Pabo, the Priest: A Novel

by S. Baring-Gould

There he had no alternative open to him but to prepare to take up arms. He at once entered into communication with his sister, on whose fidelity to the cause of the royal family of Dyfed, and of her country, he knew he could calculate. He found the people impatient to fly to arms. Their condition had become intolerable. Wherever they went the barons had introduced the system of feudal tenure, which was foreign to the laws and feelings of the people, and they vigorously resisted its application. Moreover, foreign ecclesiastics, the kinsmen or clients of the secular tyrant, seized upon the livings. Where a fortress could not be established, there a monastery was planted and filled with foreigners, to maintain whom the tithes and glebes were confiscated, and the benefices converted into vicarages, which were served by English or continental monks.

Added to this, the King had created the Bishop of London Lord of the Marches and President of Shropshire, and this astute and unprincipled man devoted his energies to the setting at rivalry of all the native princes, and the goading them to war with one another. Such was his policy—let the Welsh cut each other's throats and make way for the Norman and the Fleming.

The wretched people, betrayed by their natural leaders, the princes, deprived of their clergy, subjected to strange laws, with foreign masters, military and ecclesiastic, intruding themselves everywhere, and dispossessing them of all their possessions, felt that it would be better to die among their burnt farmsteads than live on dishonored.

At this juncture, when they looked for, prayed for a leader, Griffith, son of their King, suddenly appeared in their midst, with a fresh story of insult and treachery to tell—and make their blood flame.

"I am come," said the Prince, still standing in the falling ray of sun. "I have hasted to come to you with a word from my sister, the Princess Nest. Evil is devised against you—evil you are powerless now to resist. It comes swift, and you must bow your heads as bulrushes. The enemy is at hand—will be here on the morrow; and what the Princess says to Pabo, your chief, is, Fly for your life!"

"That is what has been determined among us," said Howel.

"It is well—let not a moment be lost!" Then, looking around, "I—my friends, my brothers, am as a squirrel in the forest, flying from branch to branch, pursued even by the hand that should have sheltered me. There is no trust to be laid in princes. I lean on none; I commend my cause to none. I place it in the hearts of the people. I would lay my head to sleep on the knee of any shepherd, fearless. I could not close my eyes under the roof of any prince, and be sure he would not sell me whilst I slept."

None answered. It was true—they knew it—too true.

"My brother," said Griffith—and he stepped to each and touched each hand—"I commit myself and the cause of my country to these hands that have held the plow and wielded the hammer, and I fear not. They are true."

A shout of assurances, thrilled from every heart, and the eyes filled with tears.