I, Morgana

by Felicity Pulman

  To my great relief, Arthur puts his arm around me. I feel him tremble as he draws me close, and I wonder if he has ever lain with a woman. I can read in his face all his longing and desire, emotions that I hope are mirrored in my own expression. But I am distracted by the thought that I, too, am untutored in the arts of love. True, though I’ve lived as a maiden I’ve experienced desire and, safe in my virginal bed, I have experimented with ways to appease that desire. My skin tingles at the memory; my nipples harden and I feel a hot ache in my groin that, tonight, nothing but a man can assuage. I am on fire to experience sexual delight and for that, I need to become who Arthur thinks I am: an unknown young woman whose only thought is to pleasure a king. I have transformed my appearance; now I must transform my mind to become the bewitching temptress Arthur believes me to be. I cannot afford any more thoughts of our close kinship for I know my courage will fail me if I allow myself to remember Arthur as a child.

  And so I close my eyes and, just as I might will myself to become a bird or some other creature both in thought and in appearance, so I imagine myself into the mind of a young woman, moonstruck at holding such power over her liege lord yet wanting most desperately to please him. I go inside my mind, and only when I am truly ready do I allow myself to look once more at my king.

  “Tonight is just for us, my lord, to do as we wish. You have only to tell me what it is that you desire.” My voice is soft and as sweet as the music of a fairy harp.

  Arthur catches his breath. “My greatest desire is to lie with you, lady.” He blushes at the admission. “But I do not even know your name,” he adds hurriedly.

  “Tonight, of all nights, there is no need for names between us. Yet we must cast our names into the fire, for our life and fortune depend on it.” I take two small pebbles from my purse and hand one to Arthur.

  “Come, my lord. Inscribe your name on this pebble, as I have already inscribed mine. Then shall we cast our fate together—and with good fortune begin our future this night.” I touch my breasts and then slide my hand downwards so that he will understand my meaning. Even these simple gestures increase the fire that rages within me, an itch that I am desperate to assuage.

  Arthur takes the stone and, with the point of his dagger, inscribes his name upon it. He doesn’t know, as I do, that there is danger in this. While tonight we shall all feast, dance and make love to drive away the darkness, so our fate will be determined by the spirits who walk behind our backs. In the morning there’ll be an anxious sifting of the stones to find the ones inscribed with our names, for our fate is sealed if our stone has disappeared.

  Some of this I explain to Arthur. He looks frightened as I take his stone and cast it into the fire, along with the stone I have marked with my real name.

  “Come with me.” I take his hand to lead him away, far enough to afford some slight privacy but not too far, for it isn’t safe to be alone among the spirits of the dead.

  “Nay, lady. It grieves me, but I cannot lie with you.”

  I stare at him, unable to believe his words for his body tells me that he wants this union as much as I do. “But I desire you above all others. Will you not please me in this?”

  He shakes his head. “I, too, desire you above all others and would make love with you all the night long if I could do so with a clear conscience. But I realize now that I have little to offer you except myself. If I should die in the battles to come, another king will be chosen to take my place and you will be left without honor, or a husband to protect you.”

  I am impressed by Arthur’s sense of chivalry, even though I saw little of it before his coronation. But no, I cannot, must not, think of that now. Instead, I must concentrate on changing his mind, for my future depends on it.

  “Have courage,” I reassure him. “You are the dux bellorum, the leader of battles, but you must cast your net wider to find men willing to fight on your side. You will find them if you send envoys throughout Britain to speak on your behalf, trusted men who will take the time to explain your vision when they sound the call to arms. With you as their leader, our people will unite behind you and drive the invaders howling into the sea like the curs they are.” I know this to be true even though it pains me to say it. I have seen his victory in the sacred scrying pool. What I don’t know is whether Merlin has also seen this, or whether his words were merely wishful thinking, designed to reassure himself that he made the right decision when he chose Arthur over me. I know in my heart that I could do what I’m urging Arthur to do, and I could have done it sooner, because I, too, am capable of uniting our people and leading them into battle.

  “Who are you, lady, that you can make such a confident prediction?” Arthur looks wary even though I can see he’s taken some comfort from my words.

  “I am someone who has your safety and the safety of our country at heart. Trust me, my lord, the future is glorious. But tonight … ah, tonight …” I slowly lick my lips and watch Arthur’s eyes darken with desire.

  We move away into the shadows. Arthur spreads his cloak and we lie down together. At last, his lips meet mine and, in that first touching, all thoughts fly away into the darkness. Yet Arthur is clumsy. He fumbles with my clothing until, in an agony of impatience, I sweep off my gown and tug down his breeches. There in the darkness we couple like peasants, Arthur so impatient that he spills his seed before I have time to take my own pleasure. I lie beside him, fuming, as he falls into an exhausted slumber. I am on fire with wanting and, as I have so often before, I seek once more to satisfy my arousal. But being with Arthur has made me realize that there is more to loving than what I’ve previously experienced. I cannot quench the longing that torments me.

  I let Arthur sleep, and watch until dawn begins to lighten the sky with its golden glow, chasing the dead home to their unquiet graves. I’ve waited long enough.

  “My liege.” I brush his lips in a kiss while my hand creeps down to arouse him once again.

  He wakens with a start. Without giving him time to think, I cover his body with my own. His erection pierces my center and I moan in delight, hardly feeling the pain as he thrusts deeper. In a single movement he rears up and pulls me over and under him. His body pulsates against mine, bringing waves of pleasure. I am lost to everything, aware only of the sensation of skin against skin, and a hot throbbing that is gaining momentum, demanding release. “Yes,” I moan. “Yes, yes …”

  Arthur gives one last shuddering thrust and lies still. But my body cannot be governed by my mind. It demands satisfaction. I continue to move against him, yearning and desperate for relief. But his thrusting erection has deflated; it lies inert and useless inside me. For Arthur it is over and no more is necessary. He moves off me and I lie rumpled and vulnerable beside him, hating him.

  “Have I pleased you, my lady?” he asks, as he hastily dresses himself. I know he is looking for reassurance that his prowess as a man equals his prowess as a warrior and king, and I hesitate, torn between telling him the truth and fostering his self-delusion.

  “Yes,” I say at last.

  He fumbles with the laces of his breeches, then stops to stare down at me. I follow his gaze and see what has caught his attention: my thighs are stained with the blood of my maidenhead. I am conscious that its loss pains me more than the physical discomfort of our coupling. I wait for him to comment, but he turns away and continues to lace up his breeches.

  I sweep up my gown and pull it over my head, rearranging my face in the privacy afforded within its folds. “You are a potent lover, Arthur,” I lie as I pull my gown into place and smooth my hands down its fabric. I look at my brother, and catch the self-same smirk of satisfaction he wore when he found out Merlin had changed my destiny, and he would take my place and become king. I bite my lips together, needing the pain of it to hide my hatred.

  “Will you come with me to court, lady? I would see you again—if the stones have spared us.”

  “No, my liege, I regret that I cannot.” Arthur has fulfilled his purpose and I will
not lie with him ever again. Remembering his performance, I make a silent vow to myself to choose a more skillful lover next time. If there is a next time. I have been so caught up in my plan to ruin Arthur that I have ignored what else will happen here. Arthur will live; I have scried the sacred pool and seen his coming victory. But what of me? Although I have looked for signs, I have never seen any indication that I will succeed in taking back what is rightfully mine, or that I shall one day rule a kingdom. I wonder if I’ll even live long enough to raise my son to the destiny I have chosen for him: the son who will turn on his father and rule in his place.

  I rub my arms for warmth, and to hide the fact that I am trembling and fearful of what lies ahead. “Come, let us see what the stones show us of the year ahead,” I suggest.

  The Vates are already at the fire, salvaging the bones and fanning the hot coals into flames to give fire to the villagers for their hearths. As they go about their business, Myrddin sifts the stones while those present wait anxiously for their names to be called out. Each name called is punctuated by a cheer as a year’s reprieve is granted.

  “Arthur Pendragon!”

  Arthur’s taut shoulders relax. He turns to me, grinning with relief. I wait for my name to be called, for I’m hopeful that I shall be spared for a few more years at least.

  “Morgana.”

  “My sister! I didn’t know she was here!” Arthur looks around the assembled throng. I am surprised how eager he seems, how excited as he scans the crowd for a familiar face.

  For a moment I am assailed by a terrible misgiving, a premonition of disaster. I am tempted to stay still but, finally, I inhale a deep, steadying breath and begin to walk away from Arthur. As I go, I allow my deceptive guise to fade away, transforming myself once more into the sister Arthur recognizes. I hear his gasp of horror as he comes to understand what I have done. I quicken my pace and, before he has a chance to come after me, I have vanished from his sight. I don’t look back but instead weave the enchantment that will lead him back to the realm he knows.

  My fingers stroke my stomach as I anticipate the future, the child who is already beginning to form there, the son of our union.

  CHAPTER THREE

  It is a surprise to be summoned by the Prioress and told that an envoy has arrived with a message from the king demanding to see me. I know she has prevaricated on my behalf on several occasions over the intervening years, but it seems that this time is different: he has had word that I am here, and has threatened to search the priory and the abbey until he finds me. All this the prioress whispers to me, along with an apology, before she leads me to her parlor where the man is waiting.

  I have not met him before, but he bows with all the respect due to the king’s sister and hands over a parchment scroll. I am nervous, but try to hide the tremors in my hands as I unfurl it to read what is on Arthur’s mind.

  Arthur bids me wait upon him at his new court called Camelot. There is no reason given for his summons but I know that, as the king’s subject, I am forced to obey. As I think through what this means, I am struck with terror. How has Arthur found me? What has he been told? Blood pulses through my body. I feel giddy; my palms begin to sweat.

  I had thought to hate the instrument of my revenge, the child I made with Arthur, and was utterly unprepared for the rush of love I felt for the tiny babe when first I held him in my arms. Mordred. He was such a bonny baby that I lost my heart to him completely. After his birth I hung over his cradle, tickled him and made him smile. I rejoiced in his first baby words: “Mma-mma.” He said them over and over. I don’t know if he was just making random sounds but to me they sounded as if he already knew me for who I was. His mama. Later, as he learned to speak, he called me “mother.” He is the one person in all this earth whom I love unreservedly, and for whom I would give my life. And he is mine, all mine. I know Mordred loves me as I love him. So my first reaction on reading Arthur’s message is blind panic.

  Unbidden, a passage from the story of Christ comes into my mind: the story of how Herod the king ordered all boy babies killed after listening to a seer foretell that a newborn babe would one day bring about his downfall. If I know that passage, so too will Arthur, whose court continues the tradition of worshipping Christ that he learned from our mother, Igraine.

  But even if he has heard of Mordred’s birth, how can Arthur know the purpose I have in mind for our son? Fearing the worst, I question the messenger.

  “Did the king say why I am to come to court?”

  “No, my lady. He just bid me bring you this message with all speed.”

  “And what of Camelot? Is aught wrong there that the king requires my presence?”

  “No, my lady. We have all settled happily into the new court.” The messenger pauses for a moment, then ventures timidly, “Perhaps it is only that the king wishes to show his new stronghold to his sister?”

  “Perhaps.” The thought gives me some comfort. But still I ask, “Does the king wish anyone else to accompany me?” If Arthur expects me to bring Mordred, he will be disappointed. I would rather die than take my child into that nest of wasps. I offer up a brief prayer of thanks that Mordred is safe with his favorite Sister Agnes in the garden. There is nothing here in the parlor to betray his birth or his presence in my life. And I shall keep the messenger ignorant if I can.

  “He mentioned no one else, my lady. He said only that I was to find his sister, the Lady Morgana, and bid her come with me, and that we should make haste.”

  “Pray return at once to the king; offer him my compliments and good wishes and tell him that I shall make all speed to follow you to Camelot.”

  “But, my lady, the king bade me wait and escort you, so that I may show you the way.”

  “I already know the location of Camelot,” I say brusquely, and dismiss him. In fact, I have spoken the truth. On hearing tidings of the new court being built at Arthur’s behest, I transformed myself into a hawk and flew off to find it, for it is not so very far from Glastonbury. I’d seen an impressive castle set within extensive bounds. I’d hovered over it for some time, observing the comings and goings of the lords and their ladies along with the myriad servants who take care of their needs. I’d waited until I’d seen Arthur, unable to explain even to myself why that was important to me. Once I’d glimpsed him, looking hale and happy in the company of some of his men, I left. I haven’t returned since.

  But this is the first time I have heard the name of Arthur’s stronghold. A memory of my visit to that Otherworld at Glastonbury so long ago comes into my mind: the jongleur who’d spoken of a court called Camelot. A shiver of foreboding prickles my skin. Camelot is indeed real. I know I can find the court easily enough on land, for what they call the causeway of the giants is really just an ancient track that leads to the site of the abandoned fort upon which Arthur has built his new royal demesne. Perhaps I can pretend to lose my way, and not attend Arthur at all? Yet his command is clear and if I don’t obey, I know that next time he will fetch me under guard.

  Feeling deeply troubled, I hurry into the garden as soon as the messenger is safely out of sight. My heart lifts at the sight of my child, and I hold out my arms to him. His face splits into a huge smile as soon as he notices me and, breaking free from Sister Agnes, he runs into my embrace. I sweep him up and smother him with kisses, and he winds his arms around me and nuzzles into my neck.

  I look into Mordred’s shining, innocent face, and my courage fails me. I cannot set him against his father; I cannot use him as my instrument of revenge. I know that now. Although I am determined to start teaching him all I know, I make a vow to myself that he must never know the truth of his birth, nor must he sense my hatred of his father. He has his own destiny ahead of him, and I want him to be happy. In no way must I influence him to tread the bitter path that I follow. I must find some other way to punish Arthur, and Merlin too.

  These thoughts are followed immediately by others. Six years have passed since our coupling and in all the time since
I’d fled Arthur’s court, I had believed my whereabouts a secret. I heard nothing from Arthur nor did I expect word from him, for only the prioress knows—or suspects—my true identity here. In all that time I’ve been living in the priory’s guest house, first as a single woman and later with my child. The nuns, although disappointed by my lapse from grace, allowed me to stay on after Mordred’s birth and continue my studies. Even though I don’t join in their worship, I am grateful to them for giving me shelter and for not asking questions regarding Mordred’s father. But now that Arthur knows where I am, it is imperative that I take Mordred away from the priory, both for his own protection and for mine. The priory is too close to the new court to guarantee Mordred’s safety if Arthur should decide to remove him. I suspect too that the good sisters would make the most of my absence to influence an innocent boy in the ways of their Christ.

  I need to find somewhere to keep him safe, at least while he is so young and so vulnerable. I need also to find an explanation for his existence. If not Arthur, who shall I claim to be Mordred’s father? I cannot keep Mordred’s existence a secret forever. When Arthur finally hears of his birth, and perhaps even interrogates Mordred himself to allay any suspicions, he must not hear the truth.

  I dream up and discard several possibilities until I find a solution. It brings a smile to my face. I shall tell people that, in a moment of weakness, I tumbled in a field with a handsome young shepherd. Such disgraceful behavior must surely work in my favor, for why should I make up a story that can only bring me discredit? And there’ll be no reason for Arthur to fear the child of a man of such lowly birth. By promoting my so-called disgrace, I shall keep Mordred safe. I decide that I must first confess to the prioress my lapse with the shepherd. I probably should have thought of it before. The prioress will believe what I tell her, and may pass it on if questioned by Arthur. Not even Arthur would dare to doubt the word of a holy servant of God.