by J A Cummings
In truth, she was just grateful and relieved that he still lived.
She was even more conflicted about Gawain. He had betrayed them, but in the process, he had elevated their family to greatness. She should have been grateful for his actions, she supposed, and pleased with his sense of honor, but at the same time she was deeply disappointed. For once in her life, she had no eagerness to see her son.
They arrived at Eburacum when spring was just beginning to lift the veil of winter. The city stood before them, gleaming in the sun. The field before the walls had been cleared of the dead, but Morgause could still see the marks of battle in the gouged sod and the mass graves of the fallen. If she tried, she could imagine the fight that had taken place on this torn land, and it was sobering. She had come so close to losing her husband and her oldest son. The thought overcame her disappointment and spurred her urgency to see them both.
They rode through the smashed gates in the city walls, past the crews of carpenters who were busy with repairs. From his little pony, Agravaine looked at the workers in curiosity, his dark eyes wide as he took in the damage that had been done. He turned to his mother.
“Is this from war?”
“Yes, child,” Morgause answered. “The gate was broken down by a battering ram.”
“A battering ram,” he repeated.
“Yes. A great log, heavy as grief, that they use to knock in doors and gates.” He nodded sagely, and she smiled. “Very effective in breaking a siege, if you can get close enough to use it.”
Their path to the keep was impeded by the business of commerce. The central road had been turned into a marketplace, and it was thronged with villeins and merchants hawking their wares. Gaheris pointed to a stand stacked with apples.
“Look! Mother!”
She shook her head. “They’ll be mealy. They’ve been in a cellar all winter.”
“But they look so shiny,” he objected.
Morgause sighed and stopped, trading a copper for a trio of apples that she cut into pieces and split between her children, her sister and herself. To her surprise, the apple was still crisp and sweet, and she bought another to take with her to the keep. Morgana ate her little pieces of apple in silence, contemplating something, a distant look in her distracted eyes. Her sister wondered, not for the first time, what mechanisms whirled within the young queen’s mind.
They were challenged when they reached the keep, but when she announced her name and her purpose, they let her pass with solemnity and grace, the guards bowing deeply in reverence to her queenhood. Grooms came forward to collect their animals and the family dismounted to go inside.
A young man with black curls and bright blue eyes, his cheeks and chin still smooth as a child’s, met them in the great hall. He bowed his head to them, and he had an excited gleam that made her hesitate.
“Welcome to Eburacum, Queen Morgause, Queen Morgana, and the young princes of Lothian.” He smiled broadly. “I am delighted to finally make your acquaintance.”
Morgana’s eyes turned cold. “I know you,” she said. “You’re our mother’s son.”
Morgause stared at him. “Arthur Pendragon.”
“Yes, I am.” The High King’s smile dimmed a bit, but it was not extinguished. “I hope the trip from Din Eidyn was uneventful.”
“It was,” the older of his sisters said. “My thanks.”
Arthur looked at Morgana, who was glaring at him with such venom that Morgause feared she might find the magic to kill the youth where he stood. This High King was not much older than Gawain.
The king said, “Your sons are here, currently receiving tutelage in the chapel.”
Morgana glared. “Owain is here? And he’s being taught by priests?”
“Yes, my lady.”
The Queen of Rheged gathered her skirts up in her hands. “No, he is not! Show me the way. I will put an end to this.”
Arthur looked confused, and Morgause was reminded of a mystified puppy. “Morgana,” she said softly. “Calm yourself.”
“My son is being indoctrinated in that false faith,” she hissed.
“He is being given an education,” Arthur told her. “He is only being taught to read and write, nothing more.”
Morgana gave the king another withering glare. “Where is the chapel?”
Arthur sighed. “Through that door, beyond the garden.”
They watched her as she swept away. Morgause shook her head. “She is a mystery to me,” she admitted. “This is the first time I’ve seen her have any care at all for her poor son.”
“I’m told that she’s suffered much,” Arthur said, kindly excusing his sister’s poor behavior. Morgause studied his face and saw no guile there, only country openness that was ill suited to a crown.
“She has.”
“Are these your other sons?”
“They are. This is Agravaine, and this is Gaheris, and this babe in my arms is Gareth… your nephews.”
She felt strange applying a familial term to link the children with this king, but a kind smile on the young man’s face turned toward her boys, and they seemed brightened by its light. Arthur shook hands with each boy, including tiny Gareth, who stared at him in confusion.
“Welcome, all. I am so happy to have met you.”
Morgause shifted her grasp on her infant son and said, “I want to see my husband and Gawain.”
“Of course. My apologies.” She expected him to summon a page, but instead he gestured toward a tower. “Gawain is in the chapel with Owain, but if you’ll follow me, I’ll take you to your husband.”
She followed the young king as he led them up the stairs and into a wide corridor marked with elegant masonry. There were four closed doors on one side of its length. He took them to the second door and knocked.
Sir Bruis from Lothian opened the door, and his face soured when he saw Arthur. The High King seemed not to notice, prompting Morgause to wonder if he was a fool. He told the surly knight, “I have brought Queen Morgause and her family to see King Lot.”
The knight’s expression changed entirely, and he welcomed his queen with a loud, “Your Majesty! What a surprise! Come in.” He stepped aside to let the lady and her children enter the room. When they had all stepped through, he turned to Arthur and asked in a snide voice, “Are you coming in?”
“No. I was simply showing them the way.”
Bruis nodded. “Good.” He shut the door in the High King’s face. Morgause stifled a giggle at the rudeness and turned to face her husband.
He was sitting upright in a chair instead of lying in a bed, which was better than she had expected. He was pale from loss of blood but his eyes were bright, and there was no hint of fever in his countenance, which came to her as a great relief. Lot stood when she came into the room, and she rushed to him, hugging him with one arm while she clutched Gareth with the other. He kissed her gently, then took the baby from her grasp and held him close.
“I thought I might never see you again,” he told his wife.
“Is that why you surrendered?”
The question clearly irked Bruis, who grumbled and threw himself down into another chair. Lot ignored him. “No, not the whole reason, but it was certainly part of it.” He kissed Gareth’s temple, and the child gurgled happily. He hugged each of his other sons, then sat down and dangled his littlest boy on his knee. “You’ve heard about Gawain.”
“About his betrayal, or about his being named as the High King’s heir?”
“I don’t think he betrayed anyone,” Lot said.
“You’re being a sentimental fool!” Bruis ground out.
“No, I’m not. I think he knew better than any of us that we stood to gain a great deal by declaring not just our support but also our kinship with the king.” He looked at Morgause, and she knew she looked unconvinced. He explained, “Arthur is young and desperate for belonging. If we give him the family he’s looking for, a place to call home and people to call his own, then I think he’ll be willing to do anyth
ing for us. We can mold him to our will, and we will be the power behind his throne.”
“Do you really think he’ll be so easily led?” Bruis asked. “Lothar, you’ve lost your mind. He isn’t a homesick little boy. He’s a bloody-minded man who has commanded warfare and killed dozens of men. He’s a killer, that’s what he is.”
Lot dismissed his second’s complaints with a flick of his hand. “Shut up.”
Morgause sat in a third chair that had been placed around a low central table. Agravaine crept to her side as soon she was seated, wrapping his arms around her narrow waist. She put a hand on his back and pulled him into her lap, welcoming her son’s affection. Of all of her boys, he was the one who was closest to her. She enjoyed being the center of his attention and the nearly exclusive focus of his love. It was good to have a child who chose to belong to her and to her alone.
“What do you suggest we do, husband?” she asked. “Invite him to make his capital at Din Eidyn? House him? Feed him and his entourage?’
Lot nodded. “Yes.”
She was surprised, and her eyebrows shot up toward her hairline. “I wasn’t serious.”
“I was.” He leaned back stiffly, his wounds apparently giving him some trouble after all despite the manly way he concealed his pain. “We should offer to house him through the winter. He should get to know his sister and his nephews. We can woo his loyalty to us instead of the other way around.”
Bruis crossed his arms petulantly over his chest. “You’re making a mistake.”
“Wife,” Lot said, “can you brew a potion that would make him obedient? Something that would make our words heavier in his head than those of his druid?”
Morgause ran her fingers through Agravaine’s black hair and considered the question. She had already committed to brewing other potions to administer to the High King, and she thought she might be able to combine the two requests. “Perhaps in the short term. I can make him physically obedient for an hour or two at a time, but to enslave his mind will take a bit more power than I have at my disposal. I could enlist Morgana and the other two sorceress queens. It would be in their best interests to ensure that the High King looks in favor on all of their houses.”
“Which sorceress queens?” Bruis asked.
“Sybile of Norgalis, and Queen Eina of Listenoise.”
Lot nodded. “A good plan. Combine your abilities and make him our lamb, at least until it’s time for the slaughter.” He grinned at his wife. “I may have surrendered the battle, but I will still win this war.”
Morgana stormed into the chapel, hating the scent of the incense and the lingering feeling of sanctity that clung to the stones. There had been a great deal of earnest prayer in this place, and it made her skin crawl. When she crossed the threshold, she could feel a portion of Murduus’s power slip away from her, and then she felt eyes watching her from over her head. She looked up the rafters with an evil glare, but there was nothing to be seen. She had a moment of misgivings, but it was forgotten when she saw Owain and Gawain both bent over writing desks at the side of the chapel proper.
“Stop this!” she shouted.
Owain dropped his quill and jumped to his feet, his dark eyes wide in shock. “Mother!”
Morgana held her arms out to him. “Come to me, child,” she urged. “Let me save you from this nonsense.”
The priest who had been teaching them stood tall, a saintly light in his eyes. She hated him on sight. At the other desk, Gawain looked annoyed but continued with his lesson. Owain left his seat and went to her, his gaze locked onto her face.
When he reached her, Morgana wrapped him in her arms, surprising herself when the maternal feeling she’d thought she was pretending felt absolutely real. She held him tightly, suddenly teary eyed and realizing how long it had been since she had seen him. She kissed his forehead and petted his hair as if he was one of his favored kitchen cats, smiling down into his eyes. There was doubt there, and hope, and a well of love that was much deeper than she would have expected it to be.
“My boy,” she said softly. “I have missed you!”
He said nothing, but his eyes swam with tears and he embraced her, burying his face in her bosom. Morgana hugged him tightly, then turned an angry glare onto the priest.
“We are not Christians and you will not proselytize my son!” she said, her voice rough with rage. “He will think his own thoughts, not whatever you try to put into his head. Come, Owain, my love, my dear son. We’re leaving.”
Owain looked back at Gawain, who was watching closely now. “But… where are we going, Mother?”
“We are going home.”
“To Rheged?”
“Yes.”
“What about Father?”
“What about him?” she asked. “I’ll keep him away from both of us. I swear to you. Won’t that be wonderful?”
The boy nodded and took her fingers in his gentle grasp. She smiled and pressed his hand, then led him out of the chapel.
“Owain ap Uriens,” the priest called out. “You have much still to learn. Remember your lessons. They will not fail you.”’
“Quiet, old man,” Morgana spat, spinning to face him. “Or I will kill you where you stand.”
Gawain stood and put himself between his aunt and the priest. “No, you won’t. Calm yourself, madam.”
She dropped her son’s hand and stalked toward Gawain. “You would command me, you fool?”
“I would,” he answered calmly. “You appear to need someone to govern you, since you lack the ability to govern yourself.”
Morgana struck at him, her hand flashing toward his face. He caught her wrist and held her back. She growled in rage.
With a shake of his fair head, Gawain told her, “Madam, you are behaving more like a tavern wench than a queen. Calm yourself.”
She pulled free. “You will be sorry for this, child.”
“I doubt that I will ever regret preventing you from striking me or the priest,” the prince said with a trace of amusement in his voice, which nearly threw her into mindless fury. “And I am no child.”
Owain put a hand on his mother’s shoulder. “My lady,” he said softly. “Mother. Let’s leave.”
Morgana pulled herself as tall as she could, brushing her black hair away from her face. She gave Gawain one last hard look, then turned her back on him. “Take me to your father, my son,” she said.
The boy ventured a smile, and he led her from the chapel. Morgana followed, but her mind was still preoccupied with Gawain and the errors he had made. She would see that he regretted every one.
Morgana walked with Owain back to the room where Uriens had been given his lodging. Her husband stood, his face awash in surprise, when she entered with their son.
“My queen,” he finally said. “You look well.”
“My lord,” she responded, curtseying with as much grace as she could muster.
Uriens held out his hand. “Come here, boy.”
Owain went to his father’s side, and the king pulled him to stand a bit behind him, separating him physically from his mother. Morgana straightened and folded her hands in front of herself, her slender fingers interlaced. She waited.
A long and awkward moment passed, then Uriens said, “Are you back to stay, wife?”
“That depends upon you, my lord,” she answered. “If you treat me and my child with the honor to which we are entitled, then I will stay. If you continue to behave in a churlish way, then I will take our son and go.”
Owain said, “I am staying with King Arthur.”
Morgana frowned. “Why would you want to do that?”
“It’s not a matter of what he wants, or what we want,” Uriens complained. “Pendragon has already announced that he is keeping our son and Gawain of Lothian as his royal hostages.”
The queen’s face darkened with angry displeasure. “He has no right!”
“He is the High King and we have admitted defeat and sworn our allegiance to him,” her husband advi
sed. “He can do whatever he wants.”
Uriens sat down again and reached out for a half-empty tankard. From where she stood, Morgana could smell the alcohol he had been soaking in, the fumes rolling from him in noxious waves. She frowned.
“You accept a pretender as your overlord, and now you drink yourself into a stupor? Rheged deserves better. Your family deserves better.”
“Why did you come back?” he snapped. “I was happy without you.”
“And I was happy to be away from you, but times change, and you have left our kingdom with no clear leadership. They need someone with a firm and steady hand to guide them.”
He snorted. “And I suppose you think that’s you.”
“Well, it certainly isn’t you.”
He narrowed his eyes and peered at her. She stood tall and stared back, no longer cowed by him. She had once been afraid of him, afraid of his ability to overpower her with his physical strength and afraid of the control that he could wield over her. Now, though, with Murduus as her master, she would fear no man.
“You’re different,” he finally said.
“I am. But you are just the same.”
Uriens turned back to his drink. “If you think you can run the kingdom better than me, then by all means, do. Take the burden from my shoulders if you think you can handle it. I’m tired and sick with losses.”
“No one told you to capitulate.”
“He would have slain me if I didn’t.”
She tossed her head. “Coward. My father would be furious to see what a loathsome creature his daughter was given as a husband.”
“Your father died in the mud outside Terrabil. He couldn’t even keep his own wife safe. Why should I care what he might have thought of me?” He drained his tankard. “Damn. I need more ale.”
Owain backed away from his father, turning his dark eyes to Morgana. She could see many thoughts whirling behind the boy’s gaze, and she was gratified to see that he had inherited her intelligence instead of his father’s brutishness. She held out her hand to him.
