by Sarah Zettel
Fortunately, the dim corridor remained empty as she hurried down its length to her own chamber. She pushed the door open, and warmth wafted out over her along with a stench strong enough to make her clap her hand across nose and mouth.
‘God Almighty!’ she cried as she pushed the door shut behind her. ‘What is that?’
Cryda looked to Elsa, and then to Laurel, tears shining in her eyes. She gestured helplessly to a pair of buckets that stood beside the bathing basin. ‘It is the wash water. It’s been … fouled.’
So it had. What should have been clear water was muddied, greasy and malodorous. In fact, judging from the straw that floated on its surface, it had been used to swill out the stable.
Laurel felt her stomach tighten. So, this is how Camelot shows its displeasure.
‘Meg’s gone to find out who was responsible,’ said Elsa. Her tone said she didn’t hold out much hope.
Laurel put her hands on her hips, trying to keep her breathing shallow, and her mind calm. First things first. ‘Well, there’s no point in keeping’this. Throw it out the window.’
Cryda and Elsa glanced uneasily at each other. ‘Meg told us to keep the windows closed.’
Laurel looked steadily at her maids for a moment. They, in turn, both studiously looked at the floor. Then, Laurel walked over to the shutters, undid the latch and pulled them open.
Her window overlooked the broad yard at the centre of Camelot’s keep. She could see the stables and various outbuildings, and the busy, dusty expanse of the yard itself stretching towards the chapel and the walls beyond.
But not everyone was busy today. A small crowd clustered beneath her window. As soon as she opened the shutters, these idlers let out a rude hissing and shouting. Laurel, unable to believe what she heard, froze for a moment. This gave one of them time enough to pick up a clod of dirt and hurl it upwards. Fortunately, his aim was off, and it smacked against the wall beside her head.
‘Hey!’ shouted another voice. ‘You there!’ A man-at-arms wearing a leather coat strode up to the jeering crowd. ‘Get back to your work! She’s the king’s guest!’
The idlers scattered before his order, quickly at first, but then – as it became clear he was not going to chase after them – more slowly. The man turned to glower up at Laurel. She nodded her thanks. In reply, he spat into the dirt, and sauntered away.
So. Laurel sighed. ‘Well, they’re gone for now. Let’s get rid of this filth.’
Cryda and Elsa obediently emptied the buckets into the yard. Now there was no water at all. Laurel turned about, taking stock of the rest of the room. The fire was low, but the basket for fuel was empty.
‘Do I need to ask?’ She rubbed her forehead.
‘No one has brought any today,’ said Cryda. ‘We’ve been afraid …’
Laurel didn’t make her finish. ‘Yes, I can see why. All right. We will not remain here much longer. Three days at the most. We must make do for ourselves as best we can. We are still the king’s guests, and there are limits to what outrages may be performed against us.’
‘My Lady …’ began Elsa, twisting her plump, capable hands together.
‘Yes?’
‘My Lady, what’s happened? They say your … Sir Agravain has turned traitor against the High King.’ Her face had gone ghostly white. ‘My lady, is it true? What’s to become of us?’
‘You hold your tongue, Elsa.’
It was Meg. She shouldered the door open with the yoke she wore around her neck. Two buckets full of fresh water hung from its ropes. ‘You have no business pestering our lady. She will tell us all we need to know in due time.’ Meg set the buckets down firmly, splashing water onto the hearthstones. ‘Now help me with these, you fool girls.’
Cryda and Elsa ran forward at once, removing the yoke and lugging the buckets nearer to the dying fire.
‘Now, my lady, do you wish to change?’ inquired Meg, sounding for all the world like this was any other day.
‘In a moment, Meg. I need to speak with you all.’ Laurel licked her lips. How do I begin? Cryda and Elsa turned to her, hungry for explanation and reassurance, and she had so little she could give. ‘There has been a disagreement between Lord Agravain and the High King. Lord Agravain will be leaving at once for Din Eityn. He does this in defiance of King Arthur’s orders.’ She drew a deep breath. ‘I will be going with him.’
‘Oh, my lady, not if he …’ Cryda clapped her hand over her mouth.
‘In this, I may choose to side with the king, or with my husband, Cryda. I choose my husband.’ Cryda bowed her head humbly, whether that was from her words or Meg’s uncompromising glower, Laurel could not tell. ‘It is difficult and uncomfortable now. Perhaps things will smooth out over then next day or so. Perhaps not. I am sorry you must suffer for this,’ she added softly.
Believe me, my women, if there had been another way, I would have taken it.
‘And that should be more than enough for you,’ snapped Meg, setting her fists on her hips. ‘Now, you can surely brave the yard long enough to find our lady some fuel for the night. Stay together and keep your mouths closed. Go!’
Cryda and Elsa both made their curtsies in acknowledgement: Then, keeping huddled together, as if hoping to go unseen, they slipped out into the corridor.
When she could no longer hear their footsteps, Laurel turned to Meg. ‘There are some things I must say to you, Meg, that cannot be repeated to any living soul.’
Meg folded her hands calmly in front of her. Laurel realized she had been perfectly prepared for this moment. It might even have been the reason she sent the other two away. Softly, carefully, Laurel told Meg of the plan, and of Meg’s own part in it. Meg listened without interrupting until Laurel at last fell silent. Then, Meg lifted her chin.
‘I will not leave you.’
Laurel stared. ‘Meg,’ she said softly. ‘You must.’
But Meg shook her head and turned away, dipping her hand into one of the buckets to check the temperature of the water, and then lifting it a little closer to the fire where it could warm more fully. ‘You go to a foreign land.’ She might have been speaking to the fire as much as to Laurel. She lifted the second bucket, all but setting it in the coals. ‘To God alone knows what place …’
Laurel waved her words away impatiently. ‘Meg you must stand messenger for me to Lynet. There is no one else to send.’
In reply, Meg took up the poker and jabbed it angrily into the coals, breaking them open to release fresh flames. ‘Then you find must someone,’ she said doggedly. ‘Won’t it cause yet more talk if I abandon you now?’
‘Yes,’ replied Laurel firmly. ‘That will only strengthen this illusion we seek to create.’
Meg straightened up, keeping her back towards Laurel and her face towards the dwindling fire. When she did turn, she looked Laurel directly in the eye. It had been a long time since Laurel had truly seen her woman. Meg’s stern face was brown and seamed from the years of work and care. Her once dark hair had all faded to grey. The skin bunched and sagged on her strong hands. Meg had served Laurel’s mother, had served her, since she was a girl. She had denied herself husband and children to remain in that service. She had never done one thing that did not protect and strengthen Laurel and her family.
Humbled by this knowledge, it was Laurel who bowed her head this time.
When Meg spoke again, her words shook with anger though she remembered to keep her voice low. ‘I will not send you into danger alone. Let the others be seen to desert you. I will not do it.’
‘Meg,’ Laurel began again. ‘You do not desert me. You are my only steady friend, and the hope of my lord and our king. If you do not do this, then the whole enterprise will fail. Lynet will not accept the word of anyone else once the rumours begin to fly.’ She stepped forward and took Meg’s trembling, workworn hand. ‘I’m begging you, Meg. For Lynet’s sake. For mine. Take this message home.’
Tears glittered in Meg’s eyes, born of fear, of weariness, of anger that this ne
w place which had promised honour had begun to drag them down. But this time, Meg kept both her tears and her thoughts to herself. Instead, she made a deep curtsy.
‘It shall be as my lady requires.’
When she rose, they embraced, as they had not done since Laurel was small. God grant it is the right decision, Laurel prayed fervently. The thought of going alone into the north terrified her, but she could not show that. Not now. Perhaps not ever.
She pulled back. Meg was still visibly on the edge of tears. She could not be made to stay here, not without a real task.
‘For now, Meg, I have another errand. Cryda and Elsa can dress me when they return. I need you to go down to the thatched house that belongs to Master Merlin, and say I would visit with him in the morning.’
Meg curtsied and relief was plain in her voice. ‘Yes, my lady.’ She turned away, wiping at her eyes, adjusting the set of her shoulders as she closed the door behind herself.
Finally alone, Laurel collapsed into the chair. Her knees were shaking from too many waves of overwhelming emotion. She felt as if she had been scooped hollow and nothing remained to stand before the world but the shell of her skin.
Partly, it was hunger. If her maids came back undisturbed from their quest to find firewood, she must send them out to find something to eat. Or perhaps she should just give herself over to fasting. Given the little demonstration in the yard, she could not be sure how the kitchens might express their disapproval.
A fast can be my penance for causing so much trouble. She slumped backwards, staring at the little fire. Earthen coolness oozed from the stone walls around her. She could smell evening in the draught that slipped under the shutters. She wondered where Agravain was, and what was being said to him, or about him.
Will he come to me again tonight? I should be ready. She stirred, but somehow could not bring herself to stand. Perhaps, when I’m decent again, I should go wait in his rooms … No. Let him be alone if he needs to.
She rubbed her hands together. The chill settled more heavily against her skin. Why did it make her so uneasy? She was used to the cold of night. This was more than that. It felt like prophecy, like the promise of grim news to come. Something was happening. She could tell in the prickling on her arms and the restlessness that spread from the back of her neck. Something had gone very wrong.
Agravain?
Even as she thought this, Meg burst into the room. ‘My lady!’ she gasped. ‘My lady, the sorcerer, Merlin. He’s gone … he’s gone, and his house is destroyed!’
EIGHT
In an instant, Laurel was on her feet. Forgetting place and appearance, and all other delicate decencies, she hiked her hems up around her ankles and barreled down stairs and corridor, out into the yard. Probably Camelot’s folk stopped and stared. Laurel heeded none of them. She ran across the yard towards the low, lime-washed house that was home to Merlin the sorcerer.
Her first thought was that Meg was wrong. The low, white cottage stood whole and sound, with its window was tightly shuttered. Her woman had made some mistake. Everything was clearly all right. The nervous, shifting crowd in front of the open door was there because she, Laurel, had dared to come to this place.
But as she circled the edge of the crowd, she saw this fleeting hope was mistaken. What she had first taken for a stick of firewood dropped across the threshold was Merlin’s carved staff, lying like a fallen branch.
Fury moved Laurel forward, shouldering the gawpers out of her path. How could all these fools just stand about like sheep? Never mind that this was Merlin’s house, never mind that no one dared enter here without permission even in broad daylight, let alone with night approaching, something was wrong!
She pushed her way out of the crowd and caught up the staff, shoving the door open wide.
All at once, Laurel found herself in the midst of a ruin.
Overturned tables lay like driftwood in the sea of smashed crockery and trampled herbs. Inks and dyes ran in rivulets down the walls. Precious books lay trampled on the dirt floor, their pages torn and scattered. The well’s cover had been tossed aside and the well beneath was dark and cold. Laurel thought of death as she looked at it, but did not know why. Then she realized the curved grey fragments beside the wall were not broken crockery, but broken skulls. Skulls someone had thrown against the wall.
What had happened here? She turned slowly, looking at the whole of the ruined cottage. What could do this while Merlin … ?
God and Mary, is Merlin dead? The sight of Agravain so worried about her coming here returned in a rush. It could not be possible he had a hand in this. It could not! Suddenly ice cold, she gripped Merlin’s staff and crossed herself with one shaking hand.
‘Do not distress yourself, lady. I am here.’
Laurel whirled around. There in the threshold stood Merlin, silhouetted against the dimming evening light. He hunched over, bracing himself against the door frame like a crippled old man. One shuffling step at a time he walked into the wreckage of his house.
‘That is mine, I believe.’ He held out his crabbed hand, and she put the staff into it. He drew it to his chest, embracing it like a child might a favoured toy as he gazed around at the devastation.
Laurel forced her mouth to move. ‘Where have you been, Master?’
Merlin smiled grimly. ‘Can you not tell?’ He spread out the hems of his black robe. On the rich cloth, Laurel saw the wavering white line that was unmistakably the stain of salt water. The thought of him up to his knees in the crashing waves came to Laurel and she frowned.
Merlin reached one shaking hand down to pull a stool out of the flotsam and stumbled. Laurel grabbed his shoulders to help steady him, but he shook her off angrily. She backed away. Merlin set the stool down, and set himself on it.
‘Why did you go to the sea?’ she asked softly.
The sorcerer’s mouth twitched. It was terrible to see him this way, so weak and dishevelled in the midst of the ruin of his home, which he did not even remark on, as if it was no surprise to him.
‘To ask her to take you back.’
Her? Grandmother? He asked Grandmother to take me … It was too much. Her thoughts could not compass it. ‘I do not understand.’
‘No. No you don’t.’ He lifted his face and his eyes glittered brightly with the cold light of anger. ‘You careen into the middle of this war, hazarding everything, bringing death with your every act and you do not understand!’ He slammed the butt of his staff against the floor and Laurel jumped. She could not help it. But she did not retreat. She must understand what had happened here.
Slowly, the burn of anger dimmed and Merlin’s face fell, all violence in him changing into simple grief. ‘Leave here,’ he pleaded softly. ‘Return to your home. Let you yourself be the one who delivers the message to Geraint and Gareth.’
Laurel could barely breathe. Her hands knotted in her skirts. She wanted to run, to flee Camelot altogether, just because he spoke. She wanted with a terrible force to abandon Agravain, and the whole of this suddenly cursed place and go home.
She swallowed hard. ‘Master Merlin,’ she croaked. ‘Master Merlin, please, tell me what you know.’
To her horror, a laugh bubbled out from Merlin’s throat. Shaking as if fever gripped him, the sorcerer threw back his head, howling with horrifying mirth.
‘What I know? Ah, lady ask anything but that! Anything at all!’ Tears streamed down his face and the laughter dissolved becoming a hiccoughing sob.
‘What is this, Master?’ Laurel dropped to her knees beside him. ‘If there is anything I can do, tell me, only speak plainly!’
‘Speak, speak, speak! When will I be bid to keep silent!’ Merlin wagged his head, his face flushed, his eyes fevered. ‘I destroyed everything here, the charts, the oracles, so I could give no more answers.’
You did this. Master? Oh, God and Mary no …
‘Even as I did it, I knew it wouldn’t be enough. I meant to kill myself,’ he whispered. ‘I stood there in the sea. I c
ould have thrown myself down, drowned in the waters. Could have … could have done any of a thousand things. Except …’ He turned the staff in his hands, gripping it until his knuckles turned as white as the wood. ‘Except I could not. It would have changed nothing. All still would have unfolded, the only difference would be that I was spared having to watch, and I found … I found I had just that much honour left.’
Laurel gripped his arm. This time he did not shake her off. She doubted he had the strength. ‘Master Merlin, if my presence will bring harm to Agravain, to this war he must wage, then tell me. I will leave, at once. I swear it.’
Merlin’s mouth moved. He chewed at his own lips, bringing blood. Laurel’s mouth spasmed with pain in sympathy. He’s mad, he’s mad, whispered a voice in her head. But he was not mad, and she knew it. He had just seen too much.
At last, Merlin leaned forward, his face alight in a dreadful parody of a child who is about to tell a secret. ‘Do you know what it is to be a prophet, Laurel?’
‘No.’
‘It is to give up your freedom to do what is most human.’ He smiled broadly, delighted. ‘I cannot lie. I cannot even keep silent. I made myself a vessel years ago, when I thought … when I thought I could hold enough knowledge to shape the world.’ His voice grew hoarse, and the levity bled away from them, bringing the weight of all his long years crashing down like a stone. ‘The oldest sin,’ he whispered. ‘The sin of Adam himself. And for it, I pay, and pay, and those better and stronger and greater than I am pay with me.’
She could not speak. All her words had turned to sand in her throat.
‘Will your presence bring harm to Agravain?’ He grinned, showing her his teeth, gone grey with age. ‘Oh no. It is you who save him. You who wins his war.’
Then why do you wish me gone? ‘How?’
‘You bring him the thing Guinevere brought to Arthur.’ He leered at her. ‘The thing most precious but least regarded. Riddle that, Laurel Carnbrea!’ he cried triumphantly.