But I’m pregnant! I wonder if Merlin knows that?
“Of course I know, but this will bring you in some money until the baby is born. I spoke to Dru, he’s a mate of mine. He’s a druid, by the way, but don’t let that bother you. What’s more important is that he has a nursery and he’s looking for some extra help. It’s not a permanent job, mind; it’s just over the summer while he’s extra busy, but it’ll tide you over for a time.”
“I don’t know anything about babies!”
Merlin smiled. “This is a garden center, a nursery for plants.”
“I don’t know anything about plants either.”
“But you can learn, surely?” At Morgan’s nod, Merlin continued. “One of Dru’s workers has just left, so he’s in a bit of a bind cos summer’s his busy season. Plus, he’s put in yet another application for funding for the Bride’s Mound project, and he’s trying to build up his stock over the summer in case he gets it. So he could do with some extra help right now. Are you interested?”
Morgan nodded. “What’s Bride’s Mound?” A small frisson ran up her spine, and she gave a sudden shiver.
“I’ll leave Dru to tell you all about it.” Merlin scribbled an address on a piece of paper, and marked a cross on a tear-out map of the village. “You could walk there, but it’s quicker to take the bus. You’ll find the bus stop near the entrance to Glastonbury Abbey. Ask to be put off near Wearyall Hill; it’s not far from there.” He turned to another customer, one of several waiting impatiently for service. “Leave the dress here when you’ve changed. I’ll be home about six and I’ll bring it back with me,” he called over his shoulder. “Or you can come back here for a key if you want to go home earlier.”
Home? Morgan hurried away before Merlin could hear how much the word had hurt her.
CHAPTER FOUR
To Morgan’s surprise she found she enjoyed being out under a sunny sky, peacefully potting out plants. Dru had welcomed her with enthusiasm, brushing aside her apologies for not knowing what he was talking about when he asked her to bring him a tray of lady’s mantle from one of the long tented tunnels towards the rear of the property. Instead, he’d given her a guided tour of the entire nursery, starting with the display of decorative pots set out in the yard in front, alongside heavy bags of colored pebbles, manure and other fertilizers, and a large and bright array of plants “on special”, all aimed to entice customers into the garden center and shop. Morgan could recognize some of the plants from the garden at Cornwallis Hall, where her mother liked to be seen on visiting days snipping flowers and putting them into the decorative basket on her arm. There was a huge variety of potted roses blooming in the summer sun, and white and scarlet opium poppies with heavy frilly heads. Pink, red and purple flowers drooped like elusive fairies among the green foliage of fuschias, while bold marigolds turned their yellow faces to the sunshine. There were fruit trees and ferns, and rows of small cactus plants – and a whole lot of other things that Morgan couldn’t identify at all.
“Don’t worry about trying to learn all their names at once,” Dru advised. “Most of the plants are labeled anyway. You’ll soon get to know your way around. For now, I just want you to get some idea of the sorts of things we stock here.” They peered into several of the long tunnels where gardeners were busy snipping or watering or tying back leggy plants growing too big for their boxes, before Dru took her into the shop to see what was on sale there: everything from bird feeders to garden tools and gloves, and from wheelbarrows to a huge array of flower, herb and vegetable seeds for people to grow their own plants. Finally, she followed him out to one of the tented tunnels to fetch the tray of seedlings that he’d first wanted.
“It’s called lady’s mantle because the leaves are thought to resemble the cloak worn by the Virgin Mary,” he explained, pointing out the tiny plant’s hairy palmate leaves. “In the middle ages it was believed to have medicinal properties – good for the complexion, but also to regulate periods and sort out many other female complaints. Birthwort has similar properties, so we’ll be planting them side by side when we get the garden at Bride’s Mound up and running.” He gave a mournful sniff. “If we ever do.”
“Bride’s Mound?” Morgan asked again, with the same involuntary shiver.
“Hasn’t Merlin told you about our project?” Dru took the tray out to a bench at the back where several earth-filled pots were lined up. He selected one of them and began to poke holes into the earth with his index finger, going on with an explanation as he worked.
“It’s thought that Bride’s Mound was one of the ancient islands here at Glastonbury – a bit like the Tor, only somewhat lower.” He gestured towards the high summit in the distance. “Way back when, before all this low-lying land was drained, it used to flood in heavy rains, so that any high ground was cut off and became an island. The site was known as Beckery, and there are several interpretations of the name, including that it might derive from the old English for ‘bee-keepers’ island’. But it might, instead, have come about after a visit from St. Bridget. What’s more important, so far as we’re concerned, is that it’s the site of an ancient priory which is thought to have been connected to Glastonbury Abbey before the dissolution of the monasteries by Henry VIII.”
He picked up one of the seedlings and gently brushed away some of the excess earth from its roots before inserting it into the hole. “Watch,” he instructed, as he filled the hole with loose earth and tamped it down so that the small plant stood snug and secure in its new home. He picked up another, and went on with his explanation.
“It’s something of a wilderness now, but there’s a long history attached to it, including that it was once thought to be a gateway to Avalon.”
“Avalon of Arthurian legend?” Here we go again, Morgan thought.
Dru smiled at her. “I should have realized, with your name, that you’d be familiar with that story. But in fact it goes back even further to the time of the druids and Celtic legend. It’s an ancient shrine and burial ground, and there’s also a sacred well. St. Bridget is thought to have visited it sometime in the fifth century. People, especially pregnant women, still come to leave prayers and offerings for her. We plan to clear the land and try to find the well. Various excavations carried out over time indicate that there was once a large garden on the site. We hope to recreate it as it would have appeared in medieval time, with a mix of flowers, fruits and healing herbs, which is why I’m now trying to source the appropriate plants and herbs and propagate them here. It’s been our project for ages, and we’re always on the lookout for funding. What we’re really hoping for is a lump sum from the council, or from the government, so we can get moving on it. We keep putting in bids for grants but …” He lifted his shoulders in a resigned shrug. “I’ll show you our plans at lunchtime, if you like?”
Dru’s hands were deft but gentle. Morgan watched closely as he drew out another seedling. “I’m planting these out because they need to survive out in the open, and also so I can propagate them because we’re going to need a lot of plants when the time comes.” He gestured towards the box. “Let me watch you do it now.”
Morgan had never planted anything in her life before. She took the seedling and began to copy what Dru had done, realizing suddenly that this might be the sort of thing her father used to do on the manor farm attached to Cornwallis Hall. The thought gave her courage and an odd sort of comfort, as did being with Dru. She’d lowered her guard to hear some of his thoughts as he’d showed her around. Quite the young lady, this one – bet she comes from a posh family. Wonder why they haven’t got the cops out looking for her? Runaway, Merlin says. Bet she’s never done a day’s work in her life – but we’ll see how she goes. Pity though; she’d be better off back at school. And from then on his thoughts had moved on to Bride’s Mound, and his concern that a potential source of funding had let him down.
“Can you carry on with these?” Dru asked, as she tamped down the seedling, and reached for another. “Let me kno
w when you’ve planted them all out, and I’ll give you some others to do.”
Morgan’s back was aching from the unaccustomed bending and stretching by the time Dru called a break for lunch. After her huge breakfast she wasn’t hungry, but she joined some of the other staff in a room behind the shop while they ate their sandwiches and brewed up tea and coffee. Just the smell of coffee made her feel nauseous, and she turned aside, hoping that she wasn’t going to be sick. She’d suffered from morning sickness in the early months; it had been a dead giveaway even before she’d done a pregnancy test. She touched her stomach, hoping that her new clothes would be loose enough to hide the bump when it got bigger.
“Would you like to have a look at our plans for Bride’s Mound?” Dru asked. He held up a clutch of papers, and Morgan nodded assent. At once he cleared a space on the table and unfolded a large diagram. “I drew these up myself,” he said proudly. “The garden’s going to be divided into quarters, and maybe even into eighths, all within one large square, and …”
“But it should be round, like a wheel,” Morgan said absently, and bent down to examine the drawing.
“No, it’s designed as a square. See here, how I’ve divided the sections into fruits, flowers, herbs and vegetables, each in its own quarter. And there’ll probably be divisions within each quarter – like the herbs will be split into those that heal, those used to flavor food, those that once had a household use – like a dye, or an insect repellent, for example – and so on.”
Morgan blinked, and studied the plan more carefully. Dru was right; it was indeed a series of squares within a square. But it was all wrong! She closed her eyes as a vision of a beautiful garden came into her mind: like a wheel as she’d said, with spokes running through it separating various plantings into …
The vision faded. Where had that come from? She shook her head and picked up the diagram, but her mind wandered as Dru began to explain which plants he’d planned for each section. This is all wrong. She couldn’t get the thought out of her mind. It sat uneasily, until at last she couldn’t stand it any longer.
“Can I see it? Can I visit Bride’s Mound?” she asked, interrupting Dru mid-flow.
“Sure.” He looked a little surprised. “It’s not too far from here. I thought I’d go out there after lunch to take some measurements. You can come with me, if you like, and hold the tape. But I warn you, there’s nothing to see. It’s really just an overgrown field at present.”
“Thanks. I’d like that.” Prickles of excitement ran up her back at the prospect of seeing Bride’s Mound for herself, although she couldn’t say why. She watched Dru as he packed up his drawing before downing the rest of his mug of tea.
“Let’s go,” he said, and beckoned her to come with him.
A few minutes later, as they rattled to a halt in Dru’s old van, Morgan looked around. She had a strange feeling of déjà vu, which grew stronger as she climbed out of the van. As Dru had said, there was nothing to see but a grassy field with some trees planted out in lines, forming an avenue that rose up to a small mound crowned by a sign. She walked up to it and then, obeying some instinct, she knelt down. She could feel the earth thrumming beneath her like a heartbeat and she bowed over and stretched out her hands to touch the ground, waiting, although she knew not for what.
“What’s the matter? Are you feeling all right?” Dru’s voice penetrated her consciousness. She sat back, feeling like an idiot.
“I’m fine,” she said, and scrambled to her feet. But she wasn’t fine. Her unease grew deeper as she followed Dru around the site while he explained where he intended to start planting and what he’d plant first. “Ideally, we’d like to reclaim the field next to this.” He stretched out a hand to indicate a cleared field dotted about with rolls of hay clad in black plastic. “The stone commemorating St. Bridget’s visit to the Holy Well is right on the other side of it, buried among the grass on that grassy bank over there. But we believe the well is close to where I’ve put it in my design, see?” He traced a finger along the top margin of his plan. “We’ll locate and excavate it, and then we’ll move the stone back here to stand in pride of place in a special alcove of its own.”
“But the well isn’t there.” Morgan spoke without thinking, not sure where the thought had come from, but certain that she was right.
“Yes, it is.” Dru looked offended. “There have been several surveys of the site, and we’re all agreed that this is where it must be. Why would you think different, when you say you’ve never been here before?”
From what he’d said and also what he was thinking, Morgan knew he was getting somewhat pissed off with her.
“Sorry,” she said. “It was just a strange notion I had. I’m sure you’re right.”
She wasn’t, but she dared not say anymore. Instead, she tagged after Dru, feeling more and more uncomfortable as she held the tape for him while he strode about and took measurements, and marked them off on the plan. “Right,” he said when he was done. “I just want to do a plant search now, to see if there’s anything new growing here that we can incorporate into our design, so feel free to have a wander if you wish.” He whipped out a notebook and started to comb the area, scribbling notes as he went.
Morgan watched him, wondering why she felt so unsettled. Bride’s Well? Or something much older? She knew beyond a doubt that there was no spring where he’d pointed. But if not there, where? Left to her own devices, she determined to see if she could find it. She closed her eyes, hoping she might be able to sense something, but all she could hear was the raucous call of a raven and the sigh of wind through the grass and weeds that covered the small hill. With a sigh of frustration, she began to wander about, not following any particular path but just ambling at will.
Dru was right. The land was a scrubby mess. It didn’t look like anything at all. From the measurements they’d been taking, it looked like the garden he planned would be huge; even if they could get the funding it was surely an undertaking that would go on for years before it was done. There was some sadness in the thought that by then she would have a child, and would no longer be involved in the process. Sudden fear gripped her as she wondered how she would survive, with no money and a child to look after. Would she stay here, in Glastonbury, or move on somewhere else? Might she even go back home?
No! That was a no-brainer; she wouldn’t waste time even imagining it.
Her path took her down towards a line of trees; she thought that they might mark the line of a water course. As she reached the trees she realized she’d come to the edge of the farmer’s field. She noticed also that a tree marking the crossing was festooned with ribbons. She stopped dead. Offerings to St. Bridget? She didn’t have anything to tie onto the tree, but she closed her eyes anyway, and muttered a brief prayer for the safe deliverance of her baby. So had she prayed at the Chalice Well when she’d visited the famous garden with its rusty red pools of water, supposedly colored by Christ’s blood contained in the Holy Grail brought over to England by Joseph of Arimathea after Christ’s crucifixion. Obeying some instinct beyond her own reasoning, she had also sought comfort at the White Spring, even though it seemed to commemorate beliefs far older than the time of Christ. After taking a moment to get her bearings, she crossed over into the field with the intention of trying to find the Bride Stone.
As she walked, thoughts of her uncertain future filled her head. Should she just stay here, in Glastonbury? If she could maybe find a job that had childcare attached, something she could do even with her lack of education and experience? She was so wrapped up in her problems that she lost track of where she was, but a sudden jolt brought her back to the present.
It’s here! There was no doubt in her mind at all. She glanced around, measuring the distance between where she stood and the spot Dru favored. They were so far apart there was obviously no connection between the two sites at all. In fact Morgan saw that, far from being in pride of place at the head of Dru’s garden, Bride’s Well was in the middle of the fa
rmer’s field. Perhaps it was an offshoot of the watercourse that marked the tree-lined boundary. Or had the stream been diverted over the years?
She stood still for a moment, considering. Then she bent over and stared down at the short grass beneath her feet, wondering if there could possibly be a source of water underneath. And on that thought it was as if the earth melted away and she found herself gazing into a small, dark pool. She could see herself reflected in it. She blinked, and looked more closely. She was almost sure it was the same face she’d seen earlier, in Merlin’s shop. The face looked familiar, as she’d thought before, but it definitely wasn’t her. This woman was older, and her hair was much longer, although it was the same dark brown as her own. And she seemed also to have the same greenish-gold eyes. Was she looking at herself in the future … or at someone from the past?
“Who are you?” The voice came to her, faint as an ancient breath across space and time.
“My name is Morgan. Who are you?” Morgan knelt down so that she could see the woman more clearly.
“I am known as Morgana.” Her voice was no more than a whisper.
Morgan was sure she couldn’t have heard aright. “Morgana?” she queried, but there was no answer. “Where are you?” she tried again, but the vision had faded. Now, instead of the woman’s voice she could hear chanting in the distance. The sound seemed to be coming from far away, and carried with it a hint of menace, the potential for violence. It sent a chill of fear through her body. She looked around to check its source, but there was nothing to see.
The sound ceased abruptly. Puzzled, Morgan turned back to the woman, but the pool had disappeared and there was only an open field in front of her. She buried her head in her hands, and wondered if she was losing her mind.
When at last she raised her head, she became aware that Dru had crossed into the field and was looking down at her. How much had he seen? Had anything happened here at all, or had she just suffered some sort of blackout? Feeling stupid, she scrambled to her feet.
The Once and Future Camelot Page 6