MORGAN: A Gripping Arthurian Fantasy Trilogy

by Lavinia Collins

  Morgawse turned back to me, her eyes wide with fear, her hands clamped over her stomach.

  “He’s wriggling around like I’ve hurt him, Morgan. Was it the drink? Was it? Have we killed him?”

  I ran over and pressed my hand on her stomach. Beneath the skin, deep in her womb, I felt something writhe and kick. The child wasn’t dead, but it had felt the potion. I did not know what that would mean.

  I shook my head. “I think he will be fine. I… I don’t know. There’s nothing in the book about… children.”

  “What about you?” Morgawse whispered. “Did it work for you?”

  I closed my eyes and pictured myself as Kay. Perhaps I was giving too much of myself away, but I thought it was safest to try first to become one whom I knew so well, whom I could picture so clearly. I felt a tingling through my limbs, as though I were becoming numb, and a rushing in my head as though I were spinning around, but soon these settled, and when I opened my eyes and looked down, I saw Kay’s hands peeping from the sleeves of my wool dress, felt it stretch taught across the muscular shoulders I had acquired. I could feel strength all through the body whose form I had taken. Morgawse’s mouth fell open when she saw me, and then she laughed until she slid to the ground. I reached up and ran my hand through the short, velvety dark hair that I knew would be there. I had done it. I had become someone else.

  At last, I thought. At last.

  Chapter Sixteen

  When I slept that night beside Morgawse, I dreamed strange dreams where I stood at the mirror, and every time I blinked saw someone new before me. Me. Kay. Morgawse. Arthur. Lancelot. Mother. Gawain. Lot. Morgawse. Me. Kay. Ector. It was not a bad dream, but it made me feel uneasy. Lose oneself. But I was resolved. I would not lose control. So, the potion would not protect both me and Morgawse as I had thought, but it had made me feel strong, and though she could not change to keep herself safe, I could do my best to protect her.

  The next day I wrote to Kay, trying as hard as I could to pass the message that we, and Arthur, were in danger from Lot, without saying it in so many words. I wanted it to seem like a mundane note, not worth intercepting. I wrote:

  K – remember that boy that used to squire for you who lost all your equipment? Same silly boy has caused awful trouble with what he has left behind with us. Hope he is prepared to fight with things in this state of disarray. Not sure when we will return to the south, might not be until lost equipment is found. Hope all well. M

  Morgawse did not speak about the potion again, though I was sure she was glad that it had worked for me, for she stuck close to me as we went around the castle together. Her sons were pleased to see her, and spoke kindly to her. For a while they seemed to choose to believe that it was a full brother of theirs inside her belly. Though, as spring came and the snows around Lothian thawed the possibility that it would be her husband’s evaporated, and an atmosphere of anger and resentment returned to Lothian castle. I stayed close by her, and whenever our path crossed with Lot’s, I would meet his look of violent rage to her with a cold stare, and he would edge away. I did not want to change my shape unless I had to, and Lot seemed afraid enough of my woaded face to leave us be, for now.

  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.