Passion spent, still we cleaved together, one body, and one heart. And so we slept, and woke, and made love, and slept again.
Each time we come together seems more delightful than the last for, as the days pass, so we have come to know each other’s bodies as intimately as our own, and we find new and diverse ways to pleasure each other. I cannot tell Launcelot how superior a lover he is to Arthur, but I can tell him in so many other ways and gestures that he is everything to me, both as a lover and as a friend. And I wait for him to speak of the future, our future. But he does not. However, I take it as a measure of his regard for me when he commissions a series of tapestries to be woven to my design to adorn the walls of our hall.
“But what scenes shall I choose?” I ask him.
He smiles at me. “That is for you to decide, but you must be in all of them. There should be at least four tapestries, one for each wall, so that I can see you at every turn.”
Four scenes from Joyous Garde? The castle itself? The garden? The river? The ocean beyond that surrounds us at high tide, and then retreats once more? Or something more magical than that?
I recall the Otherworlds I have visited, both with Merlin and on my own. And I remember the silvery white unicorn I befriended, along with many other marvelous creatures I encountered. I look at my new pet, a puppy abandoned by its mother and adopted by me. It follows me everywhere. There is also the little monkey that Launcelot bought for me as we passed through a fair on our way to Joyous Garde. Ideas start to stir, and for the next few days I scribble busily on scraps of parchment until I have the theme and the designs sorted out to my satisfaction.
“What have you decided on?” Launcelot asks when I bid him summon the seamstresses for consultation.
“It’s to be a surprise. You’ll have to wait and see.”
I keep a close eye on the work as it progresses. There are ten seamstresses, all of them skillful and quick with their needles, and all of them sworn to secrecy. I think the tapestries will turn out well and I wait impatiently to see them whole.
Seasons change, and change again, and I am happier than I have ever been. True, I was happy as a child, before my father was slain. But this is a happiness that goes far beyond childhood, for Launcelot treats me as a friend and as an equal by day, and with a passionate and tender love at night. And yet a nagging question lurks always at the back of my mind: Am I right to trust Launcelot when everyone I have ever loved in the past has betrayed me?
The other thing that troubles me is Mordred. I miss my son, sometimes with an ache that is hard to hide. I wonder if he is fretting without me, and I try to console myself with the thought that he has his cousins to amuse him, and the care of a loving surrogate mother in Morgause. I tell myself also that he is of an age when high-born children are sent to friends or relatives in noble houses elsewhere, to become first a page and then a squire; to learn courtly manners but also how to hunt and ride, and to master the arts of war. I would have had to send him away soon enough, for I want my son to grow up as a man, and with a manly sense of duty. He would not have learned any of this in the priory.
Thus I rationalize my desertion of my son, but still his absence pains me. Whenever Launcelot asks why I seem so pensive I long to tell him, but always I hold back. Each time I try to speak, something stops me. Perhaps it is because I know I shall have to tell him a lie, and I cannot bring myself to do that. And yet my silence is also a lie. I call myself a coward, yet I do nothing, and say nothing, hoping that somehow, some time, I will find a way to be truly honest with Launcelot without jeopardizing the happiness I have found here. Meanwhile I make excuses for my inattention: that the sultry weather has brought on a headache, or that I have had a bad dream.
The seasons change again, and the day comes at last when the tapestries are finally complete. They are all and more than I had hoped, for the seamstresses have added touches of their own: wildflowers are scattered like stars across their dark red backgrounds. Launcelot’s coat of arms adorns the draperies. Other creatures, hares and baby lambs, keep company with my young whippet and pet monkey. A lion on one side balances the unicorn on the other. All these changes were sanctioned by me, and I am delighted with the result. I am impatient to witness Launcelot’s reaction.
Once I am sure that he is out and busy with affairs around the estate, we carry the tapestries to the hall. There are six of them, and I summon several workmen to help with their hanging. And then we walk around, the seamstresses and I, marveling at how well they have turned out. I congratulate them and give them my heartfelt thanks, with a purse of silver to add to their wages as a token of my gratitude. When I hear Launcelot calling for me, I run to greet him. “Come and see.” I drag him into the hall. He stops on the threshold, his eyes wide with wonder. Slowly, he paces from tapestry to tapestry, inspecting each in careful silence. I pace with him, wishing that he would say something. Anything. I worry that he is displeased, and I can’t think what to say.
“Don’t you like them?” I whisper at last.
“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 fol
low. 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 un
less 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.
People are saying that there is dark magic involved in this and, with your help, I would like to investigate this matter further. It seems that my half-sister Morgana might well have had a hand in it. She is skilled in magic, having been trained in her early years by the mage, Merlin, who led her to believe that she was the true heir to the kingdom until she proved that she was unworthy. More, she is known to have had a liaison with Accolon, and may well have persuaded him to do her bidding in order to bring me down. As her kin, I am unable to conduct the investigation, which is why I’m asking you, as an impartial observer, to see to it yourself.
I, Morgana Page 11
