‘We have been blessed in our firstborn.’
‘Yes. We have a fine son, Rosamund.’
‘God willing we shall have more in the future.’
‘I would not want you to suffer so much pain again…’
‘Kestrel told me it would never be as bad again. Besides, it is a woman’s natural role and I want to be yours, Morgan. Though I may never be your true wife in the eyes of God, I would be your love and bear your children.’
‘You are the wife of my heart. I wish it could be a true marriage, my love.’
‘Yet we have more than most.’
‘You are so brave, Rosamund.’ Morgan reached out and drew her to him. ‘I have wanted you, missed you so much, my beloved.’
‘How long can you stay?’
‘A few days. We shall help you to replenish your stores and make sure there is no more danger and then we must go. King Henry is bringing his army into Wales. Owain may need our help.’ He smiled at her. ‘When the winter comes I shall come back to you. It is impossible to fight when it grows too cold. Yes, I shall go to Owain now but I shall come back to you soon, Rosamund.’
‘My lady…’ they turned as William Baldry spoke from the doorway. ‘Thomas Bridger has been wounded and Kestrel is here. He has told us what to do for Thomas – and now he would have words with you urgently, my lord.’
‘Kestrel wishes to speak with me? Then I must come at once,’ Morgan said. ‘I shall see you later, Rosamund.’
Kestrel was waiting for him below in the hall. Morgan smiled at him, holding out his hand in welcome.
‘It is good to see you, my friend. We were speaking of you earlier and wondering if you would come.’
‘I always come when I am needed,’ Kestrel said. ‘But this time I have something to ask of you.’
‘Ask and it shall be granted.’
‘You have not yet heard my request.’ Kestrel’s smile was strangely sad. ‘There is a man here – a man I believe to be a danger to us all. I ask that you kill him now, either by your own hand or by hanging. You know the one I speak of, Morgan Gruffudd. Let him be taken out and hung for the crime that is in his mind.’
‘That is a strange request from you Kestrel for you seek only to preserve life.’ Morgan stared at him, trying to read his mind and failing. ‘Do you speak of Rhys Llewelyn?’
‘You know that I do – and you know that I am right.’
‘Yes, you are right to warn me of him,’ Morgan agreed. ‘But you know that I cannot do as you ask. A man cannot be condemned for a crime he has not committed.’
‘I knew that you would refuse me. It is not your fault – but you may regret this one day, my lord.’
‘Forgive me,’ Morgan said, a cold sense of dread clutching at his heart. ‘It goes hard with me to refuse you, Kestrel, for you have saved my life and…’
‘You could have saved mine.’
‘I do not understand you. Why should Rhys harm you? It is me he hates.’
‘I have work to do,’ was Kestrel’s reply. ‘But remember to trust your visions, Morgan Gruffudd. They may aid you when I am no longer here.’
Morgan watched him walk away. He knew that Kestrel was going to tend the wounded and he was tempted to follow, to argue his point. Yet how could he argue against what he did not understand -–and how could he hang a man who had fought valiantly for a cause they all believed in? If he were to do such a thing none would trust him again, and all he had struggled for these past months would be lost.
Kestrel had always spoken in riddles. Before this he had dismissed them with a smile but this time he was uneasy. Yet how could he take the life of a man without cause? Rhys had fought hard and well these past months. He had pardoned him for the attempt on his own life and thus far he had no proof that he meant to harm anyone other than their common enemy.
There was nothing he could do except keep a watchful eye and make sure that Rhys had no chance to stab him in the back. As for Kestrel – who would want to kill a man who did nothing but good? Even Rhys could harbour no malice against the healer!
*
So, Morgan had refused to condemn him without a hearing. The fool! In his place Rhys would have hung an enemy without a second thought. He stepped out of the small cubicle where he had hidden earlier. The old man suspected him. Yet how could he know what was in his mind?
Rhys felt cold all over. It might be dangerous to stay here for much longer. Men had been known to change their minds and perhaps this was the time to strike: as well now as any other. He might never get a better chance to kill the woman.
Everyone was busy and the mood was for celebration. They had driven off the English and the garrison had temporarily let down its guard. He could kill Morgan Gruffudd’s woman and escape before anyone knew what had happened. The price on Morgan’s head had reached one hundred gold nobles. It was a small fortune, more than he might earn in ten years as a serving soldier. He knew where Morgan was going when he left this place; he could follow and when the time was right…If he could discover the whereabouts of Sir Philip de Grenville he might get more than the reward offered. But that reward was being offered in most English towns and the burgess would be only too willing to pay for the capture of the man who had plagued them all summer long.
But first he had to kill the woman! Rhys felt his mouth run dry as he turned towards the steps leading to her solar. He knew she had gone up there with Morgan earlier and had not thus far come down, which meant he would find her there. It was not a task he relished for he had never killed a woman. Yet he had given his word to Morwenna and she would be satisfied with nothing else.
He was shaking violently as he set his foot upon the first step, but he forced himself on, his hand going to the knife he wore in a sheath at his waist. It was for Morwenna’s sake that he did this. She was the prize that drew him on despite the horror he felt inside. Only if Rosamund de Grenville was dead could he hope to gain all that he desired.
The woman was standing with her back towards him, her hair covered by a plain white wimple. She was bending over the couch, apparently intent on some task or other and she had not heard his approach. Rhys knew a flood of relief. He was not sure that he could have gone through with it if she had looked at him or begged him for mercy. He drew his knife, moving swiftly and silently towards her. His arm came up and he struck just as she turned and screamed. In that instant Rhys realised that he had made a mistake – he had murdered Rosamund de Grenville’s serving woman.
Rhys turned and rushed from the room, the horror of what he had done sweeping over him. As he flung himself heedlessly down the twisting stairway he suddenly found that Kestrel was in his way, preventing him from escaping. The old man’s eyes seemed to burn into him, searing him with his contempt.
‘Murderer!’ Kestrel cried in ringing tones that reverberated in Rhys’s head. ‘I curse you for your wickedness. You will never know another easy moment in your life, Rhys Llewelyn. Your desire shall turn to ashes in your mouth and you will long for death but even then you shall know no peace for the fires of hell await you.’
‘Damn you! Hold your tongue, old man!’
‘Remember my words for they shall haunt you all your life…’
‘I said be quiet!’ Rhys yelled and flew at him, knocking him backwards so that he tumbled down the steps, hitting his head against a carved stone pillar at the bottom.
Rhys hardly glanced at the old man’s body lying so still, a trickle of blood oozing from the side of his mouth. Stepping over him he ran in terror, knowing that his life would be forfeit. If he were caught now Morgan would hang him and not think twice.
Emerging into the crowded courtyard, which was filled with horses and men, he saw a horse that had been left unattended and grabbed its harness. Hauling himself into the saddle he kicked his heels into the horse’s flanks, startling it so that it bolted.
Behind him someone was shouting. He heard a voice call his name and knew that Morgan had seen him. His crimes would be discovered.
He would become a hunted man, an outcast. And this time there would be no forgiveness. If he ever met Morgan again one of them would die.
*
‘Margaret had been tidying my things,’ Rosamund said, a sob in her voice. ‘I told her to rest but she would not and now…He attacked her from behind, Morgan. Why should he do that? She has never harmed anyone in her life.’
‘Forgive me for I know you loved her,’ Morgan said. ‘I should never have brought Rhys here. I never thought he would seek to harm you. For it must have been you he meant to harm.’
‘Why should he want to kill me?’
‘I do not know,’ Morgan said his expression grim. ‘I can only think it was intended to harm me through you. He thought that by killing you…’ Morgan shuddered as he realised how close Rhys had come to doing just that. ‘If you had been here in Margaret’s place instead of with our son…’
‘He woke and was hungry…’ Her eyes were wet with tears. ‘My poor Margaret. She loved me like a mother and now she has died for me.’
‘I am to blame,’ Morgan said. ‘Kestrel warned me. He asked me to have Rhys hung for the crime that was in his mind. And now he lies close to death and your nurse has paid the price for my stupidity in not trusting him.’
‘You could not know what was in Rhys’s mind. You believed that he would harm no one but yourself – and that you could outwit him if he tried.’
‘I shall find him one day and then I shall see him hang for what he has done this day.’
‘He deserves to be punished,’ Rosamund said. ‘I shall not plead for Rhys Llewelyn – but you must not also punish yourself.’
‘I cannot forgive myself. Kestrel said that I could save his life and I did nothing. He did so much for me and I have failed him, that must always haunt me.’
‘He is not dead yet,’ Rosamund said. ‘I must go to him. Perhaps I can do something to help him.’
‘May I come with you?’ Morgan asked. ‘I would do anything I can to help.’
‘Of course, if you wish it.’ She smiled gently. ‘Kestrel would not blame you, my love. He knew what was to happen. He could have gone away if he had chosen that path, but he believed in fate and by fate he died.’
Morgan made no reply. She might plead that he was not to blame but he could never forgive himself. He should have listened to Kestrel. His instincts had warned him to listen but he had not heeded them. He could at least have placed Rhys under arrest, indeed it had been in his mind to send him away on some errand to Owain, but he had not acted immediately and now it was too late. He prayed that it would not be too late for Kestrel but he knew in his heart that there was nothing to be done. When they were met at the door of the chapel where the wounded were housed, he knew by William Baldry’s grave expression that Kestrel was no longer with them.
‘He is dead.’
‘Yes, my lord.’
‘God forgive me!’ Morgan felt the sting of guilt and grief. ‘He saved my life twice and I failed him.’
‘I do not know how that may be,’ William said. ‘He spoke of you before the end – he asks that you take him to a place in the mountains and that you lay his body on a high stone. He wants no Christian prayers or tears, but asks only this of you, my lord.’
‘He will not allow us to give him a Christian burial?’ Rosamund asked. ‘Are you certain of his words, William?’
‘It is not the first time he has spoken of his death to me,’ William said. He looked at Morgan. ‘He said that you would know where to take him, my lord.’
‘Yes, I believe I know a place,’ Morgan said and turned to Rosamund. ‘I must do this for Kestrel. It will take me some days to journey there and then…’
‘You must go to Owain,’ Rosamund said. ‘The time you were to have spent with me must now be for Kestrel. It is fitting and right that we should pay some price for his passing. He died for me for he came to my aid but was too late to save Margaret.’
Morgan took her by the hand, leading her outside. It was a cold still night and as they glanced up at the darkening sky they saw a star go shooting across the heavens.
‘Does that mean ill luck?’ Rosamund asked and her hand trembled in his.
‘I think it may have been sent as a sign,’ Morgan replied. ‘A sign of hope in this our darkest hour. We have both lost good friends but Kestrel bore no grudges. I like to think his spirit soars to the heavens as that star.’
‘Then you loved him as I did,’ Rosamund said and looked up at him. ‘I shall not weep because you must leave me, my love. Kestrel told me that I must be patient. He said that our time would come and that when it did it would be our best and our worst of times.’
‘He told me that I must guard Richard well for one day he might be in danger – and that I should trust my visions.’
‘Then we must part for the moment and believe in a future when we may be together.’
‘It will happen. When Owain goes to his secret places in the mountains I shall come to you,’ Morgan promised. He drew her to him, kissing her softly on the mouth. ‘Pray for Kestrel for your good nurse and for me.’
Rosamund watched as he went into the chapel where Kestrel’s body lay. He would take his friend’s body to its resting-place and she must do the same for Margaret.
*
Morgan had left the horses and litter at the foot of the mountain, carrying the old man’s body in his arms to this place. It was the place where he had always felt closest to the heavens, the place where his vision had come to him.
He had remembered the slab of flat rock, which had once been the altar of the old gods. There was a quietness here, a stillness that was almost churchlike, he thought as he lay his burden down. Kestrel’s body had not yet begun to decay or to smell of death and his expression was so peaceful that he looked as if he might be sleeping.
For a moment as he looked down at the old man who had been such a friend to him, he was overcome with grief. Then he flung back his head and howled like a wounded wolf.
‘He asks no blessing of you, gods of my ancestors,’ he cried aloud in his grief. ‘He wants no tears, no regrets. It is as if he had never lived. But if he has not lived he can never die. Give him immortality. Let his spirit live with you in the world beyond this. Take him now I beg you, let him not be corrupted by earth’s foulness but come again like the eternal spring that brings life to the earth. Let his body not decay nor return to the dust but let him live forever in your eternity.’
The wind was sighing through the mountains and in the wind was the song. Morgan spread his arms, circling ritually round and round until he was dizzy and fell to the ground.
He lay upon the ground all night, waking as the sun touched his face and starting up. Where was he? He had dreamed such a dream! Owain was truly Prince of Wales and the country was theirs. He had been riding in a great train of men to a celebration and Rosamund was at his side.
He got to his feet, stretching as he felt the aching in his limbs from a night spent lying on the hard ground and looked towards the place where Kestrel’s body had lain.
It had gone! Morgan rubbed his eyes. He must be mad! Had someone taken it while he slept – or wild animals stolen it?
‘Trust your visions, Morgan.’ He whirled around and for a moment it seemed that Kestrel was there, laughing at him as he had so often in the past, mocking him. ‘I shall come when you need me…’
‘Kestrel! Come back…’
Morgan ran towards the spot where he had seemed to see the old man seconds earlier but found that it was a sheer drop into the ravine below.
He was mad! He would turn and see the body where he had left it. But the slab was empty, no sign of blood or debris that a wild animal might leave. It was almost as if it had never happened, as if Kestrel had never existed.
‘Merlin lives…’
He seemed to hear the whisper in the rushing water of the falls as they tumbled over dark grey boulders, down the ravine to join the bubbling stream in the valley below.
‘Kestrel lives…’
In the tales sung and remembered by the bards it was said that Merlin lived on, that he would come again when he was needed. Could it be that the two were one - or two halves of the same being? To believe that was to believe in a power beyond the imagining of normal men.
Morgan shook his head as he began to laugh aloud, his grief swept away on a tide of joy.
‘You have won, my good healer,’ he cried aloud. ‘How can I doubt your magic now?’
And in the rushing water, in the wind that sighed over the mountains and the whispering trees, the music and the laughter were as one.
TWELVE
‘I am glad to welcome you to Caris, my lord,’ Rosamund said and curtsied to Owain. ‘I have heard much of you from Morgan.’
‘And I of you, Lady Rosamund,’ Owain replied and smiled. ‘But nothing I have heard prepared me for the truth – you are indeed truly beautiful.’
Rosamund blushed, shaking her head slightly at the compliment. It was almost Christmas and Owain had come to Caris to join them for a time. The winter months had been hard for Owain. Some of his best men had been captured and forced to make terms for their surrender, and he had for a while negotiated with Hotspur for his own surrender, but as he confided to Morgan later the terms had not been satisfactory.
‘Hotspur would have offered honourable terms,’ Owain said. ‘But the King and his council would not listen. They are determined to make an example of me, and would hang me if they had the chance I dare say.’
‘You should fight on,’ Morgan urged. ‘Do not let a few reverses destroy you, Owain. Keep a stout heart and we shall win through. I believe there are great victories ahead for you.’
‘You give me hope, Morgan. Had the terms been favourable I might have accepted. Hotspur would have given me back all that was stolen from my family in the distant past besides my own manors – but it is useless to hope for anything from this stubborn king.’
‘We should have risen for Richard when he begged us to help him,’ Morgan said and he was remembering the moment when Richard’s mask had slipped revealing the true man. ‘I believe we might have come to terms with him.’
Morgan the Rogue Page 20