The Shadow of a King (Shadowland Book 2) (11 page)

'Well,' Dara made to rise, and Uther and Merlyn took an arm each and helped him to his feet. Cunobelin handed him his spear and Dara leant heavily upon it, testing his leg. 'If it is the stones yer seek, the ones we call The Giant's Dance, then yer have but a day of travel ahead of yer. But first yer must visit the Druids who care for the stones before you can set yer feet upon the mountain. You will find the Druids at the cave, close to where the path leaves the forest. One of our people will guide yer.'

'We would be grateful for this,' said Uther, while Merlyn beamed happily at the man, but then Dara's smile dropped. He looked from Uther to the men immediately around them, and then back to the many armed men who had resumed the work of erecting the stronghold close to the boats.

'Of course, if yer planning on staying, and it is more than just visiting the stones that yer after, then you will have to meet the Stranger.'

'The Stranger?' asked Uther. 'Who is this Stranger?'

'If you seek to move the stones, as legend has said that men will try to do, then you must convince Uath the Stranger, that you are worthy.'

'And where will we find this Uath, so that we might convince him?

'The Druids know,' Dara glanced at Merlyn, 'this Druid knows as well, yer can be sure of it. This, after all, is the way with Druids, is it not? Come on. Tricky buggers all of them.' He grinned. 'Follow me.'

Dara turned and strode off back across the field as if he had not just taken a heavy blow to his leg. Uther and his men began to follow. One of the dogs ran across to greet Dara as they approached, it barked savagely at those that followed, but Dara hushed it with a word and a gesture, and it fell into step by his side.

Uther turned to Merlyn. 'Uath the Stranger? Do you know what this is about Merlyn? But then, why do I ask, of course you do. This is just one more time when I find that all is not as I thought, and that you are just playing with us as if we were runes made of bone being cast down upon the dirt by your feet, rather than living breathing men.'

'Oh, come, Uther, do you really think I would bring you into a situation where I thought you could not triumph?'

'I think, Druid, that you would do whatever you thought necessary to accomplish your needs and wishes, and that I am merely one of your runes.' He moved away to walk with Sir Ector and Cunobelin. Uther put his hand upon Cunobelin's shoulder and congratulated him; then the three men started to discuss the fight, talking in low voices.

'When the lives of men and Druids meet there is often confusion,' said Duc Gerlois coming up to Merlyn's side. 'I think we are in for some interesting days. I wonder who shall survive and who shall fall and be left behind upon this far shore?'

 Chapter 10 
Morgana Le Fey

'Abbess, are you well? Can we aid you? Are you ill?'

Morgana felt a jolt and opened her eyes. She realised she was kneeling, in the herbage garden, between soft waving fennel to one side and the pretty yellow and white flowers of feverfew to the other.

'Oh, my…' She must have closed her eyes for just one moment… and then fallen asleep. Picking up her stick, she heaved herself up to standing. How long had it been? Her legs had become cramped and protested the need to straighten, so some time then. Oh, and there was an ache in her lower back helping persuade her that she really must have dozed off whilst filling her basket. She clearly needed proper sleep, but there was too much to do, and the King was talking at last, finally, after so many years of silence, she was learning the truth of what happened so many years ago.

'I am well, Sisters.' She glanced across at the two nuns. They were obviously uncertain of what to do, their faces betraying their worry at finding their devoted mother collapsed among the plants.

'I am well, truly, worry not. I was gathering a few leaves and roots to make the King's herbal infusion; he is still weak, and I see that it does him good. I merely dozed off amongst God's creations; our Lord has been watching over me, fear not.'

'Yes, Abbess, but you should sleep. Please, allow us to take over and care for the King, only while you recover your strength.' The young nun, a wisp of a girl, reached out a freckled hand and took hold of the basket, but Morgana refused to let it go. The two looked at one another for a moment until the nun dropped her hand and lowered her eyes.

'I am sorry, Abbess; I presume too much. How might we help you?'

Morgana sighed and straightened, then glanced down into the basket, calculating for a moment what ingredients were needed and what was still missing.

'You can take this basket back and leave it outside my chambers. Also, collect camomile… and I think you will find some verbenae if you look close to the water trough on your way back… go on, go!' She passed the basket and flapped her hands at the two nuns, and they scuttled off, eager to do her bidding.

Morgana watched them go and then, gathering her robes, she sighed and walked on among the plants and flowers of the herbage towards the small broken gate that was set in the back wall. She was indeed tired and could feel every one of her forty-two years, but walking was helping to ease the cramp that had set in, and she was now feeling awake and eager to find the remaining ingredients and return to her chambers.

Nudging the gate to the side, she had to push through where the brambles had overgrown, unpicking the thorns from where they reached out and snagged at her cloak, and then she was past and could walk on up towards the hill. She knew that close to the path, further up towards the tor where the sheep grazed in the summer months, would be the small brown mushrooms that were vital for the infusion. Once combined with a little of the mandrake root, she knew they could influence and bring forth the stories from the King. As a whole, the broth would indeed soothe his parched throat, reduce his fever, and with the addition of honey, lend him strength. However, it would be the little mushrooms that finally let loose his tongue, and the mandrake would give him need to tell, to unload the burdens from his soul… and then she would know the truth of things, and he would pay for a childhood lost, a mother stolen from her and a father surely murdered in cold blood.

The path meandered on and upward for some time, until high above the Abbey, she stopped for breath and gazed back to be certain she was not being observed. A cold wind tugged at her cloak, but the rain clouds were still absent, and it was now a brighter, more pleasant day. There was no sign that any of the nuns that she could see working in the gardens or walking around the Abbey far below were watching. Drawing a determined breath, she turned back to the path, and being careful of her footing on the slippiest parts, continued to climb.

Just below where one of the last clumps of old apple trees were still left upon the tor, she saw what she was looking for, small brown mushrooms growing in groups, wavering in the breeze upon long slender stems. Making a pouch in her robes ready to hold them, she crossed and began to pick. Once she had about twenty, she forced herself to standing, and then waited for a few moments as the expected wave of dizziness passed over her. It slipped slowly away, the brightness of her vision faded, and she soon felt well enough to start back. Perhaps this next infusion should be brewed just a little stronger? She thought about the story Uther had been telling. Whatever took place when the quest arrived on the Isle of Erin was surely a reason for the troubles that had flared upon their return. Stepping carefully, Morgana made her way back down the path and returned to the Abbey.

'Uther… King Uther… please, my Lord… wake.'

Uther could hear his name being called as if it was from a far distant room. It echoed through the passageways of his mind, and he grasped and reached for it, seeking to pull himself out of the dreams that had troubled him. Dreams of giants and blood, Druids and a distant land that had caused such distress and confusion for so many people.

'Uther… awake my Lord. It is a pleasant day, and I have brought you warm broth. You are still weak; the broth will lend you the strength that you need to recover.'

Uther opened his eyes. It was Maude, his protector who sat at the foot of his bed, while beside him, his eyes turned, it was Morgana le Fay, or Morgana the Witch as many had called her, yet now she was Abbess, yes… he knew that. Uther felt a wave of confusion for Morgana, why was she here, did she care for him, was that it? She was the child born by his own wife, Igraine… that was true, but she was no child to him… his mind was whirling, it was difficult to make sense of anything, where was he?

'Uther, sit up a little. Here, let me help you.' Morgana reached down, looming into his vision and lifted him so that Maude could place a bolster behind him allowing him to sit up straighter. His head floated for a little as the two women fussed beside him, and then a bowl and spoon appeared in front of his face, and a little broth ladled into his mouth… it felt good, and then he remembered that he was at the Abbey and that Morgana was caring for him, how had he forgotten that?

'You were telling me about the voyage to Erin,' Morgana was saying, 'it sounds as if you were not a born sailor, my Lord.'

'I… at first, I did not enjoy being at sea this is true.' Uther slurped upon the proffered spoon and then coughed as the warm broth caught in his throat. After a moment he was able to take another spoonful and then he put his head back and stared at the dark beams around the small window, his mind wandering. He still felt the need to talk, despite being so tired, and to explain about the voyage to the Isle of Erin, so many years ago, so strange.

'Once the sickness had passed, I began to enjoy being on the boat, the fresh air and vast expanse of the sea. I remember it smelt good.' He looked up at Morgana and frowned, 'Why am I telling you this? It was so long ago… so long.' Morgana brought the spoon to his lips one more, and he drank the liquid down, the spoon returning several times as he gazed up at her trying to make some sense of his situation.

'Why don't you tell me of you, Morgana? I have spoken plenty; I am still tired, and it is now your turn to tell me of your life. I remember so little about you as a young child. When I… when I took Igraine, your mother, for my wife… you would have been some thirteen summers I think.'

Morgana spooned another measure of broth into the King's mouth and looked at him for a moment before speaking. He couldn't tell what she was thinking, but something was going on behind those dark eyes.

'Very well. I had had fourteen summers when my father was… when my father died. He had sent me south of Tintagel hill fort to live in the nunnery at Laherne,' the words seemed to spill out as if they had been shut up for years and were only now being given wing, he saw her lip tremble at the released memory. 'It was not an easy transition as you may imagine, from cherished daughter of a royal court to fresh novice with a religious order with which I held no affinity nor understanding. My father had tolerated the new religion, allowing the monks and nuns to preach and gather converts, but I had no understanding of them or their faith until I was forced to leave one cold winter morning, placed upon a horse and taken to Laherne.'

Setting the bowl upon the low stool, Morgana uncovered a small pot and held it to her nose. Uther could smell the familiar fragrance of the infusion she had been giving him. She poured a small bowl and then placed it close to his lips, but he ignored it. Instead, he looked up at her and tried to see the girl she had once been that day on the beach.

'Forgive me, Morgana, and that is for many things, I know. But please, tell me how you came by the name Le Fey… I have heard many stories, not all of them kind and surely not true, yet you carry the name and have never tried to spurn it, as far as I am aware.'

She ignored him, tipping the bowl to his lips until it spilt and ran down his chin and onto his chest. Then she frowned at him as if about to rebuke him like a small child.

'Drink, my Lord, and I will tell you. I will tell you a most uninteresting tale of a lost and confused young girl who was so desperate for friendship and comfort, for there was none to be found at Laherne, that she took to the woodland and danced with the wild Fey of the trees and learned their ways…or so the whispering tells… is this the story you would hear?' She tipped the bowl once more, and Uther drank deeply, content to listen to her words…

Life with the nuns was hard beyond anything that anyone could think possible. Woken at various times during the night, the twenty or so young girls were ushered into the small chapel and then made to kneel on the cold stone floor where they were led in prayer. They were forced to learn the responses that the priest would call without every fully understanding the meaning or reason behind them. That is, beyond enduring long enough to be allowed to return to the small cells that they shared, three to each cell, and there to steal a few hours of sleep on a rough straw-filled pallet. It was a long way from the rooms she had occupied in the fortress at Tintagel, or at one of her father's other strongholds.

After a little more sleep, they were woken to follow the candlelight procession of sleepy girls back to the chapel for more prayers until daylight. Then the nuns would share a meagre communal meal before chores, followed by more periods where they were encouraged to pray alone.

It was only after being at Laherne for two full years that Morgana discovered both route and opportunity to leave the nunnery between nightly prayers and make some time for herself.

Once outside the main building she would flee across the fields, or walk the lonely path along the cliff tops, a favourite destination when the nights was clear and she could gaze at the moon as it reflected upon the sea.

Often, when it was too windy, cloudy or raining on the cliff top, she would walk to the edge of the forest, at first, to peer into its dark, soulless depths enjoying the smells of rich earth and decay and then on later visits to lose herself in its emptiness. She listened for the sounds of the night where the hunters of the animal kingdom prowled and life and death were just fleeting moments. As her courage and curiosity grew, she began to enter, to walk the paths when lit by moonlight and to leave the world of man behind.