Edward, Llewellyn & John

Hark! Give heed, all humankind, and hear the high-song,

Of John of Wales, in Welshdom wise and worthy,

And two tough titans, their troublesome tenures,

King Edward of England, and Llewellyn the Last one.

Now Edward the elder, with eagles emblazoned,

His sights set on South Wales, and Snowdonia's strongholds,

A ruler resolute, his reaching was relentless,

With well-forged firm will, his words were weighty wisdom.

For years he'd been yoked, to the yoke of administration,

His father's long fealty, had fashioned him for ruling.

Then Llewellyn the Last, a lion in his valleys,

For Wales's wild ways, his will was unwavering,

A prince proud and potent, his people he protected,

Though factions fought fiercely, his fame filled the mountains.

He strove to shape Cymru, a sovereign strong kingdom,

But dissent and divisions, did damage his dominion.

But John of Wales watched, with a wisdom well-worn,

A friar and a herald, his heart held compassion,

He knew the keen cravings, of common folk for quiet,

And sought a soft settlement, to still the land's sorrow.

From Powys's proud borders, his parentage proceeded,

Where Mercia's men mingled, in memory long-faded.

Ah, listeners, look back! Those lords were hard-headed,

Each held his own counsel, and clashes came quickly.

Life then was no idyll, for high nor for humble,

And peace was a precious thing, fleeting and fragile.

The middle of the matter, meant many a meeting,

'Twixt English envoys eager, and Welshmen wary-minded,

Llewellyn's long loyalties, to laws and to language,

King Edward's firm fixation, on feudal obligations.

The borders were bleeding, with bandits and with battles,

Where stealing and slaughter, brought suffering to many.

John journeyed between them, a joyless task often,

To plead for patience, and promise some respite,

He spoke of the sorrow, that strife ever summons,

And warned of the weakness, that would follow further fighting.

He knew the old chronicles, the Brut's brave stories,

Of princes past perished, and peace that was broken.

Now ponder this point, good people, for friars were but men,

Not born in brown habits, but bred to the world's ways.

In Henry the Third's long years, they'd flocked to our shores,

Seeking souls to be saved, and solace for sinners.

Some might have known warfare, the thrust and the parrying,

Then sought holy orders, a haven from harshness.

That sanctuary sacred, from secular sanctions,

A roof overhead, though the fare might be frugal.

Yet knaves could seek shelter, with piety pretended,

So gatekeepers guarded, the Church's good standing.

Perhaps our John pondered, this perilous problem,

Protecting God's people, from wolves in sheep's clothing.

The end then unfolded, as events took their toll,

Llewellyn laid low, in a landslide of losses,

And Edward triumphant, his emblem implanted,

The Statute of Rhuddlan, its rules now resounding.

John watched the weeping, the wailing and the worry,

But saw too a silence, where screaming had echoed.

Author’s Note

c. 500 words

Franciscan friar John of Wales (Johannes Cambrensis) was appointed by King Edward to serve as his Welsh Herald. This ensured that clear and accurate records of family lineages could be accrued, and loyalties noted.

Llewellyn had gathered the Welsh nobility with promises he could not fulfill, and threats if they sought to abandon him. Edward was attempting to eliminate threats – such as banditry and raiding – from every side of his kingdom.

John retired to an abbey near Paris, France, where he could continue his research undisturbed.