THE WITCHES OF AVALON: a thrilling Arthurian fantasy (THE MORGAN TRILOGY Book 1)

by Lavinia Collins

  Late in spring, though I did not feel it up in the northern cold of Lothian, Morgawse’s time grew near, and the strain began to show between the brothers. I sat with Morgawse in the public room below her bedroom, reading to her from my book of potions, one on the easing of pain in childbirth, while she told me what she thought they did and did not have in the stores, when Gawain burst in to the room. I could see that he was angry; his face was flushed and his lip trembled slightly. He was a huge man already, and had to duck his head a little to fit under the doorway. Since it had become clear that the child in his mother’s belly was not his father’s, I had seen Gawain sink into resentment slowly, and I had feared this confrontation would come. The talk had intensified around the castle over the last few months, and I could see that the whisperings about his mother had hit Gawain harder than the other brothers. He had inherited his father’s fanaticism for family honour.

  Morgawse stood to greet him, a motherly smile on her face, but she had not seen what I had seen and I moved close behind her, wary. Gawain towered over his mother, his hand raised as though he was going to strike her. She stood her ground firmly, but I could see in her eyes she was afraid.

  “You whore,” he spat. She crossed her arms over her chest and jutted out her chin defiantly. Under her crossed arms her pregnant belly swelled, huge. “You have shamed my father. I do not know how you dared to come back here like this.”

  Morgawse shrugged, as though the huge man leaning over her was nothing more than the little boy she raised having a tantrum. So she had been prepared for this.

  “Your father shamed us all by being a snivelling coward. I have had two kings in my bed. There is twice the honour in that, and no shame. Your father, afraid of open war, sent me to spy on Arthur.” She gave a cruel laugh. “That’s a coward’s work to be sure. The King of Logrys is brave and strong, and your father is pathetic and weak.”

  Gawain’s open palm smacked hard into his mother’s face. She stumbled but she did not cry out, simply lifted one hand to the patch already reddening on her face. Gawain’s chest rose and fell hard in his anger, but it did not seem to have touched Morgawse. She was bearing it well, the talk around her. I supposed she was glad that talk had not yet reached Lothian that Arthur was her brother, and gossip calling her a whore seemed nothing in comparison to that awful revelation.

  “Gawain, you should not strike your mother,” I scolded, quietly from the corner.

  “Come forward, witch, and say that,” Gawain shouted at me, but suddenly I saw why Morgawse was not afraid. This was the anger of a boy. I could see tears in his eyes. He was upset that his mother had betrayed his father. The anger was a mask. “I have a hand for you, as well.”

  “Gawain, you will not speak to your aunt that way,” Morgawse reprimanded him, stern again, drawn up to her full height, both her hands on her huge belly. Gawain opened his mouth to speak, but then flushed red and rushed from the room. Morgawse did not see it, but I was sure he had run away to cry.

  Morgawse shook her head. “It’s his father. He didn’t mind so much before, but Lot whispers in his ear telling him that I have shamed him. That all women are whores. It’s ridiculous.”

  Morgawse, more and more resigned, more and more hardened to the anger against her, shrugged it off lightly.

  One evening, when Morgawse was huge and her time must have been dangerously near, Lot summoned us to a feast in the great hall. I was wary, but Morgawse was eager to go.

  “I’m not going to show that disgusting old coward any fear,” she told me, her eyes set and determined.

  Morgawse sat at her husband’s side, and I beside her. Opposite us on the high table, her sons sat. Gawain and Aggravain at the centre of the table, and the younger brothers either side of them. Aggravain, of all the brothers, seemed the least concerned. Gareth was worried and confused, Gaheris embarrassed and Gawain upset, but Aggravain took it all in, his gaze impassive. When the meat was brought and the breads and vegetables, Lot cleared his throat to speak. I felt the pang of hate go through me. Lot, too, was someone I would like to punish.

  “Now, I called you here today because we must discuss what is to be done with this bastard child when it is born.” Lot announced, not looking up from the piece of meat he was hacking at.

  “Lot, you have no say about this child,” Morgawse said. Lot ignored her, but I saw Gawain redden with anger.

  Lot laughed cruelly. “You misunderstand me, Morgawse. I care nothing about the whelp. I mean, what are we to do, to redress this? Well…” He cast his wolfish eyes over us then, grinning with the savour of what he planned to do. “I will march on Camelot to punish this boy-king for shaming us. I have the knights of Lothian, and the armies of Orkney. Four other kings have pledged their forces to the battle, and besides them the armies of Carhais are coming from Brittany, with its queen. We will wipe out this King Arthur, who calls himself King of Britain. The message must be clear; Lothian will not be shamed. You may keep the child as it pleases you, Morgawse, but it shall not have honour or acknowledgement from me. It can be a servant in the castle, or if it is a fair girl child, I think it is only right that I should have her for myself. That seems an adequate reparation for the shame you have done me.”

  Morgawse wrapped her arms around her huge belly, and glowered at him, but said nothing. Lot stood, though the feast had only just begun, and dabbed the meat grease from his lips.

  “I am an honourable man, so I have sent word to this King Arthur to tell him to prepare for war. We will march when I hear word that the knights of Carhais have landed at Dover. Between us, he will be easy to crush.”

  Lot, with a nod to his sons, left. I had not heard anything from Kay. I was afraid, now, that my letter had been lost. I hoped it had not and that they had had time, there, to gather some power for themselves.

  “We must ride to war,” Gawain cried, banging his fist on the table. Beside him, his twin brother Aggravain shook his head, laying a hand gently on his brother’s arm.

  “No, Gawain. Consider; father is strong, his armies do not need us. What honour would there be in riding out to war and leaving no one to defend Lothian castle? Some of Lot’s sons must stay here to defend our home, and you and I are the only two who are of age. Besides, someone must guard our lady mother. Now, I am sure that our lord father will be victorious, but of course,” here Aggravain paused, to cast his eyes over all his brothers – we are all either wise or brave, I thought – “if he were not, it is that child in our lady mother’s womb that will be our only protection against King Arthur’s anger if he is defeated. If his own child is our brother, we are his kin, and we shall be spared. No war is certain, and no man’s life is safe. We must be prudent, Gawain.”

  I wondered how two brothers born from one womb at one time, who looked so similar, could be so different. Gawain was fierce and hot-tempered like his mother, Aggravain cold and sly like the father. Gaheris, beside Aggravain, murmured in agreement with him. Gareth, beside Gawain, looked as though he was about to cry.

  “No,” Gawain shouted, jumping to his feet. “I will ride to war.”

  Aggravain shrugged. “Well, I shall stay here and guard Lothian while you and Father are gone.”

  Aggravain’s eyes fell on his mother, narrow and calculating, though devoid of the open anger she faced from Gawain. He looked as though he was about to say something, but he did not.

  The child came a few days after that, on Mayday. It was bright full sun by the time he came, Morgawse half-swooned on her back from the drink I had given her to ease the pain, me up to my elbows in blood pulling out the child. It was a little boy, golden haired and unmistakably Arthur’s child. Morgawse cried out in joy to see him, as though she did not remember at all the trouble that his making had caused throughout the land. I wrapped him in a clean cloth of linen and handed him to her. Exhausted, half-drugged, her hair plastered to her face with sweat she smiled in the utmost joy down at the little boy she cradled in her arms as he screamed with new life. She looked
on him with such deep love, such peace and contentment. I supposed her children must have been the only reason that she had survived in Lothian with her cruel husband. I felt as though I should not be there, so great was the rawness of love I saw on my sister’s face.

  The little boy opened his eyes slowly, and I felt a stab of fear as I looked in to them. They were so dark that they appeared black. I was not sure if they would lighten to grey like my own, or if he were just a strange-looking baby, but something deep in me feared that it was the work of my black-magic potion, and that there might be some of that darkness born into this child. His mother, in her rapture, did not notice.

  I sent another letter to Kay. It just read,

  K – item has been retrieved. Cannot stay here longer, please send escort back to south. M

  I hoped that it would reach him, and someone would come.

  When she had rested a little, and she was holding the baby at her breast, I asked my sister what she would call her baby son.

  “Mordred,” she told me.

  I felt uneasy at the sound of it.

  “That’s an ill luck name, Morgawse.”

  Without looking up from her baby, she shrugged.

  “He is a child of ill luck,” she said.

  Chapter Seventeen

  A knight came for me just a week after that, but it was not what I had expected. I had dared to hope that Kay might come himself, though I knew as Seneschal he ought not to leave Camelot, but I had not expected this. It was Lancelot, come alone. I supposed that a large band of knights would be too warlike, but still I both did not feel entirely safe nor entirely comfortable returning to Camelot with only Lancelot to escort me.

  I was reluctant to leave, too, before I was sure that Morgawse was safe, though Aggravain came to me and assured me in private that he would make sure no harm came to his mother. He was not quite like his father, either, I supposed. More politic. He did not have a strong sense of family honour, only a strong sense of survival. I wondered if, in that, he was like the father I had not known. No, he could not have been, for that father had been killed by Uther, fighting, now I realised at last, to protect my mother. No, Aggravain’s pragmatism must have been born from necessity rather than being in his blood. He knew that if the war was lost, the survival of his mother and half brother would keep them safe.

  Morgawse, I was surprised to find, seemed untroubled by my departure. She was utterly absorbed in her new child, and seemed suddenly to fear no death or danger to herself. Perhaps Aggravain had assured her, too, that she would be safe. Nonetheless, I left her with some potions I had made up that I hoped she could use to defend herself. They were little things. Against lost blood, or ones that would put Lot to sleep, but I hoped they would give her a little help. Lot, already, seemed too engrossed with his approaching war to bother with his anger for her anymore. I hoped that it would be enough, and that my sister would be safe. If I was honest with myself I was glad of the chance to go back to Camelot. I would miss my sister, but I had developed no affection for Lothian castle, and I was eager to return to the south.

  I packed my few belongings into my bag, and kissed my sister on the cheek, and walked down into the courtyard. Lancelot was standing, holding his horse, dressed only in light armour and a thick wool cloak. He had his sword, but I was not sure we would be safe riding across the country together in a land where war was coming. Lancelot bore his father’s rather than Arthur’s colour on his horse, but it was well known that all the sons of King Ban had pledged with Arthur, not Lot. I thought it would be better to either go heavily armed or like peasants through Lothian, but Lancelot seemed to have struck entirely the wrong balance, somewhere in-between.

  He nodded slightly as I came towards him.

  “Morgan, I am glad to see you well.”

  So formal. As though we had not splashed around naked together in Avalon’s lake, or sat side-by-side watching Kay and Arthur chase each other with pretend swords made of sticks when we were children. I nodded at him, saying nothing. He took my bag and tied it to the back of the saddle. After he had gone around to get on his horse, I gave it a little tug to test it. I was sure he thought it was just clothes, but after all I had given for it I was not going to lose my book of Macrobius.

  I looked around the courtyard. Of course, Lot had not provided a horse for me. Aggravain, alone, lounged in the corner of the courtyard, leaning against the wall, watching. He grinned at me and gave me a wave, which I returned. Lot was not the kind of man to spare a horse for courtesy’s sake when war was coming, so I supposed I was not going to be offered one, though I had come with one. That meant the journey was going to be slower and more uncomfortable than the journey up here.

  I jumped up behind Lancelot and wrapped my arms around his chest as he kicked his heels into the horse and it sprang into motion. We had never been this close, and it felt suddenly intimate. I felt the muscles of his chest move under my hands as we rode. I tried not to think about it, but I could not entirely block it out. He smelled like pine, like the depths of the forest, and leather. I wished that we had not be forced into such sudden closeness by the need to have me fast back to Camelot from Lothian.

  We rode in silence until the light began to fade. I was not sure if it was because Lancelot was watching carefully, or if he did not know what to say to me. I was glad to be left alone with my thoughts. I was not sure how angry with him I still was.

  We stopped at an inn just outside Lothian’s borders, and Lancelot handed me my bag and put the horse to the stables. It was only when we were sitting in the corner of the smoky room, lit only with the low light of the fire that Lancelot spoke at last, over his bowl of steaming stew. He did not seem to notice his food, but I was starving hungry.

  “I am sorry, Morgan, about your sister,” he said, quietly. “I hope that she is well.”

  “She is. She had the baby,” I told him, between spooning the stew into my mouth. I was so hungry that I did not care it was too hot and burning the roof of my mouth. Lancelot thoughtfully picked up a piece of bread and dipped it in his.

  “I suppose we had better tell Arthur that, though I do not think he will be pleased to hear it.”

  I nodded. I didn’t want to talk about Arthur. I was still angry with Arthur. He seemed to blame Morgawse entirely, though it was just as much his doing and neither of them had known. I had thought it was more his doing than hers, anyway.

  “It is a boy child,” I said, hopefully, though I knew this would not really make any difference to Arthur. The child probably would have been safer if it were a girl. The thought suddenly hit me that Arthur might see his little son as a threat.

  Lancelot didn’t say anything for a while after that. It wasn’t until we had finished eating that he spoke again, rubbing his face in his hands.

  “None of us have ever gone to war before, not really. Only Ector, and that was a long time ago. We are strong, all of us, and good fighters, but I fear that will not be enough. God, I fear, is not on Arthur’s side in this.”

  God is not on Arthur’s side. I had no idea that Lancelot was so pious. I had never heard Kay or Arthur speak of God in that special tone used only by those who truly, fervently believed, and they had spent half their childhoods together, and Lancelot the other half of his in Avalon, where no one mentioned God. God had been in Amesbury, in every waking moment of my life, but it had not stuck with me, the innocent fervour of the nuns, and it was strange to hear a knight speak of it.

  “You truly think so?” I asked him.

  Lancelot sighed, and shrugged.

  “No – I don’t know,” was all he said.

  He stood up then, and I followed as he led us up to two rooms side by side. He lingered a moment at the door of his, and alone in the almost darkness I felt a strange pull towards him, one I did not want to feel, but I did. I did not know what he was thinking or feeling; he was silent, his look distant. I felt myself lean towards him.

  “If you fear any danger,” he whispered, the forma
lity of his voice pushing me gently back, “wake me.”

  I nodded, and stepped into my room, shutting the door tight behind. It smelled stale, but the bed was clean enough. I lay down in my clothes, unwilling to undress in an unfamiliar place, and sank into a fitful sleep.

  The next day, I woke sore, and tired still. Clammy from sleeping in my clothes in the room that had grown a little chilly overnight. When I had checked I still had all my things, I went down to look for Lancelot and found that he was waiting outside with the horse already saddled and prepared. He was talking to one of the stableboys whom I could hear, in his broad northern accent, warning him that war was brewing around the land. The boy did not seem to fully understand the reason why, for he told Lancelot that it was because Lot did not want to pay Arthur the due tribute. I was glad that was what people thought. That seemed a well enough reason in politics for people to go to war. And it meant word had not spread that Arthur was Morgawse’s brother, of which I was glad.

  When Lancelot saw me, he bid goodbye to the boy, and gave him a coin from his purse. I handed him my bag and he tied it on the saddle and we climbed back on the horse. It was an unpleasant spring day, by turns a little rainy, and with a chill breeze, but I hoped it would be kinder weather as we moved south. The landscape I could see softening already from bare, dark stone crags to smooth hills and thick forests soft with trees.

  I wished that we had got something to eat at the inn before we left, for as midday came Lancelot did not seem to have food on his mind, and we continued on. My stomach was rumbling. It was not even autumn so there was no fruit on the trees to grab as we went past. I supposed I would have to wait until we stopped.