The Du Lac Princess: (Book 3 of The Du Lac Chronicles)

by Mary Anne Yarde

  “And I know you are not Alden,” Tegan continued. “So that means you must be Merton.”

  “Merton is dead,” Merton looked into her eyes as he spoke. “So I cannot be him—”

  “How does it feel to be dead?” Tegan interrupted, frowning. “I have often wondered.”

  Merton glared at her and Tegan began to chuckle again. “Alright, my boy, I won’t push it. If you say you are not a son of Lancelot, then you are not a son of Lancelot. Shame, I would have told you how I won that axe if you were.”

  Tegan leant the axe against the wall, and Merton’s eyes followed it. He itched to pick it up, but she had not given him permission to. All knights knew that it was rude to pick up a weapon that didn’t belong to you. Unless, of course, you had just killed the person who owned it, then the said weapon was fair game. Tegan meanwhile had gone back to her cauldron. She began to dish out two portions of pottage, for them to break their fast on. She handed him the bowl with amusement in her eyes.

  They ate in silence for a while, but he could see Tegan squirming in her seat like a child desperate to talk after having been told to be quiet.

  “For the love of…” Merton put his spoon down and looked at her. “You are such a child,” he chastised. “Tell me. You know you want to. How did you win the axe?”

  “Oh all right then, because you asked so nicely,” Tegan grinned. “Now where was I? Oh yes, it was the early days of Arthur’s court. Lancelot was an annoying bastard, even then. He was always getting in my way. Of course, there was a reason for that. Lancelot was attracted to me. I mean, who wouldn’t be?”

  “I couldn’t agree with you more,” Merton said. “When you first hit me with your stick, I thought now there is a woman I would like in my bed.”

  “And you say you are no son of Lancelot? He was a grumbler as well. Hit you with my stick? Pah! I tapped you with it. Now shut up and let me tell you the story.”

  “Believe me, I am all ears,” Merton said.

  “Hmm!” she huffed. “Now, believe it or not, Lancelot wasn’t going to take me up on the challenge, I could see it in his eyes. He was too noble to fight a girl. Stupid fool. He bowed very politely and began to walk away. Well, I wasn’t having that, so I leapt on his back.”

  Merton had just put a spoonful of pottage in his mouth, and he almost choked. “I could have lived without knowing that,” he said as he helped himself to a drink. He swallowed several mouthfuls before he could finally speak again. “What did he do when you leapt on his back?”

  “Nothing, the bastard carried on walking as if I wasn’t there, so I had to change tactics. I slid down his body and took out his legs. He went down like a sack of grain,” she clapped her hands together and chuckled at the memory. “Oh, the look on his face…it was priceless. And then he smiled that disarmingly, charming smile of his, before rolling me over and pinning me to the ground. For a moment we stared into each other’s eyes. He was laughing at me, I could see that he was. So I kneed him in the what-cha-ma-call-its. You should have heard the language that came out of his mouth,” she was overcome with mirth for a moment. “He had quite the vocabulary for a prince of Brittany. We didn’t see him for the rest of the day, although I heard the healer had been called to his chamber.” She started to laugh again.

  “Oh my God, you are the worst,” Merton said, laughing as well. “I wish Rhedra were still alive to hear this. She would have cried tears,” Merton realised what he had said, and his laughter faded into nothing. What on earth possessed him to mention his late sister?

  “That evening there was a knock on my chamber door.” Tegan continued as if he had not spoken, but he knew she had heard him. “I answered it and found that axe lying on the floor in front of the door. I knew whose it was and I knew what it meant. Lancelot was apologising for his words in such a way that he would save face. He avoided me for a month, but when at last I managed to catch his eyes with mine he winked. He never said anything about women going into battle again. Although I don’t think he was ever truly comfortable with it.”

  “You are not a healer are you?” Merton stated, looking at her as if he had suddenly seen the light. “You were never a healer.”

  “My husband was a healer. He was a good one. He taught me a great deal. I was a knight. A knight of Camelot no less. When Arthur became all religious, it did me no service. ‘It is ungodly for women to take up arms.’ That is what the men in skirts told us anyway. But that is old news. I feared that I might have done Lancelot some mischief with my knee. I was pleased to hear that he had sons. Tell me, how did Merton du Lac die?”

  “Philippe de Manfrey killed him,” Merton answered. There was no use pretending or refusing to answer her questions. She knew who he was.

  Tegan nodded her head in understanding. “And now the ghost of Merton du Lac is here, under my roof. I don’t know if you remember, but that first day here, when I told you about your back—”

  “You knocked me out with valerian.” Merton stated, a grin pulling at the corner of his mouth, “I remember. I thought you were a healer. Now you tell me you are not. I am lucky to be alive.”

  “You said some things about the woman you loved and Mordred Pendragon,” Tegan said, her face turning serious.

  “Mordred helped Philippe take the throne from Budic. Amandine was…” He paused as tears filled his eyes. “She was the love of my life. I loved her so very much and for some reason…” He shook his head. “…She loved me back.” Merton looked down at his bowl, his appetite gone as thoughts of Amandine filled his mind. “The soldiers took her from me,” his voice shook as he spoke. “They did vile things to her…and there was nothing I could do to stop it because while she was suffering, that was when I was…”

  “Being tortured,” Tegan finished his sentence for him. If he had looked into her face, he would have seen compassion in her eyes.

  “She died because she loved me. That knowledge tortures me more than anything Philippe or his men could have done. I failed her.”

  “I don’t believe that,” Tegan said, getting up from the chair and crossing over to him. She knelt down in front of him, took his bowl away and reached for his hand. “I don’t believe you failed her and I don’t believe she would see it that way either.”

  “If I had just left her alone, then she wouldn’t have become a target. She would still be alive.” Merton continued.

  “If she loved you like you say she did, then there was nothing you could have done that would have stopped her becoming a target.” Tegan squeezed his hand hard. “We do not choose who we fall in love with. If we are lucky, our love is returned, and if we are lucky, we find the person who our soul craves. If we are lucky, we acknowledge that love, and it doesn’t matter if that love lasts one day or 100 years, what is important is that we found it, found them. My dear boy, you found her. And she found you. That is something to be thankful for. You must not regret your love, for if you do, then you really will have failed her. When you look at the scars on your body, and when you feel like you cannot go on, that is when you must, because those scars and the pain you received were because you loved and were loved in return. That is something special, son. That is something to be treasured.”

  Merton drew in a shaky breath, and he could not stop the tears. “I miss her,” he sniffed and wiped the tears angrily away with his fingers, “I miss her so much. Every second of every day. She is all I can think about.”

  Tegan wiped at the tears forming in her own eyes. “Of course you miss her, it is only natural to miss the people we love.” She gave his hand a final squeeze and then she got up and sat back down in her seat, although she continued to look at him. “Can you remember what I said about Mordred?”

  Merton shook his head slightly and sniffed.

  “I am not surprised. I got the dosage a little wrong that night. I do apologise.” Tegan chuckled, and Merton managed a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

  “It was the first time since she was taken from me that I actually
slept through the night and didn’t dream,” Merton said.

  “Then I did some good at least. Let me tell you a story about Mordred. We have a lot to discuss. Listen, son, to defeat an enemy, you need to know them, so that you can think like them — your father taught me that. He taught me many things, some of which are better forgotten. I knew Mordred. I watched him grow up. There was darkness about that boy even when he was a child. It was whispered that he wasn’t right in the head. Which is unsurprising considering his parents were brother and sister. Arthur always pretended that he didn’t know Morgaine was his sister, but for goodness’ sake, they looked like each other. He would have to have been a fool not to know that something was up, and Arthur was no fool.”

  “Mordred was the kind of boy who would feed live mice to cats. He would steal eggs out of a nest and throw them on the ground. He drowned a litter of kittens when he was three. By his sixth birthday, he had decapitated a dog and set a piglet on fire. We were witnessing the making of a monster. Mordred was a cruel boy. But he was Arthur’s pride and joy. Mordred could do no wrong in his father’s eyes. Arthur would not let Guinevere discipline the child. No one was allowed to.”

  “Arthur asked your father to be Mordred’s swordmaster, Lancelot refused. He advised Arthur against teaching Mordred the art of warfare. The boy was disturbed. ‘Put a sword in his hand, and you are asking for trouble,’ that is what Lancelot said. Arthur didn’t listen to Lancelot’s council, so he asked Gawain instead. Gawain was Arthur’s puppy. If Arthur called, Gawain came running. It was pathetic to watch. But even Gawain, loyal Gawain, would not teach Mordred how to use a blade. And so it was with everyone Arthur asked. No one wanted to do it. No one wanted the responsibility. Arthur had raged. Lancelot had taken the brunt of his temper because he always did. But everyone was steadfast in their refusal. Arthur ended up teaching the boy himself. The stupid bastard. Arthur should have listened to his knights.”

  “When he was thirteen, Mordred killed a man. He was a woodsman, a nice man who so happened to have a pretty daughter. Mordred wanted her, so he had her and then he killed her too. Arthur knew the truth, but he didn’t say anything, Mordred was not reprimanded. And the older Mordred got, the worse he became. He was devious and cruel. Very clever though. Too clever.”

  “Knights began to desert, to go back to their kingdoms. You see, the bards will tell you that it was Lancelot’s betrayal that brought down Camelot and The Order, but it wasn’t. It was Arthur and his inability to discipline his son.”

  “Lancelot told Arthur that if he didn’t do something about Mordred, then The Order of the Knights would crumble. The Knights supported Lancelot in this. Arthur had no choice but to send Mordred away for a time. But things were never easy between Arthur and Lancelot after that, not like before. When he eventually did come back, Mordred was older and charming. He seemed like a completely different person. But he wasn’t. He had learnt how to play the game you see. He was, without a doubt, the most dangerous man I have ever met.”

  “Things came to ahead at Bardon Hill. That was a cruel day. The gods were so angry. Lightning hit the ground between our army and the Saxon one. I had never seen anything like it, and I never have since. We won the day, just, but we learnt a terrible truth. There was someone amongst us who was feeding the Saxons information. I always thought it Mordred. Everyone else did too. Arthur raged and roared, and he took it out on Lancelot. He strung up…” Tegan paused, and when Merton looked into her face, he saw a terrible pain. “Lancelot couldn’t stay after that. He left that night, never to return. Arthur questioned Mordred the following morning. He must have had his suspicions. Mordred protested his innocence, and once again he was believed. Arthur always believed him, even when the evidence was staring him in the face.”

  “It wasn’t Mordred, it was Gawain,” Merton stated, suddenly feeling very tired, even though he had only just woke up. A side effect of the potion, perhaps? Or was it a side effect of the pain? It was hard to tell the difference sometimes. “Gawain was the spy.”

  Tegan frowned and glared at Merton. “Gawain would never have done something like that, how dare you suggest it.” Tegan rose to her feet in outrage. “Gawain was the most loyal of the Knights. He was a good man, one of the best. Despite being a lapdog, he was my friend.”

  “It was Gawain,” Merton said again. “Trust me on this one.”

  “No, you are wrong. You are wrong about many things, Merton du Lac. Gawain was not a spy, Mordred was. And Mordred is not alive. He is dead. I saw Natanleod’s blade go through him at Camlann. I saw him go down.”

  “Gawain lied, and Mordred is alive,” Merton stated with force. “I saw Mordred with my own eyes. I spoke to him. He is alive.”

  “He cannot be,” Tegan persisted. She marched over to the display of weapons. Merton narrowed his eyes, for she had not hobbled as she usually did and he wondered what game she was playing with him. Whatever it was, he didn’t like it.

  “He is alive,” Merton said again, rising to his feet. “He helped Philippe take the throne. A Pendragon is inside a du Lac stronghold.”

  Tegan whirled back around. “Then there is nothing you can do,” she threw the words at him with anger. “You will have to swallow this vengeance and think yourself lucky you came out with your life. Mordred was trained by the best, and you are not a warrior anymore.”

  “But I have my wits, isn’t that what you said I needed? Oh, I remember what you said, just before I passed out.” He saw Tegan’s surprised look. “Why am I here Tegan? What do you want from me?”

  Tegan took down a sword from the wall. “I saw you asleep leaning against the Standing Stone, and I saw him in you. I saw Lancelot. I loved him you see… Oh, how I loved him,” she stated softly, looking at the blade. “I adored the very ground he walked on. He meant everything to me…everything.”

  “You loved him?” Merton asked, his voice equally soft.

  “You have to understand how it was for me. I had spent the better part of twenty years training with the Druids — I was sheltered, to an extent. I was a great warrior, but I knew nothing about romance or men. Lancelot dazzled me. It was as if he had cast a spell on me. If he were in the room then my eyes were drawn to him, I had no control over my emotions when it came to him. If he so much as glanced my way, I would feel, to my horror, my face heat in embarrassment. I was a warrior who was scared of my own feelings. I was young. I had never been held in a man’s arms. I had never been kissed. I knew nothing about what it could be like between a man and woman. We became friends, he and I. Lancelot was easy to talk to, when he wasn’t teasing me,” she smiled at the memories. “Then one night, after a meeting at the Table, we found ourselves alone. Everyone else had left, but I noticed Lancelot made no move to leave, so I stayed behind too. He was troubled, worried — I cannot recall what about now. I was a sympathetic ear. We talked half the night away about our lives before Camelot. We talked about what we wanted to do in the future and then, I don’t know how it happened, but I was in his arms, and he was kissing me. Lancelot du Lac was kissing me,” she laughed softly. “Of all the women at court, he chose me. Merton, your father, was my first everything. First love. First kiss. He was the first man in my bed. I thought we would marry, but then along came Guinevere and everything changed.”

  “I am sorry he hurt you,” Merton said, feeling the need to apologise, “but if it is any comfort, my father never had an affair with Guinevere.”

  “Is that what he said?” Tegan scoffed. “He did more than have an affair with her. He was going to marry her. Sometimes I wonder if he actually did,” she shook her head sadly at the thought. “He loved her the way he should have loved me. But then Guinevere’s father gave her to Arthur to wed. Leodegrance was a bastard at the best of times. He cared nothing for his daughter’s welfare. He just wanted to be able to say his daughter was a Queen. It mattered not to him if she was happy. Lancelot stepped aside, and he let the marriage happen. He was such a fool. He put the security of his kingdom before
everything. He saw the wisdom in keeping the kingdoms united, for he knew what would happen if they were not, and if he and Arthur ever fell out, then that would be the end. Arthur needed the support of the du Lacs, without it there would have been no Order of the Knights.”

  “Lancelot stole away in the dead of night, just before Guinevere and Arthur’s wedding. He did not tell anyone he was going. Arthur never said anything, but we could see he was upset and confused by Lancelot’s departure. None of us, who knew the truth behind Lancelot’s abrupt departure, thought we would ever see Lancelot again. He was gone for a long time. It seemed like an eternity to those of us who missed him. When he did finally come back, he sought me out and apologised for breaking my heart. He now knew what it felt like, you see. He begged for my forgiveness, he got down on his knees and begged. We both wept. We both comforted the other. I forgave him. At least I thought I did.”

  “We tried to pick up where we had left off, I thought my love would be strong enough to see us through, but it wasn’t. I was jealous. He was apologetic. It wasn’t like before; he didn’t tease me, we didn’t argue, and we didn’t make-up. It was as if he was numb and I realised I deserved more. I didn’t want him to be with me because I was a distraction to what he had lost. I wanted him to be with me because he loved me. I finished it the night before our wedding. He apologised again. I hit him — I didn’t want him to say sorry. I wanted… I wanted him to fight to keep me, to reassure me of his love. But he didn’t. We ignored each other after that. It was the only way. I met my husband, a man who loved me and whom I grew to love very much. But, a part of my heart will always belong to your father — there is nothing I can do about that. When I heard that he had died, I wept tears for him. And I foolishly dreamed of what might have been if I had kept my mouth shut and we had wed. I look at you and cannot help but think you should have been my son,” she smiled sadly. “A foolish old woman’s dream, forgive me. I should not have said that…” Tegan’s words faded into nothing.