The Faithful Heart

by MacMurrough, Sorcha

  “What are you doing!” Aofa squealed.

  Morgana tried to disguise her dislike of her half-sister as she replied in an even tone, “In case it has escaped your notice, the people outside are starving. I am merely sending out some food to ease their sufferings.”

  “But Father said...” Aofa began to protest.

  But suddenly, with a smirk and pert toss of her head, she said, “Fine, do whatever you like. You're the leader now, at least for the moment.”

  Aofa spun round and vanished as suddenly as she had come, though Ruairc, observing her go, asked, “What was she doing here?”

  “Worrying about her own affairs and well-being, as usual,” Morgana said with a shrug, as she pulled out another concealed basket of vegetables, and handed it to a worker.

  “Morgana, those are too heavy for you.Let me help!” Ruairc protested.

  Morgana smiled wryly. “In that case, you can complain to the nuns for me, since I’ve lifted far heavier baskets at the convent every day for the past two years.”

  “No wonder you're so thin and pale,” Ruairc remarked aloud, though the light in his eyes proclaimed that he found her attractive no matter what.

  Morgana blushed at what he must have thought of the fact that she had changed into her manly garb. But as she went through the kitchen like a whirlwind, counting and organising, she had to acknowledge that her old brown clothes were far more practical for the tasks at hand than her white novice’s habit.

  “I see some turnips in the vegetable patch up the back. I want you to dig them up, and feed them to the sheep and cattle.”

  Several eyebrows raised at this request, but Morgana said, “I've seen them do it in Scotland. If we wish to have any chance of breeding the animals successfully, we must fatten them up. They say that the better you feed them, the more lambs you'll get. And healthier calves. And yes, I know we need to secure a bull from somewhere. I will attend to it.At least we have a good ram. Are there any ewes in lamb at the moment?”

  A few men nodded.

  “Bring them close to the door here, make a sheltered pen for them, and we will feed them on whatever vegetables we can. It may not be too late for them to fare well.”

  Once the kitchen chores were finished, Morgana turned her attention to the other rooms in the house. As she walked through the main living quarters, she noticed most of the tapestries had gone, as well as the silver ornaments, and the room was bare of candles.

  “Mary, come with me,” Morgana ordered, setting her mouth in a grim line.

  Morgana marched up the stairs, and without knocking she stormed into Aofa’s room. There she found her half-sister eating from a bowl of sweetmeats and doing her embroidery, in a chamber glowing as brightly as a cathedral on a high holy day.

  Morgana's eyes swept around the room, taking in the tapestries, ornaments, rich furnishings, silver boxes and candelabras which dripped with best-quality beeswax.

  On a huge silver salver lay the remains of her recent repast. Morgana detected venison, duck, quail and pheasant bones.

  “Well, there is no need to ask where all the money and food have been going, now is there?” Morgana hissed, before she bellowed down the stairs to the servants.

  “I can explain,” Aofa whined.

  “Strip this chamber!” Morgana ordered, turning a deaf ear to her sister’s pleas as she shoved Aofa back into her chair when she tried to protest.

  “Ow, that hurt,” the younger girl said with a pout.

  “Mary, the jewel chests please!”Morgana commanded with a click of her fingers.

  She gaped as the contents were revealed.

  “No, you can’t! yYu have no right!” Aofa screamed, as she struggled to rise from the chair.

  “You're the one with no right! Those are not yours, Aofa, they were my mother’s, entrusted to me! How dare you try to take the little left to me!” Morgana raged.

  She turned out the large coffer onto the huge oaken table, and began to sort through them hastily.

  “And these jewels here, Aofa, how have you come by them?I recognise these pieces as your mother’s, which I will let you keep for sentimental reasons, but these? Diamonds, rubies, emeralds? And this cross here?”Morgana gasped, as the box emptied to disclose the prize of the collection.

  The crucifix was made of red gold and jet black stones which Morgana guessed were onyx. The workmanship was breathtaking, and Morgana could not even begin to guess how her sister had come by the rare piece.

  An uneasy fear stirred in Morgana’s breast, though she could not define it. All she knew was that the cross was not of Irish making, more like Spanish, with the red gold coming from the New World. What was it doing in Aofa’s jewel box?

  “They are all mine, presents from admirers, but Father has not seen fit to allow me to marry, yet,“ Aofa said with a wounded sniff, and a sly glance at her sister to see if she were jealous.

  Morgana did not believe her half-sister’s story for one moment, but she was not about to waste her time arguing. “In that case, if they are not of any sentimental value to you, they can be sold. We need food, Aofa, all of us, and there is only so much jewellery you can wear at one time.”

  Morgana slipped the Spanish crucifix into the pocket of her overgown, along with an unusual ruby ring, and an amethyst brooch she was sure was rare. She took the pieces her mother had left her, and put them in her other pocket.

  The rest of the jewels she scooped back into the boxes as if they were no more important than a pile of stones.

  “Mary, gather up all of these, and put them in my room. Lock the door and bring me the key."

  “It isn’t fair, I’ll tell Father!” Aofa screeched petulantly.

  "Your mother and you have been nothing but a drain on the estate. Since neither of you ever enriched it in any way, it's high time you started earning your keep. And remembering where your gratitude should be bestowed. You are nothing and no one without this clan, Aofa. You will do well to remember that and be grateful for the chance to repay our kindness and compassion with some of your own. Your jewels will do for a start. Your gowns can be next."

  "No!" She tried to bar Morgana’s path of devastation of her world now by placing herself in front of the huge oaken wardrobe.

  Morgana shoved the girl out of her way as though she were a fly. Her stomach lurched when she opened the door and saw the array of gowns hidden there.

  Many of them had obviously never even been worn, and were in the richest brocades, silks, and velvets.

  As Morgana fingered the lace, her mind spun. The finest fabrics from the Continent, all of the dresses new, and yet they had not been trading? It made no sense. Even when they had been successful, they had never kept such fabric for themselves, but sold it in Dublin. And they certainly had not traded in ready-made clothes. Let alone custom-made ones.

  Morgana looked over to Mary to see if she could have possibly been the dressmaker for any of the gowns.

  One glance told her it was not the case. She looked just as stunned as Morgana, and not a little envious.

  Leaving aside the fabrics, the jewels which encrusted nearly every gown were incredible. Morgana wondered if the new English queen Anne Boleyn’s wardrobe were even half so lovely.

  “Aofa, you have been squandering the entire estate for the sake of dressing yourself in this finery. But surely you see that it can't possibly continue. The way of life as you know it, queening it over the rest of the clan, is over. All of this is to be sold. You may keep three plain dresses for yourself, but the rest will be used to get this clan back on its feet, and I will expect you to work right along side the rest of us to rebuild.”

  “You can’t make me. I’ll tell Father!”

  “Father has put me in charge. Make no mistake, Sister. I shall not hesitate to use that power to benefit everyone. If I feel you are harming the clan, I will put you in a convent and forget you ever existed.The choice is yours,” Morgana threatened.

  Aofa threw herself on the bed in floods o
f tears. Morgana ignored her as she she started to lay the gowns out at the foot away fromAofa's petulant thrashings.

  When Mary returned from depositing the jewels in her bedchamber, Morgana said, “You always made all the clothes for the castle, along with a few of the other village women. Have you ever seen these any of these gowns or material before?”

  Mary shook her head vehemently. “Good Lord, Morgana, that's far richer than anything I've ever laid eyes or hans on, for all we were once so prosperous here.

  "Then where have they come from? I was told our trade had come to a standstill.”

  "Apart from Conn and Finn, no one's had much success for a long time, and they certainly haven't been trading in fabrics or made to order gowns fit for a queen."

  Morgana nodded. “It's as I suspected. If you know nothing of them, clearly there is much going on here besides my father being ill. Mary, I need you to take the gowns to Dublin. Sell every one of them for the best price you can.”

  “Morgana, the jewels alone are worth a fortune, let alone the fabrics!” Mary gasped.

  “Right, then, unpick as many of the jewels as you can without ruining the gowns, and bring them to me.Then sell the dresses.”

  “It will take time,” she warned.

  “That’s the one thing we haven’t got,” Morgana sighed.“Get some women you trust to help you.”

  "And strip this room down to the bare mimimum of furniture," Morgana ordered with a sweep of her hand as she began to head for the chamber door.

  "No!" Aofa shrieked.

  "And if Aofa takes issue with any of my orders, I'm sure a new chamber in the cellars can be arranged for her," Morgana said with a rapier-like look at the squawking girl.

  "No, no, not the cellars!" she gasped, white-faced with horror at the prospect of all that lurked down there.

  “I will see to it. But where are you going?”Mary called.

  “To see Fergus!” she called over her shoulder.

  Ruairc tried to block her wayas she barreled down the corridor, but she feinted right, then swept past his left, her anger increasing.

  “I have never been so disgusted in my life. The people are starving, the animals dying, when for the price of even one of those gowns we could have fed them for years!”

  "I don’t disagree with you, my love, but in your current temper, it might be best not to—"

  But she was had already slammed Fergus’ door open with a powerful kick. A flurried squeal of half-starved and near-naked maids told her all she needed to know.

  She yanked him by the scruff of his neck off the hapless scrawny girl he had been holding down by her stick-like wrists. She reached up with her other hand to grab his steward’s gold chain, which she twisted until it snapped.

  “I want to see all the papers and accounts, now!” Morgana demanded.

  “Morgana, er, I had heard you might be coming home—"

  Ruairc flung him a doublet to cover his appallingly ugly nakedness.

  "Go to the kitchens to get your food for payment as usual," he commanded to the three hollow eyed girls. "Fergus won't be needing you any more tonight."

  The looked overjoyed, and began to grab their ragged gowns and hurry out of the room.

  "And he won't be needing you any other night either," Morgana added to their retreating backs. "I'm in charge now. No one here will ever have to prostitute themselves for food again."

  The thin girl she had rescued paused at that, turned back, and spat in Fergus's face. She looked at Morgana. "Thank you, my lady." She hurried out of the room without another word.

  Morgana shook Fergus by the shoulder like a terrier with a rat. "The accounts, now, you vile whoremonger."

  "There's nothing to see. There's been nothing coming in!” the oily little man protested, sweeping back his meagre tufts of already grey hair. Though he was not much older than Morgana, he was already nearly bald.

  “In that case, I want to see all the accounts for the expenditures on the estate. If I find out you have been spending money on things like this,” Morgana hissed, dangling the crucifix in front of his nose, “I shall see to it that you clean the privies with your tongue.”’

  Fergus took one look at the red cross with black stones, and fainted on the spot.

  Morgana pushed the limp body back onto the bed, and looked over at Ruairc.

  “I never hit him,” Morgana muttered.

  "I know. He's obviously guilty as sin and couldn't face being found out. Still, fainting like that—"

  He checked with one hand to make sure he was still breathing while Morgana called down the hall for some help from the servants.

  "Get him dressed and out of here. This used to be our best guest room. It can be so again. Leave the furniture, strip everything else til its bare, she ordered, looking around the luxuriously appointed chamber grimly.

  She steppped over to the wardrobe and coffers in turn.Once again, she found a king’s ransom of clothes and jewels, not to mention silver and gold plate, some of it with a foreign coat of arms on it which Morgana had never seen.

  “Spanish, I’d say, or Portuguese,” Ruairc guessed, as he peered over her shoulder at the fine gold tracings.

  Morgana blew a stray auburn curl out of her eye in exasperation. “But what is it all doing here? By all accounts our ships have been lost, with no trade has been coming in. He said so himself, yet he has an entire room of bounty to incriminate him.”

  “You were the captain of the fleet, Morgana.Once you and Conor were gone, things were bound to have fallen apart. They saw their chance and took it. Started to trade on their own behalf, and kept the proceeds themselves, instead of share and share alike for the whole clan as you had always done.”

  “This stinks to high heaven. Something far greater is going on here. You and I know that these are not objects we would ever trade for. That's a foreign crest. Most people would melt down a rich plate like that if it was not a prized heirloom. Look at all we found in Aofa's room, and now here. You would need boatloads of wine or timber or furs to exchange for even one of these robes, let alone two entire wardrobes full of finery.”

  “I agree, but we have no proof,” Ruairc stated bluntly.“The ships might have been trading these items, but then concealing them, giving them directly to Aofa and Fergus.”

  “I can’t think that my captains would be so disloyal to the clan, and in any case that makes no sense.You know yourself, any profit made was always equally divided, with every member of the crew getting an equal share. I can’t think that any of them would be so foolish as to hand over such riches to Aofa and Fergus, who share none of the risks on the ventures,” Morgana said. "If they were betraying us, they would keep such riches for themselves. And if they were all so prosperous, the castle precincts wouldn't look like an abandoned village."

  “Then where has it all come from? These items are fit for a king or queen,” Ruairc observed, running his hands over a rich crimson velvet. "These things are even finer than the ones Silken Thomas wears, and he's a popinjay of the first magnitude."

  "I can only guess from the style of the plate and jewels that it's Spanish. The fashion of the gowns also leads me to think Spain rather than Portugal."

  "But what on earth could we possibly ever have to give them in exchange for such vast riches?" Ruairc wondered allowed as he stared at an emerald encrusted green silk doublet.

  Morgana looked at it as well for a moment, thinking how like his eyes the jewels were. Then she turned her attention back to the question her comrade at directed at her.

  “It's a puzzle, to be sure. We have always avoided the Spanish treasure ships, for the sake of good trade relations. Just think how many of our ships were built at Corunna.”

  “The ten best ones, though all the rest are locally made,” Ruairc said, nodding. "But these things can't have come from a treasure ship. They're made up gowns and plate, cut jewels, not ingots and raw gemstones."

  "True. And these fabrics would have come from the Netherland
s at some point, and then been styled and jewelled according to Spanish court fashion.

  “Mayhap the English raided these goods from the Spanish, and then we raided the English?”’

  “It is possible, but then why be so fool-hardy as to keep these things? You know the English would like nothing better than to catch us for piracy. Keeping stolen goods such as these items under our own roof would be suicidal. If they were booty, they should have been traded away elsewhere!”

  Ruairc nodded silently, and then moved to help without hesitation as Morgana insisted, “We have to get these things out of here, and whatever other contraband is concealed in the house. We must do it under cover of darkness, and I want Aofa and Fergus put in the dungeons.”