I, Morgana (12 page)

“My love!” He turns to me with a quick embrace. “They are a wonder. A marvel! I’ve been trying to perceive their meaning. I’m not quite sure, but I think I’m beginning to understand.”

I exhale the breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. “Tell me.” I smile at him. “A kiss if you guess aright.”

“Only a kiss?” His answering smile ignites a heat that spreads through my body.

“Only a kiss if you don’t get it right,” I amend.

“Then I shall have to consider my words very carefully.” He takes my hand and moves to stand in front of the tapestry nearest the door. “I see you are in all of them, as I requested. The likeness is amazing, Morgana.” He squeezes my hand, and is silent a moment. “I suspect these depict the five senses. In this one, you are gazing in a mirror that reflects this strange creature here.”

“It’s a unicorn,” I tell him.

“A marvelous creature indeed. So this panel represents sight. Am I right?”

I nod, and we move on. “And here you are playing a positif, while a maidservant works the bellows. So you are listening to music. Sound, or hearing, yes?”

“Right again.” I lead him on to the next tapestry. “What about this one?”

“A maidservant is offering you a piece of confectionery. Taste?”

“Indeed.” It delights me that Launcelot has been so quick to understand my meaning. I point to the next tapestry. “What does this tell you?”

Launcelot looks at the hands in the tapestry, one of which rests on a standard adorned with his coat of arms while the other caresses the unicorn’s horn. “Touch?”

I nod, and point again.

Launcelot frowns and walks closer. “There is only one sense remaining, and yet there are still two tapestries that need deciphering. But I notice that in this one you are weaving a garland of flowers, and that you have just taken a scented carnation from your maidservant’s basket. So this one denotes the sense of smell? But I confess, Morgana, much as it pains me to lose our little wager, I cannot fathom what to make of this last tapestry.”

“Look more closely.” I drag him across to the last panel, largest of them all. I touch the inscription embroidered in gold on the blue pavilion behind the depiction of me and my maidservant.

“
À mon seul désir
,” Launcelot says slowly. “My only desire?”

“My only desire is you, my lord,” I tell him. “You are in my heart, my mind and my soul. My body is yours. My only desire is to please you in every way you can imagine. I see the heart as the sixth sense, the heart that makes sense of everything else.”

Launcelot is silent as he scrutinizes the pretty scene with its heartfelt motto. I wonder what he is thinking. I wonder if now, at last, he will propose marriage. He turns and takes me in his arms. “And my only desire is to please you, beloved,” he murmurs, and his lips find mine in a long and loving kiss.

There is no proposal, not then nor in the months that follow. And yet I know that Launcelot loves me as much as I love him. It is evident not only in our passionate coupling, but in the many small acts of thoughtfulness, caring and kindness that mark our days. I tell myself that I am content; nevertheless I begin to wonder how much longer I can stay away from Mordred.

At the heart of it is Launcelot himself. I cannot bear to leave him, to say goodbye, for I cannot be sure when I might see him again. I torment myself with questions. Would he stay on here without me or would he return to Camelot? And if he did, might someone else capture his heart in my absence, someone like Guenevere? I try to reassure myself that my fears are groundless, for he tells me often enough that he loves me and certainly I have constant proof of his desire. Our loving is so sweet that I find it impossible to put an end to it.

Finally, the time comes when I know that we must talk about the future. Despite my precautions I have missed one course, and I live with a growing delight that I do not voice until another month passes by with still no sign of “the flowers”, as common people call the menses. I am waiting for an opportune time to tell the good news to my lover when a messenger arrives from Arthur, summoning Launcelot back to Camelot. I listen in dismay as Launcelot reads the message out to me.

“I beg you to come back to court, for I need my friends about me at this time. An attempt was made on my life. Fortunately it was unsuccessful, but Sir Accolon was killed and now the court is buzzing with rumors.”

Accolon! My dismay grows as Launcelot continues to read out the details of Arthur’s slaying of Accolon. How Accolon had provoked a quarrel with curses and slurs on Arthur’s governance and reputation, and had drawn his sword, tempting Arthur to retaliate.

I close my eyes in dread. Accolon must have grown impatient; must have thought to bring me back to Camelot by catching the king unawares, and killing him. But why is Accolon dead and Arthur still alive?

“It seems that by some chance the magical scabbard as well as my sword Excalibur were exchanged by Accolon for his own weapon and scabbard. Unfortunately I did not notice the switch, and it was only by good fortune that I was able to wrest Excalibur from Accolon’s grasp and in turn pierce my attacker through the heart.”

Lancelot frowns at me. “This is a dreadful business, Morgana. Who could have thought such treachery could lie hidden and unsuspected in Arthur’s court?” His voice is heavy with foreboding as he reads on.

“Accolon is dead, but the matter has not ended there, for it seems there was more to this attempt on my life than the ambition of one man.”

A deathly coldness creeps over me at the realization that Accolon must have talked to someone, told the truth about what he’d done, and my part in it too, no doubt. I bow my head, not knowing what to say or how I might defend myself while Launcelot continues.

“Everyone knows that the scabbard of Excalibur has magical properties, but not everyone has the knowledge or the skill to weave a replacement so similar that I had no notion that it was not genuine. People are saying that there is dark magic involved in this affair and, with your help, I would like to investigate this matter further.”

Launcelot stops abruptly, although I notice his eyes continue to skim the parchment. “What else does it say?” I ask, although I dread hearing the full extent of what Arthur knows. Launcelot coughs, and reads aloud once more.

“My wife joins with me in begging you to return to Camelot. Since you escorted her from her father’s home, she has always thought of you as her special champion. She was immensely distressed that you were not present at our nuptials and asks as a personal favor that you do not disappoint us in this.”

I hardly hear the closing salutation from Arthur, I feel such relief—and anger. And jealousy. Guenevere! When I first looked down on her, I realized she had eyes only for Launcelot, but once again I have underestimated her ability to connive and plot to get her own way, for it seems she will stop at nothing to bring him to her side. Is Arthur blind that he cannot see what lies behind his wife’s request?

But of far more importance to me is the next question: Will Launcelot obey his king’s—and Guenevere’s—command?

I look to him for the answer, and find him assessing me with a long and thoughtful stare. My jealousy is forgotten as I struggle to interpret what he is thinking. Now is the time to tell him that we are to have a child, I think, but this thought is immediately followed by another. I will not shame Launcelot into a proposal of marriage. If we are to wed, the suggestion must come from him, and I must be sure that he means it.

“I have to go,” he tells me. “I have to obey the king’s summons.”

“Then I’ll come with you.” Better to be there to defend myself against gossip if need be. And defend Launcelot against Guenevere, if it comes to that.

“No, Morgana. I cannot have you with me. I must go alone.” His refusal hits me like a slap across the face. Speechless, I stare at him.

He takes my hand. “You know I love you.” He begins to play with my fingers, twisting the ring he has given me around and around. “And I know that you love me in return.”

“Of course I do!” After all we’ve been to each other at Joyous Garde, how can he doubt it?

“Have you wondered at all why our liaison has been conducted here rather than at Camelot?”

“Yes, I have.” I am about to go on to tell him that, no matter what else he may hear about me, I truly love him and trust him above all others. But he forestalls me.

“While I was at Camelot, I heard several stories about you.” Launcelot keeps on twisting the ring around my finger; he won’t look at me. “People said that you and the king are at odds with each other, and that you desire his position for yourself.”

“It was my father’s wish that I succeed him as his heir.”

“But Arthur is the son of the High King—and a man. His claim is therefore far greater than yours.”

Do all men share this disdain—nay, this
contempt
—for a woman’s ability to rule? Is that why Launcelot dismisses my claim to the kingdom so lightly? Can he not see how his words thunder in my ears?

“And so to protect your good name and your standing with Arthur—and his queen—you have taken your pleasure with me, but in secret and at no risk to you,” I say coldly, coming at last to understand my place in Launcelot’s life.

“No, it’s not like that. There is always gossip at court, stories circulating about who is doing what and with whom. I give them no credence because I prefer to make my own judgments about the situation.” He coughs, and clears his throat. “But Guenevere told me, before I left the court, that she had seen you with Accolon and that your behavior suggested that you were more than mere acquaintances. I dismissed her words as idle mischief-making, for I know well that you love me. But now that this has happened, you must understand that my first allegiance is to your brother, my king. I cannot jeopardize his friendship, particularly at this time when he trusts me to find out who was responsible for this attack on his life. That is why you cannot accompany me, Morgana. I must be seen as a man with no ties and completely impartial in this matter, both for my sake but also, my darling, for yours.”

“But you do have ties, whether or not you acknowledge them in public. All that we have shared here, our happiness, our life at Joyous Garde, tie us together.” I will not tell him what else binds us together, not now, but I grasp his hand with both of mine. “You know that Guenevere’s accusation is baseless. Please, take me with you to court.”

The rightful heir to the kingdom should not have to beg for favors. I resent being put in this position yet the truth is stark and clear. As things stand, I am nothing and nobody unless I have Launcelot at my side. Together, we could face the court and fight for my good name. His presence would protect me against the slander and gossip of Arthur’s courtiers and his queen. He could give me a position in Camelot as the wife of the best, the fairest and bravest of all Arthur’s knights—if only he would agree.

“No, Morgana. I cannot acknowledge you unless and until I am able to prove your innocence in this affair.”

Even though I know myself to be guilty of all that he suspects, nevertheless I am consumed with rage that, after all his words of love and all we have shared together at Joyous Garde, he will not acknowledge me for who I am: his wife in all but name, and the mother of his unborn child.

So be it. I snatch my hand from his and face him. “Look at me,” I command, and so he does. I read in his expression such grief, such torment, that my courage almost fails me. Yet I force myself to continue. “Let me be sure I understand you. On the basis of the lying, slanderous tongues of the court, you are putting me aside to hurry back to Camelot, to Arthur—and the queen.”

“I’m not putting you aside, I’m just asking for your … discretion. For the moment.”

“Until you can prove that what everyone is saying about me isn’t true?”

“Is it not true, Morgana? Do I have your word on that?”

I open my mouth to give him the assurance he wants—but I find that the words stick in my throat. “It depends on what they’re saying,” I prevaricate, hoping this will be sufficient to divert him. Launcelot subjects me to another long stare before handing me the message from Arthur. He has omitted to read aloud the passage that directly concerns me and that is of most concern to him.

I can feel the blush of shame burning my face as I crumple up the parchment and throw it on the ground. “What they’re saying about me and Accolon—that’s not true,” I say fiercely. “I never had a liaison with Accolon, no matter what anyone, including the queen, might say.”

“No?” Launcelot raised one eyebrow. “But what about the false scabbard, Morgana? You’ve never told me that you have a knowledge of magic and otherworldly matters. What do you know about the scabbard’s provenance—and what else haven’t you told me?”

I cannot answer and so I turn away, knowing that I have lost Launcelot’s trust and that things can never be the same after this. I want to howl my misery aloud. Once again, and more than ever, I wish for the power to turn back time so that I can make everything clean and pure between us. But it is too late for that; my fate was sealed when first my mother, then Merlin, and finally Arthur, betrayed me. A flash of bright, hot anger dries my tears as I come to a bitter understanding that once again I’ve been betrayed by someone I love. Launcelot was my lover, but he could also have been my husband and the father of our child. Instead, he has turned his back on me in his haste to find favor with Arthur and the queen. And for that I cannot and will not forgive him.