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

by Mary Anne Yarde

  “The bards say she was the reason there was a war. Of course, she was only a very small part of it.”

  Alan looked at the door as if in disbelief and then he looked back at his father. “Guinevere?” He asked in a whisper.

  Kay smiled and sunk back against the pillows.

  “I thought she was long dead,” Alan stated.

  “She is. Guinevere died the day she wed the Church.”

  “The Prioress was Arthur’s wife?” Alan whispered. “His Queen?”

  “He didn’t deserve her. He didn’t love her, not like…” Kay looked at his son, his expression one of deep sorrow. “I wish we had more time together. I heard a wise man say once that when death comes, you think back on your life and realise that you let the important things slip through your fingers. I have missed you. You have grown into a fine man. I am very proud to call you my son. No matter what is to come, never forget that.”

  “I…” Alan didn’t know what to say, he wasn’t good with words like some, and he tended to stay away from anything emotional if he could help it. “I missed you too,” he just about managed to stammer.

  “Is there a woman you call your own? Do I have any grandchildren?” The old man’s eyes were eager for news of the next generation. A generation that he knew he would never see, but who he longed to hear about.

  “I am sorry, no wife, no children,” Alan said, and he felt strangely guilty for not having his own family. His father would have made a good grandfather. He would have sat the children on his knee and told them stories about the Knights.

  The eagerness vanished from Kay’s eyes. “I was the same at your age. Women scared the life out of me until I met your mother, may God bless her soul. She came into my life when I needed her the most. I think it will be the same for you. She is out there, waiting for you.”

  Alan didn’t know what to say, so he nodded in agreement.

  “The du Lac’s have lost Brittany,” Kay stated on a sad sigh, his mind flitting from one subject to the next. He had so much left to say, but not the time to say it. “And now…it is under the control of a Pendragon. Lancelot must be turning in his grave.” His grip tightened on Alan’s hand considerably. “Tell me they haven’t desecrated it.”

  “Lancelot’s grave?” Alan shook his head. “No. It hasn’t been touched.”

  Kay’s grip eased. “Good,” he muttered. “We should respect the dead, no matter what side they fought on.”

  “The new King of Brittany is Lancelot’s nephew. Brittany is still under the control of the du Lacs, just a different branch of the family.”

  “Do not lie to me boy,” Kay raised himself up on his arms, and then he collapsed back down onto the pillows. “It may seem like we are cut off from civilisation here, but news travels. Mordred is alive. He helped this nephew of Lancelot’s take the throne.”

  Alan nodded his head. “He did.”

  “Have you seen him?” Kay asked.

  “Mordred? Yes, I have.”

  “And what did you make of him?”

  Alan sighed. “I don’t know. He is confident but arrogant. Deliberate, to the point, but cruel. He, um, buried the Abbot of Brittany alive. Although, I have to admit that I cannot sympathise with the Abbot. He was an evil man.”

  “More evil than Mordred?” Kay asked, disbelieving.

  “The Abbot hurt someone I have come to care about.”

  Kay looked at him questionably.

  “Garren du Lac’s widow,” Alan tried to explain, but he didn’t have the words, so he stopped. He considered Amandine his friend of sorts, and he never let his friends down. And yet, he came here, when she needed him. He prayed to God that nothing had happened to her.

  “Merton’s whore? We have heard of her too, although I had heard she was dead,” Kay said with censure in his voice.

  “She isn’t a whore.” Alan raised his voice and then he realised that he was shouting at a dying man. “I am sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

  “Defend someone who needed defending?” Kay asked. “Don’t apologise for that. It makes my heart feel warm to hear you jump to her defence so quickly. It means you listened when I taught you The Knights’ Code.”

  “I should be with her now. She isn’t safe. I fear what will happen to her if I am not there.”

  “I am sorry for dying,” Kay said, amused rather than affronted.

  Alan looked at him. “Have you ever had to leave anyone behind who you cared for? Forgive me that is a stupid question, you were a Knight of Camelot.”

  “It is not a stupid question, and it is one I am happy to answer. I left many people behind. I know about loss. Alan, can you remember when I took you to Avalon when you were a child?”

  Alan nodded, “Yes.”

  “Can you remember what I said about the soil?”

  “You said it was red because of how much blood had been spilt upon it.”

  “From what I hear, it still is red,” Kay stated. “But the war that is to come will be so much worse. You are The Keeper Of The Blade, Alan. It is, therefore, your responsibility to choose a side for yourself and for the men you bring together. And in doing so, you will leave people behind that you don’t want to. War is many ugly things, but the ugliest is what you will have to sacrifice. Those who do not know better say that the biggest sacrifice you can be asked to make is to give your life for the cause, but that is nonsense. Your peace of mind is the greatest sacrifice you will make. The decisions you make for yourself and the men that follow you will either be your greatest triumph, or your worst disaster. Arthur found it wasn’t easy to lead the knights. I sat up with him many a night while his soul tormented him and sleep eluded him.”

  “I thought it was my responsibility to unite the knights,” Alan said his voice quivering slightly at the responsibility being thrust upon his unwilling shoulders. “Are you asking me to lead them as well?”

  “They will need someone,” Kay gave a weak shrug. “It might as well be you as anyone else.”

  Alan let go of his father’s hand and got up from the bed. “I am no King. I have a high position in the Breton army, but this… No. I am not the right man for the job.”

  “We may have to disagree about that. Right now you have a very important decision to make, and this decision is something I cannot help you with. Ask yourself this… Who would you be willing to die for? Because that is what it comes down to. You need to decide which side you are going to be on. You cannot run and hide as I did, that is not an option for you.”

  “I will not stand with Mordred,” Alan stated. “Or Philippe. Or Budic for he is as bad as the others.”

  “Alden then?” Kay asked, his voice quiet.

  “Alden is a good man,” Alan stated. “He keeps his word. But he doesn’t have the men to fight Mordred. It would be like lambs to the slaughter.”

  “Alden is like his father. Lancelot was a good man too, and his word was his bond. It is rare for a man of such station to be so utterly incorruptible. Well,” Kay chuckled, “for the most part Lancelot was anyway. But there was a chink in his armour, just like everyone else, and today you met her.”

  “So it is true, they were lovers…” Alan muttered.

  “They were so much more than that, but that is her story to tell, not mine. I saved Lancelot’s life once. No one apart from Guinevere knows that. Now I come to think about it, maybe I did choose a side. Maybe I was responsible for the war. Or maybe the war was no one’s fault — it was written in the stars, a destiny none of us could run away from.” Kay sighed softly. “I am so tired. I wish this fatigue would leave me,” he mumbled. “Dying is strenuous work.”

  “Then you should rest, Father.”

  “No, there are things I need to tell you first.”

  “You can tell me after you have rested,” Alan wanted an excuse to go outside and get some fresh air. The room was suffocating, and the smell was getting worse. He smiled at his father, then got up and headed for the door.

  “I cannot go to sleep for the
re is no promise that I will wake up again, and you need to know about Arthur. Please,” Kay held his hand out for Alan to take.

  Alan hesitated for a moment, and then he crossed the room and sat back down on the bed and took his father’s hand in his.

  “I had to run away. I didn’t have a choice,” Kay stated. “I saved Lancelot’s life because I couldn’t kill him. He was a dear friend. And yet, neither could I take my brother’s life, for I loved him dearly too.”

  “Your brother?” Alan queried. His father had no brothers.

  “If I close my eyes, I can see the court of Camelot. I can see The Round Table — biggest table I ever saw,” Kay chuckled. “I can see everyone’s faces,” Kay closed his eyes. “Sometimes when I close my eyes, I walk with the dead. They are all there. Waiting. Gawain, telling his stories. Tristan staring moodily in front of him as if he was bearing the weight of the world on his shoulders, of course, we didn’t know then that he was. Arthur looking unsure. Lancelot looking so confident. And then the fire comes and everything fades, disappears like a parchment thrown in a hearth. It is burnt up, engulfed in flames, and all that is left is black ash that is taken in the breeze and is blown away.”

  “A brother? Who was your brother?” Alan asked again.

  “Can’t you guess?” Kay asked, searching his son’s face. “I hated him when I was growing up. I was cruel to him because when I looked into his eyes, I could see the greatness in him, the greatness that was his destiny. I was the heir, but he had the shoulders to wear the crown, and he did. He wore it far better than I ever could.”

  “Are you telling me that Arthur Pendragon was your brother? Are you telling me that I am a Pendragon?” Alan asked with outrage.

  “You make it sound like a curse. It isn’t.”

  “How can this be?” Alan got up from the bed and stared down at his father in shock. “How can you keep something like this a secret? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “It wasn’t something that was widely known.”

  “Tell me everything, now,” Alan demanded.

  “I have hours, not a lifetime,” Kay said, and then he sighed as if defeated. “Way back when Uther Pendragon was King, the Saxons came. They had been raiding the kingdoms in the south-east for some time. We thought ourselves safe in Wessex. But we weren’t. Arthur was in the Kingdom of Orkney when they came, by the time they had finished, I wasn’t fit to be anything, let alone a king.” Kay shifted on the bed and weakly pulled at the covers. A fresh wave of infected blood filled the room with its foul scent.

  “Don’t move, Father,” Alan said.

  “I need to show you my scar,” Kay said, pulling uselessly at his clothes. “Help me pull up my tunic.”

  Alan frowned but did as his father instructed. He was shocked not only by his father’s thin frame, but by the silver scar that ran from the top of his stomach down to his groin.

  “They cut me, I held my guts in my hands,” Kay snorted. “No one is supposed to survive that, right? But I did. The healer pushed my guts back in and stitched me up. I can’t remember much about that time, to be honest, all I can remember is wishing for death because the pain was so unbearable.”

  “Father…” Alan looked at the scar and then his father’s face.

  “Arthur became king, and I became no one. I know I told you many tales of the Knights of Camelot, but I was never one of them. I was the one hidden in the shadows, watching as these great men designed a golden future for us all.”

  “I cannot believe this,” Alan stated. “It makes no sense. How could they not know who you were?”

  “The deception was surprisingly simple. Uther, your grandfather, wasn’t the most agreeable of men. The du Lacs thought him a tyrant,” Kay chuckled again with humour. “They weren’t wrong. Uther reaped hatred like a farmer does corn. I am sure there were a few celebrations when he passed on. When the Saxon’s came into Wessex, they killed everyone, Uther’s entire court. The servants, the slaves…the whole household massacred. Even the dogs and the cats did not escape with their lives. The only one who didn’t die was me — but only Arthur knew who I was. I had never left the kingdom you see. I was a sickly child, and I wasn’t built like a knight. My father feared, quite rightly, that if his enemies saw me, they would not think twice about invading as soon as he passed on to paradise.”

  “I am a Pendragon?” Alan asked again, his voice shaking with disgust.

  “Your reaction surprises me. Arthur was a great King. I thought you would be proud.”

  “I fight for the du Lac’s,” Alan stated.

  “What has that got to do with anything? Arthur fought with them as well for a time. It is just a name. Does it really matter who you are related to?”

  “Yes,” Alan stated in anguish. “Yes, Father, it matters.”

  “Why?” Kay asked. “Why does it? Are you suddenly a different man than you were a few minutes ago? No. The Pendragons are a proud family, a noble one, an old one. We descend from the great Lucius Artorius Castus, he brought the Sarmatian Knights over to Briton and together they fought and won many hard battles. He was a great man. A celebrated one in Rome. Think on that, instead of dwelling on the mistakes of my brother. Alan, the greatest horsemen that ever lived looked up to Castus as their leader. You are part of that, part of his triumph. You should feel pleased—”

  “I feel shame,” Alan stated with despair. “Castus turned on his Knights. He slaughtered them at Tinurtium.”

  “The Sarmatian Knights turned on Rome, Castus didn’t have a choice,” Kay countered.

  “They were slaves,” Alan raised his voice in disbelief. “The Sarmatian Knights were slaves. What did Rome think the Knights would do?”

  “Obey,” Kay countered. “Rome was their master. She expected them to obey.”

  “Oh for God’s sake,” Alan huffed. “You can’t possibly believe that?”

  “Castus did what he had to do, as my brother did what he thought he had to do.”

  “And now you think I should praise Arthur? He murdered Lancelot’s entire household at Joyous Guard. He was no better than the Saxons.”

  “You have no idea of what you are speaking of,” Kay said with a sad shake of his head.

  “This changes everything. The Du Lacs are my enemy now,” Alan stated with cold realisation. Everything he thought he knew had been a lie. His whole life was a lie.

  “Don’t be ridiculous. They are no more your enemy than they were mine. And I was always on good terms with Lancelot. If you don’t believe me, then ask Guinevere to show you her letters. The two of them never stopped writing to each other. Although how she deciphered Lancelot’s hand, I will never know. His writing was truly appalling and as for his spelling…”

  “Did Lancelot know who you really were? Did he know when he took me in all those years ago?”

  “Yes,” Kay answered. “Lancelot never judged me because of my name and not once did he judge you. As I said before, he was a dear friend, and he stayed as one up until the day he died. Alan, just because you are a Pendragon it does not mean you are Arthur or Mordred. A name does not make you good or evil. Your heart does that. You have a job to do, Alan. An important one. Uniting the Knights will be no easy task. But you are a Pendragon who serves the Du Lacs, if anyone can unite them under a common cause it is you.”

  “You planned this?” Alan stated, feeling used. “You sent me to Brittany for this very purpose. How could you? How could you do this to me?”

  “How could I have planned such a thing? I wanted you to be a knight. Sending you to Lancelot was the right thing to do because he was one of the best. You could not have asked for a better swordmaster.”

  “I don’t believe you,” Alan’s words were etched with anguish. He couldn’t take much more of these revelations. “Father, what have you done to me? You have manipulated me and used me for your own gains.”

  “I have done nothing but seek out a good life for you. I didn’t know Mordred was alive. I thought he died at Camlann just like e
veryone else did.”

  “I am sorry, Father,” Alan couldn’t stay in this room a second longer, he felt grossly betrayed.

  “No don’t go,” Kay begged, reaching for his son’s hand.

  Alan looked down at his father and shrugged himself free, which wasn’t difficult. Kay’s hand fell back down onto the bed, and a look of defeat passed over his face.

  “Please don’t leave, not like this,” Kay pleaded.

  “I am sorry, but I cannot be who you want me to be,” Alan tossed Draíocht onto the bed next to his dying father. “Find another to unite the knights, for I am done with this.”

  “Alan, no,” Kay raised his voice as far as his frailty would let him. “This is your destiny. You cannot walk away from it. I forbid you to walk away.”

  Alan left the chamber. He shut the door behind him and then leant back against it. He could hear his father calling his name, and then he heard coughing. With a heavy heart, he pushed off the door and walked away.

  23

  The Bors Tavern, Trevena, The Kingdom of Cerniw.

  Garren didn’t want to wake Josephine for it was still early, but he couldn’t abide one more minute in this cursed bed. He lifted the furs and got up. The coldness of the room made him shiver. A night at The Bors Tavern had left him with a bad back. He wondered how long it had been since fresh straw had been stuffed into the mattress. From the smell of it and the fact that the mattress gave absolutely no comfort, he would imagine it was over a year since last the straw had been changed. He should have slept on the floor like he had wanted to — it would have been a darn sight more comfortable than the bed. But Josephine had said there was room for them both on the bed, and it wasn’t as if this was the first time they had pretended to be man and wife.

  Garren looked upon her sleeping form. Josephine looked so innocent in sleep. So very beautiful. He would have to watch his heart, for she was creeping under his skin and he couldn’t have that.

  “She is Budic’s wife,” he said the words out loud, and the sound of his own voice jolted him out of his musings. She wasn’t free. She was Budic’s, and the law of the land said that she was Budic’s property to do with what he willed. He could not imagine Budic stepping aside for him, as he would have done for Merton.