The Hidden Cave

Nant Cwm Parc sprouts from the hills above Senghenydd and cascades
Down the valley cleaving it in two, a ribbon of water meandering through the wooded ringlets of the glen. Many a long day ago, when trout laughed because they tickled each other so Dafydd Llwyd, the Grey One lived alone in a house in the woods.

Dafydd was a miser, and old money bags, who begrudged every farthing he had to spend. There were only two sticks of furniture in his house, a table and a chair. He ate less than it takes to fill a flea’s belly and his teeth chattered with cold all winter for want of a cloak and muffler.

A stone’s throw away down the valley dwelt Rhys Rolant and his family. Unlike Dafydd their poverty was as true as touch. The children were forever out at elbows and down at heels, and the sound of his poor starvelings sobbing for bread tore at Rhys’ heart. He decided to end their need by fair means or foul; the wolf had barked outside his door for too long.

Rhys noticed that Dafydd the Grey left his house nightly at the same hour. One owl-light, Rhys and Idris, his eldest son and heir to his meagreness, lurked outside the niggard’s hovel. They trailed his tracks, as cunning as foxes with a scent in the nostrils. Suddenly, as the man in the moon was opening his shutters, Dafyddd’s lantern flickered out of sight.

On tiptoed breath, Rhys and Idris scoured the area where they last saw the lamp’s flush. They discovered a door in a huge rock and crept in. Inside was a cave lit by the miser’s lantern. Dafydd, spangling a greedy smile, was seated on a box counting his money. Rhys goosepimpled with excitement. The sight of the shining silver was more than he could bear, and in moving closer to the miser, he carelessly tripped over a sack on the floor.

Dafydd was on his feet in a flash and the two men locked together in a tussle, Rhys, weakened by his long hunger, was struck to the ground. Idris went to his father’s aid and clouted the miser on his crown with a faggot of sticks. Dafydd, the Grey One, slumped down as dead as a doornail.

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