When I am brought before my brother, I find Merlin standing beside him. I face them both and my anger spills over.
“How dare you arrest me and drag me back here like a common criminal!”
Arthur takes a step backward, seemingly unnerved by my fury. I am tempted to try to transform him into the mouse he once wanted to be, but a glance at Merlin changes my mind. I glare at him before turning my attention back to Arthur.
“Not content with usurping my kingdom, you now treat me like the lowliest and least worthy of your subjects.”
Perhaps taking comfort from Merlin’s proximity, Arthur draws a breath and puffs out his chest. “My kingdom, Morgana. Mine, despite what you’ve been telling my people as you’ve travelled around spreading your poison. If you were anyone else, I would have you tried for treason and locked away—or even beheaded. As you are my half-sister, I shall forgive you this once. You may continue to live here quietly in my castle where I can keep watch over you. But have no doubt about what will happen to you should you try, in any way, to undermine my right to rule my kingdom at any time in the future. Death will be your fate, for the safety and the unity of my kingdom are paramount.” He glances at Merlin, as if seeking his approval. The mage nods slightly, and Arthur smiles.
I am speechless with rage, and with pain. If I were a man, I would challenge Arthur to a duel. My fists clench in impotent fury. Merlin frowns a warning: Say nothing, and accept your fate. But I will not—not ever! Nevertheless, I bow in obeisance to my brother before leaving the room. I may be beaten—for the moment—but I will wait, and I will watch, and eventually, I will reclaim my kingdom. I intend to fulfill my promise to my father; I intend also to have my revenge on all who have betrayed me.
To ensure my obedience, Arthur sends heralds around the southern country to announce that Merlin is his adviser now, and to quote the mage’s prophecy: Only he, Arthur, has the power to keep the kingdom safe, and once the invaders are routed, he will found a new kingdom more bright and glorious than any that has come before. At the same time as praising Arthur the heralds belittle me, pointing out that I, as a mere woman, have not the wits, courage, strength or skill to rule, or to protect the kingdom against the raiding parties that continue to beset us. People believe what they are told, and they all turn against me.
My heart hardens with hatred even while I am forced to admit that, if our roles had been reversed, I might well have done exactly as Arthur has. Nevertheless, his treatment of me is a grievous hurt considering how close we once were, and how I loved, sheltered and protected him when he was a child. I am furious at being thwarted in this way; I am full of bitterness and resentment. I cannot forgive Merlin for his betrayal of all I hold dear, nor can I forgive Arthur for so willingly stepping into my place, usurping my position and my heritage, and denigrating me in the eyes of all those who once looked up to me. I shall never forget their treachery. And I vow to myself that I will never trust anyone ever again.
While Arthur becomes the acclaimed lord and king of the southern country, Merlin becomes his puppet master. The pity is that no one else can see what’s really going on. Merlin is too clever for them while I, who was once schooled by him and can see behind his tricks and spells, have been cast aside—by Merlin, by my once-beloved brother, by my mother, and also by my stupid sister. Morgause is no longer at court, having wed Lot of Lothian and gone off to the north, where she’s given birth to her first child and is expecting another. My mother has also departed; she has taken refuge with the nuns at far away Amesbury Abbey. Apparently she professes great piety although her prayers would choke in her throat if there was any justice in this world or the next.
I am left alone at court, carefully guarded and watched by Arthur and his men lest I continue my campaign to destabilize his rule. Mostly, the courtiers ignore me, being more concerned with demonstrating their loyalty to Arthur than showing friendship to me. It is a sad and lonely time, but the flame of my anger keeps me warm, and vigilant. Although I know I could become a bird and fly to freedom if I chose to do so, I am not sure where to go, for this is the only home I know and it is mine by right. Of course I could marry someone, as Arthur has pressed me to do on more than one occasion. But while marriage would give me a home, it would also signal the end of my dreams for the future. And so I conduct myself with decorum while I wait, although I sometimes fly about the castle in the guise of a swallow, to garner information and keep an eye on what is going on.
Finally, an opportunity arises for me to take action: Arthur announces the date of his coronation. “Of course you’ll come, Morgana, as will my mother and Morgause, but Merlin will attend me. You may sit to the side, with the women,” he says. The pain is so great it is as if rats gnaw at my vitals. What hurts most is the thought that the oath I swore to my father has come to naught.
I make a silent vow that I will not go to witness his triumph, this celebration that marks the loss of my kingdom. I begin to pack up my belongings while I wait for my chance to escape. I select everything with care for I will have to carry whatever I take on a journey of many miles, for I need to disappear from Arthur’s sight.
When the day that Arthur will assume my crown finally dawns, I take advantage of the flurry and bustle of preparation and unobtrusively make my way out of the castle. A shawl over my head and shoulders disguises me along with the large bag I am carrying as I hurry down to Merlin’s cave by the sea. Although he now lives in the castle, I know well that he still visits his cave; I have seen him going there while I’ve been flying about prying into everyone’s secrets. Merlin had never invited either Arthur or me to visit him there; in fact, I am sure he believes the location of his real home is a secret, for he always took care to meet us somewhere within the forest glade. But I have learned how potent knowledge can be, particularly if its source is secret or magical and I am more determined than ever to learn all that I may of our world and of the Otherworlds beyond. I know that Merlin has the tools to help me achieve my ambition, and I plan to find them.
The cave is disguised and protected by its narrow entrance, a thin crack in the rockface that is almost obscured by twining vines. Inside, the cave is large and dry, and it contains all that Merlin needs to practice his magical arts. There is a fireplace close enough to the entrance to allow smoke to escape, although no fire burns now. An iron rack is placed above it, on which stands a pot half filled with water. Merlin’s bed—rough sacking stuffed with straw—is rolled up to one side. A hand-carved table and a stool stand in the center, giving a limited view of the ocean beyond. The table is littered with scraps of parchment, a bowl of ink and a quill. I glance at what Merlin has been writing. It is some sort of journal, but I have not the time to look through the musings of that treacherous mage. I am more interested in a shelf that stands at the back of the cave where it is protected from wind and rain. It is made of sea-weathered wood and piled high with scrolls and several bound books. I recognize one of the books, and pick it up. It is so ancient it is falling apart, but it is full of the lore and wisdom of time long ago, when the way between the worlds was open, and all things were known. I’d seen Merlin use this book in the past for his spells and I know that much of what he taught me has its origins here. I place it in my bag, fair recompense for all that I have lost. I know that there is so much more to learn and I pray that I will find the answers I seek within it. My greatest ambition is to master moving forward or back in time: what revenge I shall take once I can do this!
The other writings hold little interest for me; I already know much of what they contain. I turn my attention to the oaken chest that squats below the shelf. It is locked, but I say the spell of undoing and raise its lid to survey the contents. As I’m going through Merlin’s collection of magical paraphernalia, a small chunk of rock with purple crystals at its heart catches my eye. Amethyst; the stone of healing, the stone of meditation and psychic ability. I’m not sure of its other powers, but when I pick it up I feel its warmth. Its energy thrums through my fing
ers and I know that I must have it. Doubtless I shall find a use for it in time.
The third thing I take is a pack of thin wooden tablets. They are cracked and splintered with age, the illustrations etched on them smooth and in some places almost obliterated from long use. I don’t know their purpose but I find them attractive, for each tablet bears a different design. Some are numbered but none are named so, although each tablet seems to carry a special meaning, I am unable to decipher what it might be. But I am sure that I shall find out, given time.
I wrap the objects carefully and stow them away in my bag. I need to hurry now, to put as many miles between me and my prison as possible. I hoist my bag onto my back and climb up from the cave to follow the track to the forest and the road beyond that will lead me east.
As I trudge the weary miles it occurs to me that I am now a fugitive. I have no home, and no friends who might shelter me. I have my father’s gifts in the form of jewels, plus some coins to help fund my journey, but at present I have no food, nor anything to drink—I had not thought to bring provisions. I am quite alone in the world and I have no plans for the future other than flight. I curse myself for not having the foresight to plan my escape more carefully.
As the sun slips down the sky and the day begins to darken into night, I pass a small homestead. A horse is tethered in the field, and I hide nearby. Once the moon rises and there is enough light to see what I am doing, I draw water from the well to slake my thirst, and then mount the horse and gallop away, holding tight to its mane for there is no saddle and no bridle. I leave a silver penny beside the gatepost in payment.
During my flight I ponder where to take refuge, for I need somewhere that Arthur will never find me. After discarding several options, which include going to my sister or to my mother at Amesbury Abbey, I decide that some other abbey will do very well as a hiding place, and so I turn north in the direction of Glastonbury. I have been told that a new Christian abbey has been built there, and I’m hoping that it may be as great as the abbey I visited with Merlin in that Otherworld that so closely touches our own. It was a place of great learning and I long to see it again, but first I must learn the secrets of what I have stolen from Merlin, for without him I’ve been unable to visit the Otherworlds of my choice. Once I have mastered the trick, I mean to visit that great abbey, and also the Isle of Avalon, for I am sure there is far more for me to learn than only the magical arts of an aging mage.
I spend several weary days on horseback. On several occasions I need to hide after I spy Arthur’s soldiers out looking for me. Finally, to aid my disguise, I ask a peasant woman to exchange her rough garb for mine, and leave with her my horse. It is easier to blend into the crowd after that, but still I make haste to reach the abbey, for I shall not feel comfortable until I am safely within its walls.
As I approach the Tor, I see the new abbey at its feet. I pause a moment to survey my new home and, for a few heartbeats, my courage fails me. How can I resign myself to a life locked away with a community of women, a life to be spent in prayer and contemplation?
My mind and my heart shriek out in denial. “This is only for a short time, just until the hunt dies down,” I mutter in an effort to steady myself. I become calmer as I remember that I can also disguise myself, become anything I want and so may leave the abbey at any time I wish. Nevertheless, my heart is heavy with foreboding as I approach the abbey, and the small priory that is attached to it.
Once at the gate, I ask to speak to the prioress. The young novice eyes my rough tunic, now more ragged than ever after my long and dusty journey, and is about to refuse when I hand her a coin to change her mind. She bobs her head and opens the gate, but it takes another coin before I am admitted into the presence of the prioress.
“My name is Anna. I am from a land far away, and I am in need of sanctuary,” I tell her. She surveys me thoughtfully, her gaze moving from my face to my rough peasant’s tunic and on down to my hands, which bear no marks of scarring or the calluses of hard work. I hurriedly thrust them behind my back.
“Some soldiers visited the priory two days ago. They come from the court of King Arthur, and they travel in search of his sister, the Lady Morgana. I believe the king desires her presence back at Tintagel,” she says.
I say nothing; the silence lengthens between us.
“They seem determined to find her,” the prioress adds at last.
“Pity the lady if they do, for the palace has become her prison—or so I hear.”
Another long silence ensues. Finally the prioress nods. “May I suggest, Anna, that if you do have any connection to the royal court, you keep it to yourself, both for your own safety and also because it would be best if the sisters don’t hear of it lest it turn their minds from the sacred to the secular.”
“Thank you.” Tears spring into my eyes: from gratitude; from relief. And also from this simple act of kindness that tells me I shall be safe here. I knuckle them away, but I know she has noticed. “Thank you,” I say again. I am uncertain what I should call her. Mother? Prioress? She gives me no help in the matter, but summons the almoner and instructs her to take me to the guest house.
“Yes, Prioress.” The nun bobs her head in obeisance, and my question is answered.
*
The new abbey is far smaller and less decorative than the abbey I remember visiting with Merlin in the Otherworld. But it does have an impressive library, and I feel sure there will be much I can learn here. In my first few weeks, I explore the library. I also study Merlin’s book, for I am determined to revisit the Otherworlds of my youth, and there I find some of the answers I seek. A plan begins to form in my mind, but first I need permission from the prioress.
“You wish to create a new garden of your own design? But why? There is already a herbarium attached to the priory.”
“I have some knowledge of the healing power of plants, and I also know much of their other uses,” I explain. “There is a far greater variety of plants that may be grown to provide the priory—and also the abbey—with everything we need, from medicaments to food.” I cannot tell the prioress what other purpose I have in mind for the garden. I can only hope that my argument is compelling enough. “I’m prepared to choose the plants and see to their placing myself,” I tell her. “And I’m prepared to pay workmen out of my own funds to till the soil and do any rough work that is needed.”
Perhaps the prioress senses the urgency of my need, or perhaps she is persuaded by my argument of self-sufficiency; whatever the reason, she gives me the agreement I need, with an added boon: the promise that the lay sisters and even the nuns will help me in their spare time.
Designing and constructing the garden becomes a popular pastime at the priory. I think we all welcome the chance to be outside in the open air, creating something beautiful. Working on the garden gives me some measure of peace and a sense of self-worth, while the hard physical labor that accompanies its creation means that I fall into bed each night too tired to brood or do anything other than sleep.
I am proud of my design, which is unlike any I have seen elsewhere. The garden takes the form of an enormous wheel within a square, divided into triangular segments, each housing plants for a particular purpose. Many of the herbs and flowers I plant have more than one use, so the same plants are to be found in more than one segment, all blending into a harmonious whole. In the center of the circle I devise a flowery mead, lush grass spangled with sweet violets, primroses, cornflowers, wild strawberries, poppies and other colorful wildflowers. At its heart is a fountain, its cool splashing water providing refreshment on hot, thirsty days. There are benches of turf close by, so that the sisters may rest their weary bodies and aching feet.
Having discovered how important fruit and vegetables are in the monastic diet during the time of Lent, in the largest triangle I plant an abundance of such things as leeks and a variety of coleworts, fava beans and peas of various types; root vegetables such as onions and turnips; and savory pot herbs including rosemary, thy
me and parsley.
In the physic garden segment are all the herbs I already know about, for I plan to help pay for my lodging in the priory by treating the sick and the injured with my medicaments. Time has proved that I have some talent in this, and besides, I enjoy experimenting. I know that I shall find a sense of achievement while creating my lotions and brewing my decoctions.
In another segment, I put in plants of use about the household: alecost and several other herbs for brewing and flavoring ale; dyer’s bugloss, chamomile and others for dying cloth, along with pot marigold, which is also used for coloring food; there are tansy, rosemary and other pungent strewing herbs to sweeten floor rushes and repel insects; soapwort for cleansing; flax for sewing and making cloth, plus many others besides.
In the four corners left outside the circle, and for the benefit of the nuns and the prioress, I create small spaces dedicated to the Virgin Mary, for I have discovered how very important she is in their life and worship. I seek out those bushes, like May, and the flowers that once were sacred to the old gods and have been renamed and dedicated to Christ’s mother, such as the Madonna lily; the blue “Eyes of Mary” that the common people call forget-me-nots; “Mary’s crown” or cornflowers, representing the mantle of the Virgin’s cloak; yellow mullein or “Virgin Mary’s Candle’; “Our Lady’s shoes” that are actually columbines; “Our Lady’s gloves”, or foxgloves of folklore; purple “Madonna’s herb”, and many others. Each private herber has a turf bench for solitary rest and quiet contemplation, and is cut off from the main garden by a sheltering screen of fragrant Gallica roses, a symbol of divine love that scent the air with their sweet perfume.
On three sides of the square surrounding the garden, I establish a range of fruit trees, apples, pears, plums and cherries, that will give the beauty of their blossom in spring, shade in summer, fruit in autumn and sunlight through their bare branches in winter. On the fourth side I plant a variety of prickly bramble bushes and canes that will yield fruit such as blackberries and raspberries but that will also act as a barrier against intruders—and aid me in my quest. Winding pathways link one garden bed to another, and these are framed with a sturdy lattice over which grow clinging vines of honeysuckle and roses or grapes, providing shade and a sweet and juicy treat in summer.
I, Morgana Page 5