I walked in to the room with her, and Morgawse came behind us, her face impassive and set. I saw Arthur try to catch her eye as we came in. Behind him, Kay leaned against the wall of Arthur’s audience chamber casually. When I caught his eye he gave a slight smile, playful, but when he saw my look it fell away, and he looked confused. I noticed that Lancelot was right beside him, and when he saw our look he leaned over to whisper something in Kay’s ear. I thought that was more for me than for Kay. Lancelot was marking territory. Beside Arthur sat Merlin, newly returned from whatever dark, unpleasant journey he had last been on, whatever rape and deception he had of late been practising. When I felt his eyes on me, my skin crawled. He had done this, not just to my mother, but to Arthur and Morgawse and the child as well. He had known all along. Some awful fate awaited that child, I was sure. It was not good, the life of a bastard, and it would be worse still for a bastard born of incest. Merlin, bald-headed and in the shape I was sure was his real one, grinned at me. I looked away. On Arthur’s other side sat Ector, who also did not know. It was Merlin who had brought him the child, after all, and Ector had only known that he was Uther’s son. Behind them, along with Kay and Lancelot who were both lightly armed, stood a few more knights, among them one of Ector’s brothers, Bors, and a serious-faced young man whose name I knew was Percival. Every day I saw him enter and leave the chapel several times. By all accounts a deeply pious man. I wondered what he made of his King’s dalliance with another man’s wife, and what he would make of it when he found out that that woman was his King’s own sister.
Once the bows had been performed, and the greetings given, my mother stood up to give her announcement.
I watched Arthur’s face fall, his skin go white. I saw his hand go to the hilt of his sword – my sword – for all the good it would do him. No, the black magic that threatened him had been performed long, long ago. Kay stood behind, his hand over his mouth, his eyes wide. I remembered, too, the night we could have stopped them. But I had been bleeding away a child, and Kay had been holding me in his arms. It was not up to us to think always of other people’s duty. Not when we were suffering for our own.
Bors, not quite piecing together what this meant on a personal level, his mind full of politics and honour, stamped forward.
“You were dishonourable to keep this a secret! The suffering and peril this has caused my Lord King Arthur as he fought to establish his kingdom. It is treason! Besides, how do we even know it is true.”
“I,” Merlin stood up, his voice rasping and slimy, and I hated him more then than I had ever done before, “can vouch for the truth of this. It is I who brought the infant Arthur to Ector and his lady wife, and I who instructed Queen Igraine to keep her silence.”
Bors, unwillingly, accepted this and stepped back. No man dared argue with Merlin.
When we filed out, all quiet, unsettled, slowly trying to take it in, I noticed Morgawse hang back with Arthur, and I lingered outside the door, wanting to know what he would say. I felt, too, a protective impulse towards my sister. After all, my mother had shown her no kindness in it, and someone had to. If it would not be Arthur, then it would have to fall to me.
“Arthur…” she began gently.
“No, don’t touch me. I think you should go, Morgawse. Go.” His voice was quivering with anger, or distress. I could not tell.
“Arthur, I can’t go. You’ve made sure of that.”
“I don’t want you here. I don’t want to look at you. You’ll have to go.” I could hear how tense he was, how upset. He had been foolish, of course. But he was young. He was fifteen years old and suddenly King. This was the boy that only a few short years before I had seen chasing rabbits around Ector’s field with a toy sword, or climbing up Kay’s back to get the blackberries from the top of the brambles, or standing with his arms crossed in his nightshirt, upset that Lancelot was in Kay’s bedroom again, sulking like a child. This would age him fast. He would know, then, that all his actions had deep and awful consequences now he was King, and now he had put his trust in Merlin.
“Arthur, it’s the middle of winter. I can’t. Look, it was a mistake. We didn’t know. It seems awful now, but –”
“Leave. Get out.” I would have heard his shout if I had been standing at the bottom of the stairs. As it was, it rang in my ears, and through me. He might have shown her some kindness. She had known no better than he.
That night, I lay in bed beside Morgawse and let her rest her head on my shoulder and cry silently into my nightgown. I thought, I have seen this in my dreams. Yet it had still caught me by surprise. What good was all the magic of Avalon if I could not understand it? If I could not stop things like this? What good was all my wisdom and my knowledge and my power if I could do nothing?
After a while, the still, silent tears stopped. In the darkness, she whispered,
“Come back with me to Lothian?”
What choice did I have? Lot would try to kill her when he saw, or at least to kill the child, and Morgawse had against all reason developed even more of a desperate need to have it now that others wanted to take it from her. If I were her, I would have wanted to be rid of it. The only thing that would keep her safe from Lot was me. He would not fear another man’s sword, no. But he was the kind of man who would be deeply afraid of a witch. It didn’t matter that my powers were as yet small and slight and benign. Lot would take one look at my woaded face and leave my sister be. At least, that was what I hoped.
“Of course,” I whispered back in the dark.
Chapter Fourteen
I did not have time to say goodbye to Kay alone before we left for Lothian. Arthur was raging and upset, still, and did not come down from his rooms. My mother and Merlin were with him, I heard. My mother did not come down to say goodbye to me, or Morgawse. I packed up my things in the morning, tucking the book of potions and the book of Macrobius and the precious letter from Kay into the bottom of my bag, and dressing in the warmest clothes I had. It would only get colder as we rode up further and further north to Lothian.
Kay came out into the courtyard as I was saddling my horse. There were a few people around; Bors and another knight sharpening their swords in the corner, serving women carrying water and milk. He came and took the bridle of the horse, and stroked its nose. It whinnied in appreciation. All the horses liked Kay. Sadly, without looking up, he said, “You’re going to Lothian.”
I nodded. He was quiet, and I did not think that he had seen. I was about to speak, when he spoke again.
“I suppose there’s no other way.” He looked up at me then, and gave a slight, resigned smile. I felt the deep rush of love for him then. “I’ll write,” he added.
“I won’t be long,” I assured him, though I was not sure that I believed my own words.
“Come back before the war begins,” Kay said grimly. “We should not be on different sides.”
I nodded. Perhaps it was not safe for me to go up there with Morgawse. What if Lot realised that, as Arthur’s sister, I would make a good hostage in the war? Though Lot did not yet know that Arthur was Morgawse’s and my brother, and I doubted that Morgawse planned to tell him. That would, at least, give me a little bit of safety. I had to go.
Kay glanced around quickly, and when he saw that no one was looking, darted forward to kiss me, quick and light. I felt his lips on mine after they had moved away, and smiled, despite everything. But it wasn’t enough; what I had with Kay belonged to an earlier time that was evaporating around me. I was afraid that I couldn’t hold on to it forever.
“I’ll wait for you. I’m very patient.” Kay grinned as he offered me a hand to help me in to my saddle.
“You’re not,” I told him, smiling back.
“I am when it matters,” Kay said, suddenly serious, and our eyes met. I felt the little jump of joy to have his love within me, and I knew I would return as soon as I could. I realised that I had not told Kay that I loved him, but now did not seem like the time. It would just have sounded like goo
dbye.
I did not look back as I rode away beside Morgawse at the head of her large retinue of knights and ladies. I didn’t think she would notice, but I didn’t want to give myself away nonetheless.
The journey was long and dull. Several days of travelling through hard, winter weather. The ground was frozen solid, and when the rain fell it was stingingly cold, and sharp with sleet. Morgawse gave me one of her fur cloaks, which I was grateful for, and I wore it over my own old woollen one. The landscape seemed bleaker and bleaker, more grey and stony, as we got closer and closer to Lothian.
We arrived at Lot’s great castle as dusk was falling. It stood tall and thin and black-grey against the fading light, densely packed with tall, sharp-looking towers. It nestled in the rocky side of a mountain that rose high and close around it, and it appeared to be made of the same rock. It was beautiful, but harsh and forbidding, like the rocky landscape all around it.
The gates opened to reveal a small courtyard paved in stone, and waiting in it, King Lot himself, surrounded by his four young sons.
Gawain and Aggravain, the twins, flanked their father, already half a head taller than him and looking like warriors already, though they could have been no more than sixteen years old. Both stood fully armed, though their father between them was dressed in his shirt and breeches, a thick white fur cloak around his shoulders, clasped in gold, and the crown of Lothian, made in dark gold and spiked like the turrets of his castle, on his head. Beside them, a few years younger, the third son Gaheris, who was the picture of his father, but with his mother’s ready smile and bright blue eyes, loitered, and standing right before Lot, with a bright plume of orange-red hair, a young boy stood, still a child, of seven or eight. The youngest, the one I had not known of. I did not know his name. He cried out when he saw his mother, and ran forward. She slipped from her horse to gather him up in her arms and spin him around, laughing. Lot watched, impassive. There were women who would have thought him handsome, and been pleased to have him as a husband. He had a black beard, flecked heavily with grey now, cropped close to his face, and short dark hair striped with grey like a badger. His face was sly and shrewd, wolfish, and his pale blue eyes had a mean look about them. I think if I had been sent here at eleven years old to be his wife, I would have been unwilling, too.
Morgawse stepped forward to her husband and sons as I slipped from my horse, standing warily close behind. Morgawse went forward with her youngest son before her, and as she held him by the shoulders there he obscured the pregnant swell of her stomach. She could not, however, hide it forever.
Lot took her hand and kissed it, and she gave him a tense, unwilling smile.
“My Lady,” Lot said with a little bow. “What kept you in Camelot so long, and what brings you back so suddenly now? You did not send word until you were on the road.”
I edged closer, so that the woad of my face would be visible in the light of the torches held by the men around us. Gaheris, seeing the blue of the woad, shrank back. Good. Superstitious men were easy to frighten, and I would need to frighten these men to protect Morgawse. Merlin’s voice echoed in my head, it is as well to frighten people as to seduce them to get what you want. I resented it, and I pushed it away.
“Oh, my business there was done, my Lord,” she told him. Even now, when perhaps she should have come to him as a supplicant, she was defiant.
Lot’s eyes fell on me, then, and I saw the flicker of casual lust there, and was disgusted. So now I was old enough for him to notice me, I was old enough to notice that he was one of those kind of men, to whom every woman is a possession waiting to be owned. I would have to make a special effort to frighten him.
“Ah, and this is your sister, the Princess Morgan.” He stepped forward to take my hand, and press it with a kiss. Were all kings philanderers? He gave me his wolfish smile. I could see, now, why Morgawse had thought little of betraying him. He was doing this right in front of her. “One of the holy virgins of Avalon now, I see. I have heard much of you, from your sister.”
He did not remember me, then, from the few times as a child I had come with my mother to visit Morgawse.
“We are not holy virgins, my Lord. We are witches.”
I thought this would put him off, but he simply raised an eyebrow and smiled more deeply. Suddenly the thought came upon me that once he discovered Morgawse was pregnant by another man it would not be safe for me to write to Kay. He would consider me a spy for Camelot, and he would destroy my letters. I felt very isolated there, all of a sudden. Unsure whether I had put myself in a greater danger than I could have imagined by coming. It would have been immeasurably worse, though, to be alone. No wonder Morgawse had wanted me with her.
“Shall we go inside?” Morgawse suggested, with an attempt at breeziness. The little boy in front of her ran forward in excitement, but turned when his father stepped forward to grab Morgawse by the wrist, twisting her arm up and away and wrenching off the cloak of white fur to stare in horror at her shape beneath. The cloak of white fell into the dirt at her feet. Morgawse turned her face up to her husband, proud and defiant.
“Morgawse,” he hissed, low and threatening. “What is this?”
Morgawse did not flinch; not a look stirred across her face. Mother was right. She was brave.
“A child,” she answered.
“I know it is a child, Morgawse, but where did it come from?” he roared.
“Where all children come from.” She was baiting him; it seemed that she could not resist.
He turned to his sons. “Go!” he bellowed. They scattered, Gawain scooping up the little boy in to his arms, scurrying off for the towers. So, his sons were afraid of him, too. He dragged Morgawse by the arm through the courtyard up to the central tower, and I followed close behind. If Merlin had not taken my sword I would have been far surer that I would not have let him hurt her. Merlin, Merlin, Merlin; this was all the fault of Merlin.
Lot dragged her up the stairs, and threw her into what looked like a small council room. It was dark and bare with the stone of the castle, and a dark wooden table surrounded by a few chairs stood in the centre. A torch burned low in a bracket on the wall, but the place had obviously not been prepared for use and there was only one that had not burned out, and this gave the room an ominous, glowering aspect. I rushed in before Lot could close the door on me.
Morgawse gathered herself back into a corner, the table between her and her husband, her arms wrapped around her belly, glaring at Lot from across the room. Of all the women in the land, my bold, irreverent sister had probably been the worst match possible for him.
Lot reached out a hand and beckoned Morgawse over to him, slow and threatening.
“Come here,” he ordered, his voice low. Morgawse did not move. Lot was in his fifties, but he had aged strong and wiry. He was still a fearsome warrior, though he had lost the powerful shape of his youth. If I were Morgawse, I, too, would not have moved.
“Come here,” he shouted. She crossed her arms over her chest and shook her head.
“What, so you can beat the child out of me? How do you know it isn’t yours, Lot? Are you going to beat me to death in front of my sister? In front of your sons? What are you going to do?”
“Mine?” Lot laughed, and it was a harsh, scoffing laugh of disbelief. “Now Morgawse, I grow old but I do not yet forget how to count out my months. I sent you to Camelot while I was north in Orkney checking my borders. I had been there a month or more. I sent you to Camelot, where you stayed – what? Four more months? Five? No, Morgawse I’m no old fool.”
Morgawse shrugged with dangerous nonchalance.
“It could be. It could be a small child, for once. Or little twins again. Are you going to risk killing your own child? Are you that sure?” I remembered the letter that she had sent me when Gawain and Aggravain had been born. Little twins, almost two months before their time. What giants those boys were now, and strong. Everyone had expected them to die. There had been more twins after that, two lit
tle girls, and they had died.
Her eyes were narrow on him, daring.
“You are lying to me, Morgawse.” He took a step towards the table, the threat in his voice deepening. “So, the child may be mine, but do you think no rumours ever reach as far as Lothian? There is a man in my dungeons who tells me that you have had the boy-king in your bed.”
Morgawse shrugged again.
“I would ask him to produce his proof.”
“You may yet produce the proof in time, Morgawse,” he said, wryly. And then his eyes fell on me and I felt a quickening of fear. I took a small step back towards the door. He glanced back to her. “I suppose family honour means nothing to you, does it, Morgawse? Otherwise you would have thought twice of shaming me like this. We shall see how you like the honour of your own family.”
Morgawse said nothing, her eyes still narrow on him, hanging back. I sensed the danger shift to me, but I did not sense it soon enough. Lot seized hold of me as I leapt back away from him towards the door, and dragged me over to the table. I shouted and struggled, but he was far too strong for me to wriggle free of him. He forced me down face-first, pinning my arms behind my back. I could hear Morgawse screaming at him, “Lot, stop.” I felt the wood of the table cool and rough at my cheek, felt the edge of the table dig uncomfortably in to my stomach. Through the almost dark, I could see at my eye level the gold thread glinting in Morgawse’s dress over her swollen stomach as she rushed towards us, but already I felt Lot throw up the skirt of my dress at the back. He was shouting, too, shouting at her about honour. He was pushing hard against my arms where he had pinned them and it squashed the breath out of me. I heard the metallic click of Lot opening the buckle of his belt and the panic shot through me and I screamed for him to stop.
“Don’t you dare touch her, Lot,” Morgawse shouted.
“I will do just as I please,” he bellowed back. I had no weapon, and I had been denied any Black Arts, any real ability to protect myself.
THE WITCHES OF AVALON: a thrilling Arthurian fantasy (THE MORGAN TRILOGY Book 1) Page 12