His ambition now knew no bounds; and, by virtue of his new title, he summoned a parliament at Machynlleth, in Montgomeryshire, whither all the nobility and gentry of Wales resorted. He kept his court at Sychnant, about seven miles from Llangollen, on the road to Corwen. It is now distinguished by a grove of firs, situated in a beautifully fertile country, and overlooking the Dee. A few scattered stones are all that remain to mark the site where the palace of Owen Glyndwr once stood, which his bard, Iolo Goch, sung was as large as Westminster Abbey. [155]
About the middle of August, 1402, Henry, finding the power of Owen Glyndwr increasing, and the turbulence of the Welch breaking all bounds, resolved to crush their rebellion, and putting himself at the head of a powerful army, marched into Wales. But the very elements seemed to fight against him, the weather proving so extraordinarily inclement that the King was obliged to make a precipitate retreat, without accomplishing his intentions. [156a] The people attributed the dreadful tempests which at that season occurred to the magic power of Owen, who found it his interest to encourage their credulity.
Edward Mortimer, perceiving the King had no intention of opening his prison doors, and Glyndwr treating him with increased gentleness and respect, fell into the scheme this artful and politic man had devised. Owen Glyndwr [156b] was married to Margaret, the only daughter of Sir David Hanmer, of Hanmer, in Flintshire (who was one of the Justices of the King’s Bench, and was knighted by King Richard II.) by whom he had many children; and at this time three of his daughters were unmarried, on one of whom the captive Earl cast an eye of affection. Glyndwr at once saw the advantage of this predilection, and proposed to league with him against the King, and to cement this union by the marriage of his daughter to the Earl.
To strengthen this league, and make the proposed insurrection irresistible, the Earls of Worcester and Northumberland, two of the most powerful Nobles in England, together with the Scottish Chief Douglas, and Northumberland’s valiant son Henry Percy, better known by the name of Hotspur, were invited to join their standards; and these rebellious Lords met at the house of Dafyd Daron, the Archdeacon of Bangor, [158a] and there signed an indenture, sealing it with their own seals, to bind themselves to assemble their forces, and join in putting down the King, and for dividing the kingdom, vainly relying upon a foolish prediction of Merlin, in which the King was depicted as an execrable moldwarp, and Glyndwr and his colleagues as the wolf, the lion, and the dragon, that were to pull the moldwarp down. [158b]
This treaty, made with so much secrecy, and executed in the recesses of Glyndwr’s dominions, was soon communicated to King Henry. Sir David Gam, so called because he had a crooked eye, or squinted, or, as some say, had but one eye, was a strong and faithful partizan of the Duke of Lancaster, now King Henry IV. and consequently the inveterate enemy of Owen Glyndwr, now Prince of Wales, at whose Parliament he attended, together with the chief of the Welch nobles and gentry, but with very different intentions; he having determined to put an end to Glyndwr’s rebellion with his life. [159a]
David Gam was the son of Llewellyn Ap Howel Vaughn, a gentleman of Brecknock. His scheme and his purpose were, however, unfortunately for him, discovered and frustrated, and he was immediately secured, and ordered by Owen for execution; [159b] but many of his greatest friends and adherents pleading for Gam’s life, Owen thought it politic then to stifle his resentment, and to grant him both life and liberty, on his solemnly promising to continue in future true and faithfully loyal to Glyndwr.
The promises of men in those days were frequently regarded only so long as it suited their interests or convenience. Such was the case with David Gam, who no sooner found himself among his own friends, and in his own country, than he began to assail and annoy all the favourers and adherents of Glyndwr, who being soon apprised of the practices against him, and of the use Sir David made of his liberty, marched with all expedition at the head of a small body of his retainers, intending to make him prisoner; [161] but Sir David had the good fortune to elude his vigilance, and escaped into England, where he lived for the most part at court, not daring to visit his native country until after the death of Owen Glyndwr.
Having thus missed his prey, Owen set no bounds to his resentment. He burnt Gam’s house to the ground, wasted his substance, despoiled his tenants and friends, and by the rigor of his proceedings so estranged the hearts of all, and created so many enemies, that it was reasonable to expect that through Sir David’s means, or some of his emissaries, the King would have information of what was plotting against him in Wales.
Henry at this time, fortunately, had a small army assembled for another purpose; and no sooner was he apprised of this conspiracy against him, than, placing himself at the head of his troops, he marched them for Wales, to attack the confederates before they had time to conjoin their forces. [162a] Owen had not collected all his strength,[162b] and the Earl of Northumberland, who was considered generalissimo, being seized with a sudden illness, and confined to his bed at Berwick-upon-Tweed, the King found the rebels under the command of Hotspur at Shrewsbury.
The insurgent chiefs, seeing a battle inevitable, and knowing that Glyndwr, with his hardy Welchmen, was in full march to join them (in fact, he reached Oswestry at the head of 12,000 men on the very day the battle was fought), to gain time proposed a conference, and drew up a list of grievances to be redressed; but the matter ended in mutual recrimination, and both sides prepared for battle. The numbers were nearly equal, about 12,000 on each side, and the two armies were inflamed by the most dreadful animosity.