I, Morgana (9 page)

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 Camelot. 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.

“My liege and brother,” I greet him.

“Thank you for answering my summons to wait on me at Camelot,” he says, ensuring that I understand the difference in our status. “If you will excuse us, Sir Launcelot, my half-sister and I have something we must discuss.”

Arthur’s demand means that I am forced to bid Launcelot farewell and take my leave. I badly want to stay, for the very thought of making love with Launcelot sets my blood roaring and if I leave now, he may set his sights on another. Frustrated and annoyed, I walk behind Arthur as we retire to his private chamber.

For one awful moment, as I look at his bed, I wonder if he has brought me here to prove himself as a lover once more. But he waves me toward a small stool while he seats himself on a handsomely carved chair. All this display is to remind me of his kingship, no doubt, and to reassure himself that he has won the crown.

“I cannot help but remember the circumstances under which we last met, Morgana,” he murmurs. At least he is not going to pretend to have forgotten what has passed between us. “I trust there were no … consequences as a result of our union?” Arthur continues.

“None at all, sire,” I reply, keeping my eyes downcast lest he read the truth there. My doubts about using Mordred as my instrument of justice have been reinforced during my time at court. Even though I begrudge it, I have seen for myself the love and respect that Arthur commands from his people. I love my son far too much to risk his life in the bloody conflagration that must surely follow if he challenges Arthur for the crown on my behalf. Nevertheless, my longing to claim my birthright is unassuaged, the flames fanned higher after Arthur’s treatment of me during my time here in his new court.

 I drag myself back to the present. Arthur is still speaking.

“… grateful that you have accepted your lot, and sequestered yourself at the priory. Even so, Morgana, what happened between us must never be spoken of again. It would shame me, and it would greatly upset my wife.”

“Your wife?” I speak without thinking. “Are you wed, Arthur?”

“You haven’t been paying attention,” he chides me with a frown. “I have just told you that I intend to take a wife. Guenevere, daughter of King Leodegrance. Once the agreement is signed, I shall send for her. Perhaps you would care to stay on at court for our wedding?”

“Yes, I shall stay. But only if I can be spared from the priory,” I add hastily, needing time to calculate if this would be in my best interest. My mind is spinning with new possibilities. I smile at him, surprised that he seems to have forgiven my deception so readily. “Thank you, Arthur. Let me think about it.”