Morgan the Rogue

by Lynn Granville

  It might even have been worth it! Oh, how she hated him! She could feel it rising in her throat, tasting the bitterness as gall. Frustration worked in her and she was aware of sudden pain. It was sharp and she knew that her time had come. She realised that she was beginning her labour pains. She clutched at her belly, stifling the moan that rose to her lips, knowing that she must not be discovered here.

  She had gained access through a narrow stairway that led to Owain’s bedchamber, and she dragged herself up the twisting steps to the door that led to an outside stair. This door was normally locked and she had stolen the key so that she could eavesdrop on her kinsman. She would need to return it to its accustomed place soon or it might be discovered that the key was missing – but she could not think properly now. She was in too much agony. She must keep the key for the moment and hope that its loss was not discovered before she had a chance to replace it.

  No one saw her leaving the tower and she walked with her head bent, feeling the pain strike again and again as she made her way back to her own quarters. Oh, the pain was too violent, coming at her again and again, making her stumble and clutch at herself in agony. She did not think that she could bear it.

  ‘Are you ill, lady?’ She heard the concerned voice near by and saw that it was one of Owain’s neighbours who had come for the ceremony. ‘You should not be out here in your condition.’ She heard the note of censure in his voice and tears ran down her cheeks. ‘Nay, do not weep. I was merely concerned for you.’

  ‘I thank you, sir,’ she said in a voice choked with tears. ‘I came out for some air but I am wracked with pain. If a servant could be called…’ She gave a cry and stumbled against him half fainting.

  Dafydd Thomas caught her as she would have fallen, gallantly supporting her into the main hall of the house. He called for help as he did so and several servants came running. Morwenna was taken from him, and helped to the stairs but it was clear that she could not mount them unaided. It was at this moment that Owain and Morgan came out of Owain’s chamber into the Great Hall, and seeing what was happening, Morgan strode immediately to her side.

  ‘You are in pain,’ he said and swept her up in his arms. ‘You were foolish to come down in your condition, Morwenna.’

  ‘I wanted some air. Forgive me,’ she whispered in a voice so low that none but he could hear. ‘If I should die…’

  ‘You will not die,’ Morgan told her.

  His face was grim as he carried her up the stairs to her chamber, her women hurrying to prepare the bed to receive her. Morwenna was moaning and crying out in her pain. For a moment Morgan stood gazing down at her as the women bent over her, moved to pity by her agony. Then, realising he was in the way, he turned and left them to their work. Morwenna’s screams followed him down the stairs to the hall below.

  He saw other men glance at him and knew what they were thinking. So many women died in childbirth and men lost beloved wives. He did not love Morwenna, but Rosamund was carrying his child and because of that he felt pity for his wife. Rosamund had told him he was too harsh towards her, and perhaps he had been.

  He could never love her, nor would he ever be her true husband again, but if she survived her ordeal he would try to be kinder to her. He would advise her to stay near Owain, where she might have more company than at Oswestry, and if the child was his…yet how would he ever be sure?

  It did not matter, Morgan decided. The child was blameless and he would not treat it unkindly, no matter who the father.

  *

  Morwenna’s labour was long and hard. For many hours she was wracked with terrible pain as she struggled to give birth to her child. She had long since ceased to scream for she had no strength left, and she heard one of the women say that she was going to die. Anger surged in her then. She would not die! That would make it too easy for Morgan. She was going to live and find some way of taking her revenge on him for his slights.

  Anger made her push harder when the next pain came and then as she screamed in agony, she felt the child slip out between her thighs in a mess of slime and blood. It was over, it was done. She gave a great sigh and relaxed against the pillows, only to be gripped almost immediately by another pain, and then once again she felt the sensation of a body ejecting from her own in a rush of blood.

  Two children – there were two? She raised her head to try and see what was happening.

  ‘You have a daughter,’ one of the women said. ‘She is well, Morwenna.’

  ‘But there were two…’ Morwenna said weakly.

  ‘The second babe was born dead,’ the woman said.

  ‘Boy or girl?’

  ‘Nay, do not ask, mistress.’

  ‘Boy or girl?’

  ‘It was a boy – as fair as you yourself, Morwenna. The girl is dark like your husband.’

  ‘Like Morgan…let me see…’ Morwenna lifted herself weakly on her elbows to look at the child. The babe was large and had a shock of black hair, eyes as blue as a summer sky. ‘Morgan’s daughter…’ she whispered and lay back against the cushions. ‘His daughter…’

  She smiled to herself. If the child was Morgan’s she was safe. He would not deny her nor shame her publicly. She could live at their manor of Orlane or go to Oswestry if she pleased without fear of being cast off.

  And one day…one day her chance would come. The years might be empty but she would feed on her hatred and in the end she would have her revenge.

  NINE

  Walking round the camp, as was his habit in the late evening, Morgan listened to the laughter and excited voices of the men gathered about the fires. For the past several days they had successfully attacked English towns in Northeast Wales. Ruthin, Denbigh, Holt and Rhuddlan were just some of the towns on which damage had been inflicted. The village and castle of Caris had been left in peace, for Owain had passed the word that it must not be attacked.

  Morgan had been in charge of the party, which attacked an English relieving force at Flint, routing them and scoring an important victory. There were reports coming in of a simultaneous rising in Northwest Wales, including Anglesey, and it seemed that almost the whole of North Wales was involved in the revolt.

  ‘Come and join us,’ Dafydd Thomas invited as he saw Morgan walking by their campfire. ‘There is no need to be so watchful, Morgan. The King’s army cannot return from Scotland so quickly and the burgess is frightened out of their wits. Especially after what happened at Oswestry.’

  The damage inflicted there had been substantial. Not a part of that particular force, Morgan thought it mindless and a waste of resources, but he did not want to offend Owain’s neighbour so he smiled and shook his head. For some reason he did not share his companions’ elation. They had inflicted some damage it was true but for Morgan what they had done thus far seemed more like revenge than war.

  What had they gained? To take back the controlling power in the country they needed strongholds. The English still held almost all the strategic positions and when King Henry brought his army back from Scotland he would sweep into the country and take back the few gains Owain’s men had made.

  It was as Morgan had feared at the beginning. Men had fought and died bravely but for very little. If they were to succeed they must rally support in the rest of the country.

  He had just finished his rounds of the sentries, making sure that the men posted were not neglecting their duty, when he was told that Owain had sent for him. He went at once to join his kinsman in his tent.

  ‘Word has reached me that King Henry’s army is on its way here,’ Owain told him. ‘They should be in Wales within two or three days.’

  ‘I had been expecting it,’ Morgan replied. He noted that his kinsman sounded grim but not unduly alarmed. ‘We are not strong enough to meet them head on as an army, Owain.’

  ‘We can do no more than fight.’

  ‘But there are many ways to fight. We should retreat to the mountains, regroup and plan a new campaign for the spring.’

  ‘You think as I d
o,’ Owain replied. ‘I have talked to some of those hotheads out there but they are reluctant to leave their estates. Several are thinking of returning to their families.’

  ‘They have settled old scores and for some that is enough,’ Morgan said nodding. ‘But what have we gained?’

  ‘We have made a start…shown the English we are not to be ignored. But you were right, Morgan. We should have waited until the whole of Wales was roused.’

  ‘You must think of the future, Owain. Without you there is no hope for us. You are the only one who has the right to be our prince. You must use avoiding tactics. Fight when you have to, but choose your moment. Inflict damage in a surprise attack and then retreat. Make them fear you but never know where to expect you next.’

  ‘Yes, it is the only way for the present.’ Owain frowned. ‘But I have other plans for you, Morgan. I want you to be my eyes and ears again, and this time I want you to speak for me. Be my emissary. There are those who would rally to my call who as yet are not with us. Your task is to co-ordinate support all over Wales and in the border towns. If we are to begin a new campaign in the spring we must be better prepared next time.’

  ‘You are asking me to leave now – before the King’s army arrives? I would be with you in that fight, Owain.’

  ‘And if you are killed? There is no other I can trust with this mission, Morgan. You are the only one I believe shrewd enough to know what must be done. You tell me I must be cautious for the sake of our land, and I say the same to you.’

  Morgan bowed his head, accepting the truth. ‘Tell me who I must see and what you wish me to say to them.’

  Owain handed him a small piece of parchment. ‘Memorise these names and then destroy the evidence. In the wrong hands that would be the ruin of our hopes for the future. We need men like these on our side, Morgan.’

  Morgan read through the list. There was a mere handful of names but they were important. He knew them all well and would not need to see the list again. A taper was burning in a metal sconce. Morgan held the parchment to the flame, watching as it burned and crumbled into brown ash.

  He turned and clasped hands with Owain. ‘I shall be with you again before too many months have passed. Keep strong and safe, my prince.’

  ‘You will know how to find me.’

  ‘I shall look for the signs, but we shall meet again soon God willing.’

  ‘God be with you, Morgan.’

  ‘And with you, Owain.’

  *

  Maire Gruffudd was watching her serving women laying some linen on bushes to dry. It was early November now, but although cold the air had a fresh bite to it and she hoped her washing would dry in the pale sunlight that filtered down through the valley. Seeing a horseman riding towards them, Maire shaded her eyes to see more clearly, her heart catching with fear for these were desperate times. She knew that the King had brought his army into Wales on his return from Scotland, and fierce fighting had ensued for some weeks, but by late October it was being said that the uprising had been put down and that the English were back in control of their towns. She had heard that some of the brave men who had ridden out with Owain Glyn Dwr had been executed on 28th October and that others had sued for peace with the King.

  Was the rider English or Welsh? She strained to see and then her heart jolted as she recognised him. It was surely her son! She had heard nothing from Morgan since he left to join Owain and she had been wondering what had happened to him…whether he had been in the midst of the fighting and where he was now.

  She went out of the house to greet him, her heart gladdened though she gave little sign of it. ‘So you are alive,’ she said, greeting him with a wry look. ‘I was beginning to think I might never see you again in this life.’

  ‘Are you ill, Mother?’ He pretended to misunderstand and grinned at her. ‘You were not anxious for me?’

  ‘I might have known you would turn up eventually,’ she said. ‘Has Owain grown tired of your slothful ways?’

  ‘Perhaps,’ Morgan replied. He had ridden from place to place unceasingly for weeks, never stopping long enough to risk being caught, spreading the word that the time had come to support Owain in his fight for Wales, and contacting the men from whom he hoped that help would come. It was secret and dangerous work, for if the English caught him he would be tortured and then hung. ‘Come – are you not glad to see me back?’

  ‘I am happy to see you looking so well,’ Maire admitted. ‘But you should be with Owain. I have heard grave things – that the revolt does not go well for him.’

  ‘Aye, so I believe,’ Morgan said. ‘They say in the taverns that one of his sons has been forced to surrender, and that others of his supporters are suing for pardon.’

  ‘Several have been executed for the part they played in the attack on Ruthin.’

  ‘I feared it would be so,’ Morgan said. ‘They should have made certain of their gains, taking strongholds that we could fortify against the enemy - but there was no proper planning, no co-ordination, though much good will and enthusiasm.’

  Maire’s gaze narrowed. ‘That sounds as if you were there?’

  ‘I have been with Owain.’

  ‘Then why are you here? You have not run away now that things have gone ill for him?’

  ‘Do you believe I am a coward?’

  Maire was silent for a moment, and then she shook her head. ‘No, I do not think you a coward, Morgan. Therefore you are here for a purpose and it is best that I ask no questions.’

  ‘Much better,’ he replied and grinned at her in his old way. ‘Instead I shall give you some news that may interest you.’

  ‘I dare say you are hungry? Will you come inside and eat?’

  ‘I had hoped to stay a day or so – if that will not disturb you?’

  ‘This is your home. I cannot deny you. Nor would I if I could.’

  ‘I thank you, Mother.’

  Morgan followed her inside the dark cold house. Nothing had changed yet after months spent roaming from place to place, it seemed more welcoming than he remembered. Maire sent a serving wench for food and ale and led the way to a small chamber off the hall where they might sit while he ate. She took a roughly hewn chair beside the fireplace, where a huge log smouldered and glowed amongst the ashes. He sat in the inglenook and warmed his hands at the flames.

  ‘It is a good fire, Mother.’

  ‘I would hear your news, Morgan.’

  ‘I have a child – a daughter. She has been named Morganna after me.’

  ‘A daughter?’ Maire looked at him sharply. ‘Do you also have a wife? You did not send word of your marriage?’

  ‘It was my intention to bring Morwenna to see you…but I had other things to occupy my time.’

  ‘When was the child born?’

  ‘In September.’

  ‘So you were wed before last Christmas. Unless…’

  ‘I left Morwenna soon after the wedding for purposes I shall not name and knew naught of my child until my return.’

  ‘Then I pity your wife. You were unkind to desert her so soon, Morgan.’

  ‘Morwenna does as she pleases. It was not a love match. Owain made the marriage for reasons of his own. My wife has her home and friends. She does not need me.’

  ‘Those are harsh words, Morgan. I thought you kinder than your father.’

  Morgan felt the sting of her rebuke but kept his silence. ‘I am sorry you think me like him, Mother. Perhaps one day you will understand me.’

  ”Tis none of my affair,’ Maire said and then frowned. ‘Have you quarrelled with Rhys Llewelyn? I heard that he has been seen recently at his father’s house. Thomas Llewelyn died and the estate was divided such as it was. Rhys was given some horses and cattle as his share, and has sold them so I have been told.’

  ‘He always knew he would need to seek his living elsewhere. How long ago was it that he came here?’

  ‘Two months – why?’ Maire’s gaze narrowed in suspicion. ‘You did quarrel with him! I suspe
cted it for I saw him once at the market and he would not look at me, though I spoke his name.’

  ‘Rhys tried to kill me. I was close to death for a while.’

  ‘God have mercy!’ Maire crossed herself. ‘What did you do to make him hate you?’

  ‘Would you believe me if I said I had done nothing against him?’

  Maire considered, then inclined her head. ‘Yes, for I knew he was always jealous of you. I never knew why but it was there in his eyes when he looked at you sometimes.’

  ‘I never suspected it,’ Morgan said. He broke off as a girl brought food, ale and a jug of water, placing the board she carried on a small trestle beside him. Smiling at her, he thanked her, breaking off a piece of bread and eating it. ‘Freshly baked. I have not tasted bread as good as this in weeks – and cheese. This is a feast, Mother.’

  ‘You were not always so appreciative.’

  ‘Was I not, Mother?’ Morgan swallowed the food, raising his brows at her in teasing mood. ‘Then perhaps I have learned better manners.’

  ‘Perhaps.’ Marie watched in silence as he ate hungrily. He had not shaved his beard in a while and he could do with a wash and a change of clothes, but there was a change in him. It was in his manner. He was confident, sure of himself and she felt that he had suffered, had become stronger for it. Time alone might have wrought these changes, but she suspected more. ‘Who has changed you, Morgan? I do not think it was your wife. Owain or someone else – a woman?’

  Morgan laughed. ‘You see too much, Mother – but there is someone I love. She is a true lady and as far above me as the stars. Had it been possible I would have wed her.’

  ‘Then she is married already.’

  ‘To a man who treats her ill.’

  ‘Yet marriage is sacred, Morgan.’

  ‘I know that, Mother.’

  She nodded, seeing into his heart and understanding what he would not say. ‘You feel that you have the right to this love. Well, I shall not preach to you, my son. Perhaps there are things that I do not know – but if you wished me to know you would tell me. I pray only that your sins do not rebound on you or your lady.’