Morgan the Rogue

by Lynn Granville

  ‘I shall remember, Father,’ Morganna said, her eyes downcast. ‘But I pray that you will keep safe and that I shall see you again.’

  She wanted to believe that he meant what he said, and that her life would change for the better, but she knew that he had forgotten her before. It was possible that he would go away and forget her again.

  SEVENTEEN

  Rosamund was in her solar intent on her embroidery when Bethan came to tell her that Jack Errin wished to speak with her. He was the most faithful of her men-at-arms and she trusted him as she had Thomas Bridger. She stood up, turning to greet him with a smile.

  ‘You have some news of importance, Master Errin?’

  ‘It is only that the King comes, my lady,’ he replied, a little out of breath as if he had been running. ‘A messenger has ridden on ahead to ask if you will receive His Majesty King Henry V.’

  ‘His Majesty…’ They had heard in the spring that King Henry1V had died of a seizure after visiting the shrine of St. Edward in Westminster Abbey. ‘He has come here to me?’ She shivered as if a chill wind had touched her but conquered her fear almost at once. There was no point in barring the gates against this king, besides she was weary of war and ready to learn what had been decided in the matter of her estates and lands. ‘Then we must admit him, Master Errin. Let it be done with all ceremony but with pride. We have held this castle for more than thirteen years and we are not conquered but admit him of our own free will.’

  ‘Yes, my lady,’ Jack said bowed and went away to prepare the garrison for her bidding.

  ‘Come, I must change my gown,’ Rosamund said to her ladies. ‘I shall wear my best silver robe over the tunic of blue for I must look well to meet His Majesty.’

  She stood patiently as her ladies clothed her in her finery, letting them brush her hair and arrange it in coils about her head, covering it with a cap of silver thread encrusted with pearls and a long, shimmering veil of silver gauze that hung down her back to her waist. About her neck she had a double string of pearls which held a jewelled cross set in heavy silver, and her slippers were of the finest leather. She looked regal, beautiful and fit to meet with any of royal blood, her head held proudly as at the fanfare of trumpets to announce the King’s arrival, she went down to the Great Hall to meet him.

  He came towards her, not a handsome man, but imposing, dressed in black and silver with a lean aristocratic face, long nose and short-cropped hair. His eyes were piercing, inquisitive and knowing, reflecting a keen intelligence that she must respect. She sank into a graceful curtsey before him.

  ‘I am happy to welcome you to Caris, Your Majesty.’

  ‘I thank you for your welcome, Lady Rosamund.’ He smiled at her and took her hand, raising her. ‘My visit has been long delayed but I have had business elsewhere.’

  ‘I have heard of some of your business, Sire – and I thank you for the courtesy you showed King Richard.’

  He had had the late king’s body transported from its resting-place to Westminster in accordance with Richard’s will, an act for which he was generally commended. He had also showed clemency to the Percies, restoring the lands to their heirs that had been confiscated after their rebellion at Shrewsbury – a rebellion that had resulted in the death of both Hotspur and his father.

  ‘It was no more than ought always to have been,’ he said. ‘I am glad to see you looking so well, lady. I had hoped you would take advantage of my invitation to leave this place and visit your estates freely.’

  ‘I was unsure,’ Rosamund said. ‘Your Majesty’s letter said that you would give the matter of my estates some thought.’

  ‘At that time I was not in the position of being able to restore them to you fully,’ he said. ‘Now it is a matter of some pleasure to me to tell you that you are once more the owner of your lands and manors.’

  ‘You are gracious indeed, Sire,’ Rosamund said for this was more than she had ever expected. ‘I do not know how to thank you.’

  ‘I ask only friendship,’ the King said and though there was a smile on his lips his eyes held a glint that told her there was another man behind the smiling face, a man who meant to be obeyed. He might rule justly and more fairly than his father, but he was not to be taken lightly. ‘I wish that I might bring all my former enemies to peace, Lady Rosamund. I would have an end to all unrest within my kingdom.’

  Rosamund knew what he was asking of her in return for his generosity. She was expected to do what she could to persuade Morgan Gruffudd and Owain Glyn Dwr to surrender.

  ‘My own wish is very like your own, Sire,’ she replied. ‘But I fear there are stubborn men who must be given more time to realise that war is naught but foolishness.’

  ‘Then we shall speak of other things,’ he said. ‘My stay here can be but brief, Lady Rosamund. I return to England almost at once – but if you should be thinking of beginning a tour of your estates, I should be happy to escort you and to see you at Court in the near future.’

  Rosamund curtsied once more. A royal request was tantamount to a command and she knew that she must not give offence after he had shown such generosity.

  ‘I should be glad of your escort, Sire. I think a visit to my home is long overdue and I am grateful that you took this time to visit me.’

  ‘We were on an errand of our own, but it is done for the moment,’ he replied. ‘We leave at first light on the morrow.’

  ‘Then may we offer you and your companions food and wine, Sire? This is a rare occasion for us and I would make it a night of celebration…’

  *

  ‘We shall take only what we need,’ Rosamund told her ladies as they prepared to pack her possessions. ‘I mean to return to Caris from time to time and I shall not need much of what is here.’

  ‘Shall we pack all your clothes, my lady?’ Bethan asked, and then went to answer a knock at the door. ‘Master Baldry is here to see you, Lady Rosamund.’

  ‘Admit him,’ Rosamund said. ‘You may finish here later, Bethan. I would speak with my good William alone.’ She greeted the steward warmly as he entered.

  ‘You sent for me, my lady?’

  ‘I want you to write a letter for me,’ Rosamund said. ‘Do it now at my dictation and I shall sign it.’

  ‘As you wish.’ William sat down on a stool and took up the small writing box he carried, balancing it on his lap as he waited for her dictation. ‘To whom is the letter to be addressed?’

  ‘It is to Morgan Gruffudd,’ Rosamund said. ‘I do not wish to write it myself for I might say too much. I want merely to tell Morgan that I am going on a visit to my manors but that I shall return from time to time. Tell him that I hope he will have reconsidered that which we spoke of and that he is always in my heart.’

  William scribbled industriously for a few moments then read what he had inscribed back to her.

  ‘I have accepted His Majesty King Henry’s escort to England as I go to visit my manors that have been graciously restored to me,’ he read aloud. ‘I shall return in time and hope that you will have reconsidered what we spoke of before. I give you my warm felicitations and hope that this finds you in good health, my lord.’

  ‘Yes, that is well enough,’ Rosamund said, though it was not exactly what she had dictated. ‘I shall sign it and you will give it to Jack Errin to keep for Morgan should he return while we are absent.’

  ‘Yes, my lady, as you wish.’

  ‘Go then,’ she said. ‘For you must have much to do as have we all.’

  Rosamund was thoughtful as her steward departed. Perhaps she ought to have written the message herself, and yet she had not wanted to do so fearing that she would say more than she meant. She had regretted the harshness of their last parting a thousand times, though she felt that Morgan was as much to blame as she, perhaps more so. If he truly cared for her he would have done as she asked. He must know that Owain’s cause was lost. It had been so for the last year or two and yet stubbornly he and others clung to their obduracy, refusing to surrender
.

  No, she would not beg him, she decided. If he no longer loved her enough to consider what she had asked of him, then perhaps it was best it should end this way. Her heart was aching but she had her pride. She had given Morgan her love for so many years, and he owed her this much.

  She would leave the letter William had written for her and no other. It should suffice.

  *

  It was autumn when they chanced to be passing close to Caris Castle. Owain was sick and told Morgan that he wanted to rest in the house they knew was safe near by, refusing to go with him to the castle.

  ‘No, my friend,’ he said. ‘I do not know what this fever is that grips me from time to time. I would not bring infection to your lady. Go to her for a few days and then come to me again here. I shall be safe enough for a while I promise you.’

  ‘I do not like to leave you in this case,’ Morgan said regarding him anxiously. Owain had aged much of late, his flesh wasted and grey and there was a look in his once bright eyes that worried him. ‘Will you not reconsider and come to Caris? We could find shelter there this winter and I fear another winter in the mountains may…’

  ‘Kill me?’ Owain smiled oddly. ‘Would that be such a terrible thing, my friend? All men must die. I have lived my life to the full and I have known glory. For a while Wales was mine. If all the promises of France had been kept I might still be prince – but it was not to be. Yet I do not regret what I have done. I took my chance for glory and it was good.’

  ‘Yes, it was good,’ Morgan agreed. ‘For a while we had all that we desired.’ But it had slipped through their fingers too soon and the taste of defeat was bitter as gall.

  ‘I care not what becomes of me,’ Owain said. ‘But I shall never surrender. I would a thousand times rather die upon the mountain than bend the knee to the English tyrants.’

  ‘Then I shall stay with you to the end,’ Morgan promised him. ‘But you will excuse me while I visit Caris, my lord. I made a promise to my daughter that must be kept. She lives alone at Gruffudd and I would not have it so. I hope that Lady Rosamund will take her in and arrange a marriage for her.’

  ‘Yes, you must think of your daughter,’ Owain agreed. He had suffered too many losses within his own family and felt it keenly, sons and close friends killed or imprisoned . ‘Go then, my friend. I can spare you for a few days.’

  ‘Keep strong,’ Morgan said as Owain drew a rasping, hurtful breath. ‘Hope is not extinguished while you live.’

  Owain nodded wearily, but did not smile nor yet answer. Morgan’s heart was heavy as he left him. Their wandering from place to place was necessary to keep the men who hunted them at bay, but it was exhausting and dispiriting, and he knew that Owain was very sick. He could only pray for a miracle.

  ‘Oh, Kestrel,’ he cried aloud as he rode. ‘I wish that you were here to help him. I would have hung Rhys Llewelyn a thousand times if I had known what was to come…’

  *

  ‘Gone – Lady Rosamund gone with the King?’ Morgan stared at the man who had once played a part in his escape from the English. ‘When did this happen?’

  ‘Some months ago, my lord,’ Jack Errin said. ‘The King came here himself and she admitted him. He told her that all her lands and manors were restored to her and asked if she would like his escort. She went with him, and I have heard that she visits the court. Apparently, she is much admired by the King…’

  ‘Yes, I think he would find much to admire in Lady Rosamund,’ Morgan said, remembering the prince who had visited him in his cell. ‘He admires both spirit and courage, and she hath always had them in abundance.’

  ‘Yes, my lord.’

  ‘She left no message for me – no word of when she might return?’

  ‘No, my lord. There was nothing.’

  Morgan nodded, showing no sign of the grief the soldier’s words had given him. He had expected that Rosamund would at least leave word, some message of farewell. But he had told her to go where she would and she had clearly believed that it was over between them.

  Fool! Fool that he was for leaving her so coldly and so proudly the last time. He had regretted it many a day, wishing that he could take back the words that had so cruelly hurt them both. Yet nothing had changed. He could not desert Owain, nor would he surrender to the English.

  So there was no more to be said. Rosamund had chosen and perhaps it was for the best. At least she and her daughters would be free to live their lives as they pleased. As for Morganna…he must think on that for a while. Perhaps her uncles would take her in and arrange a marriage. In the spring he might find time to visit them and see if something could be done.

  For the moment he must return to Owain.

  *

  ‘I can go no further for the time being,’ Owain said. The wind was bitterly cold as it swept across the mountainside, the curiously light sky carrying the promise of more snow before nightfall. ‘Tell the others to go on and we shall join them soon at the agreed meeting place. I must rest. I am sick unto death, Morgan – but I pray you, stay with me.’

  ‘You know I would never leave you,’ Morgan said, looking at the deep exhaustion in his kinsman’s face. His eyes had sunk into his head and he had a wasted, skeletal appearance. It was true that Owain was close to death, and clear that he did not want anyone else present at his passing. ‘Rest here and I shall give the others your message.’

  There were twenty in the party, all fiercely loyal to Owain and none of them wanted to leave him.

  ‘We can carry him if he is sick…’

  ‘We shall stay here with him…’

  ‘Nay, it is not what he asks of you at this time,’ Morgan said. ‘You have all served him well and loyally, but this mountainside is too bleak to serve as a resting-place for all of us. Go on to that place we know of where you may find shelter for the worst of the winter and Owain will join you there when he has rested.’

  ‘You stay with him?’

  ‘While he needs me.’

  They bowed their heads, accepting his words for they had all read the signs.

  ‘Then go with God, Morgan Gruffudd.’

  ‘And may God be with you all.’

  Morgan watched as they turned and began to make their way through the snowy pass. The weather was treacherous and had been for the past several weeks. It was not fit for man or beast to be out on a night like this, and few could survive long in such hostile conditions.

  He returned to Owain, knowing that the sick man could not travel much further, his heart heavy as he saw the shadow of the man who had set out with such high hopes on this glorious adventure more than thirteen years before.

  ‘There is a cave I know of not far from here, Owain,’ he said. ‘Let me take you there. It is dry and will shelter us from the night, and I can care for you there – until you are ready to go on again.’

  ‘You know that I shall not survive the night, Morgan. I did not want the others to see me die. They have given so much for me…suffered so much in my cause.’

  ‘We did what we did for Wales,’ Morgan replied. ‘Do not repine, Owain. A man must do what he has to if he is be free. You were our prince and we followed you. It was our choice. I for one have never regretted it’

  ‘You have been the most faithful, the bravest and best of them all,’ Owain said. ‘When I am dead you must bury me here in the mountains and then you must surrender to the King. This new king is a better man than his father. I believe you may come to honourable terms with him.’

  ‘Speak not of dying or of surrender,’ Morgan said, his expression grim. ‘Once you have rested you will feel better. It is not far now.’

  But it was too far for Owain, he could no longer sit his horse. Morgan lifted him from the saddle, carrying him in his arms, the horses plodding behind him of their own accord as if trusting him to find them shelter.

  The cave reached, Morgan laid his kinsman on the ground and made a pillow of his cloak for him. The snow was falling thickly now, covering their tracks, t
hough the English would not be fool enough to search for them in this weather. But here they were safe for the moment, safe and warmer than on the exposed mountainside. There was wood in the cave that had been left there for just such an emergency as this, a pile of mouldering hay that would serve the horses as fodder and there was food and a little wine in the bags the packhorse carried. He could melt snow for water for them all.

  Morgan made a fire and warmed a little wine, making a drink of some herbs that Morganna had given him. She had told him that it would ease him when he was tired and he had kept them with him, now he offered the cup to Owain, who sipped it gratefully.

  ‘You are a good friend,’ he said. ‘No more for now, Morgan. Sit here with me and talk to me. Tell me how good it was when we held so much of Wales…’

  ‘Merlin’s prophecy came true,’ Morgan began. ‘We held Harlech and most of…’ He ceased to speak as he saw that Owain’s eyes had closed. He was sleeping. Morganna’s tisane had given him some ease at last.

  Owain lived for two more days in that cave. Morgan tended him like a baby, cleaning him, giving him the drink that was all he would take and talking to him. And when at last he died, he wept over him, holding him in his arms until the warmth had gone and he was as white as the snow that had fallen for almost two weeks but was melting now.

  Owain had asked that he bury him – but where? In his grief Morgan could not think at first of a fitting place to bury the man who had been prince in Wales, and then it came to him. He would take him to the high place where he had taken Kestrel, and he would beg the old gods to take him with them to eternal life.

  *

  ‘Take him to your bosom, gods of my ancestors,’ Morgan cried, arms outstretched, eyes turned to the sky as the light began to fade. ‘Give him I beg you the life you gave to Merlin and Kestrel, so that he may never die but live on to be held for ever in the memory of men.’

  The snow had melted here, leaving the mountainside slippery and the earth wet. A pale sun had fought its way through the leaden skies and that day Morgan had seen the first signs of spring as he fought his way through the mud and slush to this place, but now the night was cold and seemed to herald a return of winter.