I, Morgana

by Felicity Pulman

  I’d thought to feel triumph as the cortege moves away, accompanied by the lamentations of Uther’s companions. Instead, my fear grows as the implications of his death become clearer. It is only chance that the king’s blood is not on my hands but, even if I’m not responsible, the end result is the same: the kingdom has been left without protection.

  I shiver at the thought of what Merlin would say if he ever found out what I intended. With an effort, I calm my trembling leaves and make a solemn vow to myself that he will never, ever find out the part I almost played in Uther’s death.

  And yet with Uther dead, and my mother no doubt prostrated with grief, my future is no longer in doubt, for surely Merlin will agree that it is time for me to seize my birthright and rule over south Britain? If I am wise and strong enough to fulfill our dreams for the future, I shall then go on and bring all the realms of Britain beneath my sovereignty, and so make our nation great. My spirits rise in wild elation as I realize that this dream is now almost within my grasp. I feel a surge of power; I am desperate to be gone. But I know that I must stay until the last straggler has left the scene. I need to be sure there is no one around to spy on me, in case the observer understands what’s happening when I transform myself first into Morgana and then into a swallow to fly back to my bed. I can only hope I have not been missed. Once I have been freed from my prison, I shall profess myself ignorant of all that has befallen the unlucky Uther. I shall join my mother, and all the others in the castle, and I shall pretend to mourn him.

  Conscious of time passing, and fearful that, even now, someone might be unlocking the door of my bedchamber to find me gone, I finally transform myself and quickly check for signs of damage. To my relief, there are none. I am about to become a swallow once more when a large eagle alights on the ground nearby. As I pause to rethink my strategy, for a swallow would be no match for an eagle, a well-known voice drives all thought from my mind and shrivels my heart with fear. The eagle has resumed its human form.

  “That was ill-done, Morgana.”

  I tremble as I stand before Merlin. He seems taller somehow, powerful and terrible in his wrath as he glares down at me.

  “You stupid, stupid girl,” he says softly. “You could have inherited a great kingdom but, by your own willfulness and vengeful thoughts, you have squandered your birthright.”

  “But I was just watching. I didn’t do anything!” I’m hoping to bluff my way out of this, but I quickly realize that Merlin can see right through me and that he knows everything.

  “Even though it was not your hand that struck Uther down, the intention was there. You would have killed Uther without thought for a kingdom left unprotected at a time of great peril, all to satisfy your own desire for revenge. And at such a cost! You have known only peace and plenty in your life. Did you ever pause to think how we shall fare if the invaders defeat us? They will swarm over our lands, stripping us of our wealth, our possessions, our crops and animals, our homes and our livelihood. And do you know the price they will exact in order to keep themselves safe? They’ll kill our men—and our children. And they’ll seize our women—yes, even you, Morgana, especially you—for their own pleasure. Our kingdom will become theirs, at the price of our blood and our liberty.

  “And now the death of our king has left us vulnerable to these predators; it has extended an invitation for them to invade us without delay. Our way of life will come to an end, unless we fight for it. You would have extended that invitation on your own account even without that marauding party today. For shame that you have so little regard for human life, Morgana! For shame that you have so little regard for your family, for your people and for your kingdom!”

  “I’m glad he’s dead,” I mutter, stung by Merlin’s criticism and anxious to defend myself. “He was going to go against my father’s wishes, and stop me inheriting my birthright. Worse, he threated to marry me off to one of his old retainers. He said that he’d make sure it was someone who lived far away so I … so …” I take a deep, shuddering breath. I will not let Merlin see me cry. “He’s dead—and I’m not sorry!”

  “You should be,” Merlin says sternly. “Being a ruler is not only about being strong and having a knowledge of magic. It’s also about diplomacy, the art of negotiation and the gift of persuading others to see your way. Above all, it is about having a clear vision for the future of this country, and the courage and determination to bring it to fruition.”

  I know I am in the wrong, and I hate that I’ve been caught out. I can think of only one way to redeem myself. “I can change the future if only I can change the past. Teach me how to cross time, Merlin, and Uther will live to fight on against the invaders.” Even through my distress I am angry that the mage seems to hold me responsible for what he has foreseen after Uther’s death.

  Merlin shakes his head. “You can change nothing,” he says, “for our time is now and what’s done is done. I cannot move backward or forward through time—and neither can you, Morgana, for all you might think that trying will make it so.”

  “Then continue to instruct me so that I can learn wisdom enough to save us all.” I can’t help feeling impatient with the old man. Uther is dead. Surely the future is all that matters now? “I swear I’ll be a good leader, Merlin. I swear I’ll do all in my power to repel the invaders and make our kingdom strong.”

  Merlin looks at me with a strong and steady gaze. But his eyes are hard as flint. “No,” he says softly. “You are too wayward, too unreliable. I have long suspected it, but I hoped that under my tuition you would learn to let your mind guide your heart rather than the other way ’round. Your deed this day has proved my error in believing that change is possible.” He shakes his head, staring past me into the distance, seeing something there that seems to give him comfort, for his expression softens into almost a smile. “But perhaps it’s not too late after all. There is one other …”

  I am filled with dread. “Who?” I ask, although I already know the answer.

  Merlin folds his arms and presses his lips together.

  “You can’t mean Arthur!” I shout. But Merlin won’t look at me.

  “You can’t choose him over me!” I am panicking now; I am determined to change Merlin’s mind. “Arthur’s too young. He’s not ready; he’ll never be ready. He doesn’t understand magic. He can’t do half the things that I can.”

  “I have enough magic for both of us.”

  “But he’s slow. How can he rule a kingdom when he takes forever to make up his mind about something, anything at all, let alone something really important?”

  “He’s slow because he looks at every angle of a question, he doesn’t just follow his heart or act on impulse, as you do. He’s steady. Reliable. He may be young, but he is high born and he has the good of our nation at heart. He is also fast acquiring knowledge of the art of war that will help to keep us safe. He has a sense of duty and of justice that seems to be lacking in you, Morgana. He will listen before he speaks and think before he acts.”

  “But he’s not the rightful heir. I am, by the will of my father, and by your will too, for why else would you have schooled me so diligently in magic and in the ways of the world?” I will not let my little brother usurp my position without a fight.

  Merlin shakes his head. His next words pierce my heart with an arrow’s deadly sting.

  “Perhaps this day was destined all along, to show me my error in trusting you, for ’tis true the brilliance of your fool’s gold has blinded me to the true worth of the gold that might yet save our kingdom.” His eyes lose focus as he stares past me. “Perhaps this is why Uther begged me to change him into the likeness of Gorlois while your father was away waging war against the High King’s men?” he mutters. “I should have realized earlier that it wasn’t only because he wanted to lie with Igraine and slake his lust. It was so they could make a child together, a child destined to be the one true ruler of all Britain.”

  “No!” I clap my hands over my ears so that I will not have t
o hear any more. The world stands still as Merlin’s words echo through my mind. “You tricked my mother into lying with Uther so that Arthur could be born to take my place?” I back away from him in my terror. I can hardly speak for the pain of Merlin’s betrayal. “Did you also ensure that my father would be killed in battle so my mother could marry the High King, and make Arthur their legitimate heir?” Having trusted Merlin in everything it is hard to believe that he could have acted against me, and against my father, with such treachery.

  The mage stays silent, and I understand why. I am filled with rage, and a pain so vast that everything around me turns black with my anger and despair.

  “I’ll pay you back for this, Merlin, I swear it. Even if it takes forever, I’ll make you regret what you’ve done!” My throat scrapes raw as I scream my threat aloud.

  But Merlin is not here to hear it. He has disappeared. And I am left alone.

  CHAPTER TWO

  As I’d feared, my absence from the castle was noted, although the rumpus following the news of Uther’s death meant that I was not reprimanded for it—at least, not at first. Finally, my mother sends for me. As soon as I appear, she begins to berate me for my insolence; worse, she tells me that she intends to fulfill Uther’s wish that Arthur inherit the crown, and that I must marry and go to live far away.

  At that, my bitterness spills over. “Arthur is a bastard. He was conceived by trickery and out of wedlock. He has no right to my realm!”

  “What?” My mother puts her hands to her ears in a vain effort to block what she is hearing. But I’ve given Merlin’s words some thought and I know that what I am saying is true.

  I raise my voice. “Merlin told me. He said that he’d changed Uther into the likeness of my father because Uther lusted after you, and wished to lie with you. Did you never wonder how it was that on the last night of my father’s life, while you lay with him, he was also killed waging war against Uther’s men?”

  “No!” she whispers. “No, that’s not how it was. He was killed after he’d been with me.” Her face has gone deathly pale. I wonder if all along she might have suspected the truth. After all, she must have noticed some differences between husband and usurper in the intimacy of the marital bed. But if so, she is not prepared to admit it.

  “Get out of my sight,” she hisses. “I will not hear these lies.”

  I do not see her again after that, for she breaks down in a storm of weeping, and thereafter keeps to her bed with only her ladies in attendance. Everyone thinks she is distraught over Uther’s death—only I suspect the true cause of her distress.

  I had hoped, after the care and affection I had bestowed on Arthur, that love and loyalty might prompt him to acknowledge my right to inherit the realm of my father even if not the whole of Britain. I should have known that his ambition, once awakened, would grow to a sense of entitlement, and so it has.

  I am present, though concealed, when he meets with Merlin in the forest, and Merlin tells him of his destiny. I witness his joy and, for one fleeting moment, his absolute triumph that I have been put aside and that he has won the crown, before he composes his face into due solemnity as befits the occasion.

  “I always told Morgana she couldn’t be a queen and rule a kingdom, but she wouldn’t listen to me,” he says proudly.

  “It is up to you to convince her that you are a worthy choice, even if you are still but a child,” the old man mutters. I wonder if he is having second thoughts, for he seems a little shamefaced about it all.

  “She will soon find out that I am more than her equal,” Arthur boasts.

  “Do not underestimate her, Arthur. She may be proud, and she may lack judgment, but she is also talented and very clever. If you can win her goodwill, she may help you rule the kingdom wisely and well, at least until you are old enough to rule alone.”

  Arthur’s happy countenance becomes a scowl. “I have you to help me, Merlin. I shan’t need Morgana.”

  “She can help you when I am not here.”

  “No.” Arthur lifts his chin in defiance. “She’s always telling me what to do and ordering me about. I won’t have it. This kingdom was my father’s, and now it is mine. And I will make of it what I must, without Morgana’s help.”

  Merlin looks at him and shakes his head. I know then that my fate is sealed. He hasn’t told Arthur why he’s changed his mind about me; perhaps he knows that I’m hiding close by, and is trying to spare my feelings. Nevertheless I stay hidden for a long time after they leave the forest, trying to find consolation for all that I have lost; seeking comfort for my raging, grieving heart.

  In the days that follow, I realize that for Merlin it’s as if I no longer exist. And for me, it feels as though I have lost another father as well as the kingdom.

  *

  Merlin may have decided my fate, but it soon becomes clear that everyone at court still believes that I am my father’s heir and I do my utmost to foster that belief. Arthur, of course, is furious that no one will take him seriously, and Merlin finally resorts to trickery in order to persuade them all. One morning, a sword appears in the castle courtyard. It’s thrust into a huge rock up to its hilt, and it quickly becomes apparent that none of Uther’s men is able to draw it out. Even I, using all my power and all the magic I have learned from Merlin, am unable to shift it by as much as a hair’s breadth. Not that I let Merlin see me try! I go in secret, at night, and I twist and tug until my hands are bruised and bleeding, but Merlin’s magic ensures that the sword won’t budge.

  As word of the sword spreads, it becomes quite a competition. Barons and kings begin to flock from all parts of Britain to try to retrieve it, for it is a handsome weapon. The fact that it’s embedded in stone speaks of its magical qualities, while its hilt, which is set with precious jewels, is sufficient to grace any nobleman’s armaments and promises a potential fortune for any landless knight. It is indeed a possession to be coveted, but all who come fail in their attempt to release it from its sheath of stone.

  With my mother still in seclusion, it falls to me to receive them graciously and play the hostess. And of course I try to deflect them from the sword even while I ponder its purpose. I preside at high table, and arrange feasts and amusements for their entertainment, although my efforts are undercut by Arthur, who struts around demanding their attention.

  Once there are enough important noblemen at court, Merlin sends out word of a tournament, with a huge prize to be won at the end of it. I suspect that the prize is only an incentive to keep the noblemen in attendance and that Merlin has more than a tournament in mind. Although I’ve had no dealings with the mage since the day he turned away from me and set his course with Arthur, I know him well and I fear his cunning.

  I realize that the game is in play when Merlin comes to court and, for the first time, appears in public at Arthur’s side. He announces that the sword embedded in the stone is a test, and that only the true-born High King of all Britain will succeed in pulling it free. Of course this is a signal for knights and kings alike to redouble their efforts, all without success. The tournament, so Merlin says, will settle the question once and for all.

  To my amazement (and Arthur’s disgust) he is deemed not old enough to take part in the tournament. Instead, he is assigned to his friend Sir Kay as his squire, and so it becomes Arthur’s responsibility to arm him. But Kay’s sword inexplicably goes missing, and it doesn’t take me long to understand why when—in front of several noblemen and to their great surprise—Arthur pulls the magical sword out of the stone and hands it over to his friend to use.

  I have to admit it’s a good trick; I admire it although I hate what happens next, as all those present, prompted by Merlin, fall to their knees and proclaim Arthur the High King of all Britain.

  News of this miracle spreads. The tournament comes to an abrupt halt as everyone rushes to the stone to witness it for themselves. Time and again Arthur is asked to replace the sword and pull it out. Some of the barons, and several of the attendant kings, ask
him to replace the sword so that they themselves can have another try at freeing it. None succeeds, save Arthur. Finally, there is a great commotion as they all assemble to kneel before him and swear an oath of fealty.

  But for all that, I hear some muttering among them later. Not all are happy about having a mere boy as their ruler. And I play a part in their doubting. After Arthur’s triumph, I leave the court. I travel east across the southern country, reminding kings and barons that I am my father’s rightful heir by birth and training. And I ask for their support against Arthur, the usurper. While in their courts and households I discuss with them the vulnerability of the kingdom caused by the death of Uther, and the dangers of installing a young and untried boy as king. We discuss battle strategy, and the overriding need for unity to combat the threat of the growing numbers of raiding parties landing on our shores. I do my best to bind the men to my cause.

  At the same time, I use my knowledge to help the women of the court with healing, and birthing, and any other domestic tasks I am called on to perform, for I believe women wield a greater influence than is generally acknowledged. Although I’m usually received with suspicion at first, by the time I leave each demesne I know that the inhabitants, both high and low born, are coming around to my way of thinking.

  All is going well, and I am garnering support, until Arthur realizes what I am doing. I am staying with Bagdemagus, King of Gore, when Arthur sends a company of guards to bring me back to the castle. Although I appeal to Bagdemagus, and he is sympathetic to my cause, in the end he will not gainsay Arthur’s command and so I am forced to return, in ignominy and as a captive, to Tintagel.