Voices of the Stars

by Rowena Whaling

  I could read his lying eyes. I had also sent spies to learn all about Rhodri and his sons. Things were not as neatly bundled and honourably set as Rhodri would have me think. Everything I had found named Rhodri and both of his older sons as greedy, disreputable, and dangerous men. I had heard little of his youngest.

  I drifted inside my thoughts again... “Yes, the Ancestors Feast will soon be upon us – the Time of Red and Gold Leaves, when the veil between the worlds is thin. It is less than one Moon’s Dance until this year’s cycle ends. I must be back home by then. So little Time... Already I feel that that Time is coming upon us as strongly as if waxing into a Full Moon. But the undertow pulls us down. Our Ancestors call. Our Loved ones intrude into our thoughts unbidden. Poor Ribrowst...”

  An unsettling feeling came upon me – Morganna’s daughter was near... I became agitated and worried. Will she know who I am?

  Just then, Rhodri’s wife entered the hall. There she stood. A more rounded beauty than the angular girl with haunted eyes I had met on the plain of the Giant’s Dance. It was a woman who stood before me now – a well-satisfied and contented woman. She smiled.

  “Hello Lady Morgan, I am so pleased you came to visit. My name is Mahr. It is so seldom we have visitors here. Perhaps you will share news or even old stories of the world around us?”

  “Of course, if you would like that.”

  “I would like it very much.”

  So, there I was – finding myself in the midst of one of those “Golden Chances” that Gwyddion had often spoken of. It was my intention not to let it slip away. And so, Mahr and I did talk of news and of the glory Days of the Confederacy – of The Merlin, Arthur, Bedwyr, Lucian, Nimue, Igraine and, of course, Princess Rowena. I was careful to never mention Morganna. But then the inevitable happened.

  Now, I was many years old at that Time, however I had kept my beauty – as far as anyone could at my age. The point being that I was still recognizable as myself. Although my skin was wrinkled and somewhat sagging, the features and shape of my face had not changed, as usually they do when youth becomes a long ago and far off memory. It was inevitable that Mahr recognized the resemblance between herself and me. I believe she thought that I may be her own Mother. I hated to deceive her so, although now looking back on events, I wish with all my heart that I had continued just that. Of course she told me of the loss of her memory. I divulged nothing.

  She told that Rhodri’s and her daughter had been named Rowena, in honour of Princess Rowena – “although she has no Saxon blood in her.”

  I knew of Princess Rowena’s written legacy and its turns, but what I could not figure out was why. What did she care for Rodri’s daughter, a child she would never meet, not at least on this side of the veil? But Rowena had never done anything without reason or plan. I knew that she had always disliked Rhodri – hated him even. She suspected him of causing Ribrowst’s fatal injury. I wondered if that was so. Yet, Rhodri seemed happy with Mahr and she with him. I just wondered...

  Chapter 48

  Rowena

  Morgan

  Finally, upon the next Day, when I met my great niece Rowena, I saw that the child did not look the same as Morganna, Igraine, Mahr, and myself. She was tall for her age and her skin was fair as her Father’s, not dark as ours. She had a look of the Clanswomen in some of her facial features. But her hair was black as a Raven’s wing, as were her eyes. She had a strange beauty about her. She was a very unusual looking girl. She would be silent and intent, then upon the next moment she might burst out in childish laughter. She had an affectionate manner, which captured my heart. I could see her colours – they were beautiful!

  “Rowena...”

  I caressed her cheek and felt the Magic she was keeping to herself. A child of Secrets then...

  Dare I hope that she was the Magic Child – the Child of Promise? Could she really be the one... the one I was waiting for?

  She embraced a friendship with me as if she had known me for all of her life. Whenever we were alone together she would cautiously and calculatingly ask questions of the Isle of Apples – and of Magic. Oh, she tried not to let me know what she was doing, but she was only five years old.

  She told me that she could read a little, but that someday she would read and write in Greek, Latin, and Cymric.

  “My brother Gildas has promised to teach me. However there are no books in my Father’s house except for the ones that Princess Rowena had owned, but he has locked them all away. I believe he would burn them but for their great value.”

  Rhodri was not a man to waste gold.

  Four Days I had to spend with them... only four Days.

  Of my first visit with Mahr, what more can I say? She was docile, sweet natured, and thoroughly in Love with Rhodri, but I could sense a hidden strength somewhere within her. What could I do for her? Did she even need my meddling? I wanted so badly to tell her who she really was, but to what avail – to what good cause? If Rhodri knew, he would despise her. He was a very superstitious man and he placed great value on his social standing with the Bishop and Clan leaders in his area. I believed he would be ashamed of this dark haired, dark skinned beauty of his if he or anyone else knew that she was the daughter of Morganna Le Faye. It was plain that he thought of her as a possession, a prize. His possession would be tarnished if anyone knew of her true parentage. Of all this I was sure.

  Pride was a powerful force in Rhodri. When he had shown up with and married this much younger and exotic beauty, all the men around had him held a degree of envy toward him.

  I had learned – during that visit – that one of the more powerful Clans’ Chieftains had actually shown up two Days before Mahr and Rhodri’s wedding, with a war party, to storm Rowena’s fortress so as to steal Mahr, but that his efforts were to no avail. The Merlin had built this fortress to be impregnable, and so it was. The would-be kidnappers lost ten of their fourteen men, including their leader. Rhodri had the man’s head piked and on display above the entrance battlements. I am sure that this was quite a gruesome welcome to the wedding guests. Rhodri still boasted of it and there it still was; a skull bleached white by the Sun. It had been there now for over six years. I wondered what Mahr had thought of this – she having no memory or knowledge of the wretchedness of man.

  I, of course, do not exempt women from brutality or treachery. There was nothing lacking from my memories. It is just another one of those Human foibles.

  Cruelty is not seen amoung the beasts. Healthy Animals kill only for food or to protect themselves and their young, but there is no premeditated, malicious intent in their actions. Even Cats, who play with their prey before killing them, do not seem to kill for sadistic pleasure. They live within the cycles of life, according to their natures. No, cruelty is only known amoung Humankind, only they take their delight in the agony and fears of others – sometimes for the sake of amusement or entertainment. Just look at the Romans and their gladiatorial theaters, teaching their young ones to laugh and feel joy in the tearing apart of other Humans by wild, starving, and tormented beasts or in the games of men and women fighting to the Death for purse or fame. Those were family outings!

  Being as well educated as I am, I have heard of the writings of a self-righteous Caesar named Julius, who “shocked” his fellow Romans with stories of the Gaul’s Human sacrifices! Hypocrite! Hypocrisy, too, is also only a Human trait. Of all these things, I am well aware. But Mahr was an innocent. So my Days went by, leaving her in her blessed ignorance.

  I offered to Rhodri that I would be happy to sponsor a scribal tutor to teach Rowena to read and write, until her brother had finished his studies, as this was her wish. I offered, but Rhodri flatly and blankly refused.

  “Why should she read and write? To what purpose? She is a girl. No, thank you, Lady Morgan.”

  And that was that.

  When I was leaving, it was Rowena who ran out and across the entrance bridge to say one last farewell to me, or so was her guise. She climbed into my wagon where
we were alone and out of range of all hearing ears.

  “Lady Morgan, my Mother asked if you were her Mother. You look so alike. Is it true? Are you?”

  “I am not.”

  “But she did not ask if you were her aunt...” said Rowena.

  I froze. I thought quickly – “Are you asking me this, Rowena?”

  She just looked at me intently, never losing eye contact. I answered her questioning eyes:

  “Many people of the Old Tribes’ blood resemble one another, as do your Mother and I.”

  Again, she sat still and stared at me, never backing down. Silence... Then, as though she had Timed it perfectly for effect, she said, “I mean no impudence, my Lady, but you have not answered. I am asking. Is my Mother the daughter of Morganna Le Faye, the black Sorceress of old? Your sister...”

  How articulate she was! And only five and a half years old...

  “Whatever would make you think so, child?”

  “They told me.”

  “Who?” I asked.

  “The Voices who whisper to me. Always kind are they. You will not tell anyone?” she said – with panic in her voice.

  “No, I will never give your secret away, Rowena.”

  “But I always believe them,” said Rowena. “Have they lied to me?”

  Tears fell from her long black eye lashes, down her pearl white cheeks. She felt betrayed, heartbroken.

  “No, Rowena. They have not lied to you, nor will they ever. They are your helpers, Rowena. Trust in them and in yourself. You know the truth when you hear it or see it. I will not lie to you either, not ever, so yes, your Mother is my niece, and you are my grand-niece.”

  “Oh! Lady Morgan! Thank you. I will never tell, either.”

  “Yes, Rowena, keep your silence in all of these matters. It may be best for the Time being that your Mother does not know who she really is. I believe she is with child.”

  “A baby!” she squealed.

  “Shhhh... Let the Weavers unravel all in their own good Time. I do not think your Mother knows yet. When she tells you, be kind and act surprised. Do you think you can keep your silence?”

  “Yes, Lady Morgan... Aunt... I will.”

  A secret keeper! Yes, I was testing her. If she was truly the Child of Magic – The Merlin’s Bronte reborn – she would not disappoint me, but if she was only my beloved, Gifted niece, what matter? My life will have been blessed ten-fold just by her being.

  When it was known that Mahr was with child I sent a messenger with an offer to send one of our Healers and Midwifes to stay with Mahr for the birthing and afterward to do the Winter Spinning, Weaving, and sewing, and to help to take care of the baby and Rowena. Rhodri refused again. I knew why. He wanted no part of the Goddess or her Priestesses. So be it. At least I was still welcome in his home.

  Upon my second visit to Mahr, Rowena, and the baby girl whom she had born, I at last met Gildas. He entered the chamber just as his Father was showing the babe to me.

  “Her name is Bridget.”

  Rhodri was very specific in telling me that she was not named for the old Goddess, of course, but for a respected Christian Abbess living on the Isle of the Eire, across the Western Sea.

  “Our Bishop chose her name,” said he.

  I smiled and said, “I see.”

  Gildas had lowered his head when his Father said this, but I had caught in the twinkle and laugh lines increasing around his eyes that he was trying very hard to suppress a smile... a chuckle even? At that moment Gildas caught me looking at him. Our eyes held each other’s. His were green and gold – a handsome colour, somewhat like Cat’s eyes – they were also guileless, intelligent, independent and held more than a hint of a good sense of humor. He had his Father’s red hair.

  “Blessings be upon you, Lady Morgan, indeed upon us all, I hope. I am pleased to meet you.”

  I knew that he had meant every word.

  “And I you, Gildas, or would you prefer that I call you ‘Brother Gildas’?”

  “Gildas is fine,” said he. Rowena ran into the room just then and into his arms.

  “Greetings my “Domina peradulescens,” or as I see now, not as little as the last I saw of you.”

  “Domina peradulescens?” queried Rowena, “More new words to learn?”

  “It means young girl in the Latin tongue.”

  I could see a genuine Love between them – half brother, half sister though they were. My heart felt a twinge – like Bear and me.

  I wondered... “Perhaps... Do I dare hope that this Monk will be my ally within this fortress.”?

  On that very visit I spoke with Gildas about Rowena’s burning desire to read and write. He said that he planned to teach her the Latin and Briton tongues.

  “This will require a little subterfuge, for my Father does not approve. However, my Father will not go against his friend the Bishop’s wishes and the Bishop has a need of me. I could arrange it, if only for their hope of Rowena’s becoming a teaching Nun or Abbess one Day.”

  He then looked straight into my eyes again and said, “Of course, you know of my Grandmother’s request. If Rowena ever took vows of poverty, as have I, our Father and the Bishop would gain much.”

  How honest of him to say this.

  I was to gain ever more respect for Gildas as the next two or three years went by. I believe he knew from the Day he first saw me who Mahr really was, but he had the gift of silence, too.

  Chapter 49

  Correspondences

  Morgan

  One fine breezy Day on the Isle of Apples, about three years later, a messenger arrived. He was a close friend of Gildas,’ although not a man of the Church. He gave to me a finely written and sealed letter from Gildas.

  Everything had gone wrong. As the story had unfolded to Gildas, his letter went on to say, one of the nearby villagers had recognized that there was a close resemblance between Mahr and myself. He was an old man, but when he had been young he had seen the wedding party of King Arthur and Queen Gwenyfar, so long ago. He remembered how my Mother Igraine and I had looked exactly alike – but for the difference in our ages. He had always marveled at that. He had heard that my sister, Morganna Le Faye, also looked the same as we. It had made a lasting impression upon him.

  It was “some Dark Magic,” someone had told him. It seemed that the old villager had told only a friend or two about his thoughts that Mahr was really the daughter of the Evil Sorceress of Old – Morganna Le Faye.

  “The poor, dear Lady – she doesn’t even know it herself,” he said.

  Surprisingly, no one had spoken of it. It had not spread like a Fire – as tasty morsels of gossip usually do, wrote Gildas. I think it was for the Love and respect all held for Mahr, or for fear of my Father – and fear him they should.

  For, when I was but three years old, my Mother met with a fatal accident. My Grandmother, Princess Rowena, sent a nurse to help care for me then.

  Because of my Father’s contrition for his abuses of my Mother, along with much grieving, Princess Rowena had had a large house built for my Father near to her fortress for my brothers and me to live in. I do believe she had done this so that she could watch over me, for she held no Love for my Father and little for my brothers. There I grew up in my nurse’s care. Her name was Angharad.

  My nurse and my dear Grandmother were both as Mothers to me. Of course, my Grandmother had told me everything of her suspicions as soon as she deemed that I was old enough to understand. Now, this was not done by way of revenge, but to protect me. My Grandmother also paid for Tutors to educate me. My Father did not object, as I was a male child.

  I know that I can rely upon you, Lady Morgan, to keep confidence with me in regards to all that I write. I give this background of my family in order to protect you and my sister Rowena.

  Nothing was said to my Father about Mahr’s suspected parentage, but then, a plague struck. Well, first there was a drought at Winter’s End, which did not cease through the Summer. All the crops failed, Wells ra
n dry, flocks died both from lack of Water to drink and from attack by starving Wolfs from the deep Woods.

  That was when the illness hit. Now you know, Lady, how superstitious ignorant folk can be and although I have no ken why, it seems that my Christian brethren are all the more so than those who follow the Old Gods. They see Demons in everything. Evil lurks behind every Tree and Stone. Well, my dear sister Rowena, meaning only well, tried to tell my Father, the Bishop and the folk all around what was to come – before it happened. She was then not quite eight years. She said that Voices had spoken to her to warn them to keep large vats of clean Water for use through the coming drought. When the drought came, she told people that an illness was coming and that she had been told to stay in her house and keep herself clean.

  Clean! That was what started it all. These people are not clean and besides, they said, “What does clean have to do with illness?!”

  The Bishop, my Father, my brothers, everyone, questioned Rowena – violently questioned her. She cried and said, “The Voices do not lie! I only meant well.”

  That is when the villagers accused her of being the Grandaughter of Morganna Le Faye – hence Mahr’s being Morganna’s evil daughter.

  My Father was enraged. He feared for his social position. Prideful man that he is he began to despise Mahr. He accused her of lying to him all along about the loss of her memory. He would not comfort or even touch her. He said, “I cast you away from me, Wickedness.”

  She was heartbroken and afraid. She begged him at first – reminding him of the Love they had shared. He spat in her face. Devastated, she finally got word to me as to all that had happened. I had been away for nine months and had known nothing of it. Quickly I returned home to find Mahr secluded and locked in the house in which I had grown up, whilst my Father and oldest brother kept Rowena locked in a chamber of the fortress, away from her Mother.