I, Morgana Read online

  After a great deal more thought, and putting aside Arthur’s instructions to make haste, I pack up our belongings and journey instead to the kingdom of Lothian, to ask my sister Morgause if she will look after Mordred for me. I tell her that I would like him to learn something about service in a royal court. I cannot resist embroidering the lie I’ve prepared regarding my son’s father, for I can tell from her sour and discontented expression, and from the way she treats Lot, that her husband is a sore disappointment to her.

  “We bedded in a field of daisies, with the sounds of birds and bells and the bleating of lambs to serenade our love-making,” I say. “Such a lusty young man! He was not easily satisfied, but every time he took me, I experienced a degree of pleasure I never thought possible. Small wonder that we’ve bred a young lion between us.” I look fondly at Mordred, who is busy tormenting Gareth. Morgause’s youngest son is a few years older than Mordred but I can see that he is a gentle boy, and has obviously been treated as the baby of the family.

  “Lion he may be by nature, but low born for all that,” Morgause snaps, and hurries to separate the boys. I hide a smile for I can see the envy beneath her scorn. I only wish that anything of what I’ve said was true! Whatever Lot’s shortcomings, Morgause is in a far better position than I, for her sexuality has some outlet for expression: four sons bear testimony to that. But since coupling with Arthur, I have nightly gone alone to my bed, my needs unassuaged except by my own devices.

  “Take good care of Mordred for me,” I beg her. In my heart, I know she will, for I’ve observed her to be a good mother. Even so, I wait for a few more days to make sure she treats my low-born child kindly, and also to ensure that Mordred settles happily with his cousins. It is only when I am fully reassured that I take my leave.

  Saying goodbye to Mordred is difficult enough, but witnessing his distress as I turn my horse to gallop away is almost unbearable. I want to run back to him and take him in my arms, and tell him I shall never leave him, never. But our safety depends on my going to court and telling lies, and so I steel my heart and call out to him my promise that I shall bring him a special surprise on my return.

  Under escort from Lot’s men—and grieving—I journey to Arthur’s new court, still wondering why I’ve been summoned, and still apprehensive. Once safely at the gate house, I pay off the men and dismiss them, for I do not want anyone at Camelot to know from where and under whose protection I have journeyed. In spite of a light, misting rain, the courtyard is crammed with people coming and going. I look about with enjoyment, relishing the noise and bustle after the quietness of the priory and the long journey from Lothian. Merchants and traders push and shove for position, their trays and carts piled high with everything from fish to loaves of bread, from bolts of finely woven fabric to rough baskets crammed with anything that could possibly be wanted or needed by a royal household.

  Knights jostle past on their way to the tilting yard, attended by their squires. I hail one of them, and am in turn greeted by Sir Kay who sends his squire with word of my arrival to the king. While I wait for Arthur to receive me, Sir Kay makes some enquiries, and then he and Sir Bedivere personally escort me to where I shall sleep, on the excuse that they can show me some features of the new castle along the way. I must admit that what I see impresses me.

  The Great Hall is larger and longer than any I have yet encountered. At its center is an immense round table surrounded by chairs with elaborately carved arms and padded with comfortable cushions. The shutters are open to let in the light from several huge windows. Rich, beautifully embroidered tapestries depicting wild creatures and hunting scenes adorn the stone walls, a fitting decoration for the feasts, which must always include the results of the huntsmen’s kill: the boar, deer and birds that will grace the table. The round table and chairs are the only furniture in the room.

  “This is where we sit while we conduct our business with the king,” Kay tells me, puffing up his chest importantly. “But the hall is large enough to accommodate everyone at Camelot, so additional benches and tables are brought in when we dine.”

  We walk on. I look about me with great curiosity, impressed not only by the finery but also by the calm and order that seems to prevail throughout the castle. The women’s solar is well appointed, with colorful hangings to brighten bare stone walls, and padded cushions to add comfort to benches and stools. A couple of windows, protected by thin layers of shaved horn, add a welcome brightness to the room and illuminate the ladies’ industry. They look up from embroidery frames and looms as we pass, and bob their heads in acknowledgment without pausing in their labors. The soft notes of a lute follow us down the corridor.

  I am relieved to find that I am not expected to share either a bed or a room with other women from Arthur’s entourage, for I have grown used to my own company in the priory. I gaze in appreciation at the soft feather bed that dominates the small sleeping space allotted to me. It will be an especial treat after the narrow, straw-filled mattress on which I sleep at the priory. What loving might one have in such a bed! I hide a smile as I ponder the possibilities, for the one thing Arthur’s court does not seem to lack is lusty young men.

  In the days that follow, I am treated with some respect—and great caution. I realize that no one is quite sure of my standing and my status becomes increasingly precarious as I wait for my first meeting with Arthur. I may be living in unaccustomed luxury, but I’m certainly not enjoying my stay here. Arthur keeps sending his excuses and, despite my apprehension, I resent the slight. I even wonder if perhaps he now regrets sending for me and is afraid to face me.

  Arthur’s Camelot is a wonder though, and I explore it thoroughly. I discover that it was built to celebrate Arthur’s greatest victory against the invaders after what I (and Merlin) foretold came to pass. Britain is at peace at last and I suppose I should credit Arthur with bringing it about, although it was my suggestion that enabled him to do so. Perhaps invigorated after his night with me, Arthur sent envoys around Britain and men came from everywhere to fight the usurpers in a series of battles that culminated in the last and bloodiest of them all at Mount Badon. The enemy were routed, and they fled in ignominy and in terror. Fighting together against a common foe served to unite the people of Britain, and Arthur has taken steps to ensure that each tribe has a representative here at court. He has shown some wisdom in this—but I could have achieved the same outcome if given the chance, of course.

  I also come to understand more of one of Arthur’s innovations. Bedivere tells me that Arthur and his friends and advisers at court sit around the great round table to deliberate matters of state, each in his own named chair. It seems that Arthur believes that being seated in the round makes everyone equal and gives everyone an opportunity to speak his mind. It’s an idiotic idea, but typical of Arthur, who was ever unable to make up his mind about anything. For all the fancy words and explanations, I suspect that having a round table means that, rather than showing leadership, Arthur probably waits for someone to tell him what to do! I know things would have been different under my rule, so different, and I curb my tongue with difficulty.

  I renew old acquaintances at court, although I try to avoid Merlin. He seems to be everywhere, Arthur’s mentor and adviser in all things. Inevitably, our paths finally cross. I can hardly hide my apprehension as I bend my knee to him in obeisance.

  “Merlin.” I lower my head so that he cannot read my face. At all costs he must not discover what I have done in my attempt to bring about the downfall of Arthur.

  “Lady Morgana.” He is coolly polite. I take my cue from him. We exchange a few pleasantries and I walk on, shaking with the release of tension.

  The tone of that meeting sets the tenor of our encounters in the future. I haven’t forgotten my vow to bring him down, but I am prepared to wait. In the meantime I watch him closely. I show respect—and ever so gently I interrogate him to find out how much he knows, or thinks he knows. It soon becomes clear to me that he either suspects nothing of
my theft of his property, or is unwilling to confront me with his knowledge. Nor does he seem to know of Mordred’s existence, or the means of his birth. This removes my greatest worry, for it means that Arthur has kept our liaison secret. It comes as something of a revelation to realize the limits of the great mage’s powers: that while he knows a great deal about magic he has so little understanding of the human heart. Silently, I make a vow never to fall into the same trap.

  I wait for Arthur to send for me. I fume at the delay, wondering if this is Arthur’s doing or if Merlin has advised against the meeting. Eventually I run out of patience and decide to pack up my belongings and leave Camelot. The next dawn heralds the day of the feast marking Pentecost. From all the preparations underway, I can tell that this will be a very special occasion indeed. I change my mind: I shall give Arthur one last chance. If he doesn’t send for me during the day I shall take leave of him at the feast, shame him in front of the whole court if necessary. Whatever the outcome, I intend to turn my back on him, and on Camelot, until the time comes for me to take my place as head of the realm.

  Arthur and his favorites are seated at the round table to dine, the knights in their accustomed places, but space has been made for their ladies to sit beside them. Other members of the court sit at benches ringed around the great table. I am seated at one of these, the only woman without an escort. I am deeply conscious of the lack, and of the pitying glances that come my way.

  Feeling tired and dispirited, I survey the scene. The Great Hall is aglow with candlelight. The ladies in their silken gowns gleam like butterflies among the more soberly dressed men. Sparkling crystals and precious gems adorn wrists, fingers and throats. Gold and silver tableware reflect the candlelight, adding luster. The excited buzz of conversation almost drowns the sweet tones of a lute and the voice of a minstrel who sings louder and louder in order to be heard.

  Forgotten and ignored by all, I find it hard to share in the gaiety. Because it is Pentecost, Arthur announces at the beginning of the feast that he is expecting something wonderful to happen: apparently this has become the custom for every feast at Pentecost. Everyone cheers his words, while I sourly surmise that perhaps the wonder will lie in his final acknowledgment of my presence.

  I reflect that, where once I had joy and a sense of purpose in my life, now I have nothing. Unwittingly or not, Merlin shattered more than my ambition; he also shattered my life and my reason for being. I look around the room and recognize that I feel nothing for those gathered around me. I care about nothing except my son, Mordred. He is the one light in the darkness and desolation that I inhabit, and I determine to leave, to reclaim him without delay.

  The sudden loud knocking of the steward’s staff upon the wooden floor jerks me from my reverie, and stops the minstrel mid-verse. My pulse quickens, although I cannot say why. A man steps into the Great Hall. He is dressed in a simple tunic and breeches, denoting his lowly status. Apart from the steward, he is unattended. A sigh of disappointment rises in a wave around me. But the man shows no fear or awe as he approaches Arthur. Once close enough, he bows deeply and then straightens to face the king.

  “I am Launcelot du Lac, son of King Ban, and I am here to serve you, sire.” He bows again, seemingly unaware of the collective gasp that echoes around the silent hall. Everyone has heard of Sir Launcelot du Lac from across the sea, for his exploits have been sung by bards, and even by the minstrel who entertains us this night. The bravest of knights have been defeated by Launcelot, but he is also credited with winning battles against unworldly beings as well as showing himself a chivalrous knight to any damsel in distress.

  I watch intently as Arthur bids him welcome. And then Launcelot turns, and his eyes meet mine.

  I was once in the forest in a thunderstorm; a bolt of lightning split the tree under which I was sheltering, and blasted me into the air. But that was nothing to how I feel now as we face each other, as our hearts, our minds, our souls collide with such impact that it seems we have fused into one.

  He feels the shock of it too, I know he does, for he stands still for several long moments as we stare at each other. And then he walks to where I am sitting, ignoring Arthur’s invitation to join him at his side. I move along the bench to make room for him, and he sits beside me, his thigh touching mine in a searing promise for the night, and for the future.

  While I appear composed, inside my heart sings like a nightingale. All my senses have sparked into brilliant life. I am acutely conscious of Launcelot’s regard as he bends his dark and admiring gaze on me. I know I can inspire awe among those who respect my learning and my skill at healing, but I hardly dare believe that I can inspire the admiration of this one man above all others, this man whose opinion I would most value and whose love I would most cherish, when there are so many more beautiful ladies at court who would take him in a heartbeat if they could.

  “You have heard my name, lady; may I hear yours?” he asks.

  “Morgana, daughter of Gorlois, Duke of Cornwall. I am half-sister to the king.” I give my name freely for I want no pretense between us. Indeed I believe I would give him so much more than my name, if he but asked for it! For a moment I am tempted to weave a love spell, just to make sure of him. Perhaps I should even transform myself, as I did in order to lie with Arthur? But I want this man to love me as I am, and for that reason I vow there will be no spells, no magic involved in our relationship.

  And then I realize, to my infinite dismay, that there can never be full honor and trust between us either, for Launcelot must never find out that I coupled with Arthur and we made a child together. I must needs proceed with caution, and be always on guard. There is great sadness in the thought. But I smile and say, “May I welcome you to court, sire.”

  “I am pleased to be here safely at last,” Launcelot responds gravely. “I must confess that there were times along the road when I thought I might never arrive, when I feared for my very life.”

  “It sounds as though you had a dangerous and difficult journey, sire.” I touch his hand, feel the thrill of it run through my body. “Pray, tell me something of your travels.” I listen intently as Launcelot begins to recount tales of knights errant on quests, of ladies in need of rescue, and his encounters with the Questing Beast, that elusive creature with the head of a snake and the body of a lion, whose presence is heralded by the baying of forty questing hounds. I watch his lips form the words and all the while I long to feel the touch of those lips on mine. Each adventure sounds more difficult and bloodthirsty than the last, so that by the end of his recital I marvel at his prowess in managing to stay alive against such great odds.

  “I give thanks that you are safely here,” I tell him. “But, sire, what brings you to Camelot?” I don’t mention that I, too, have only lately come to court and that I really have no place here. No doubt he’ll find out soon enough.

  “I have come to serve the king.” Launcelot gazes into my eyes. “And to serve you too, Lady Morgana, if I may?”

  As understanding comes, I flush with painful embarrassment. Launcelot has a reputation for being chivalrous to women. Having seen that I have no companion at table, he is offering his services, nothing more.

  “I have no need of a knight to serve me.” My voice is harsh, grating with disappointment. “I have power and status of my own.”

  “I beg your pardon if I have offended you, lady.” Launcelot looks startled that his offer has been so ungraciously declined.

  I wonder if I have been too touchy, too hasty in my reply. “There is no offence taken, Sir Launcelot. But I prefer to meet you as an equal, not as a damsel wanting protection.”

  “I never for one moment doubted that you could not look after yourself, lady.” Now he sounds amused; his eyes reflect glittering points of candlelight, and a warmth I cannot fault.

  “That being settled between us, tell me about your home across the sea.” I am eager to hear more of the real world, the world beyond my home at Tintagel, the priory of Glastonbury and Camelo
t. True, I have caught glimpses of unknown places in my scrying pool and I have seen the stalls at the great markets, where foreign traders sell furs, spices, glassware and fine pottery as well as strange birds and animals. I long to know more of these countries beyond my ken.

  But Launcelot instead turns the conversation back to Camelot and the exploits of the knights in residence here, saying he wants to know all I can tell him. We pass a pleasant evening together, marked by a flirtatious banter that threatens my cautious heart. I wonder if he will suggest that we bed together and what my response will be—or what it should be—if he does. I know that I want him both as a lover and as a friend. But past experience pricks my desire with doubt. Everything I’ve ever loved and valued was taken from me when Merlin switched his allegiance to Arthur. Everything save Mordred; him I will hold fast with all my power. They will not get my son.

  But Launcelot’s first allegiance is to his king; I have just heard him make his pledge. Where will that leave me, if he is forced to choose? If I give my heart to him; if I give him my love and my allegiance, will he also betray me one day?

  It is such a risk, my heart fails at the very thought of it. Better not to savor delight in the first place, I think, for having once tasted the sweetness of loving Launcelot I will surely die if I lose him. And yet a sense of destiny pulls me into the dance of love he is weaving around me, and I know that I am already helplessly ensnared.

  I am saved, of all people, by my brother.

  “Morgana?”

  Launcelot and I are so engrossed in each other that we are unaware of Arthur’s approach until he stands before us. Arthur nods to Launcelot, who returns his gesture with a small bow. With difficulty, I raise my eyes to meet Arthur’s steady regard, afraid of what he might reveal in front of Launcelot.