The Bastard 2

by Jack Porter

  As if in answer, the enchantress reached for the necklace that hung about her neck. I knew what she was going to do.

  From a purely selfish point of view, I wasn’t completely sure that I wanted Meghan and Elaine to be in the same room, with Meghan looking her best.

  But it was too late for me to voice an objection. With a puff of green magic, the old, bent, wrinkled version of the enchantress became the one I knew so much better. Somehow, the clothes she was wearing seemed to shift as well, and in moments, instead of an untidy old woman, she had become beautiful, elegant, and poised, her hands soft and subtle, with no hint of a wrinkle on her dark, sultry features.

  Into the stunned silence that followed, I spoke. “This is Meghan,” I said. “She is an enchantress, and is the source of my transformation.”

  I might have said more but didn’t get the chance. Galahad’s eyes had grown wide. He stared at Meghan with a look that mixed horror and fear.

  “You!” he shouted. And then he did the most extraordinary thing. Like his daughter, Galahad wore a slim sword at his side. With a practiced, fluid movement that was nevertheless nowhere near as expert as it would have been had Elaine done it, Galahad drew his weapon and took up an offensive stance. “Morgana le Fay,” the old man exclaimed, pronouncing a name out of legend. “Witch! How dare you sully this place with your presence!”

  I found myself wondering if it was possible to enter Sir Galahad’s church basement without having a sword drawn and threatened with use.

  Instinctively, I put my hand out and stepped forward, between the old man and the enchantress, but didn’t draw my own weapon. As for Elaine, she looked between her father and me with an uncertain expression on her face. And even though my instinct was to protect Meghan, the name Galahad had used was ringing alarm bells in my mind.

  Ignoring the threat of Sir Galahad’s sword as if it didn’t exist, I spun to the enchantress.

  “Morgana?” I asked.

  As before, when I had come to her angry that she had kept the secret of my identity to herself, she seemed completely unruffled. She simply stood there in the middle of the room with a slow smile pressing her lips.

  “Calm down,” she said, her own voice completely relaxed. “Galahad, you old fool, put your weapons away. And Mordie, stop looking at me like that. Yes, my true name is Morgana. Yes, I am indeed that Morgana. But the stories you have heard of me are not true.”

  Then, even though there was still more than a little tension in the room, she let out a laugh. “Or at least, not all of them are true. Know that I am here to offer my help.” She reached for me and touched my face with the tips of her fingers. “Mordie, relax. Nothing has changed. I am the same woman I have always been. But this is why I kept my true name a secret. Because it comes with a history, and often that history can get in the way.”

  All at once, she took control. “It seems like I have some explaining to do. Galahad, if you would, perhaps you could offer us all a drink, and then I can get to it. And when I am done, perhaps you can tell us all what you have found out about this Anwen.”

  33

  With that, the woman I knew as Meghan, but who was really the most feared witch in the whole kingdom, casually stepped to one of Galahad’s chairs and sat down. She looked as at ease as ever, completely unconcerned by the various looks of astonishment on Galahad’s and Elaine’s faces, and to a lesser extent on my own.

  Perhaps she was entirely unconcerned by the old man’s exposed steel, or perhaps she was simply bluffing. Either way, her poise and sheer expectation were enough. After a few moments of hesitation, Galahad straightened, sheathed his weapon, and turned to the fire, where he positioned a pot of water to heat.

  I still didn’t know quite what to think. I found myself staring at Meghan with new eyes.

  The things Morgana le Fay was rumored to have done!

  But at the same time, nothing had changed. This was still Meghan. The woman who had saved my life more than once, and who had become one of my favorite lovers. How could she be, at the same time, this evil creature who consorted with devils and boiled children in cauldrons to aid in her magic?

  The answer, of course, was that she could not.

  Suddenly, I knew without a moment of doubt that the worst of the stories could not be true. But still I was curious about what Meghan wanted to say. I knew she would not allow herself to be hurried, so instead of asking questions, I chose another of Galahad’s seats and sat down as well.

  For a few minutes, there was an odd silence, with each of us entertaining our own thoughts. What Elaine might have been making of all this, I couldn’t be sure. But as Galahad brought the water up to a boil, the fierce swordswoman kept looking between him and Meghan, as if completely unsure what to do.

  The whole situation might have been funny if it weren’t for the potential for bloodshed. Elaine was deadly with her weapon. That much was clear. And Galahad seemed to know a thing or two about the blade as well.

  The last thing I wanted was to be put in a situation where I would have to defend Meghan against Elaine, and yet that’s what I would have done if need be. And not even I could have guessed at what Meghan’s response might have been. Yet I didn’t presume for one moment that she was defenseless.

  Fortunately, it didn’t come to that. Meghan’s calm, unthreatening behavior proved sufficient. Galahad eventually produced drinks for us all, a blend of cinnamon tea that I had tasted before, but not often. It was warm, and filled the air with a delicate, spicy aroma, and once each of us held a cup in our hands, Galahad turned to the enchantress.

  “You have you said you have a story to tell,” he said, his voice flat and unyielding. “I cannot imagine how any such story will wipe away the blood on your hands, but feel free to say your piece. But know this, witch. You have entered my home as a guest. Which you may be, but that does not make you invulnerable. Our steel will secure you as easily as anyone else. So say your piece, but be aware that your welcome can be revoked at any time.”

  Meghan took a moment to study the older man, then switched her calm gaze to me. She took a sip from her cup with evident delight, but when she spoke, her voice was full of disappointment.

  “Do you see now why I was hesitant to accompany you into Camelot?” she asked. But it didn’t seem like she really expected a reply. Instead, she turned back to Galahad.

  “This is lovely tea,” she said. “But tell me. What is it that you think you know of me that has you so ready with threats and violence?”

  The old man didn’t bluster or posture. He simply stood where he was and replied as calmly as Meghan spoke herself.

  “I know that you were once part of the King’s household, but that you were cast out. I know that you deal in magic of the darkest sorts. I know that for decades after you left the castle, every plague, every failed crop, every stillbirth, or bout of foul weather was ascribed to your power. And I know that for a long time, the King had placed a bounty on your head.”

  Meghan nodded. “I’ve heard those tales as well,” she agreed. “The King and his sorcerer at his side, Merlin, painted me as the ultimate evil. According to them, it was my ambition to tear the kingdom apart. And, apparently, I had the power to do so. Is that about the size of it?”

  A bit stiffly, Galahad nodded.

  “Well, perhaps you can tell me why it is that I have lived for the past twenty years just outside the city, and despite all my power, despite my venomous nature, the kingdom still remains as it always has done?”

  Galahad didn’t have a ready answer to that. But he tried anyway. “Merlin…” he began.

  Meghan was already shaking her head. “Has there never been a time when Merlin left the city?” Meghan asked.

  It was a telling question. If Merlin was the only thing protecting Camelot from Morgana’s foul powers, as the stories suggested, then that sorcerer could not have left the city unguarded for an instant. And yet, everyone in the room knew that he had. He and Arthur both traveled regularly to diffe
rent parts of the kingdom, sometimes to inspect the King’s holdings, other times to lend aid to a skirmish, and still others to seek out the truth behind rumors of dragons.

  At any such time, Meghan – Morgana – could have used the opportunity to strike.

  But she had not.

  Galahad understood the argument clearly. He seemed to allow that there might be more to the story than just one side.

  He gave Meghan a nod.

  “Tell us your story,” he said.

  Meghan took another sip of her tea. “There isn’t really that much to tell,” she said. “I came to Camelot when King Arthur was young. Like many of us did at the time, I could see the greatness within him. I remember you from back then, Sir Galahad. You saw that greatness as well, and followed him willingly.”

  At this, the enchantress’s tone became filled with regret.

  “But while you and many of the others spent much of your time away from the castle, I spent much of my time within it. I was the herbalist, the midwife for his concubines, the healer for when the King and his people were ill. But I was more than that. I was an enchantress even back then, exploring the limits of that art with the blessings of the King, seeing how far it could be taken.”

  She looked away from Galahad and me for just a moment, and I heard a tinge of bitterness creep into her voice. “Merlin was there as well, and at first, I thought we had the same goals. To see what good we could bring about through our power. But such was not, as it turned out, what either he or the King had in mind.

  She shook her head slowly. “It started innocently enough. The King–” Meghan flashed a look at me. “Well, let’s just say he found himself too far in his cups one evening, and instead of looking to his concubines for the affection he craved, he looked my way instead. I refused him, thinking little of it. I had refused him before, many times in fact, and thought that things would simply continue. But apparently, his ego was less robust than I thought, and from his point of view, I had offered one refusal too many. All at once, my position at the castle became less certain. I was no longer trusted, and many of those who I thought were my friends began to avoid me.”

  Meghan was no longer looking at any of us. Instead, she sat with her cup of tea clasped in her hands, speaking not to us, but to the ghosts of her memories.

  “I could have left. I thought about it, even. But by then, Arthur had twenty or more women in his harem, and they needed me. They were producing children more quickly than I would have believed, and I knew they – and King Arthur’s concubines themselves – needed my help. Childbirth – it can be hard on a woman, and the child as well. Even without using my magic, there are herbs and tonics that can help. So I stayed, kept my head down, and tried to avoid Arthur and his favorite, even.”

  She took another sip of her drink, an act that reminded me to do the same. But I had been fascinated by the story and had left my own cinnamon tea largely untouched.

  As if suppressing a shudder, Meghan continued. “I’m sure you know much of the rest. I learned that Merlin had continued his experiments, taking them in directions that I found appalling. But even then, I didn’t understand how much danger we were all in. The children. Arthur’s concubines. And that is something I regret to this day.” She looked back to me then, her dark eyes filled with the horrors of the time. “Children started to go missing. Even then, I was slow to suspect. I mean, it wasn’t a conclusion that made sense. To even consider the possibility that King Arthur had something to do with the disappearance of his own children? Who would ever think along those lines? But then, finally, I did figure it out. And I did my best to stop them. I helped as many as I could to escape the castle. But it wasn’t enough.”

  Meghan breathed deeply, and I knew that, for her, not even the passage of time could dim the pain of what had happened. I thought that she might refuse to continue, but after a moment, she did.

  “I helped as many of them as I could. In this very church. Smuggling the children and the concubines out however I could. But Merlin found me, and between him, Lancelot, and the Blackcoats, they gathered the children and concubines and returned them to Arthur.”

  Despite the pain of the memory, Meghan managed half a grin. “The stories about how this church was destroyed, that it was the wrath of God himself, or maybe Merlin who brought down the lightning? It was Merlin. And it was me. I did my best to try to protect them, but it wasn’t enough. Merlin was too strong for me then, just as he is too strong for me now. But at least he couldn’t kill me. I got away and managed to get back into the castle. Most of the children were by then out of my reach, but there was still one I could help.” She glanced at me one more time. “I’m sorry I couldn’t do more for your brothers and sisters. But at least I got you away from them.”

  Before I could say anything in response, she continued.

  “And I made sure that bastard Arthur could sire no more children of his own.”

  Meghan finished the rest of her drink, then looked around. “That’s it. That’s my side of the story. All those other things you have heard, they are mostly rubbish. I spend my time helping people, not hurting them. And as much as I wanted to, I realized I couldn’t raise the boy by myself. Lancelot’s men were hunting for me then, much as they are hunting for Mordie now, and I couldn’t risk him being found. So I tried to ensure that he got the best chance that he could.” At this, she did manage to smile. “And, when all is said and done, I don’t think he turned out too bad.”

  Meghan sank back in her chair. She was still relaxed, still at ease, but instead of being lost in her memories, she was back in the present. She stared at each of us in turn. “There you have it. For trying to save King Arthur’s own children, I am now the reason for every plague and scourge of the land. I guess the choice is now yours. Do you believe me, and let me help in your endeavors, or do you cast me out as the King effectively did all those years ago?”

  Of the three of us, it was Galahad who offered an answer.

  “When King Arthur and I parted ways, he told stories about me that cast doubt over my character as well. Far be it from me to accept his word about you. My lady, please forgive my earlier words. You are more than welcome in my home, and always shall be.”

  Everybody seemed satisfied by Galahad’s decision. I waited for just a few seconds, enough time for everyone to understand that Galahad had effectively accepted Meghan, for good or ill, then I brought the conversation back to the reason why we were there.

  “Galahad,” I said. “You sent word that you had some news.”

  The old man switched gears immediately. “Yes, I did. My people – they found her. I know where Anwen de Maris is.”

  34

  It was the news I had hoped to hear. I had too many questions to ask, and I had kept them to myself for too long already.

  “Is she okay? Is she still alive?” I asked.

  Galahad was already nodding his head. “She is safe, for the time being, although that might not last very long.” He hesitated then, and shook his head, as if deciding he wasn’t going to answer my next question, that of what he might mean by that statement.

  Instead, he launched into a more detailed explanation. “There is more than one group in Camelot that seeks to bring Arthur’s rule to an end. Some of them are more organized than others. The merchant group Anwen’s father belongs to had the will and the means, because of Anwen, to get close to the King. If it was just them acting by themselves, likely Anwen’s body would have already washed up on the riverbank or been eaten by the serpents that live there. But Anwen was clever. She reached out to another such group and paid them a good bit of her father’s money to keep her alive should she need them. And that is what happened. A secretive group, hidden within Camelot, all of its members open to the thought of a change in King.”

  At this, Galahad’s expression grew troubled. “Some of my own people have ties to that group. I would have thought that should have made it simple to learn about it. But the fear of exposure is real. Ev
en though I lean the same way, they were suspicious. Although, at that, perhaps I shouldn’t be so surprised. Many of them believe me to be working for the Blackcoats. And therefore, indirectly, for the King. So perhaps it was natural for them to stay silent.”

  “So, you found her,” I said. “Where is she?”

  “That’s where it becomes more difficult. This group of people, this resistance to King Arthur, is not organized. It is just a loose connection of people. To my understanding, they have been quietly moving Anwen about Camelot for days, keeping ahead of the Blackcoats and their searches sometimes by just a matter of hours. I do not know where she is right now, but I know where she will be tomorrow.”

  It was good enough for me. “Where?” I asked.

  The old man managed a weak smile. “It’s sometimes ironic how these things can happen. When this church was whole, it was the home of the Order of the Penitent. Since this structure was laid to ruin,” he glanced at Meghan, “that order had to seek out a new place. And as King Arthur no longer chose to worship, they didn’t see the need to stay as centrally located. The Order of the Penitent occupy grounds on the east side of the city, right at the edge.”

  I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. Finally. My quest to find Anwen, and to keep her away from those who might harm her, seemed to be getting somewhere.

  “Okay,” I said. “So is there anything stopping us waiting until she arrives, and going in to get her?”

  “A couple of things,” the older man replied. “First, the Order of the Penitent has grown somewhat since they occupied this church. Their monastery is made up of more than one place of worship, barracks for the members, a full kitchen, and outbuildings. It will take some time to find her. But more importantly, the Order isn’t simply going to welcome us in. They are not known to be particularly open to strangers. I figure that is why, in part, the resistance group sheltering Anwen is using them to help hide her.” The old man offered a shrug. “That doesn’t mean we can’t make find a way in. We will just have to be clever about it.”