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We are aiming to create a permanent memorial to the Princes at Garth Celyn. 'A Centre for the Interpretation of Welsh History, with the focus on the Heroic Age of the Princes.' Join with us in this project which celebrates local heritage and oral tradition, field and place names, and which will help to highlight the keyrole that Eryri and the wider landscape of north Wales played in the story of the royal House of Gwynedd. Garth Celyn Abergwyngregyn Gwynedd LL33 0LA Cymru eryri@garthcelyn.com "The Palace of Aber Garth Celyn" Lying as it does in a cleft of the northern hills, with the great mountain mass of Penmaenmawr to the east, Moel Wnion to the west, and Foel- Fras to the south, the morning sun never enters Aber. But to look out at dawn to the north, over the narrow salt marshes to Lavan Sands and the sea, that is wonderful. The deepening light, first tinted like feathers of doves, then flushing into rose, then glowing like amber, comes sweeping westward from Conway over the sea, to strike in a glitter of foam and sand on the distant coast of Anglesey across the Strait from us, as if a golden tide had surged across the sea-green time, and flooded the visible world with light. That was such a morning. The only time that Eleanor’s eyes left Llewelyn’s face was to gaze at the morsel of sky seen through the open doorway, and he divined the last thirst that troubled her, she who loved the sun. If he could not take her where it would shine upon her, at least she might still look upon its beauty from the shadows. He sat down beside her on the edge of the brychan, and lifted her against his shoulder, and carefully gathering the blankets of the bed about her, took her up in his arms. She made no sign or sound of pain, but only a soft sigh, and with his cheek pressed steadyingly against her hair he carried her out onto the guard-walk, and the few yards around the stony bulk of the tower to the northern parapet and stood cradling her as the sun rose, their faces turned towards the sea. There in the open the air sweet and cool, and below us, beyond the shore road, the reeds and grasses of the marsh stood erect like small bright lances, every one separate, going down in lush tufted waves to where the sands began, with a great exultation of sea-birds filling the air above. The level sunrays made all the surface of the Strait a dance of fireflies, but beneath the glitter the deeps shone green as emeralds, and darker blue in the centre, and the shallows where the sand showed through were the colour of ripening wheat. Along the distant shore was the Franciscan Friary of Llanfaes, the burying-place of the princesses of Gwynedd. In the morning light it appeared as the distant harbour of desire, absolute in beauty and peace. She lay content in his arms and on his heart, her cheek against his cheek, and her eyes drew light from the picture on which she gazed, and grew so wide and wise in their hazel-gold that there was a moment when I believed he had won the battle. He knew better. ….. ‘Cariad!’ she said, and her breath caught and halted long, gently began again, and again sank into stillness. He held her for a great while after that, but there was no more sound, and no more movement, and that was all her message to him. She did not leave him without saying farewell. Yes! Cariad! ….. When he went out from the chamber where she lay, his face was a better likeness of death than hers. ….. ‘Thirteen years I waited for her,’ he said, looking down upon her still face, ‘and less than four years I have had her, and I suppose that was reward beyond my deserts. Now for me, as a man, there is nothing left to lose, what is there Edward or any other man can do to me that I cannot laugh to scorn?’ ….. We buried Eleanor de Montfort, Princess of Wales, in the Friary of Llanfaes, in the heart of June, when all things were blossoming and ripening for fruit, and the days so fair the heart ached for their beauty, and more for the beauty that was rapt away in its Junetide. We carried her in solemn procession from Aber across the salt marshes, and rowed her from Lavan Sands over the Strait, and laid her beside Joan, lady of Wales aforetime, daughter to King John and wife to Llewelyn Fawr, my Lord’s grandsire. There her mortal part rests until judgement, but surely her soul is gone like the flight of a lark, singing into the world of light. It is for ourselves we grieve. At night in hall the bards made music in her honour, lamenting the rose of the world fallen untimely to a killing frost, praising her as the noble daughter of a noble sire as indeed she was, and prophesying the gift of her beauty and goodness to her own child in the days to come. And he sat erect and grave through it all, and did all that was required of him that day, taking pains to make all necessary dispositions for the care of his little daughter. He named her Gwenllian, for it was a name in which Eleanor had found a pleasing music. October 1305 Order from King Edward I to the Constable of Bristol Castle _______________________________ |
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