Foreword
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Every age presents men and women with its own peculiarities, pains, and pleasures. In 1351, when this tale begins, the world still reeled from a sweeping and horrific visitation of the bubonic plague. People named the disease the Great Mortality, or the Pestilence. Educated guesses put the death toll in Europe at somewhere around 1/3 of the population, perhaps even more. Certain places were luckier than others, but doomed villages here and there succumbed completely.
The Church of the Middle Ages, God's omnipresent intermediary in the Western world, had proven all too clearly unable to stop the spread of the affliction. More worldly opinions had to be sought. In October, 1348, learned doctors in France decreed the disease was caused by a triple conjunction of Saturn, Jupiter, and Mars in the 40th degree of Aquarius, an event they said had taken place on March 20, 1345. Their opinion was accepted as state-of-the-art scientific wisdom. Like the Church's call for unceasing prayer and contrition, the doctors' astral verdict did nothing to deter the Mortality. The pandemic took its own unimaginable course, leaving in its wake stunned and disheartened survivors.
The Black Death was by far the most grievous tribulation of the 14th century. But there were other conflicts and troubles.
Edward I, great-nephew of Richard the Lion-Hearted, conquered Wales in 1282. When Llywelyn ap Gruffydd, the last true Welsh prince, was killed in battle against
Edward's forces, his head was stuck on a pole and displayed in London as a trophy and unambiguous warning to the defiant.
Edward was an effective and ambitious ruler, but ruthless. His son, Edward II, was the first English-appointed Prince of Wales. But Edward II came to a famously bad end, deposed and murdered by his wife, Isabella of France, and her English lover, Roger Mortimer. However, Edward and Isabella did manage to produce an heir before they grew completely estranged. It was their son, Edward III, who ruled Britain in the days of this story.
A war with France was instigated by Edward III and had already been raging for fourteen years by 1351. England felt entitled to huge chunks of France. Of course, France disagreed. There was also fierce disagreement on trade issues. In the end, England won most of the battles, but France won the war. The conflict lasted until 1453. It is now called The Hundred Years' War, a more euphonious but less accurate appellation than The Hundred and Sixteen Years' War.
It's likely people on both sides of this contest often set out to do battle with patriotic zeal. Joan of Arc, perhaps the most famous teenager in history, comes to mind. But some participants certainly hungered for plunder more than anything else. Others had no say at all in their military careers, but were dragged unwillingly into duty. This was probably the case with many Welshmen.
Women faced battles of their own. A woman in the 14th century dealt with customs and abuses so familiar to her she may not have even given them any particular thought. Unless wealthy, her legal status was on par with a madman's or a sheep's. Her husband could beat her if he took the notion, as long as he didn't cripple or kill her--and provided her screams didn't disturb the neighbors.
A 13th century (male) encyclopedist called woman "a hindrance to devotion." Original sin was traced by the Church to Eve. Naturally it followed that all women, with a few saintly exceptions, were the Devil's temptresses and his lusty recruiters. Of course, not every male embraced that prickly assumption. Surely many men adored their mothers and daughters, their good wives, and did not suppose them to be demonic seductresses.
The Welsh places and byways mentioned in these pages are not fictional. The Trackway of the Cross can still be traced or even walked for a large part of its sixty mile length. Sylvan quiet reigns over much of it. A medieval man or woman dropped there now through some glitch in the time continuum might find sections of the track little changed. Birds still sing high in the oaks. Bees flit and buzz. But if the modern pilgrim hears monks' chants or lepers' clackers, or glimpses lost ladies in the mist, it's only a trick of the imagination.
Sarn Helen, too--the Roman Road in Wales--can be followed for a long way. Ghostly legionnaires do reveal themselves there, now and again, as they do on many of the Roman roads in Britain. Perhaps these indefatigable soldiers are still looking for a way back to Rome. Or maybe they're only eternally marching back to their British outposts, hungry for dinner and evening wine. The lonely ruin of Dolwyddelan Castle can be visited, also the church at Llanrhychwyn, and of course, Edward I's imposing castle at Conwy.
The Welsh language, one of the oldest in Europe, flourishes.
And the Honey Fair still takes place in Conwy, every September.
The Church of the Middle Ages, God's omnipresent intermediary in the Western world, had proven all too clearly unable to stop the spread of the affliction. More worldly opinions had to be sought. In October, 1348, learned doctors in France decreed the disease was caused by a triple conjunction of Saturn, Jupiter, and Mars in the 40th degree of Aquarius, an event they said had taken place on March 20, 1345. Their opinion was accepted as state-of-the-art scientific wisdom. Like the Church's call for unceasing prayer and contrition, the doctors' astral verdict did nothing to deter the Mortality. The pandemic took its own unimaginable course, leaving in its wake stunned and disheartened survivors.
The Black Death was by far the most grievous tribulation of the 14th century. But there were other conflicts and troubles.
Edward I, great-nephew of Richard the Lion-Hearted, conquered Wales in 1282. When Llywelyn ap Gruffydd, the last true Welsh prince, was killed in battle against
Edward's forces, his head was stuck on a pole and displayed in London as a trophy and unambiguous warning to the defiant.
Edward was an effective and ambitious ruler, but ruthless. His son, Edward II, was the first English-appointed Prince of Wales. But Edward II came to a famously bad end, deposed and murdered by his wife, Isabella of France, and her English lover, Roger Mortimer. However, Edward and Isabella did manage to produce an heir before they grew completely estranged. It was their son, Edward III, who ruled Britain in the days of this story.
A war with France was instigated by Edward III and had already been raging for fourteen years by 1351. England felt entitled to huge chunks of France. Of course, France disagreed. There was also fierce disagreement on trade issues. In the end, England won most of the battles, but France won the war. The conflict lasted until 1453. It is now called The Hundred Years' War, a more euphonious but less accurate appellation than The Hundred and Sixteen Years' War.
It's likely people on both sides of this contest often set out to do battle with patriotic zeal. Joan of Arc, perhaps the most famous teenager in history, comes to mind. But some participants certainly hungered for plunder more than anything else. Others had no say at all in their military careers, but were dragged unwillingly into duty. This was probably the case with many Welshmen.
Women faced battles of their own. A woman in the 14th century dealt with customs and abuses so familiar to her she may not have even given them any particular thought. Unless wealthy, her legal status was on par with a madman's or a sheep's. Her husband could beat her if he took the notion, as long as he didn't cripple or kill her--and provided her screams didn't disturb the neighbors.
A 13th century (male) encyclopedist called woman "a hindrance to devotion." Original sin was traced by the Church to Eve. Naturally it followed that all women, with a few saintly exceptions, were the Devil's temptresses and his lusty recruiters. Of course, not every male embraced that prickly assumption. Surely many men adored their mothers and daughters, their good wives, and did not suppose them to be demonic seductresses.
The Welsh places and byways mentioned in these pages are not fictional. The Trackway of the Cross can still be traced or even walked for a large part of its sixty mile length. Sylvan quiet reigns over much of it. A medieval man or woman dropped there now through some glitch in the time continuum might find sections of the track little changed. Birds still sing high in the oaks. Bees flit and buzz. But if the modern pilgrim hears monks' chants or lepers' clackers, or glimpses lost ladies in the mist, it's only a trick of the imagination.
Sarn Helen, too--the Roman Road in Wales--can be followed for a long way. Ghostly legionnaires do reveal themselves there, now and again, as they do on many of the Roman roads in Britain. Perhaps these indefatigable soldiers are still looking for a way back to Rome. Or maybe they're only eternally marching back to their British outposts, hungry for dinner and evening wine. The lonely ruin of Dolwyddelan Castle can be visited, also the church at Llanrhychwyn, and of course, Edward I's imposing castle at Conwy.
The Welsh language, one of the oldest in Europe, flourishes.
And the Honey Fair still takes place in Conwy, every September.
