This done, we reluctantly turn our backs upon pretty Llawhaden, and fare away in the direction of Narberth, playing hide-and-seek with our shadows as they lengthen under the westering sun. Groups of lads and little lasses, homeward bound from school, linger in twos and threes by the rough laneside, where the bramble brakes are thickest; purple lips and stained pocket-handkerchiefs showing the blackberry season is now in full swing.
Anon we clamber over a tall step-stile, near a widespreading ash-tree whose singular form at once arrests the eye. After growing for some feet in a horizontal direction, the massive Bole turns abruptly at a sharp right angle, and shooting skywards, straight as an arrow, branches out into a head of symmetrical foliage, like the trees in a Dutchman's garden.
Pushing on by a footpath that winds down towards a stream in the hollow of the vale, we presently stumble hot-foot upon a covey of partridges, who are up in a twinkling, and blustering away to the shelter of a neighbouring stubble-field; while the voice of an unseen threshing-machine, 'a-bummin' away like a buzzard clock,' palpitates through the drowsy air of the still, September afternoon.
Leaving St. Kennox away to our right, we now make for the village of Robeston Wathen; the choice lying between breasting the hill by a steep green field-path, or approaching in more leisurely fashion by way of the lane. The voting goes all in favour of the shorter route, which brings us out at a point near Robeston Church, whose tall, isolated tower is conspicuous for a long distance around. At the cross-roads near the village stands a group of wayside cottages, whose deep thatched roofs, and low porches embowered in honeysuckle and climbing plants, make a very charming picture.
Past the disestablished toll-gate, the road slants away down the bank to a bridge over a narrow streamlet. Thence ensues the long, steady ascent of Cock's Hill, which lands us eventually at a considerable altitude on the outskirts of Narberth; a place that, with the exception of its ruined castle, has little to commend it to wayfarers who, like ourselves, are 'in search of the picturesque.'
A town of some importance in bygone times, when its markets were resorted to by half the countryside, Narberth appears of late to have fallen upon degenerate days; the mail-coaches having deserted its grass-grown streets for ever, while the railway trains that have usurped their place give the unfortunate town the go-by, in favour of other and more enterprising communities.
Wending our way adown the long, featureless High Street, we pass on our left the broad front of the De Rutzen Arms, a large wayside posting-house, around whose weed-grown courtyard hang memories of the old coaching days. Then, leaving the parish church away to the right, and navigating some intricate lanes, we approach the outskirts of the town, and make the best of our way to the castle ruins.
Crowning the southward slope of the hill upon which the town is located, Narberth Castle occupies a position of considerable importance. The ruins of the fortress, though small, and devoid of striking features, are not without a certain picturesque appearance when seen from the Tenby road. It must, however, be confessed that 'distance lends enchantment to the view;' for the existing remains are of a very fragmentary nature, consisting of a few broken bastions, with some odds and ends of more or less dilapidated masonry.
At the time of the Norman Conquest, Narberth fell to the share of Sir Stephen Perrot, a follower of the redoubtable Arnulph de Montgomery. Although there is record of a castle here as long ago as the eleventh century, the present structure is certainly not of earlier date than the days of Sir Andrew Perrot, or, say, about the middle of the thirteenth century; indeed, the character of the existing work seems to point to its erection at an even later period.
In the reign of Edward III., Narberth Castle came into the possession of Roger Mortimer, the great Earl Marcher, and sometime favourite of Queen Isabella; passing subsequently under the direct control of the Crown. Eventually bluff King Hal presented the estate in his own freehanded way to our old acquaintance, Sir Rhys ap Thomas; and so when John Leland, the famous antiquary, travelled into South Wales upon his 'Laborious Journey, and Searche for England's Antiquities,' he duly described Narberth Castle as a 'praty pile of old Sir Rees.'