“The king knows that the queen is in good hands. He would not want her to tire herself unnecessarily,” he says.
I am defeated, and I know it.
Several knights have gone scavenging, and now they return with armfuls of pallets, some of which they scatter around the room, while the rest are reserved for the knights who will sleep in the room across the passage. Launcelot and Guenevere are huddled in the corner. I long to know what they are saying, for my fear increases moment by moment. But the knights gravely give the ladies good wishes for the night, and take their leave. I am relieved to see Launcelot is among them.
With as good a grace as I can muster, I prepare myself for bed, as do Guenevere’s ladies. After some thought, I position my pallet as close to the queen as I dare, perhaps with some thought of warding off danger, although I am unsure who or what I most fear.
I cannot sleep. The night is awash with moonlight and starshine. The scent of the briar roses perfumes the air. It is a night for lovers, and I ache with loneliness. I do not mean to keep vigil, but the hours pass and the darkness deepens, and still I cannot sleep. And then I become aware of small sounds outside: the rustle of leaves, a grunt, a quiet curse. A face appears at the window. Only with difficulty do I suppress a small squeak of alarm—until I recognize our night visitor. It is Launcelot.
His hands are on the bars and he heaves and strains, and I pray that he will be defeated. But he is not. One of the bars gives way, and he turns his attention to the one beside it. Once he has made enough space, he wriggles through and quietly steps down from the windowsill into the room.
I realize then that I am not the only one who has kept vigil. Guenevere props herself up on one arm, and beckons him across to her bed. I’m about to shout a warning, but realize that they would be fatally compromised in the eyes of the court if I did so. Instead, I leap up and stand in Launcelot’s path. But he sweeps me aside and disappears behind the bed hangings that Guenevere closes to screen what will happen next.
But the fabric cannot stifle the sounds they make, and even though I put my fingers in my ears, I hear every soft cry of pleasure, every sigh of delight. It is as if a thousand knives are cutting into me, so great is my pain, my grief—and my envy. I reflect that unknowingly, they have taken their revenge on me this night for all the harm I have done to them in the past. And I wish, more than anything, that I had positioned my pallet as far from the queen as was possible.
An even greater alarm presents itself for my inspection. The potion I had brewed for Guenevere ensured that she would never bear a child to Arthur. Would it also hold true for Launcelot? I close my eyes, thinking I shall surely die if a child results from their union this night.
Sighs of delight have given way to a soft murmuring, which gradually changes to muffled cries and moans as they come together once more. The thought of the pleasure they are taking with each other awakens my own desire, which nothing can assuage. I ache with wanting; I am hollow with loss. Every moment lasts an hour, and I believe that this night will never be over.
Fortunately Launcelot has the good sense to creep out of our chamber before daybreak. I watch his dark form squeeze between the bars, and hear once more the grunts and soft curses as he works his thorny way down to the ground. But his passage is clear for all to see when the ladies awake. Guenevere is still asleep, with a smile curving her lips, but it vanishes as she wakes and hears the squeaks and exclamations of alarm.
“Someone has come into our room in the night!” One of her ladies gestures toward the broken bars and the drops of bright red blood that lead a telltale trail to Guenevere’s bed. Launcelot must have injured himself in his desperation to get to the queen.
Guenevere slowly draws herself up, no doubt giving herself time to think. “It must have been one of the wounded knights,” she declares, looking around. Her gaze alights on me and on my pallet, the closest to her bed. “Morgana, have you had a visitor in the night?”
I read the appeal in her eyes, but I am too furious to respond to it. She was the one who had branded me a whore at Camelot; she will not have the chance to do so again.
“No, my lady,” I say. “I slept single all night.”
“Then who could it be?” She throws out an arm in appeal to her ladies. They exchange uneasy glances before turning to stare at me.
“No!” But my cry in my own defense stands for nothing as they recall the gossip and innuendo that has circulated around the court in the past. Their hostile faces tell me that I stand condemned, with no way of proving otherwise.
The knights knock and enter at the queen’s bidding. The ladies break into small groups; they huddle together, surveying each of the knights and with covert looks in my direction. I don’t need to hear their whispers to know what they’re saying, and my anger intensifies.
Launcelot approaches the queen. Now that the danger is past, she has a new air of serenity, the small lines of frustration are smoothed from her face. She is truly happy. Launcelot makes his obeisance and smiles at her with deep tenderness. She touches his arm; he puts his hand over hers, and quickly withdraws it. I sense how difficult their restraint must be after their night of love. They stand close together, as close as they dare. And I feel faint with jealousy, and silently curse the knowledge of magic that has brought about my doom.
The ladies do not even look their way. Nor do the knights, for by now everyone knows what has happened and is busy looking everywhere but at Launcelot for the man who has shared my bed.
I can’t stand it any longer. I leave the room.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Once out in the courtyard I pace around, breathing in great gulps of cool morning air as I try to calm down. I am seething over the fact that Launcelot and Guenevere will happily let me take the blame for their misdeeds and that my name will once more be blackened throughout the kingdom. But I am also sick with worry. It seems to me that their actions have brought the prophecy of the tablets several steps closer to fulfilment, while the prospect of Guenevere bearing a child to Launcelot fills me with absolute horror. And so I pace, and pace, and mutter to myself, but without coming to any conclusion as to a way forward that will help to turn things around, let alone clear my name.
“Would it help if I said that I found it difficult to sleep last night; that I saw Launcelot leave our room and that he was absent for quite a few hours?”
I haven’t heard Agravaine approach. Now he surveys me with bright, questioning eyes as he falls into step beside me.
“Really?”
He nods. “But you make a convenient scapegoat, of course.”
“Of course.” I cannot keep the rancor from my voice.
“The question is: was this the first time? How long has Arthur been a cuckold?”
I remember Agravaine’s disposition to spread rumors, and keep silent. The knowledge that he holds endangers us all, yet I feel comforted to think that at least someone knows the truth.
“Shall I tell the king of my observations?” Agravaine muses. “It’s about time someone did.”
“He should have come to rescue Guenevere himself.”
“What I can’t help wondering, Aunt, is how the king came to find out our whereabouts quite as soon as he did?” Agravaine tilts his head on the side, rather like a bird watching for worms.
I shrug in a non-committal fashion. I’m certainly not going to confirm what he obviously suspects.
“So where did you disappear to, Aunt, for I know you were absent when first we arrived under guard and yet you appeared quite out of the blue sky later?”
“I have been nowhere of note.” I curse his sharp eyes, and fear his busy tongue. Soon enough, Camelot will have plenty to talk about without also being awash with rumors of sorcery.
Agravaine sighs. “We all know that you were schooled in magic by Merlin, Morgana. Arthur admitted as much to the whole court during the affair of the false scabbard that implicated Accolon. Of course, the deadly cloak only reinforced everyone’s opinion of you
as a sorceress.” He smiles at me. “But have no fear; I rather admire you. In fact I wish I had some magical abilities of my own.” His tone becomes wholly serious as he continues. “If you can use your magic to put an end to this affair between Launcelot and the queen, I suggest you do so. The knights are fast losing respect for Arthur, and this will only reinforce their belief that he is no longer fit to rule.”
“Leaving the way free for Mordred.”
“Who would be a disaster.”
I shrug again. “I don’t know what to do,” I admit.
“Tell Arthur. And I’ll back you up.”
“I’ve already tried to warn him—and was given a tongue-lashing for my pains.”
Agravaine looks thoughtful. “Be of good cheer, Morgana,” he says at last. “Maybe there’s a way to make Arthur face the truth—and clear your good name at the same time.”
I press him for details, but he will say nothing further. He leaves me in the courtyard and disappears inside once more. I wonder what he has in mind, and suspect that whatever it is will count for nothing against Arthur’s refusal to believe the worst of his queen and her champion.
I have not yet broken my fast, but am too angry and too ill to eat. I am keen to be gone. I wonder if it might be possible to persuade Viviane to help me convince Arthur that Launcelot should leave the court. Would she be prepared to put aside her suspicion of me and prove a worthy ally?
My thoughts move on. If Launcelot left the court, where would he go? To Joyous Garde? I close my eyes, remembering our time there and how happy we once were. And I wonder if it might be possible to follow him there. Could we make a life together once more? True, he has much to forgive, but his character is no longer without blemish; he cannot be too proud. And he now depends on my silence.
I am still lost in thought as our party finally assembles in the courtyard, with Meliagrance in chains and under guard. Grooms are ordered to saddle our mounts, and we start the journey back to Camelot. I am conscious of the stares and sneers of the rest of the party. One of the grooms, with a sidelong peek in my direction, circles his thumb and forefinger around his nose in an unmistakably crude image of the sexual act. To chastise him would only add fuel to an already blazing fire, but for my own peace of mind I cannot stand to witness any further evidence of the court’s contempt. And so I ride to the front of the party, and thereafter keep close to Guenevere and Launcelot, hoping my presence will act as a silent reproach and a prickle to their consciences.
But the reckoning cannot be put off indefinitely. Arthur greets Guenevere with a chaste kiss on each cheek and then turns his attention to Meliagrance. He abuses the knight in front of all the court, but Meliagrance unexpectedly defends himself with an attack on Guenevere.
“You should know, noble king, that although I had intentions to bed your queen, I failed in my quest—unlike your most trusted knight and greatest friend, who went to your queen’s bed last night and had unlawful knowledge of her.”
The court falls silent, stunned by his words. I glance at Guenevere; she is deathly pale. But Launcelot stands up to Meliagrance. “You lying hound,” he shouts. “It was the Lady Morgana who entertained a man in her bed last night.”
I close my eyes, shattered to the core by Launcelot’s betrayal.
“I was kept in chains in the same room as your knights. I saw you creep out under cover of darkness, and I’ve been told you left a trail of blood from the window to the queen’s bed.” Meliagrance points at the bandage on Launcelot’s hand. “Where did you cut yourself if not when you broke through the bars to get to the queen?”
“I injured my hand during the melee against your men. It was too painful for me to sleep, and so I rose from my bed and went walking out into the forest. You must look elsewhere rather than make accusations against me.”
I’ve had enough of their lies. I will not let my name be maligned further. “Let me assure you, Arthur, neither Sir Launcelot nor anyone else came to my bed in the night.”
There is a deathly hush as everyone waits for the king to say something. But Guenevere speaks first. “And let me assure everyone here today that my honor remains intact! You must look elsewhere for an explanation of this so-called midnight intruder.”
I had thought Agravaine might speak up in support of Meliagrance’s accusation. I realize that it would be futile for him to try when Arthur places his arm around his wife and glares at Meliagrance. “You shall pay dearly for your deeds, and for maligning the queen in this manner, and before the court.” And I know that Guenevere and Launcelot have won at my expense when Launcelot challenges Meliagrance to combat, which, he says, will end only when Meliagrance is dead.
And so the time of their battle is arranged. I do not expect any good to come of it, for I know Launcelot will easily best Meliagrance, which will further endear him to the queen, and further undermine my good name. I am half expecting Arthur to banish me once more, but he does not. I wonder if, in his heart, he knows the pair are lying, but thinks to divert attention from them by keeping me the focus of the court’s malicious rumors. I debate leaving anyway, but in the end I do not and so I continue to endure the sneers and whispers until the time comes for us to assemble at the tourney field to witness the combat.
The two knights are dressed for battle. Lances at the ready, they gallop toward each other. A thunderous roar erupts from the crowd as Launcelot easily unhorses Meliagrance. He springs from the saddle, ready to meet Meliagrance with drawn sword as the knight slowly rises, takes up his sword and comes at him. They slash and clash together with a ringing of steel, with grunts and with muttered oaths, neither of them yielding until Launcelot momentarily breaks free. He raises his sword and brings it down on Meliagrance’s head, cleaving his helmet in two and giving him the death stroke.
More cheering rewards Launcelot for his victory. I watch, stony faced, as Guenevere decorously extends her hand for him to kiss, and congratulates him on his prowess. Arthur, meanwhile, seems overcome with joy, apparently taking this as proof of Meliagrance’s lies.
“We shall have a feast this night,” he declares, as the knight’s body is removed from the field, and everyone lines up behind the royal party, and the victor, to escort them off the field.
“Take heart, Morgana.” Agravaine is by my side once more. “The truth will out; my brothers and I shall see to it.”
“But how?”
Agravaine taps the side of his nose. “When the time is right.”
“For what?”
He smiles, but will say nothing further.
*
We are seated at dinner later when a messenger appears and asks for me. Puzzled, I follow him to an antechamber, and am stunned to find my daughter waiting for me.
“Marie!” Delighted as I am to see her, I am furious that she has disobeyed my order to stay at the priory. I cannot keep the displeasure from my voice. “What brings you here?”
“A thousand pardons, Mamm, for breaking my word to you, but I had to come. I need to ask for your blessing.” She raises her face to mine, and I see how pale and strained she looks. I am so moved I cannot help but put my arms around her in a close embrace.
“Why do you seek my blessing?”
“I have decided to take my vows and give my life to Christ.” Her voice quavers slightly. I marvel at her courage; she knows well how I must feel, hearing her request. Indeed, shock and rage chase through my mind, but in the end I decide it best not to reject her outright.
“What has led you to this decision?”
“It is the only life I know. And I am comfortable at the priory.”
I snort with laughter, I cannot help myself. “We should ask more of our lives than comfort and safety, Marie!”
“But it is the life you have made for me,” she says, with a mischievous glance in my direction.
She is sharp, my daughter! I try another tack. “And is it really your desire to give your life to Christ, without knowing anything of the world beyond the priory?”
She has outwitted me, the little fox! Whether her desire to become a nun is true or not, I suspect that her real intention in coming here is to find her father and at the same time experience what life is like at court.
“Very well. You are here now, and so we must make the best of it.” My mind spins as I question how I should introduce Marie to my brother and Guenevere. In the present circumstances, Marie’s presence can only reinforce their opinion of me as the court’s whore if I call Launcelot as her father. And if I speak of Urien instead, Marie will contradict me, for she knows the truth and will let no one say different. A shudder of foreboding runs through me as I consider how Launcelot—and also Mordred—will react.
She looks around, her eyes widening as she notices the hall beyond the antechamber, with its round table arrayed with multiple dishes of food, and the diners seated around it in their costly attire. I can well imagine her awe after knowing only the confines of the priory.
“We are feasting tonight. You must join us.” In my distraction, I hardly know what I’m saying.
“A feast!” She claps her hands together. “What are you celebrating?”
“Sir Launcelot fought a duel against another knight today, and killed him.” If I’d thought the news would upset my pious daughter, I was wrong. Her face glows with pride.
I take her hand and lead her into the hall, though I dread to think the stories she will be told about me. All fall silent as they watch me approach Arthur and Guenevere with my daughter in tow.
“My liege and my queen, may I present to you my daughter, Marie.”
Marie makes her obeisance, while I wait for Arthur’s inevitable question.
To my relief, he says instead, “You are most welcome to Camelot, Marie.”
“No wonder you kept her birth a secret, for she doesn’t look anything like Urien,” Guenevere observes, with some glee. I wonder if she has the wit to tell who Marie does resemble. “Perhaps it is time we arranged a new husband for you, Morgana,” the queen continues.
I, Morgana Page 28