The Once and Future Camelot

by Felicity Pulman

  The site was not what I had in mind, and I worried about it. There were two springs at the abbey, which was some distance from us. One spring ran clear, but the water of the other ran red, like blood. Christ’s blood, so it was said, from the Grail Cup brought to England by Joseph of Arimathea and which was said to contain some of Christ’s blood following His crucifixion. The cup was believed to be buried close to the spring, which ran red as a result. The sites were treated with great reverence by everyone, as was the hill nearby, where a thorn tree flowered twice a year, growing to mark the spot where Joseph had rested his staff on coming to England, commenting that he and his party were “weary all.” I’d been told that he went on then to found the first Christian church in England upon which had been built the abbey, the male counterpart of our own priory.

  We’d had no such springs at the priory where I grew up, but there was a pool at the center of my mother’s garden that, I suspect, was also at the heart of her secret garden for I knew she sometimes had visions when she looked into it. So much of that world had a counterpart in the world in which I now found myself, and I wondered if, in fact, that pool had been diverted from one of the abbey’s springs, and that was where the garden should be sited? Or could I create my own by diverting a channel from the River Brue nearby?

  The meadow had to be dug up and prepared before planting could begin. To try to assuage my concern, as soon as I could get away I visited the site with Aline, planning to assess its potential and to make sure it would be big enough to suit my requirements. As I walked around trying to gauge its measurements, my daughter called to me from the center of the meadow. She was bent almost double, staring intently at the ground.

  “Mamm, there’s a lady in here,” she said, as I came closer. I crouched down beside her and stared, with some bewilderment, at the grassy, weedy patch, indistinguishable from the rather unkempt appearance of the rest of the meadow.

  “A lady? Where?” I asked, humoring her.

  “Here!” She stabbed a finger into the dry, crumbling earth.

  I could see nothing, but I didn’t like to say so. “Who is the lady? What does she want?” I asked.

  “I don’t know.” Aline kicked the ground in frustration. “I know she’s in there but I can’t see her. And she can’t see me.”

  Aline’s words made me feel deeply uneasy. I’d always been afraid that she would inherit my mother’s talent for magic and mischief-making, and it seemed now that she had. I recalled times past when she appeared to be communing with someone – or something – that I couldn’t see. Like this lady that she claimed to be under the earth. But I didn’t want to alarm my daughter, so I said, “Why don’t you go exploring and see what else you can find?”

  After Aline had run away to chase after a butterfly, I stayed quietly where I was and stared down at the ground. I wasn’t sure what I was waiting for, but I decided that, if there was something or someone buried there, I should try to find out what it was. It seemed to me that I could hear the sound of water splashing deep beneath the ground. I listened for a time, until I became aware that I was actually gazing into a deep pool. I recognized it because I’d seen it before. It was the pool at the center of my mother’s garden at the priory. But there was nothing to see in its depths and, as the vision faded, I was left staring down at the flowering weeds and grasses once more.

  At least one thing was now settled in my mind: there was an underground spring in the center of the meadow, around which I could build my garden. As soon as the grass and weeds were cleared and the ground prepared for planting, I knew that it would be uncovered and the real work could begin.

  Meanwhile I occupied myself with finding the plants I would need to fill my garden. Sourcing vegetables wasn’t a problem, but Aline and I also went on long walks to garner wild herbs and flowering plants from hedgerows and surrounding fields and forests. As we walked, I passed on to my daughter the knowledge of herbs and healing plants taught to me so long ago by my mother, augmented with the information I was learning from the infirmarian at the abbey. We gathered seeds and seedlings; I took cuttings, dug up roots, and also pilfered what I could find from the priory’s existing gardens, both the kitchen garden and the beds of herbs growing close to the infirmary, as well as from the gardens of the abbey. Some I could plant out straightaway; others went into trays where I could keep an eye on them, nurture them until they were ready to be transferred.

  My collection grew, and much of my time was spent either out in the garden, or planning the segments into which each plant should go, and whether I’d have enough stock for those that had more than one purpose. Marigolds, or St. Mary’s Gold, for example, were sacred to the memory of the Virgin and should be used for purely decorative purposes, but they were also useful as an antidote for stings and pestilence, as well as adding flavor to a dish. And wormwood was useful for digestive disorders, as a spice, and also as an insect repellant. Remembering my experience in the forest I also sourced lady’s mantle and other special herbs that I knew would prove useful in a community of women, many of whom suffered menstrual cramps, and irregular or heavy bleeding. But lady’s mantle had its uses in the kitchen too, as a salad vegetable and also as a green dye. And so I sorted and classified; tending my growing collection of plants took up most of my time.

  Busy as I was during the day, there was little time for brooding; the worries came later during the night hours. I worried that Aline might have inherited my mother’s talent for the magical arts and whether she would practice them in the future, despite my opposition. But then I worried that if I used magic to fashion a secret way through the garden she’d have every right to ignore my warnings thereafter. I worried also about my frightening visions of London. I was so troubled that one night, I rose from my bed and slipped out into the cloister garth, taking care not to wake Aline. It was a cold night and the sky was brilliant with stars. I longed to be outside the priory, for my vision was hemmed in by buildings on all sides. If I could only get out and into my garden, to gaze at the night sky and commune with God, perhaps I would find answers to the questions that tormented me.

  There was a small postern gate that was usually kept locked, but I knew that the lock was faulty and could easily be undone, for it was the quickest route to my garden and I had taken it on more than one occasion. With only a minor niggle of conscience, I slipped outside and hurried to my garden, my feet taking me without conscious thought towards the site of the sacred well. I gazed upwards, almost overwhelmed by the vast canopy of stars above me, like glitter dust flung across heaven by a giant’s hand. They were so bright and seemed so close I felt I could reach up and pluck them like ripe fruit, and fashion a starry necklet for my daughter. Looking at the twinkling clusters that dusted that velvet canopy, I began to remember the names of the constellations from walks with my mother during her visits to the priory. Tracing their outlines with an outstretched finger, as I had done as a child, made me feel close to her and my heart melted with warmth.

  My attention was caught then by one particularly bright star that seemed to be in motion. I kept still, staring at it, measuring its progress. It was definitely moving, towing a fiery tail behind it. I knew what it was then, and felt a deathly fear. Comets, I knew, were harbingers of doom, usually signaling the death of a king, or the destruction and ruin of a kingdom – often both at the same time. With an effort, I tore my gaze away from it. To calm myself and recapture the serenity I’d felt earlier, I turned to look in the opposite direction – only to find there another glowing light moving purposefully through the scatters of stars.

  Two comets! Double the trouble, double the grief. What could it mean that I had chosen this night to go outside the priory, and so had seen them? Folding my cloak tight around me, although it was my soul that was cold and not my body, I hurried back to my bed.

  But I knew I would not sleep. I went to the small table where I sometimes did my scribing, and lit a candle. Aline was still fast asleep; I knew I was unlikely to wake her
. Full of fear, yet wanting answers, I plucked up the courage to locate the small bag I’d secreted away. I pulled out from it the magical objects that my mother had given me so long ago. I’d thought she was tempting me to use them, hoping that I would be seduced into the practice of magic. But – and this was a new thought that stayed my hand momentarily – had she given me the objects for safe-keeping, intending them for her own use at some time in the future? Had she planned to come back here to Guinglan and me, but been prevented for some reason … like the fall of Camelot, perhaps?

  I stared at the objects while questions hammered through my brain, questions to which I could find no answer. What did the comets portend? Were we in danger now, or at some time in the future? Had these same stars shone also on Camelot; was it the passing of that kingdom that the comets were showing me now? More important, so far as I was concerned, was whether these objects would be enough to give me what I wanted: safe passage to the priory of my childhood. Safe passage for Aline too. Not for anything would I risk leaving her behind.

  There was a lump of crystal, which I knew to be amethyst. And a pack of thin wooden tablets with designs on them. I’d seen my mother use them to try to decipher the future. Had she predicted how Camelot would end; was that why she’d led us out of danger? I felt a crushing sadness as I picked up the old book that I remembered, and which I knew contained the information I was likely to need. My mother had studied that too, and had tried to interest me in its contents.

  I leafed through it quickly, feeling more and more daunted as I studied the closely-written pages. I had a working knowledge of Latin, the language of the ancients, but there was so much information contained within this volume, so much to learn. And so much that I didn’t want to learn, for I had no intention of practicing magic for any purpose other than to create a secret path that might take me home. To my mother and, I hoped, to Guinglan.

  But if he was not there?

  If the secret path could take me back to the priory of my childhood, it could equally take me to Otherworlds as well. I bent my head and briefly closed my eyes as I swore a solemn vow: if Guinglan was in one of those Otherworlds, I would not rest until I had found him.

  To this end, I began to study the book by candlelight every night, looking for what I wanted: the ability to construct a secret passage that would open into Otherworlds of my choosing. Soon enough I found what I needed, which meant that on our next foray into the woods I took pains to select and cut a thin branch of oak. Back at the priory I sharpened my knife and set to cutting it to size and whittling away the bark so that I was left with a smooth, straight wand. But once I had it in my hand, I had second thoughts. The wand stayed hidden under the straw pallet in the room I shared with Aline while I wrestled with my conscience. I longed to take my daughter home, and yet it seemed like tempting fate to go against my oath, for I had sworn not to meddle or have anything to do with my mother’s magical practices.

  As I’d hoped, a spring was uncovered at the center of the field. Its water ran clear and sweet, providing much-needed refreshment during the garden’s construction. Although the water bubbled to the surface only slowly, nevertheless it spread and soaked into the earth so that the ground around the spring became increasingly muddy and water-logged. I discussed the matter with Thorold, one of the lay brothers who had already shown some skill and knowledge when it came to practical matters. He suggested a temporary arrangement to contain the spring until he could source sufficient stone to do the job properly, and promised to find the appropriate materials.

  I visited the spring whenever I went to the site, sometimes in the company of Aline and sometimes not, for she was enjoying her lessons with the novice mistress and was proving an apt pupil. Aline hadn’t mentioned the lady in the field again, but I feared that, with the pool now uncovered, she might see visions in the water as my mother had done. But it seemed she saw nothing, and neither did I.

  My routine was broken when, on a bright and sunny day which was particularly welcome after almost a week of rain and cold, I was told that a visitor awaited me in the parlor. I’d been about to go out to the garden but instead diverted my steps, curious to know who it could be. Not the jongleur – I knew that he’d already left Glastonbury, bound for the king’s court at Winchester; indeed, I’d been tempted to go with him but that the work of building the garden now occupied most of my time. But if not him, then who?

  To my surprise, I discovered that it was Lady Viviane. Once more I felt her power, but this time I did not fight it. Instead, I waited to find out the purpose of her visit.

  “Greetings, Marie,” she said. She took my hands in her own, and gave me a searching look. Then she nodded as if she’d found the answer she was seeking.

  “So you’ve listened, and obeyed,” she said.

  At once I bristled with indignation. “I do not obey anyone,” I said stiffly. “It was my decision and mine alone to look into my mother’s ancient book.”

  “And I am glad of it. I hope you have found the answers you seek?”

  “Yes, I have.” Without committing myself any further, I pulled my hands away and gestured towards a stool before sitting down myself.

  “Can I offer you some wine? Or other refreshment?” I asked.

  “Thank you, but no. Tell me this then: what is it you are trying to achieve with this practice of magic that you were so firmly against when last we spoke?”

  I gave her a measuring look, wondering if it was safe to confide in her. “Interfering Viviane” my mother had called her, and I’d certainly seen enough evidence of it, although I also had cause to be grateful.

  “My thanks for sending the jongleur to me with the message from my mother,” I said, deciding not to answer her question lest she try to influence me.

  Viviane acknowledged my thanks with a bob of her head. “You realize now that your mother brought you here to keep you safe from the dying days of Camelot. I believe it was her intention to join you later – after she had done what she could to save the kingdom.”

  “What happened to prevent her?” It brought ease to my heart to hear Viviane confirm my conjecture. It also made me even more determined to go back to the priory to see my mother.

  “Mordred. In his frenzy to hunt you down and prevent you from taking the throne from him, the throne he considered his own, he set fire to the priory and its surrounds, including the garden, because he believed that the nuns were hiding you.”

  “No!” I clasped my hand to my heart. I could hardly believe what I was hearing. With a grave expression, Viviane inclined her head, putting the matter beyond doubt.

  “What about the nuns. Did they escape? Was anyone hurt? Was anything saved?”

  “No one was hurt, but nothing was saved either. Whatever magical implements and books your mother might have kept there were destroyed in the fire, as was her means to escape to the world in which you now find yourself.”

  “Then I shall go in search of her,” I said fiercely, forgetting my intention to say nothing. “The garden is being built, and I am finding out how to fashion the secret way. It is only a matter of time before we can be reconciled.”

  “I’m afraid you’re wrong,” Viviane said. Her voice was infinitely sad as she continued, “You should know that your mother repented of all her mischief-making. Indeed she greatly regretted it, recognizing that in her quest for revenge against those whom she considered had used her ill, she harmed herself most of all. And she did all she could, using her magical powers wisely for once, to undo the harm she had done. But it was too late. By then Camelot’s fate was sealed and Arthur and Mordred’s armies met in bloody combat at the field of Camlann. Mordred was killed and Arthur was mortally wounded. Your mother brought him to me for healing, and he is with me still. But that marked the end of Camelot; everything was laid waste. Only the priory and some scattered villages remain.”

  “But my mother is still alive! You just said so.”

  “Indeed. But after she heard the jongleur’s messa
ge and to hide her shameful role in Camelot’s downfall, she created a veil to shroud what was left of Camelot and seal it off forever. No matter how hard you try, you will not see that world again, nor will you see your mother.”

  “Never?” I was fighting tears now, tears of frustration and rage. And love.

  “Never.” Understanding my misery, Viviane once more took hold of my hands. This time I did not pull away, taking comfort from her touch.

  “I know why you are trying to overcome your scruples about practicing magic, but you’re too late in this, at least. There is a higher purpose to the practice of magic, Marie, and I hope now that you will listen to what I shall ask you to do, for this is more important than anything else you can do in this life.”

  “More important than loving God and worshipping him all my days?”

  Viviane pursed her lips. “If you want your God to live on through the centuries, so that people can continue to worship Him, then yes, this is far more important.”

  Perhaps reading the skepticism on my face, she continued with her explanation. “There was a spring at the center of the priory’s garden at Glastonbury in that Otherworld, and I believe you have found a spring here too?”

  “Yes.”

  “You must visit the spring often, with an open heart and an open mind, and wait quietly for what you will see there.”

  She paused, perhaps waiting for me to admit that Aline had sensed or seen something there, and that I’d also seen a vision when I’d gone to London. But I was reluctant to tell her anything, for I feared that Viviane might try to enlist my help in interfering with the past – or the present, or the future. I was not at all sure what Aline’s vision meant, or what the comets portended. My intention in building the garden was entirely for my own purpose and use. There was a crushing sadness in the thought that my mother was lost to me forever, but now, more than ever, I was determined to go in search of Guinglan. It felt right that I should seek him out in the Otherworlds, for my daughter’s sake as well as my own. I would not risk Viviane’s interference in my plans.