Morgan the Rogue (9 page)

             
'It is easier to traverse than the mountain paths,' Morgan replied.  'Trust me and I shall bring you to Conway sooner than you may imagine.'

             
'Yes, I shall trust you,' she said, her clear eyes meeting his in a way that sent a jolt through his body.  'Even though my good William has warned me not to.'

             
Morgan felt that he might drown in the clear mountain pools of her eyes, experiencing that sharp stirring of desire he had known once before when looking into her face.  He was also aware of guilt, for she and all her race were his sworn enemy, and he was deceiving her, using her for his own ends.

             
He must not let himself like her too much!

             
They rode in silence for two hours or more, penetrating into the heart of the huge forest.  Morgan appeared deep in thought and yet was aware of what was around him.  He had for some while suspected that they were being watched, though he was not yet completely certain whether the watchers were English or Welsh.

             
'Why do you frown so?' she asked and he shook his head, not wishing to alarm her.

             
He dropped back to ride by the side of the captain of her men, giving him a questing glance.  He nodded, confirming Morgan's suspicion that they were being shadowed.

             
'In your opinion - Welsh or English?'

             
'I think they must be Welsh, sir.'  Morgan nodded at the confirmation of his own judgement, for he had felt the watchers too stealthy and surefooted to be English.  'They seem more curious than anything.  At the moment I don't see any sign of…' The man stiffened as both he and Morgan suddenly saw a party of horsemen coming through the trees towards them.  'These are English…the King's men…'

             
Some ten men-at-arms had ridden up to Lady Rosamund, who spurred her horse forward to greet them.  She was smiling, clearly pleased, and as he rode up to her she turned to beckon him closer.

             
'This is well met,' she said.  'His Majesty is near at hand and received the message I sent to Conway yesterday.  He has sent an escort to bring us in lest we meet with any hostility in the area.  I have told Sir John Forster that we have been riding for some hours and seen no sign of anything untoward.  Apparently, there has been some lawlessness from bands of robbers and brigands in these mountains; it seems that gold meant for his coffers has been going astray in recent months, and the culprits have proved impossible to find.  Richard wanted to make sure I was well protected.'

             
'He must think highly of you, my lady.'

             
'Yes, he has been a good friend to me,' she said and looked happier than he had seen her.

             
'Then it is good that you will soon be seeing him again.'

             
Morgan dropped back to ride with the captain of her own guard, for he could see that Sir John was a man of Lady Rosamund's rank and it was more fitting that he should ride beside her.

             
'They have gone, sir.  I think they ran off as soon as the King's escort joined us.'

             
'Yes…' Morgan looked at the captain as he spoke.  He seemed a bright, intelligent man though young for the position he held.  'I am called Morgan – what may I call you?'

             
'Thomas Bridger, sir.'

             
'How long have you served Lady Rosamund?'

             
'Since she was wed; before that I served His Majesty.  I did not want to leave him, but he made me captain of Lady Rosamund's bodyguard and told me that if I wished to serve him I must go with her.  I have been content to serve her, for she is a good woman, deserving of a better fate than has been dealt her.'

             
'You are not surprised she has chosen to join the King?'

             
'No – for she would not betray him as others might.'  His scowl told Morgan what he thought of traitors.

             
'You are observant, Thomas.  Did you think the men following us just now were brigands or thieves?'

             
'No, sir.  As I said before, they seemed curious – more as if they were watching us, that's all.'

             
'Yes.'  Morgan nodded.  'I think His Majesty may fear danger from another source more than Welsh brigands at this moment.'

             
'My thoughts exactly.'

             
'I see we understand each other.'

             
Morgan smiled and they rode on in silence until at last the great Castle of Conway came into view.  A herald trumpeted their arrival and the drawbridge was lowered, the horses clattering over it into the courtyard, to be surrounded by grooms and servants.

             
Someone helped Lady Rosamund down, and then a man came out of a door in the inner bailey.  Of good height, he was bearded, pleasant of feature, his long auburn hair falling softly about his face, and his eyes were large and prominent, a piercing blue. Slender of form, he was richly dressed in a long velvet robe belted with a heavy gold chain, from which hung a dagger in a sheath of gold studded with jewels.  Morgan needed no one to tell him that this must be the King, though he wore no crown or badge of office.

             
From the way Rosamund smiled and kissed the hand he offered, he saw that there was true affection between them.  In Wales Richard had long been thought of as something of a tyrant.  He had done much to make him unpopular since he first came to the throne in 1377, but it appeared that he could also show friendship. A woman such as Rosamund de Grenville would not otherwise have been so happy to see him.

             
'You are welcome here, lady,' Richard said.  'Your husband has gone on to Chester – he had my message?'

             
'Yes, Sire – but I would speak privately with you on this.'

             
'I see that it is a serious matter,' Richard said.  'Come, we shall go inside and you may tell me what troubles you.'

             
Morgan watched as the two disappeared into the castle, Lady Rosamund's hand on the King's arm, wondering for a moment what he should do.  He was a part of the Lady de Grenville's train yet he had no real place in her household.  He turned as he found Thomas Bridger at his elbow.

             
'Will you come with us, sir?   My lady will send for you when you are needed.'

             
'Willingly.  My thanks,' Morgan said.  At Bundesley the atmosphere had been informal and he had been left to wander as he pleased; here he sensed things were very different.  Eyes followed him suspiciously as they heard his voice, for though he spoke English naturally, they knew him to be Welsh.

             
However, as part of the Lady Rosamund's retinue, he was accepted, albeit it grudgingly by the King's men.  He was given food and ale, and a place to stable his horse.  After he had eaten he began to stroll about the courtyard and to play on his lute, and then to sing a merry tune of England.

             
His voice drew men to him, and he saw the suspicion begin to die from their faces as they were told by Lady Rosamund's men that he was but a Welsh bard she had given service for her pleasure.

             
Morgan was wise enough to ask no questions of the King's men, for to do so would immediately have aroused suspicion, but as the day wore on and they grew more careless of his presence he heard snatches of conversation.

             
'They say Bolingbroke hath gathered an army twice the size of ours…'

             
'We should bide here at Conway until the Welsh rise…'

             
'Bah!' The soldier spat on the ground.  'I'd as soon fight with the usurper as the Welsh.'

             
'You can't trust them,' another man said.  'They would as soon slit your throat with your back turned than face you man to man…'

             
Morgan held his tongue though he saw the look that accompanied these harsh words.  He might have reminded them of a prince long ago who had gone to feast with the English; he and his men had discarded their weapons at the door, thinking themselves safe, and were murdered, cut down to a man and boy with no more compunction than a man would show a fly.

             
Such tales of English treachery and the revenge that had followed were remembered in the songs of the mountains, but here they would meet only with sly looks or mockery.

             
'His Majesty speaks of moving on to Flint…'

             
'He should bide here.  We could defend this place for months against all comers…'

             
'But if he is not to lose England he must reach London…'

             
'I tell you, it is better to stay here until we gauge the mood of the country, which may be against the King.'

             
Clearly there was unease amongst Richard's men.  Most seemed loyal to him, though Morgan judged that some would turncoat at the first sign of trouble.  Having come to his throne as a young boy, Richard had never been as secure as he might, for his nobles had been reluctant to give up the power they had seized while he was a minor.  Perhaps it was his desire to be free of them that had led Richard to many unwise acts, which had caused him to be hated by those he had dispossessed.

             
Henry of Bolingbroke was one of these, and it was to take back what was rightfully his that he had returned from banishment – but now that he had such a strong army at his back it seemed likely that he would not be satisfied with so little.

             
When the chance arose, Morgan would send word by the method agreed before he left Glyndyfrwdy.  There were Welshmen in the forest near by who would read the signs and carry his message to Owain Glyn Dwr.  He was sure that news of his arrival at Conway had already been relayed to his kinsman.

             
At first he had been uncertain of the intentions of their shadows earlier that day, but then he had ceased to wonder.  Owain had spies everywhere in Wales.  He would have known of King Richard's arrival at Conway, and that a party of English accompanied by a Welsh bard had joined them.

             
He would know, but for the moment he was prepared only to watch and wait.

FOUR

Rosamund woke with a start and sat up in the darkness.  Such a terrible dream, a dream that had left her sweating with fear and cold.  She threw back the light covering that was all she had needed when she retired, pulling on a fur-lined robe that lay on top of her dower chest near the bed, and slipped her feet into soft leather shoes.

             
It was still the dead of night as she walked to her window and looked out at a sky devoid of all but a single star that suddenly went shooting across the black sky and seemed to burst into thousands of tiny sparks.  They burned brightly for a few moments and then died, leaving the sky pitch black so that briefly she felt that her eyes had been robbed of sight.

             
Feeling her way towards the small side table where her chamberstick stood, she fumbled and then struck the flint, lighting her candle.  Relief stole through her as she realised she had not been struck blind by the strange phenomena she had witnessed.  But what could it have meant?  She was certain that it had been a star of ill omen, and coupled with her dream, which was still vivid in her mind, she was suddenly very afraid – for herself but even more so for Richard.

             
In her dream she had seen him shut in some dark prison, and then the dream had changed and she had seen that she too was a prisoner, though here her dream was not so clear.  She could not tell what kind of a prison she was in, but she knew that she felt a great sadness that lay on her like a heavy weight, oppressing her with sorrow.

             
That feeling of oppression had stayed with her on waking and was making her feel as if she could not breathe.  It was no good, she could not stay here in this small airless chamber!

             
Leaving her room, she went down the spiral staircase that led to her solar, leaving the tower, which housed her, and going out into the night air.  It was cool and sweet, and now she saw that the frightening blackness had been no more than heavy clouds, most of which had since moved aside so that the stars sprinkled the blackness in a comforting familiarity.  She smiled to herself, thinking how foolish she was to let herself be swayed by a dream, then turned as she heard a soft footfall behind her.