Morgan the Rogue (24 page)

             
'If there is a price to pay I pray that it will be me who bears it.  Rosamund is good and generous.  You would like her, Mother.'

             
'Would I like your wife?'

             
'Perhaps.  I cannot say.'

             
'I should like to see your daughter one day, Morgan – if I live long enough.'

             
'Perhaps when things are calmer I will bring her to see you.'

             
'And Morwenna?'

             
'If she wants to come.'

             
Maire looked at him.  What was he keeping from her?  She was sure there was something but he had always had his secrets and she knew better than to push him too far.

             
'Since you have been gone there have been whispers,' she said.  'Some friends of yours sent word that they would like to join you should you need them.'

             
'Owain needs all those who are loyal to our cause,' Morgan said.  'It was to speak to those friends that I came back, Mother.  I shall see them tomorrow  or the day after and then I must go for I have much to do.'

             
'Then you go with my blessing,' she said.  'And if it should be that I have misjudged you in the past, my son, I ask you to forgive me.'

             
Morgan looked at her, his eyes narrowing.  'I ask you once again, Mother – are you ill?'

             
'Perhaps, a little,' she replied.  'Pain comes sometimes but it goes and I am better.  I would not have you worry, Morgan.  You have other concerns.'

             
'Would you like me to send word to Morwenna – ask her to bring the child here?'

             
'I would like to see your daughter, but I believe there is a little time left to me.  Bring the child yourself if you can.'

             
'I shall come in the spring before…'  Morgan got up and went to kiss her cheek.  'I shall come when I can, Mother.'

             
'Then I shall see you again,' she said.  'Now, finish your food – and perhaps then you should have the servants bring water.  You stink worse than the midden.'

             
'You do not change, Mother,' Morgan said and laughed.  'I swear I had forgotten how sharp your tongue was…'

*

Morgan walked further up the mountain, past the tiny waterfalls and rocks worn into grotesque shapes by time, to a place where he had liked to come as a boy.  Here he was at one with the earth, seemingly close to the sky and the heavens.  As a child he had felt that the gods of the earth, air and water were near at hand.  Maire truly believed that there was only one God but here in this lonely, beautiful place it seemed to Morgan that it would be disrespectful to deny the existence of earlier gods.

             
Possessed by some urge that came from deep inside, Morgan felt the need to commune with the gods of nature.  He threw out his arms, inviting them to answer as he cried out his thoughts.

             
'When shall Wales be free?  When shall we gain the victory we desire?'

             
The silence mocked him as the echo died away, and so he tipped back his head, circling as he cried out once more.  'Give me your answer, gods of my ancestors.  Tell me I command thee what lies ahead for Owain.  I demand an answer in the name of my ancestors and by the power of Merlin for it was he who prophesised that this time would come.'

             
The wind was beginning to sigh across the mountain.  Its sound was like a song, a song echoed by the tumbling streams as they rushed between steep ravines, gathering force so that at times they became fierce and frothing with white foam.  And around him the wind had become fierce of a sudden, whipping his long black hair across his face and almost lifting him from his feet.  He felt its force battering against him yet he stood straight and tall, defiant and gloriously unafraid.

             
'Owain the true prince of Wales shall never die.'

             
The voice came from nowhere yet it was in his head, all around him, like a whisper on the wind or sweet music.

             
'Thus it is promised and thus it shall be.'

             
The music rose to a crescendo in Morgan's head, becoming so loud and piercing that he put his hands to his ears to shut it out.  He was stunned by the response to his demands, for he had called out in a mood of defiance, never expecting to be answered.  When at last the wind died the music had gone.  He was lying on the ground and he woke from a trance, wondering if he had fallen and banged his head.  Surely it was the only rational explanation of what had happened?

             
His vision – for within the music had been images – had been of Harlech Castle and a great victory.

             
It must surely mean that Owain was destined to win the struggle he had begun?

             
Picking himself up from the cold ground, Morgan made his way back down the mountain, taking care not to lose his foothold.  He had spent several months touring the villages and towns of his homeland, crossing backwards and forwards across the secret mountain trails to stay ahead of the English spies he knew searched for him.  His visits to important men on Owain's list had met with mixed response.

             
'It is useless,' some said when he asked for their promise of support.  'The English will always win.  We cannot hope to stand against them.'

             
'Not if we rise together,' Morgan repeated his message of hope over and over again.  'Owain will fight on but he needs help if we are to make real gains.  This is our chance.  Give us your support and we shall win.'

             
'But if you fail…we should lose our lands and perhaps our lives.  It is too risky.'

             
There was too much apathy, too much willingness to lie down and let the English walk over them!  Morgan was angered by the attitude of many of the men he spoke to.  They were unhappy with the way they were treated by their English masters, yet unwilling to risk what they had.  But there were some that pledged their support willingly.  They had not risen sooner because the King had brought his army swiftly into Wales – but if there were to be a new campaign they would be ready next time.  All they needed was a sign.

             
Was the voice he had heard in the mountain a sign?  Morgan knew that if he tried to tell of his experience he would be laughed at and ridiculed.  Indeed, he hardly believed what he had seen and heard himself.  How was it possible that Owain should never die?

             
Some said that Merlin still lived, that he had simply gone to a secret place in the mountains and would return when he was needed – but Merlin was a magician or a myth, depending on what you believed.  Owain was flesh and blood and all men must die.

             
But there was one way a man might live on – and that was in the hearts and minds of men who remembered his name with pride.  Perhaps that was the meaning of his vision, Morgan thought as he made his way back to where he had left his horse.  If Owain was the saviour of Wales then he would be forever remembered and in this way he would live on, never dying from men's memories.

             
It seemed to Morgan that there could be no other explanation, or none that his mind would accept.  It also meant that Owain was destined for great things.  Combined with the vision of Harlech Castle and a victory celebration, it restored some of Morgan's faith in the future.  They would regroup and they would take back Wales from the English.

             
Lost in thought he was not aware that he was being watched until the man stepped out in front of him.  Startled, he reached towards his sword, ready to defend himself.

             
'I am not armed,' Rhys Llewelyn said quickly.  'Kill me if you will, Morgan.  It is no more than I deserve for the foul blow I struck you.'

             
Morgan's hand rested on his sword hilt.  Rhys was not wearing a weapon but he might have a knife concealed about his clothes.

             
'What do you want of me?'

             
'I know what you have been doing,' Rhys said.  'I want to join you – I want to fight for Wales when the time comes.'

             
'Owain's men have been told to kill you on sight.'

             
'I know – that is why I dare not come near Glyndyfrwdy when the meeting took place,' Rhys said.  'I have regretted what happened.  I was a stupid fool, Morgan.  I was so mad for her that I would have done anything…'

             
'You should have come to me and told me of your feelings.  I would not have wed her if I had known.'

             
'I was a fool – mad and evil to strike my brother down as I did,' Rhys Llewelyn said.  'I beg you to forgive me and give me the chance to fight with you.'

             
'It would not be my choice,' Morgan replied.  'I do not believe that Owain would have you near him – but there are others who might give you the chance you need.'

             
'I would serve you if you have formed the band of brothers again.'

             
'I have certain promises,' Morgan said.  'When I leave this place I go to see someone, and in the spring I have arranged for our friends to be waiting at a certain place.  If you are with them I shall speak to Owain for you.'

             
'Thank you.'  Rhys moved towards him, but Morgan kept him at bay with a gesture of his hand.  'Know that I have told Morwenna she is free to come to you if she wishes -–but the child is mine…'

             
'Child?'  Rhys looked startled.  'She had a child?'

             
'My daughter.  She is named Morganna.  If you wish it, Morwenna is yours – but the child remains with me.'

             
'I understand,' Rhys said but his eyes narrowed.  'I shall not betray you again, I give you my word.  Perhaps when the fight is over…Morwenna…'

             
'That is between you and her,' Morgan replied.  'I go now, Rhys, and I charge you not to follow – for what I do must be secret.'

             
Rhys stood back, watching as he mounted his horse.

'The English are searching for you in the lordship of the Brecon, but they have not confiscated your mother's house for she claimed that it was hers by her widow's right.  I came to warn you, stay away from the towns and take the mountain paths for there is a price on your head.'

'I thank you for your warning,' Morgan said.  'I hope that we shall meet again as friends, Rhys.  May God be with you.'

             
'And with you, Morgan.'

             
Rhys stood back and watched as Morgan rode away.  He had been tempted to inform and take the price offered for betraying Morgan to the English, but he had not yet stooped that low.  His hatred of his cousin and one time blood brother had not abated, but he was still a Welshman and he hated the English even more than he hated Morgan.  Time would show him the way to be rid of Morgan – but next time it would be done in such a way that he himself was not hunted as an animal.

             
He needed Morgan to reinstate him in the eyes of Owain Glyn Dwr – then, one day, when the time was right…He would not only have Morwenna and her daughter, he would also have everything that Morgan owned.  Including the estate that Maire Gruffudd claimed was hers.

             
If  both she and Morgan were dead none would have a better right to it than Rhys – unless it was his widow and her child…

*

Morgan was thoughtful as he rode away.  He did not trust Rhys for a moment, though he believed that his desire to fight for Wales was genuine.  Their private quarrel was a thing apart and in his heart Morgan knew that one day it must be settled between them.  He would have done better to kill Rhys when they fought, for he ought to have known that such a breach could not be healed.  Rhys had come to him to ask for pardon so that he might take his place in the band of brothers that Morgan was forming to fight with him against the English.

             
These were mostly young men who had been with him when they robbed the English revenue collectors and gave the money to the church for the poor.  Some were of good family, others like Rhys were landless and needed to work for their living, all had the same hatred of the English, and all were ready to join with Morgan in the fight that was coming.

             
'Understand, my brothers,' Morgan had told them.  'This struggle will not be for a few days or weeks.  It may be that we shall have victories but we shall also have defeats.  We shall be outlawed, our homes and estates confiscated, our lives forfeit – but when we are stronger we shall have freedom and that will be worth the pain and tears.'