Morgan the Rogue by Lynn Granville Page A

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