Morgan the Rogue (23 page)

             
What had they gained?  To take back the controlling power in the country they needed strongholds.  The English still held almost all the strategic positions and when King Henry brought his army back from Scotland he would sweep into the country and take back the few gains Owain's men had made.

             
It was as Morgan had feared at the beginning.  Men had fought and died bravely but for very little.  If they were to succeed they must rally support in the rest of the country.

             
He had just finished his rounds of the sentries, making sure that the men posted were not neglecting their duty, when he was told that Owain had sent for him.  He went at once to join his kinsman in his tent.

             
'Word has reached me that King Henry's army is on its way here,' Owain told him.  'They should be in Wales within two or three days.'

             
'I had been expecting it,' Morgan replied.  He noted that his kinsman sounded grim but not unduly alarmed.  'We are not strong enough to meet them head on as an army, Owain.'

             
'We can do no more than fight.'

             
'But there are many ways to fight.  We should retreat to the mountains, regroup and plan a new campaign for the spring.'

             
'You think as I do,' Owain replied.  'I have talked to some of those hotheads out there but they are reluctant to leave their estates.  Several are thinking of returning to their families.'

             
'They have settled old scores and for some that is enough,' Morgan said nodding.  'But what have we gained?'

             
'We have made a start…shown the English we are not to be ignored.  But you were right, Morgan.  We should have waited until the whole of Wales was roused.'

             
'You must think of the future, Owain.  Without you there is no hope for us.  You are the only one who has the right to be our prince.  You must use avoiding tactics.  Fight when you have to, but choose your moment.  Inflict damage in a surprise attack and then retreat.  Make them fear you but never know where to expect you next.'

             
'Yes, it is the only way for the present.'  Owain frowned.  'But I have other plans for you, Morgan.  I want you to be my eyes and ears again, and this time I want you to speak for me.  Be my emissary.  There are those who would rally to my call who as yet are not with us.  Your task is to co-ordinate support all over Wales and in the border towns.  If we are to begin a new campaign in the spring we must be better prepared next time.'

             
'You are asking me to leave now – before the King's army arrives?  I would be with you in that fight, Owain.'

             
'And if you are killed?  There is no other I can trust with this mission, Morgan.  You are the only one I believe shrewd enough to know what must be done.  You tell me I must be cautious for the sake of our land, and I say the same to you.'

             
Morgan bowed his head, accepting the truth.  'Tell me who I must see and what you wish me to say to them.'

             
Owain handed him a small piece of parchment.  'Memorise these names and then destroy the evidence.  In the wrong hands that would be the ruin of our hopes for the future.  We need men like these on our side, Morgan.'

             
Morgan read through the list.  There was a mere handful of names but they were important.  He knew them all well and would not need to see the list again.  A taper was burning in a metal sconce.  Morgan held the parchment to the flame, watching as it burned and crumbled into brown ash.

             
He turned and clasped hands with Owain.  'I shall be with you again before too many months have passed.  Keep strong and safe, my prince.'

             
'You will know how to find me.'

             
'I shall look for the signs, but we shall meet again soon God willing.'

             
'God be with you, Morgan.'

             
'And with you, Owain.'

*

Maire Gruffudd was watching her serving women laying some linen on bushes to dry.  It was early November now, but although cold the air had a fresh bite to it and she hoped her washing would dry in the pale sunlight that filtered down through the valley.  Seeing a horseman riding towards them, Maire shaded her eyes to see more clearly, her heart catching with fear for these were desperate times.  She knew that the King had brought his army into Wales on his return from Scotland, and fierce fighting had ensued for some weeks, but by late October it was being said that the uprising had been put down and that the English were back in control of their towns.  She had heard that some of the brave men who had ridden out with Owain Glyn Dwr had been executed on 28th October and that others had sued for peace with the King.

             
Was the rider English or Welsh?  She strained to see and then her heart jolted as she recognised him.  It was surely her son!  She had heard nothing from Morgan since he left to join Owain and she had been wondering what had happened to him…whether he had been in the midst of the fighting and where he was now.

             
She went out of the house to greet him, her heart gladdened though she gave little sign of it.  'So you are alive,' she said, greeting him with a wry look.  'I was beginning to think I might never see you again in this life.'

             
'Are you ill, Mother?'  He pretended to misunderstand and grinned at her.  'You were not anxious for me?'

             
'I might have known you would turn up eventually,' she said.  'Has Owain grown tired of your slothful ways?'

             
'Perhaps,' Morgan replied.  He had ridden from place to place unceasingly for weeks, never stopping long enough to risk being caught, spreading the word that the time had come to support Owain in his fight for Wales, and contacting the men from whom he hoped that help would come.  It was secret and dangerous work, for if the English caught him he would be tortured and then hung. 'Come – are you not glad to see me back?'

             
'I am happy to see you looking so well,' Maire admitted.  'But you should be with Owain.  I have heard grave things – that the revolt does not go well for him.'

             
'Aye, so I believe,' Morgan said.  'They say in the taverns that one of his sons has been forced to surrender, and that others of his supporters are suing for pardon.'

             
'Several have been executed for the part they played in the attack on Ruthin.'

             
'I feared it would be so,' Morgan said.  'They should have made certain of their gains, taking strongholds that we could fortify against the enemy - but there was no proper planning, no co-ordination, though much good will and enthusiasm.'

             
Maire's gaze narrowed.  'That sounds as if you were there?'

             
'I have been with Owain.'

             
'Then why are you here?  You have not run away now that things have gone ill for him?'

             
'Do you believe I am a coward?'

             
Maire was silent for a moment, and then she shook her head.  'No, I do not think you a coward, Morgan.  Therefore you are here for a purpose and it is best that I ask no questions.'

             
'Much better,' he replied and grinned at her in his old way.  'Instead I shall give you some news that may interest you.'

             
'I dare say you are hungry?  Will you come inside and eat?'

             
'I had hoped to stay a day or so – if that will not disturb you?'

             
'This is your home.  I cannot deny you.  Nor would I if I could.'

             
'I thank you, Mother.'

             
Morgan followed her inside the dark cold house.  Nothing had changed yet after months spent roaming from place to place, it seemed more welcoming than he remembered. Maire sent a serving wench for food and ale and led the way to a small chamber off the hall where they might sit while he ate.  She took a roughly hewn chair beside the fireplace, where a huge log smouldered and glowed amongst the ashes.  He sat in the inglenook and warmed his hands at the flames.

             
'It is a good fire, Mother.'

             
'I would hear your news, Morgan.'

             
'I have a child – a daughter.  She has been named Morganna after me.'

             
'A daughter?'  Maire looked at him sharply.  'Do you also have a wife?  You did not send word of your marriage?'

             
'It was my intention to bring Morwenna to see you…but I had other things to occupy my time.'

             
'When was the child born?'

             
'In September.'

             
'So you were wed before last Christmas.  Unless…'

             
'I left Morwenna soon after the wedding for purposes I shall not name and knew naught of my child until my return.'

             
'Then I pity your wife.  You were unkind to desert her so soon, Morgan.'

             
'Morwenna does as she pleases.  It was not a love match. Owain made the marriage for reasons of his own.  My wife has her home and friends.  She does not need me.'

             
'Those are harsh words, Morgan. I thought you kinder than your father.'

             
Morgan felt the sting of her rebuke but kept his silence.  'I am sorry you think me like him, Mother.  Perhaps one day you will understand me.'

             
''Tis none of my affair,' Maire said and then frowned.  'Have you quarrelled with Rhys Llewelyn?  I heard that he has been seen recently at his father's house.  Thomas Llewelyn died and the estate was divided such as it was.  Rhys was given some horses and cattle as his share, and has sold them so I have been told.'

             
'He always knew he would need to seek his living elsewhere.  How long ago was it that he came here?'

             
'Two months – why?'  Maire's gaze narrowed in suspicion.  'You did quarrel with him!  I suspected it for I saw him once at the market and he would not look at me, though I spoke his name.'

             
'Rhys tried to kill me.  I was close to death for a while.'

             
'God have mercy!'  Maire crossed herself.  'What did you do to make him hate you?'

             
'Would you believe me if I said I had done nothing against him?'

             
Maire considered, then inclined her head.  'Yes, for I knew he was always jealous of you.  I never knew why but it was there in his eyes when he looked at you sometimes.'

             
'I never suspected it,' Morgan said.  He broke off as a girl brought food, ale and a jug of water, placing the board she carried on a small trestle beside him.  Smiling at her, he thanked her, breaking off a piece of bread and eating it.  'Freshly baked.  I have not tasted bread as good as this in weeks – and cheese.  This is a feast, Mother.'

             
'You were not always so appreciative.'

             
'Was I not, Mother?'  Morgan swallowed the food, raising his brows at her in teasing mood.  'Then perhaps I have learned better manners.'

             
'Perhaps.'  Marie watched in silence as he ate hungrily.  He had not shaved his beard in a while and he could do with a wash and a change of clothes, but there was a change in him.  It was in his manner.  He was confident, sure of himself and she felt that he had suffered, had become stronger for it.  Time alone might have wrought these changes, but she suspected more.  'Who has changed you, Morgan?  I do not think it was your wife.  Owain or someone else – a woman?'

             
Morgan laughed.  'You see too much, Mother – but there is someone I love.  She is a true lady and as far above me as the stars.  Had it been possible I would have wed her.'

             
'Then she is married already.'

             
'To a man who treats her ill.'

             
'Yet marriage is sacred, Morgan.'

             
'I know that, Mother.'

             
She nodded, seeing into his heart and understanding what he would not say.  'You feel that you have the right to this love.  Well, I shall not preach to you, my son.  Perhaps there are things that I do not know – but if you wished me to know you would tell me.  I pray only that your sins do not rebound on you or your lady.'