers, rode at once to Conwy. Massey was dismissed from his command, had his lands forfeited, and was put under arrest.
None of this brought recovery of the castle any closer, and a month later Hotspur was still tied down blockading the castle and attempting to protect the town of Conwy from raids by Rhys ap Tudur and his men, who still lurked in the neighbourhood. Although he wrote to the king on 4 May that he hoped the rebels would be ‘well chastised’, Hotspur believed that some sort of deal with the Tudurs was inevitable if the siege were not to drag on into the summer. However, when negotiations began, Welsh proposals were unacceptable to the king, with the Tudurs demanding free pardons for themselves and all their men, and that none of them should be put on trial before the town’s court. Eventually a compromise was reached, and the terms sent to the king for approval. Henry was far from happy, writing to Prince Henry that the suggested terms were ‘not at all honourable to us, but a matter of the most evil precedent’.
But talks continued, and early in June a rather shabby agreement was reached between Gwyllim ap Tudur and Hotspur, by which the castle was surrendered. About nine of the defenders were seized by their companions as they slept, tied up and handed over to the besiegers. Gwyllim and the remainder of his men were allowed to go free, while their companions were hanged, drawn and quartered. The chronicler Adam of Usk wrote of the surrender of Conwy Castle:
on the 28th of May next following the Welsh surrendered the said Castle, cowardly for themselves and treacherously for their comrades. For having bound twelve of their number who were very hateful to the prince, by stealth as they slept after the night watches, they gave them up on condition of saving their own and others’ lives. And the nine thus bound and yielded up to the prince they straight away saw them drawn, disembowelled, hanged, beheaded, and quartered.
The Siege of Conwy had been an episode reflecting little credit on any of those involved. Indeed, it is tempting to think that Hotspur, with his highly developed sense of chivalry, must have resented being forced into such a discreditable solution. More significantly, the long-drawn-out operations at Conwy had tied down large numbers of English troops, and given Glyn Dwr much-needed time to rekindle his revolt.
On 3 May Hotspur had been reporting optimistically to the king’s council that the bulk of the dissidents in Caernarvonshire and Merioneth had now submitted, but that his own shortage of funds was critical:
those rebels who are in the castles of Conway and Rhys [ap Tudur], which is in the mountains […] I hope will be well chastised, if God pleases, by the forces and authorities, which my redoubtable brother the Prince [Henry] has sent there, as well of his counsel as of his retinue, to hold the siege before the rebels in the said castles; which siege if it can be continued until the said rebels are taken, will be a great ease and comfort to the governance of this country in time to come […] the peasantry of the said country of North Wales, that is to say the counties of Caernarvon and Merioneth, have just presented themselves before me and humbly thanked my redoubtable brother, the Prince, for his very great kindness in supplicating our lord the King for his gracious pardon, and they humbly beg for the confirmation of this under his seal, offering to give him of their own will (beside the usual dues) and without any other request, as great a sum as they gave to King Richard when he was King and Prince […] and you will remember how many times I have besought you for the payment of the soldiers of the king in the City of Berwick and the East Marches of England, who are in such great poverty that they cannot bear arms for the want of their pay, and for them you are supplicated to order that they be paid in manner as was promised between the Treasurer and myself at our last meeting, if better payment cannot be obtained for them. For otherwise I must come to you for the said payment, everything else being of minor importance […] [But] the great want and necessity I saw in all the country, in good faith, are so insupportable that I cannot bear them any longer than the end of the month, three or four days longer…
Lack of financial support from the king would eventually become a festering source of grievance for the Percys, who would come to see the neglect as deliberate malice. In fact, the situation facing Henry was more complex. Royal demands for money had been a major factor in the opposition to Richard I, and was not a policy that Henry wished to imitate. He had already spent some £60,000 (roughly £3,250,000 in present-day terms) in largely fruitless operations in Scotland and Wales, and Parliament was reluctant to grant further taxes until Henry made concessions regarding the councillors he had appointed. Even then, his tax collectors met with violent opposition in many parts of the country, at least one being murdered.
Siege Warfare
Afifteenth-century siege of a major castle or well-fortified town was a considerable undertaking, requiring a large number of troops with significant resources. Basically, sieges could take one or more of three main forms: assault (with or without bombardment) and mining (which could also be employed separately) or blockade (aimed at starving the defenders into surrender).
A blockade was cheapest in terms of casualties and equipment, but could take a considerable time, and there was often the possibility of a relief force coming to the assistance of the garrison. The aim of blockade and starvation was normally to bring the defenders to seek terms, and sometimes – if the garrison commander’s aim was to save face rather than fight to the last – a few shots were enough to satisfy his honour before yielding.
Siege equipment was always cumbersome and difficult to move. A trebuchet (most effective of the siege engines) might require a team of wagons pulled by up to sixty oxen to move it while disassembled. Guns were slightly easier to transport but required large quantities of ammunition.
Assault was normally only employed against small or inadequately defended garrisons, and might be expected to be bloody and costly for all involved.
It was partly because of these difficulties, as well as from a feeling that the trouble and expense involved in recovering Conwy had been largely the result of Hotspur’s constable losing it in the first place, which led to an unsympathetic response from the king to Percy’s pleas.
In Wales itself, Hotspur was trying unsuccessfully to track down the illusive Glyn Dwr in the wild uplands of Merioneth, although he received some satisfaction from a minor victory gained by John Charlton of Powys over a rebel force in Central Wales, but Hotspur was unable, or unwilling, to follow up this success. On 4 June he was telling the royal council that unless he was provided with funds – he claimed to be owed £5,000 – he would have to leave Wales ‘which becomes a matter of necessity to me, for I cannot bear the costs I am at, then the complete success of the rebels is assured’.
Around the same time there is evidence suggesting Hotspur was in touch with Glyn Dwr himself. The Welsh leader was still apparently receptive to peace feelers, if a full pardon could be guaranteed. Hotspur and Glyn Dwr may have met during the Scottish campaign of 1385 and if they did not meet face to face in the spring of 1401, there were certainly exchanges of messages between them regarding Glyn Dwr’s possible submission. Suggestions that they also discussed overthrowing King Henry are almost certainly premature, but links were established that could be activated later. Once again the king’s council was opposed to granting Glyn Dwr any terms, and indeed went so far as to suggest Hotspur lure the Welsh leader into a trap and then kill him. Hotspur, already uneasy after the terms agreed at Conwy, angrily rejected the idea, saying that ‘it was not in keeping with his rank to use the oath of fealty as a means of deception’.
Believing himself blamed for the loss of Conwy, Hotspur wrote to the king’s council:
as to what is written in your said letters that I do well and safely guard all the castles, which I have in keeping for the term of my life or otherwise, in the said parts, so that from my negligence no pillage, damage or other loss happen either to the castles or the country […] I am charged upon pain of forfeiting the said castles and the profits appertaining thereto without ever having been restored or admitted to the keeping of them. I wish you to know that I have not in Wales any castle of my keeping for which I cannot answer and will not answer for.
In June Hotspur made a final plea to the king:
I see much pillage and mischief in the country, that good and hasty measures ought to be immediately adopted by sea as well as by land. All the country is without doubt in great peril of being destroyed by the rebels if I should leave before the arrival of my successor, the which [sic] will be an affair of necessity; for I cannot bear the cost that I am put to without ordering from you. And touching this that has been done by my very honoured uncle [Thomas Percy, Earl of Worcester] and other forces in his company, I hope that this has been certified unto you and of my doing this by land and sea for my soldiers’ pay and my own expenses, and for the journey I had on the 13th May last to Cader Idris, God be Praised. The bearer John Irby was with me and can acquaint you with the details. Sir Hugh Browe was with me with twelve lances and one hundred archers of my right honourable cousin the Earl of Arundel, without any other aid, at my proper charges; and by such governance as you may see meet to order for this answer […] and please to know that news have reached me this day from the lord of Powys, as to his combat with Owain Glyn Dwr, whom he hath discomfited, and wounded many of his men on his way to my much honoured uncle and myself as he certified, for which I thank God.
By July he had left his Welsh command and was back in the north, organizing preparations to meet an expected Scottish attack. While Hotspur was not yet estranged from the Lancastrian regime, it was clear that his relations with Henry – always uneasy following the latter’s seizure of the throne – had taken a turn for the worse.
By now Glyn Dwr had begun spreading his rebellion to other parts of Wales, sending out letters to likely supporters. He told Henry Don of Kidwelly:
We inform you that we hope to be able, by God’s help and yours, to deliver the Welsh people from the captivity of our English enemies who, for a long time now elapsed, have oppressed us and our ancestors. And you may know from your own perception that now their time draws to a close and because, according to God’s ordnance from the beginning success turns towards us, no one need doubt that a good issue will result, unless it be lost through sloth and strife.
It was a message calculated to appeal both to Welsh grievances and their belief in prophecy and divine support. Even in England, especially among the Welsh students at Oxford, unrest was growing.
Though much of this amounted to no more than words, there was evidence that men were being recruited in Oxford to go back to Wales to fight for Glyn Dwr, and that money was being raised for his cause.
With the bulk of the English forces concentrated in North Wales, Glyn Dwr now carried the rebellion into the previously quiet south. He established a base for ‘Plant Owain’ – ‘Owain’s Children’ – as his men were known to the Welsh, in the area around Plynlimmon, in the central uplands of Wales, from where he could strike north, south and east.
With most available English troops still holding down North Wales, it was left to the community of Flemish settlers of south-west Wales to raise a force of some 1,500 men to meet Glyn Dwr. Glyn Dwr himself was said to have only 400 men immediately available, but in an action in the Hyddegen valley, 2 miles from Plynlimmon, after a fierce fight, completely routed the enemy:
In summer Owen rose with 120 reckless men and robbers and he brought them in warlike fashion to the uplands of Ceredigion; and 1,500 men of the lowlands of Ceredigion and of Rhos and Penfro assembled there and came to the mountain with the intent to seize Owen. The encounter between them was on Hyddgant Mountain, and no sooner did the English troops turn their backs in flight than 200 of them were slain. Owen now won great fame, and a great number of youths and fighting men from every part of Wales rose and joined him, until he had a great host at his back.
Hyddegen was the victory Glyn Dwr had needed to give his movement credibility. It also seems to have been the event that convinced him of the righteousness of his cause. Henceforward he would fly the banner depicting the four lions of the Royal House of Gwynedd, and begin to style himself Prince of Wales. And from now on his ‘Children’ began to wage war with a new ruthlessness, burning and killing wherever they went along the borders of Central Wales. Once again they were checked at Welshpool, but only after the town had gone up in flames.
By September a reluctant King Henry was forced to prepare another major military expedition into Wales. On 18 September, having secured funds from a grudging Parliament (which had been forced to acknowledge mounting threats from France and Scotland, as well as Wales), Henry summoned the Midland levies to meet him at Worcester on 1 October.
The expedition lasted a fortnight and was a total failure. Beset by foul weather and with no sign of the illusive Glyn Dwr, Henry and his troops blundered around in the hills of Central Wales, led astray by a Welsh guide, Llywellyn ap Gruffydd Vychan, who after two days defiantly told the king: ‘I have two sons serving with Glyn Dwr and I will on no account reveal his counsels which will prove so penal to you.’ He was hung, drawn and quartered by the furious Henry. But Glyn Dwr remained out of reach. His irregular fighters from time to time appeared out of the mist and rain to harry detachments and stragglers from the English army, on one occasion capturing the horses, tents and armour of the young Prince Henry.
The king’s response was to sack and burn the great Cistercian monastery of Strata Florida, beloved of the Welsh people because eleven of their princes were buried there. The king’s horses were stabled in the abbey church and its treasures carried off when the army left. It was an act of ‘frightfulness’ rather than logical strategy, and within days Henry was back in England, at Hereford, with nothing to show for his efforts but 1,000 terrified Welsh children, brought back as hostages.
A triumphant Glyn Dwr now swung north, and, somewhat optimistically, attempted to surprise the great castle of Caernarvon. A sally by the garrison, supported by armed townsmen, repulsed the attack, claiming to have killed 300 of the rebels.
As winter drew on, there seems to have been a final attempt to end the rebellion by compromise. Significantly, it was the Earl of Northumberland who presented Glyn Dwr’s case to Prince Henry and his council at Chester:
May it please you to know that envoys have come from Owain Glyn Dwr telling me that the said Owain wishes to parley with representatives of my people, upon which I sent him to know his intent, saying that if he would submit without conditions to the mercy of our Lord the King, I would make it my task to beg for his life, without promising him anything. He has replied that he dare not come for anything to England because he has heard that the commons of England have slain some great lords against the wishes of the king our lord without being brought to justice. And he made other demands and requests of no consequence.
Armour
The early years of the fifteenth century were a time of transition in the types of armour in use. The impact of the war bow in the hands of skilled archers was leading to the development of full plate armour, but it would be some years before this came into wide use.
Most of the men-at-arms engaged in the battles examined here would have worn a mixture of plate and mail. Typical features were the mail hauberk, or coat, an aventail under the helmet, and a bascinet-style helmet, which often, though not always, had a visor fitted. Plate armour might protect the arms and shins and feet, and articulated steel gauntlets would be worn. Shields were probably not widely used by men fighting on foot. There would have been little or no difference in the armour of men-at-arms in the English, Scottish or Welsh armies.
Glyn Dwr was referring to the killings of those involved in the ‘Epiphany Plot’ of 1400. The message is of the more significance in confirming that a channel of communication was now open between Glyn Dwr and the Percys. It may be that nothing was discussed other than what was stated in Northumberland’s letter to Prince Henry, but the earl could equally have been covering himself in the knowledge that word of his contacts with Glyn Dwr would reach royal ears from other sources.
Once again King Henry seemed mindful to open negotiations with Glyn Dwr. But his inclinations were overruled by the royal council, which held that ‘it neither was nor could be honourable and befitting the king’s majesty to remit such a malefactor his offence’.
It would prove to be the last slim chance for a compromise. By November, Glyn Dwr was in touch with King Robert III of Scotland and various Irish chieftains, calling on them for support against a common enemy: ‘I humbly beseech you, kneeling upon my knees, that it may please your royal majesty to send unto me a certain number of men-at-arms who may aid me and may withstand with God’s help mine and your foes aforesaid.’
Ahead lay a deepening and bitter struggle.