“Will you walk with me around the garden, my lord?” I ask. “It is so warm and sunny, it is surely too fine a day for old grievances to come between us.”
He hesitates, then falls into step beside me without removing his arm from my grasp. I take this as a most encouraging sign. For a few moments I prattle on about the flowers and herbs that add their scent to the air, admiring their beauty while also reminding him of some of their properties. Finally, when I judge his attitude has thawed somewhat, and he has relaxed in my company, I broach the subject of our son.
“You already know how bitterly I regret what happened between us that led to his birth,” I tell Arthur. “But I feel I must warn you that even as we speak he is fomenting trouble among the younger knights.” I will not mention, not yet, the reason at the heart of Mordred’s troublemaking. “He tells them you are too old now to hold the kingdom in safety. He tells them that he is your rightful heir, and that it is time for you to step aside and let him come into his own. He is trouble, Arthur—for you, and for the kingdom.” In my anxiety, I stop walking and face Arthur. “But it is not too late to act, my lord. Please, put a stop to his mischief, I beg you!”
“And how do you propose I do that, Morgana?”
By acting against him instead of dithering, as usual! The words are on the tip of my tongue, but I am finally learning to think before I speak.
“You sent Gaheris into exile for killing his mother, our sister,” I remind him. “Surely you can do the same to Mordred.”
“And have half the knights of our country follow him when I do so?” Arthur’s quiet comment confounds me. I had not thought that far ahead. I must credit Arthur for more brains and sense than I realized.
“No, Morgana.” Arthur resumes pacing. “I would rather have him here, at Camelot, where I can keep an eye on him, and his friends too. I still have knights loyal to me. They tell me what is going on.”
Except the most important thing of all. But it is difficult to broach that most sensitive of all topics. And then I have an idea. It wrenches my heart, but I hope it might suffice.
“I understand that Marie’s appearance at court has caused the queen much grief, for I know she longs for a child of her own. And perhaps her low spirits have added to the uncertainty and division within Camelot. If Sir Launcelot were to go away for a while, home to Joyous Garde, perhaps she might recover her spirits?”
“Perhaps she might recover them even sooner if I were to banish you instead.”
“Perhaps Launcelot and I should both leave your court, along with Marie,” I say quietly, determined to conceal how much his words have hurt me.
We walk in silence for a few moments while Arthur thinks about it. “That time Launcelot disappeared, you went missing also. You were with him then, at Joyous Garde?”
“Yes, Arthur. I loved him then, and he loved me.”
“But he does not love you now, for I have seen where his affection truly lies.”
This is the moment I have been waiting for.
“Then you must take action, my lord, before—” I stop talking. We both halt as Launcelot and Guenevere swing around the corner, arm in arm, their faces flushed with laughter—and something else. They see us, and stop, quickly stepping apart.
“Arthur!” Gunevere runs up to him and gives him a perfunctory kiss on the cheek. “Isn’t it the most beautiful day!” She steals a glance at her lover. There is such happiness, such serenity in her expression, that I am immediately suspicious. She links her arm through Arthur’s. Her voice chills markedly as she acknowledges my presence. “Morgana.”
I step away from Arthur, from them all, and hasten out of the garden and into the fields beyond. I need to be alone, for in those few brief moments when Launcelot and Guenevere thought themselves unobserved, I saw what I have most dreaded. Guenevere has discovered that she is with child, and has now disclosed the news to Launcelot. Their joy is a dagger through my heart. I can scarce keep my tears in check as I move swiftly toward the barns and sheds at the far side of the field. There, witnessed only by the incurious eyes of several cows, I am no longer able to support myself. I sink to the ground, and weep until I can scarcely catch my breath. I cry until my eyes are sore and raw with rubbing; I sob until I am exhausted.
Finally, worry for Marie forces me to stand and attempt to compose myself into some sort of order. I left her in the company of Guinglan, as usual, but that was hours ago. I need to find her, to reassure myself that she is safe. It is an effort to walk; my aching limbs make me conscious that I am no longer a young woman, as I look in the garden and then climb the stairs of the castle to search the rooms there. I can find no sign of either of them.
Becoming worried, I walk upstairs to my small room, hoping she may be waiting for me there. But she is not. I am about to search further when she rushes in. On seeing me, she casts herself into my arms and begins to sob bitterly.
“Marie!” Even while I tell myself that she is alive and apparently unharmed, panic seizes me by the throat. “My darling child, whatever is the matter?”
She doesn’t speak; she is so upset she is shaking. I look about for Guinglan, but there is a different young knight standing straight and stiff beside the doorway and looking as if he’d rather be a thousand miles away. They have had a lover’s tiff, I think, and she doesn’t know how to bear it.
“Have you had an argument with Guinglan?” I ask her tenderly.
She shakes her head vehemently, and draws apart from me. “No. Guinglan was called away. He wanted me to go with him to find you, but the garden was so beautiful and the day so warm and sunny, I insisted on staying out there on my own. There was no one else about; no one to cause me any trouble. But as I was leaving, a man pounced on me and tried to drag me behind a sheltering screen. He put his hand over my mouth to stop me crying out for help. He had a knife, Mamm! I was so frightened, I hardly knew what to do. In my terror I bit his hand, and then screamed as loudly as I could. A party of knights was nearby, and they shouted to let me know they were coming to my rescue. So the man let go of me and ran away.”
Shattered, I listen as Marie stammers out her story. I know well the identity of her attacker, but does she?
“Who was he?”
She shakes her head. “He wore a scarf that shrouded his head and his face. I don’t know if he was a knight or even one of the servants, for he didn’t speak to me at all. He just grabbed me, and tried to drag me away. He was going to kill me, I know it.”
My daughter begins to cry once more; I pull her into a close embrace and try to comfort her. “You’re here with me now. You’re safe.” I look at the young knight hovering in the doorway. “Did you not go in pursuit of him?” If Mordred has been captured, Arthur will have to take action against him.
“My companions did, while I stayed with your daughter, my lady. But they could find no sign of the assailant. They said it was as if he’d just vanished into the air.” The young man shakes his head. “But of course, the garden’s such a maze of little paths …” He gives me a nervous smile.
“I thank you for looking after my daughter, and bringing her safe to me,” I say. The young man bows and withdraws, leaving the two of us alone. As I continue to comfort and console Marie, my head spins with new worries.
Has Mordred acquired some magical powers of his own that he is able to disappear so completely? If so, he is far more dangerous than I suspected. I shudder as I think what might have happened to Marie if her screams had gone unheard. We shall have to leave the court now, just as soon as we can, I realize. But what can I possibly say that might persuade her to leave Guinglan and come back to the priory with me?
It’s not only the threat to Marie’s safety that troubles me. I am desperate to leave Camelot. I cannot bear to stay and witness Guenevere and Launcelot’s happiness. The child could not be Arthur’s, that much is certain—but only I have that knowledge. I could not prove otherwise if Guenevere chose to claim Arthur as the father—as indeed she must, and with La
uncelot’s consent. And would it be such a bad thing to have that child acknowledged as the legitimate heir to the throne?
In all honesty, I would have to answer no. Although based on a lie, an obvious heir, one acknowledged by Arthur, would put an end to much of the trouble within the court. It would also serve to prove Guenevere’s fidelity to Arthur, at least in the court’s eyes. More than anything, it would negate Mordred’s claim to succeed Arthur. I remember the smashed skull of the baby rabbit, and Mordred’s threats against Owain. Would Guenevere’s baby manage to survive to adulthood? It is a thought too dreadful even to contemplate.
Somehow I must find a way of warning Arthur – or Launcelot – before I leave. I don’t want to see this child. I don’t want to know anything about it. I would far rather retreat to the priory and hide there, and lead a quiet and contemplative life with my daughter. Yet I also have a duty to fulfill: to Arthur and to his people. What else can I do?
I suspect that we have missed the evening meal. A swift peek out the window confirms that the castle is already cloaked in a dark mantle. It is too late now to think of packing and leaving. A decision must wait until morning, by which time I hope that I may see the way ahead more clearly. I tell myself that I can do no more to unravel and reverse the doom I have foreseen in the tablets. All that I set in motion so long ago, when I set out to seduce Arthur, will inevitably come to pass just as I have foreseen it.
I frown as I reconsider my judgment. There was one small difference in the second reading: a child. I had taken it as a representation of Marie, but there is now Guenevere’s child to consider. What role will it have in Camelot’s future—if it survives? If I stay, can I make a difference? Or is Marie right in her belief that it is the will of God that dictates our future and that nothing we do or say can influence our destiny?
I shall follow Marie’s way, I think. I shall leave Camelot forever.
“But what of the child? Save her, Morgana! Save us!”
The voice seems to come from nowhere. I stop and look for its source, but I can see nothing and no one. It was a voice in my mind—but whose? Too high for Merlin—although I doubt he’d speak to me even if he were still alive. It sounded like the voice of a young woman—but it was not Marie’s voice, nor anyone else I know. The girl I saw when first I was able to scry the future in my secret pool? Is Morgan telling me that I must go on as I started?
I am thoughtful as I ready myself for bed and bid Marie goodnight. The questions echo in my mind, along with another. I cannot abandon Marie to the doom I have foreseen, but how can I persuade her to come to the priory with me? She will never agree to leave Guinglan, not even after what has just happened. So can I persuade them instead to marry and make their home somewhere far away from Camelot? Yes, I think. That is indeed a notion worthy of consideration.
I have not practiced my magical arts of late, dismayed by the harm I have already caused but also, I must confess, discouraged by my lack of success at the scrying pool when I most needed guidance. Perhaps I should return to the priory to retrieve my wands and the magical objects stolen from Merlin, and try once more to determine how I may influence the fate of Camelot.
I lie awake as the moon sails high across the heaven and begins to sink to the earth. I try to summon the voice of the young woman to tell me more, to show me the way, but nothing happens and nobody comes. I turn, and shift, and turn again, trying to find ease from the thoughts that torment me. And then I hear shouts, and screams, and the clash of metal striking metal, and I am instantly awake and running toward its source.
The sounds come from Guenevere’s bedchamber, and I instantly fear the worst. I push forward in order that I may see for myself whatever trouble has befallen the queen.
What I see terrifies me. Launcelot and the queen are in such undress that there can be no doubting their close and loving relationship. The thought flashes through my mind that not even Arthur can turn a blind eye now. Launcelot has caught up a sword, and is fighting for his life.
“Traitor knight!”
I recognize Mordred, in company with Agravaine and several others. And I understand now the plot they have hatched, the need for secrecy, and the need to wait until “the time is right.” No doubt, caught in the joy of Guenevere’s news, the lovers have thrown caution out of the window in order to come together to celebrate the fruit of their union.
I watch in fear and horror as Launcelot, greatly outnumbered and at a disadvantage without armor, nevertheless fights with great dexterity, felling first Agravaine and then Gareth and several others. Gawain arrives. Appalled, he takes a moment to assess the situation and then shouts at the knights to sheath their swords. They stand back and, in that instant, Launcelot snatches hold of the queen and whirls her out of the bedchamber and down the stairs. Within the blink of an eye, they have vanished, while Gawain’s strong arm prevents any of the knights from following after them.
“Enough,” he growls. “Let them go, let them flee the court, and good riddance.” And then his gaze falls on his dead brothers, and he opens his mouth in a howl of grief.
I know that the court has lost the last voice that will speak up for unity and moderation when, after he has mastered his emotion, he says, “I shall never forgive him. Never! I shall hunt him down. To my dying days I shall pursue him and wreak vengeance on him for his deeds this night.”
Arthur appears in the bedchamber, rubbing his eyes in sleepy bewilderment. Through his tears, Gawain wastes no time in telling him what has transpired; telling him also that the queen and Launcelot have fled. But still Arthur will not condemn them.
“He is the queen’s champion. Their friendship was forged right from the start when Launcelot escorted her to Camelot to be my bride. You have greatly mistaken their friendship for something else—and see what damage has been done as a result.”
He catches sight of Mordred, and beckons him forward. “Is this your doing? Did you and your fellow conspirators set a trap for the queen, hoping to find her in a compromising position with Sir Launcelot?”
“Yes, we did.” Mordred faces Arthur, calm against his father’s rage. “And we found them half naked in bed together. There can be no misunderstanding their intention.”
Arthur swipes Mordred across the face, a slap that reverberates around the room, and causes several of the knights to draw their swords in readiness. Mordred stays them with a quick movement of his hand.
“You will regret trying to chastise me in this manner, Father.”
“Your suspicions are unfounded and unworthy, for our prayers have been answered. Guenevere has told me that she is with child at last, although of course it is early days as yet.” He crosses himself quickly, perhaps as a precaution against anything going wrong then glares at Mordred. “Take your friends and leave my court. Begone! I no longer want you here, causing trouble and dissent. I care not where you go, or what you do, just get out of my sight.”
Hands on hips, he waits until Mordred and the young knights depart, carrying the slain knights between them. If Arthur is grieving over their deaths, he does not show it. He turns to Gawain.
“I want the queen and Launcelot found and brought back to court.”
“No.”
Amazed, Arthur steps back, the better to survey his old friend.
“I am afraid, my liege, that you will have to find someone else to carry out your order.” It is the first time I have ever heard Gawain refuse the king anything, but Arthur is left in no doubt as to Gawain’s resolve when he continues, “Launcelot has killed two of my brothers, and is now my sworn enemy. I will not follow after him and beg him to return.”
Arthur is silent for long moments. Then he reaches out and clasps Gawain’s arm. “I deeply regret their deaths,” he says softly. “And I understand your decision, but I beg you to reconsider. Now, more than ever, I need good knights and true at my side.”
I see the anguish on Gawain’s face, but also the determination. “My lord,” he says, “I cannot. I will not.”
There is a long silence. Arthur heaves another despairing sigh. “It is late,” he says at last. “Let me sleep on the matter. Perhaps even now the queen and Launcelot are regretting their hasty flight and are on their way home to salvage their reputation. By morning I suspect the situation will seem much clearer.”
Personally, I doubt it. If Arthur won’t acknowledge the truth now, he never will. But with Mordred banished, and the queen and Launcelot fled, perhaps the doom of Camelot will be lifted and things will come to rights after all. It is on this thought that I once more return to my room and try to sleep. Marie has not wakened, and I am glad of it. She would have understood exactly what her father and Guenevere were doing in the bed. No doubt she will hear about it soon enough, but at least she was spared the sight of their indiscretion. I suspect she will be unable to forgive Launcelot. And with Launcelot gone away with the queen, probably never to return, I feel as though I have lost part of myself. I yearn to be heart-whole once more, but I know that the emptiness caused by his departure will never be filled.
Only one small thought momentarily lifts my despair: they will make all speed to Joyous Garde. I can’t help wondering what Guenevere’s reaction will be when she enters the hall, and sees my likeness on every wall.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
In the days that follow, Arthur asks everyone at court, even me, to go after the pair and bring them back, repeating his reassurance that he understands the true nature of the scene witnessed by Mordred, Agravaine and the other knights. When Arthur talks about the “true nature” of the scene, I suspect he really does know the truth about Launcelot and Guenevere’s love for each other but is not willing to split the court further by acknowledging what has been going on. I wish he would rather win the court’s respect by denouncing the pair and banishing them from Camelot, but he continues to ask for help in seeking the errant couple.
“Why don’t you go yourself?” I ask finally, in exasperation.
“I cannot. I’ve had word that Mordred is traveling through the countryside, drawing ever-increasing numbers to him. He denounces me now, and I am waiting for an open challenge from him, for he is already promising land and wealth to all who follow him once the kingdom becomes his. I must stay and defend Camelot, Morgana. I must keep our home safe and the throne secure for Guenevere and our coming child.”
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