Patronage and power

My review of Patronage and Power in the Medieval Welsh March: One Family's Story, by David Stephenson.

This is, as the title suggests, a study of a particular family on the medieval Marches of Wales. It is a follow-up to Stephenson's 2019 study Medieval Wales c.1050-1332: Centuries of Ambiguity, and tackles similar themes.

The family in question were of obscure origin, and first appear in the record as minor tenants of the Mortimers, one of the great powerhouses of the Welsh March. They rose to power and influence during the reign of Henry III (1216-72) and prospered for over a hundred years, before the male line ran out in the early fifteenth century.

It is a remarkable story, and one that raises interesting questions about a traumatic time in Welsh history. For many, the story of medieval Wales is a straightforward narrative of tragedy, conquest and exploitation. These things are true to a large extent. However, as books like this show, there is much more to be said.

Stephenson has produced an account of a Welsh lineage who owed everything to their patrons – the Norman lords of the March and the English crown – and consistently fought anyone who opposed their interests. These rivals included Prince Llywelyn ap Gruffudd as well as English political rebels. The family's trajectory ended in the same vein, resisting Owain Glyn Dwr on behalf of the king of England. This was a world of shifting identities and loyalties, in which lordship and patronage were every bit as important as 'patriotism'. The particular family that Stephenson focuses on on were far from untypical: many Welsh kin-groups, particularly on the March, followed the same policy.

A key figure was Hywel ap Meurig, who prospered in the service of Henry III and Edward I. As well as serving his lords, the Mortimers, Hywel made himself useful as a royal diplomat. He and his neighbours on the March had followed this course for several generations. Thus, when Prince Llywelyn sought to expand the borders of the principality of Wales, he butted against the interests of Welshmen who had risen high in March service. They did not wish to be ruled by Llywelyn, and only accepted his authority under duress. When the prince tried to compel loyalty, via some fairly crude methods, they kicked back.

As Stephenson shows, this conflict of interest was well underway long before Edward I came along. What might have happened if Longshanks never existed, or died in the Holy Land? To judge from available evidence, Wales was on course for civil war anyway. Llywelyn's enemies, both within the principality and the March, were legion. When that war came, in 1276, his power base collapsed internally. The contribution of Hywel and his neighbours was to raise an army on Edward's behalf and invade Gwynedd.

After Hywel's death in 1281, his heirs continued in royal service. As constables of royal castles and commissioners of array, they held key positions in postconquest Wales. Over time, perhaps inevitably, they became Anglicised. At some point in the fourteenth century – it is uncertain when – they abandoned Welsh forms and adopted the English-style surname of Clanvoe. Yet the family were equally content to lean on Welsh ancestry. To that end they concocted a false genealogy claiming descent from the ancient lords of Dinefwr. Anything to prop up their wealth and prestige, which in turn equated security.

One of the themes to emerge from the book is the dangerous unpredictability of medieval politics. A wrong move could spell disaster. Even Hywel's family, as adept as they were at evading pitfalls, sailed closed to the wind at times. The worst moment came in 1323 when his son, Philip, threw in his lot with the Lancastrian rebels against Edward II. It says much of Edward's regime that a family of Welsh royalists, who had supported the crown for well over a century, should take such a step. Philip only survived by taking refuge with John Charlton of Powys, who somehow persuaded Edward to take the Welshman and his kin back into favour. It pays to have good neighbours

Later generations of the family expanded their horizons well beyond Wales. They became overseas diplomats and crusaders, familiar faces at most of the royal courts of Europe. In that respect this is an extraordinary tale. One could even say there is a kind of glory to it, or at least an impressive sense of achievement. Whatever else might be said about this family, they produced one truly extraordinary figure in Sir John Clanvoe; warrior, crusader, poet, author, Lollard, probable homosexual, close personal friend to Anne of Bohemia, among other crowned heads. Clanvoe's tomb lies adjacent to a mosque in Istanbul, where he died of plague on the way to crusade. In every sense, his family had come a very long way.

I found this a compelling book, albeit short. It could act as a springboard for new lines of research into medieval Welsh history, and suspect this was the intention. There is certainly much left to explore. For instance, another angle could be a comparison between Hywel's heirs and other Welsh gentry families. A number of the descendents of those who fought for Edward I chose to support Glyn Dwr against the usurper regime of Henry IV. Hywel's descendents, however, remained loyal to the crown. Some discussion of these competing motives and loyalties in Wales, and how they changed over time, would be welcome.