Morgan the Rogue

by Lynn Granville

  ‘I do not know, my lady. I pray that it may be so – for it might go ill with his followers if the mood should be against His Majesty.’

  ‘Yes, I have thought the same.’

  Rosamund did not voice what was in her mind. Would her husband hold firm for the king if it seemed that the advantage was with Henry of Bolingbroke? She herself would never betray King Richard, but she was afraid that her husband might. Sir Philip de Grenville’s loyalty might not hold if he thought that the King’s cause was lost.

  Rosamund lifted her head, forcing a smile to her lips.

  ‘We must pray that Wales rises for King Richard,’ she said. ‘And now I must go down and greet my husband…’

  *

  ‘Richard is returned from Ireland and on his way to Conway,’ Rosamund’s husband told her after she had greeted him with a cool smile. ‘Thomas Despenser, Earl of Gloucester, has been dispatched to Glamorgan to raise support, and John Montagu has the task of rousing the north.’

  ‘Do you think the Earl of Salisbury has much chance of rousing the men of North Wales?’

  Philip de Grenville’s gaze narrowed as it centred on the slim figure of his young wife. She was intelligent as well as beautiful, but he had married her for the lands she brought him. Women had never stirred him for he had a secret vice, finding his pleasure in the young boys he ordered to his bed when the mood was on him. For years he had resisted marriage, taking a wife at last because he saw a chance to gain wealth and power, but he had not expected Rosamund to stand up to his treatment of her so bravely. He would have liked to imprison her in one of her own castles and forget her, but while Richard was King he would never dare to slight her so openly.

  ‘Time alone will tell,’ he replied gruffly. ‘I have been ordered to ride with my men for Chester without delay. Richard fears Bolingbroke is on his way there. I shall leave this afternoon.’

  ‘So soon?’ Rosamund was surprised. ‘The servants are preparing a feast for your return. It will take several hours for my women to pack my things.’

  ‘I shall go on ahead of you,’ de Grenville said, looking at her sourly. ‘You may order your household as you wish, Rosamund. That Welsh singer may accompany you. It is as well this way, for I shall be there before you to make arrangements for your coming.’

  ‘As you wish, my lord.’ She acquiesced outwardly as she had so often in the past but inside she was angry and suspicious. Why was her husband so anxious to leave her behind?

  ‘I shall leave within the hour,’ Philip said. ‘If it suits you, you may follow in a day or so. I would not have you put to much inconvenience through my haste to obey the King’s order.’

  There had to be some reason for his consideration of her comfort. He had never been this thoughtful before! Besides, there was an odd gleam in his eyes as he looked at her that she did not like, a gloating expression as though he was pleased over something he had not shared with her.

  Rosamund was careful not to show suspicion of his motives. Let him think her a foolish woman more interested in the packing of her possessions than the political repercussions of Bolingbroke’s revolt.

  She wished him God speed, stayed to discuss what servants should be left at Bundesley, and then took her leave of him. She could see that as he turned away to shout instructions at his steward he had already put her from his mind.

  Her first action on leaving him was to instruct Alicia to gather her women and have them begin the task of packing her personal possessions, which was no easy accomplishment. Her furniture, hangings, chattels and clothes must all be loaded onto the carts that would accompany her retinue. As a lady of wealth and rank, she had about her some fifty followers all told: serving men and women, ladies to keep her company and care for her clothes, her steward William Baldry, and twenty men-at-arms.

  These men had been chosen for her, their livery and arms a gift from King Richard when she married.

  ‘These men are loyal to me, Lady Rosamund,’ the King had told her kindly. ‘They will guard you with their lives – and through them you have my protection always.’

  Had Richard guessed that de Grenville was not the honourable knight her father had believed him? She had thought once that King Richard was a little in love with her and that he might refuse to see her wed to another. Yet Richard had been beset by his own problems, his power often curtailed by powerful nobles and a council that made it difficult for him to rule his own country. Of late he had been greatly preoccupied by the troubles in Ireland, returning hastily when he heard of Bolingbroke’s intentions.

  But now he was in Wales and on his way to Conway Castle. Did he plan to wait there for Welsh support or press forward to Chester?

  Rosamund feared that by the time he could reach his citadel, Bolingbroke might already be there. Was that why Philip was in such a hurry to get there – did he intend to offer his sword to Henry of Bolingbroke?

  Rosamund was afraid that might be the case. Did she want to be caught up in her husband’s treachery? The answer came swift and true. She would not follow Philip to Chester tamely as he had bid her. Instead, she would take all the men loyal to her and go to join King Richard at Conway.

  It was not the first time she had disobeyed her husband. Indeed, she had been prepared for him to rage at her for riding out with only her ladies and two pageboys. His disinterest in the matter of the attempted abduction served to enforce her suspicion that he was intent on betraying his king. He had weighed up the situation both in Wales and England and decided the safer bet was Bolingbroke. Philip clearly believed that Richard was not likely to receive much help from the Welsh. They were a strange, dark, brooding people, many of whom still clung to their ancient resentment of the English. Richard had made changes, redistributing lands long held by ancient lordships amongst his favourites and taking much of it for himself. Such changes would not be popular.

  Rosamund wondered that Richard had not understood the nature of the Welsh people better. If he would win them to his side, he should have offered favour and service, giving them a chance of both pride and preferment. He had neglected to do so and Rosamund was sure that his pleas for help now would fall largely on deaf ears. But she would offer what she could and that was no slight thing. She owned the Castle of Caris in the lordship of Ruthin, and if Richard asked it of her she would hold it for him.

  The people there were loyal to her mother’s memory. She believed that they would rally to her and knew the Bowmen who kept the castle for her were unequalled in their skill and ferocity.

  A little smile touched her mouth as she summoned her steward to her. ‘My lord must leave almost at once,’ she told him. ‘But we shall feast this night as we had planned. Tomorrow we shall be ready to leave ourselves. I want everything stripped from this place, and every servant loyal to me to accompany us.’

  ‘Do we ride for Chester, my lady?’

  Rosamund placed a finger to her lips. ‘In the morning I shall tell you, my good William. It is safer to keep a still tongue.’

  ‘And the Welsh singer?’

  ‘We shall invite him to go with us. Make a friend of him, Will. I think he may serve us well on our journey.’

  Thick lashes veiled the steward’s eyes as he inclined his head. His lady was impetuous, as her whim of riding out unprotected had shown only that morning, but he would gladly die for her – as would all who served her. No matter what she planned, they would follow her: to the death if need be.

  He was pleased that Morgan Gruffudd was to be invited to accompany them, for the man was a skilled fighter. Yet he did not wholly trust him. Gruffudd claimed that he was a bard and would serve anyone who paid him, but there was too much pride in those eyes!

  William would do as his lady bade him and make a friend of the Welshman, but he would also watch him. If he suspected treachery he would kill Morgan Gruffudd rather than let him bring harm to the Lady Rosamund.

  *

  Morgan glanced around the hall at the company of men and four ladies. It was a s
maller gathering than he would have expected at a castle this close to the border, but that was because Philip de Grenville had ridden out with thirty men-at-arms at his back that afternoon.

  He had been surprised at the lord’s departure so soon after his return, but William Baldry had told him it was on the King’s business that de Grenville had ridden for Chester.

  ‘My lady’s journey will commence soon after dawn tomorrow,’ he had continued. ‘She asks that you will accompany her, sir.’

  ‘To Chester? Does your lady follow her husband?’

  The steward’s eyes were veiled as he waved his hand vaguely. ‘My lady goes where she chooses. She may follow or she may not.’

  What mischief was the Lady de Grenville planning? Had she intended to escape her husband and find protection with another? Was that why she had ridden out early that morning? Mayhap she was planning to make good her escape now that her husband had deserted her.

  ‘Then I shall give my answer when the lady makes up her mind,’ Morgan said and smiled lazily at the steward. ‘I had made plans to seek my fortune in England, but who knows? I may change my mind.’

  ‘My lady has bid me make you welcome in her hall,’ William replied, his eyes fixing coldly on the younger man. ‘But I should warn you that every man here would die for her.’

  ‘You have no need to warn me, friend,’ Morgan said easily. ‘I mean your lady no harm, but ask only for her destination before making up my mind whether to accompany her.’

  William nodded. He could not argue with such reasonable words, and yet he was wary. Why did this Welshman want to seek his fortune in England? There were surely enough Englishmen of wealth in Wales if he chose to seek service with one of them?

  Yet perhaps he had been dismissed by his patron and hoped to travel where he was not known. William was curious but his attempts to pierce the young man’s armour met with little success.

  Morgan read the suspicion in his eyes and was amused. He had time enough to discover the things Owain had asked of him, and was not loath to tarry in the company of a beautiful woman for a while longer.

  Discovering that he had been given a place at her right-hand at supper, which was more than he could have expected in his lowly disguise, Morgan was intrigued. Had she judged him from the start, and decided that he was of more worth than he had claimed? Her smile as she greeted him gave nothing away, but he found it fascinating. There was about her a mantle of pride, which he guessed she had donned to protect herself. Having met her husband briefly, he did not imagine that she loved de Grenville nor yet that the marriage was a success.

  There were no children, which after a year of marriage might have been expected. Was the Lady Rosamund barren or did the fault lie with her husband? She looked to have all the womanly attributes to attract any but the basest of men and was young and healthy; therefore, it seemed to Morgan that perhaps Sir Philip was to blame for the lack.

  ‘You have all that you want?’ she asked as he took his place beside her. ‘I trust that my people have attended to your comfort?’

  ‘Indeed, my lady, I could want for no more than I have been offered.’

  ‘That is well,’ she said and smiled at him so sweetly that Morgan’s head span. She was even lovelier this evening than he had thought her – and there was a subtle change in her manner. It was as if she had sloughed off the sadness that had hung over her, her eyes seeming brighter somehow. ‘I believe my steward has asked if you will accompany me tomorrow, but you have not given him an answer.’

  ‘I wished to know where you were going, lady.’

  ‘And this matters to you? I thought you sought service wherever you could find it?’

  ‘I had thought to seek my fortune in England, but it is no matter. If you wish it, I shall go with you.’ He hardly knew why he was so easily persuaded, yet there was something between them – a thin invisible thread that seemed somehow to have entangled itself about his heart.

  Her eyes deepened, mysterious and compelling, holding him.

  ‘Then you shall accompany us. I go to meet my King, sir.’

  ‘King Richard?’

  ‘There is no other.’

  Morgan inclined his head, amused by the note of pride. ‘I am sure you are right, my lady. At the moment Richard is truly king of England.’

  ‘And shall be if his loyal subjects can do aught to prevent the usurper gaining his evil way.’

  ‘You are very loyal, I see,’ Morgan murmured. ‘I am honoured to offer my services to you – and your king, lady.’ And now his words carried the ring of truth, for he admired her loyalty and her determination to do what she thought right despite danger to herself.

  To be taken to the King of England was an unexpected bonus! He could never have hoped for such a thing, and hid his excitement with difficulty. Surely he would learn all he needed from such a source?

  ‘Thank you, Morgan,’ Rosamund replied and lifted her cup to toast him. ‘Eat and drink your fill this night, for we leave tomorrow after dawn.’

  ‘Where is His Majesty to be found?’

  ‘I am told that he is on his way to Conway,’ Rosamund said. ‘We shall hope to be there almost as soon as he is, for his journey from the coast is longer than ours.’

  ‘But the King may ride faster, for we shall have much baggage.’

  ‘That can follow as it will,’ Rosamund said. ‘Indeed, I am sending most of it to my castle near Ruthin for the moment. It may be that I shall hold that place for the King.’

  ‘And will your husband join you there?’

  ‘That is for him to decide,’ she said. ‘He may have other plans.’

  Morgan’s eyes narrowed as he looked at her, reading her discomfort and her anger – anger directed not against him but another.

  ‘Do you think he means to join Henry Bolingbroke?’

  ‘Perhaps.’ Rosamund flushed as she met his direct gaze. He read her mind too easily for comfort! ‘I pray that I am wrong, and that he will not betray Richard…’

  ‘But you think it likely?’ Morgan saw the answer in her eyes. ‘Nay, it is not necessary for you to say it, my lady. These are troublesome times. It may be that men will change sides more than once.’

  ‘Some men will choose only their own side,’ she replied. ‘But I owe loyalty to King Richard and so I have decided to go to him. I have men he may need in my service, and others at Ruthin that will remain loyal to me.’

  ‘You are certain of them?’

  ‘I believe so. They were always loyal to my mother and would defend me against all comers.’

  ‘Then perhaps you should go there at once, lady. In times like these it is sometimes wiser not to be seen to take sides.’

  ‘Those are the words I would expect of a coward, sir,’ she said scornfully, her eyes flashing with anger. ‘Since I know you are not, you must have thought to protect me and I shall forgive you – pray do not repeat them.’

  ‘Your forgiveness,’ Morgan said, the corners of his mouth twitching as he fought to control his silent laughter. The wench had more spirit than many a man! ‘I shall of course accompany you wherever you choose to go.’

  Rosamund saw the twitch and suspected that he was laughing at her. A part of her was angry with him for daring to be amused, but something inside her was responding to him.

  ‘Will you not sing for us?’ she asked. ‘I am of a mind to be merry this evening, for I have my friends about me…’

  Morgan had noticed a happy, carefree atmosphere in the hall, judging it to be because of the lord’s absence. It was clear that the people here were loyal to their lady, prepared to serve her in whatever way she asked, and he understood that such loyalty did not come lightly; it must be earned.

  ‘It shall be my pleasure,’ he said and rose to his feet, taking up the lute he had brought with him to supper and walking from behind the board to stand before her. ‘This is for you, lady – and for your friends.’

  First of all he sang in English, a merry song of lovers playing a
jest on each other, then another, sadder, tale of unrequited love and a lover left to pine for the lady who had left him for another. After that he sang a Welsh song written by one of Wales’s greatest poets Dafydd ap Gwilym, his rich deep voice portraying all the melancholy and despair of a people driven from their lands.

  When he finished his song and went back to sit beside Rosamund, she was wiping a tear from her cheek. Her eyes sought his and for a moment he imagined that she was trying to offer him an apology, as if she felt herself guilty for what had been done to his people so long ago, but in a moment the look was gone and he might have imagined it.

  ‘You sing with great feeling, sir,’ she said and rose to her feet, giving him her hand as he rose once more to take it, towering over her. ‘I thank you and shall hope to hear more another night. Forgive me now, I must leave for there is much to be done before we depart and I want to be on my way soon after dawn. Until I retire to my chamber the work cannot commence.’

  He kissed her hand.

  ‘God give you sweet rest, lady.’

  ‘And you, sir.’

  He watched as she walked from the hall, half expecting it to be the signal for the men to behave in a bawdy fashion or drink themselves into a stupor as so often happened when the ladies had left for the evening.

  Instead, he saw that the servants set immediately to clearing the board of the food left strewn upon it, which was a signal for others to begin what was clearly the huge task of packing everything within the house.

  ‘May I be of help?’ Morgan asked William Baldry as he caught sight of the man scurrying about, ordering the stowing of various goods. ‘I can help load the wagons if you like?’

  ‘My lady has ordered all her possession stripped from this place,’ William said. ‘Most will be sent to her castle at Caris and she will take only clothing and personal items with her to meet….’ He broke off abruptly.