Morgan the Rogue

by Lynn Granville

  The journey here had been difficult and he had been close to despair, for by burying Owain he was burying the hopes of a people. This was his last hope – the hope that the miracle that had happened once before would happen again.

  He went into the slow, ritual whirling that had on two occasions brought him visions, round and round endlessly until his head span and he fell to the ground in a daze. His dreams were vivid but he saw nothing that stayed with him when he woke and Owain’s body lay upon the altar of stone where he had placed it the previous night.

  Morgan knew that his hopes had been in vain. Kestrel had been a magician but he was a mortal man, as was Owain. His attempt to summon the old gods had failed and there was nothing left for him but to bury Owain.

  His body was aching from lying on the hard ground, and the cold had nipped at his toes, giving him pain. He grimaced ruefully as he took his sword and began to carve a grave for Owain in the soft earth at the foot of the mountain. It was hard, painful work and he toiled for some hours before it was finished and he could at last lay his friend to rest.

  ‘Here lies a great man,’ he said as he stood over the grave, which he had covered with stones so that it could not be discovered or opened by man or beast. ‘I pray that God will give him rest. May he be judged by what he believed and what he tried to do, not what he achieved.’

  ‘Do not despair, Morgan,’ a voice said softly behind him and as he span round he saw Kestrel hovering just above the ground. ‘Owain shall never die in the hearts and minds of those who loved him.’

  ‘Kestrel…’ Morgan walked towards him but the image was gone. ‘What do you mean? Owain is dead.’

  ‘Only if you believe it…’ the voice was still there in his head but he could not see Kestrel.

  ‘Only if I believe it…’ Morgan frowned. ‘Damn you, Kestrel. Riddles always riddles…I beg you, tell me what I must do for I do not know.’

  ‘Look into you heart and know yourself, Morgan Gruffudd. Remember what the mountains told you before.’

  ‘Look into my heart and remember…’ Morgan frowned, and then his head went up and he was smiling. ‘Owain shall never die…Merlin lives…Kestrel lives…’

  And then he knew what he must do. Owain had gone into the mountains and would never return, but none should know of his death. It should remain a mystery. For as long as men believed that Owain might come again they would believe and hope; he would live on as a legend, a glorious legend of what was and what might have been – perhaps might yet come to be.

  ‘Men shall sing of him in the mountains for a thousand years,’ he said softly and his spirits lifted as the sun broke through the grey of the skies, warming him, and he knew that spring was truly on its way. ‘Owain the true Prince of Wales does not lie buried in this ground. He lives on in our hearts and minds forever.’

  *

  Morgan’s message to the followers of Owain was this: Owain had gone apart from them for a little while to rest and recoup his strength. When he was ready he would return to them, but those who wished to surrender had his permission and his blessing.

  Those who had been with them towards the end might suspect that Owain was no longer in this life, but they would not speak of it for they had been fiercely loyal. It was a conspiracy that all would keep.

  There were many who were surrendering now to the new king, who had shown a leaning towards leniency and forgiveness, but others never would. As far as the English were concerned, Owain and his closest followers were still somewhere in the mountains, wandering as they had been for many long months.

  Morgan spread his message far and wide before turning his horse towards Gruffudd Manor. He had come to a decision over the weeks since Owain’s death. He would not surrender to the English as so many others were doing but return to his home. His thoughts were often of his daughter now, and he knew he owed her a duty. He had neglected her too long and must make what amends he could.

  She would be fourteen years in September of that year and he must think of a marriage for her. The choice was not as wide as it might have been if he had been able to beg a favour of Rosamund for her, but still he would do his best to secure a future for his daughter.

  He would write to her uncles at Bala, and to other men he knew who had settled their difficulties with the English. He knew of one or two young men he thought worthy of the girl and would see how the land lay in that direction. Until her marriage he would bide with her at Gruffudd - unless the English came to arrest him.

  He would try to solve the matter of Morganna’s marriage before that happened if he could, but if not he would ask the King to show her mercy and he did not doubt that it would be granted. The man he had met that day in his prison cell did not make war on innocent women.

  *

  Rosamund had been in London for some months when she decided that she would pay a visit to Caris. She had heard of the favourable terms offered to any of Owain’s followers that surrendered now, and she wanted to ask one more time if Morgan would reconsider.

  ‘May I tell him he would be treated favourably, Sire?’ she asked of the King when she sought an audience. He had received her in his private chamber, which was hung with silken tapestries and much warmer than the echoing halls of the palace.

  ‘I shall be glad to welcome Morgan Gruffudd to my service, lady,’ King Henry told her. ‘I have a place for such men as he amongst those who serve me. Ask him to swear allegiance to my faith and it shall be as if there was never any anger between us.’ He smiled at her. ‘I offered terms once before and they were rejected. I pray that you will have success where I had none.’

  Rosamund curtsied deeply. ‘I shall do my best to make him see the sense of your offer, Sire.’

  She was thoughtful as she left the court later that day. Banners hung from the vaulted ceiling of the Great Hall, carved stone faces peering down at her from alcoves to either side, flanked by gleaming armour, shields and pennants, reminders of a glorious age of chivalry now passed. From sconces on the wall torches flared, giving an unreal light to the huge chamber. It’s chill made her shiver and hold her mantle about her more tightly.

  She had enjoyed the time she’d spent here at Court basking in the King’s favour. It had been almost as it was when she was young and much loved by her father and King Richard, but she had discovered that honour and wealth meant little to her if she must spend her life without the man she loved.

  Morgan was a part of her, the man she would always love and she missed him desperately. The grief that had set a barrier between them for so long had eased now and she had at last reached a time when she could remember her son with pleasure. Richard’s death had left a gap in her life that could never be filled but she knew that she must move on. She must begin to live again before it was too late.

  Perhaps if she could see Morgan again, talk to him, it might not be too late to begin again.

  She would go back to Caris and see if Morgan had visited in her absence. It might be that he had left a message for her. With so many of Owain’s followers surrendering now he must surely know that their cause was finally lost?

  EIGHTEEN

  Morganna looked toward the mountains. The fragile sun was striking showers of light from the streams that cascaded over boulders worn smooth with age and yet she shivered, wrapping her cloak about her. Her father had been gone all the previous day and night and she was worried for him. It was still bitterly cold despite the signs that spring was on its way, too cold for him to sleep out on the mountain at night. He had come to her weary and sick at heart and she had done her best to ease him in whatever way she could, making her healing tisanes and giving him good food. Yet it seemed that nothing could ease whatever was eating at his soul and he spent many hours alone, walking in his beloved mountains.

  He had tried to be cheerful for her sake and she knew that he had sent out letters in the hope of achieving a good marriage for her, but his heart was heavy. She dare not ask what troubled him so but she had seen the haunting
sadness in his eyes and that hurt her. He was a shadow of his former self, wrapped about by brooding sorrow, yet still proud, at times untouchable. Her inability to ease that inner pain was a constant ache in her breast for he was her father and she loved him.

  In the months since her mother’s bitter death Morganna had employed her time in helping others. There had been some sickness in the village that winter and her cures had brought relief to many, though too many had died. But at least they had not been visited by the plague, which had decimated the population in the last century and still scythed its way through the country from time to time, cutting down all it touched with the cobwebby hand of death..

  At last! Morganna’s anxiety eased as she saw her father coming towards her. He was carrying a posy of wild flowers and presented them to her with a smile.

  ‘I found these in a sheltered spot on the mountain, Morganna. It is a sign that winter is nearly done I think.’

  ‘Yes, perhaps,’ she agreed and held them to her nose, inhaling their perfume. ‘But you should not spend so much time on the mountain, Father. Why not come in and rest by the fire while I make you something warming to eat?’

  ‘You worry too much, Daughter,’ Morgan said and grinned at her in the old way, the years seeming to slip away for a moment before the shadows closed in once more. ‘I have been used to living rough these many years. You would spoil me with your mothering.’

  Morganna laughed and shook her head. She could not tell him that he meant all the world to her and that her joy in his return to Gruffudd was always shadowed by the fear that he would go away and forget her again. No matter that he had told her she had kin, who would take her in, it was her father she loved. She had been afraid in the long lonely months after her mother’s death that she would not see him again, but he had kept his promise to return.

  ‘You must not mind my fussing, Father. It is a pleasure to me to have someone to fuss over.’

  He looked at her then, his eyes moving over her face, searching. ‘Your life has been lonely here. We must see what can be done in the matter of finding you a husband you can love and respect, Morganna. I would have a good man for you, one that will treat you kindly.’

  ‘Oh, Father. I am not in such a hurry to be wed. I am happy to be here with you.’

  ‘I am but poor company for you,’ he said. ‘If things were different I should have taken you to visit friends…’ Morgan sighed. ‘But we must make the best of what we have. I noticed that the bottom meadow lies fallow. It should be ploughed and the seed sown if it is to bear a harvest this year.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose it should,’ Morganna agreed. ‘We have had sheep there for the past few years but there was no one to tell us what to do after Maire died – and then my mother was ill and everything was left to chance. We have been lucky in these hard times, Father, for many have lost everything. At least we support ourselves, though there is little enough to sell.’

  ‘I am here now. I neglected the land when I was young but shall not do so now.’ He broke off as a fit of coughing took him and then cursed as she looked at him in concern. ‘It is nothing, Morganna. Do not look so anxious.’

  ‘It was bitter last night. You may have taken a chill. Come, I shall make you something for your chest. You should rub some goose grease into it tonight…’

  They were almost at the house when they saw the horse and rider approaching from the direction of the village. Morganna’s heart caught with fright as she sensed a sudden stillness in her father. He had waited outside for the rider to reach them, but pushed her towards the door.

  ‘Go into the house, Morganna.’

  ‘Let me stay with you.’

  ‘Do as I say.’

  She hesitated and then went inside. They seldom had visitors. Who could the horseman be? Was it the summons she knew her father had been expecting? The English would have learned that he was here. Had they sent for him to surrender? She stayed just inside the door, straining to hear what was said outside.

  ‘You are the lord of this manor – Morgan Gruffudd?’

  ‘Yes. Who asks?’

  ‘I come from the King, sir. He offers you the hand of friendship if you will swear fealty to him. You are commanded to come to a certain place at a certain time and surrender your sword.’

  ‘Give me your message.’ Morgan held out his hand for the scroll. ‘Thank you, sirrah. You may tell your master that I shall give some thought to his offer.’

  ‘You have one month to surrender. After that…’

  Morgan silenced him with a wave of his hand.’

  ‘You need not continue. I am aware of the consequence of further disobedience. You have my answer.’

  ‘I shall give my message to my master.’

  Morgan turned and went into the house. He saw his daughter waiting for him and knew from her anxious look that she had been listening, and that she was worried for his sake.

  ‘You should not have listened, Morganna. I did not want you to hear. You will only worry.’

  ‘But Father…should you not have sent fairer words to the King? Has the time not come to lay down your sword? Everyone says that the rebellion has failed.’

  ‘We have lost all that we once held,’ Morgan agreed. ‘But even if we held Wales for but a short time it was glorious. No one can take that away. Owain’s name will live in the minds of men forever.’

  ‘Owain is a legend as are you,’ Morganna said. ‘But no man can stand alone, Father. Would it not be better if Owain were to lead his men into the surrender? Could there not be honour in admitting defeat? You have fought long and bravely but the English were more powerful.’

  ‘You are as wise as you are beautiful, my daughter,’ Morgan said and smiled at her. ‘But Owain will never surrender.’

  He was tired, so very tired. He had wandered all night, resting hardly at all, trying to remember and make sense of all that had happened these past years. Had it all been in vain? The dream was over and the taste of defeat was bitter as gall. Yet it had been glorious in the doing.

  What was it that Kestrel had said to him once – that he would not gain his heart’s desire though it might seem for a while that he had.

  ‘Yet that which you do not yet truly know to be your desire shall be yours.’

  Morgan had never been sure what the healer had meant by that, though he had thought at times he must mean Rosamund and the love that had blossomed between them. Surely that had been the most wonderful thing he had known, more precious even than the fall of Harlech Castle and the victories he had won on the field of battle. But that love was gone now, lost to him by his own foolishness.

  He sighed as he went up the twisting stair to his chamber and lay down on his bed. It was because he felt so very tired that the pain of his loss was hard to bear. When he had rested he would be able to face his life once more.

  *

  Morganna found him later when she took him the healing drink she had made for him. He was tossing restlessly on the pillows, his skin as hot as fire and beaded with sweat. She laid a hand on his brow, soothing it as she bent over him anxiously.

  ‘It is a fever,’ she told him softly. ‘It will pass and I shall care for you, my dear father. You will be well again.’

  ‘Rosamund…’ the cry was wrenched from him as he twisted in agony, his fingers curling about her wrist in a fierce grip that pained her. ‘Rosamund…forgive me. I loved you…always loved you…so sorry that he died…but I loved you…’

  ‘Of course you loved her,’ Morganna soothed. ‘I saw the love between you when I visited…’

  In truth she had been a little jealous of it, though the lady of Caris had been kind to her, welcoming her into her family – until that dreadful day when Richard died.

  ‘Rosamund…forgive me…’

  Fetching cool water to bathe her father’s heated body, Morganna wondered that he cried out so desperately for the lady of Caris. She had believed that his despair was for the loss of the cause that had meant so much to him,
but was it possible that there was another, deeper reason?

  ‘Rest easy, Father,’ she whispered as she held him later, helping him to sip a little of the warm cordial she had brewed. ‘I shall send to your lady and beg her to come to you. If she loves you half as well as I believe she will answer my plea.’

  Morgan was too far gone in his fever to know what she said, conscious only of the soft hands that tended him and the loving voice that comforted his feverish dreams. But the water had cooled him for a while and her cure had given him sleep for the moment, a sleep that was disturbed only now and then by a fitful cry.

  Morganna watched over him until he seemed to rest, then went downstairs and penned a careful letter. She sent for her most trusted groom and gave him the sealed message.

  ‘You must take this to the Castle of Caris, Jedro. You have been there before with a message for my father; this is to the lady of Caris herself. You are to give it to her yourself and wait to guide her here should she decide to come.’

  ‘Yes, mistress,’ Jedro said and grinned at her. ‘I shall do your bidding as you say.’

  Morganna watched him leave the house. It was a journey of several days there and back, but she could only pray that Jedro’s journey would not be in vain. And, of course, that Rosamund was at Caris. If she had gone away…

  Sighing, Morganna went back to her father’s chamber. She found Gwenny there, bending over him. She was bathing his forehead again and Morganna saw that he was hot and sweating once more.

  ‘He was a little better when I left him,’ she said, looking anxiously down at Morgan’s flushed face. ‘I fear he is very ill, Gwenny.’

  ‘I have seen such fevers before,’ Gwenny replied. ‘We can do naught but watch over him and keep him as cool as we may. But you are tired, my lovely. Go you and rest a while and I’ll stay by him.’ She smiled as the girl would have argued. ‘Nay, you cannot tend him all the time or you will be ill and I could not care for both of you.’