Morgana's Handmaid and the Creature of the Dungeon

by Purple Hazel

  Yet, unfortunately it could not last, and to be honest I didn’t expect it to go on forever either. Bedemer was longing to retire and sell the inn. Meanwhile the girls got a little older and began longing for a family and a husband of their own. It was only a matter of time.

  Soon to be turning twenty, it was time for them to settle down and follow their natural instincts. The thrill of being promiscuous and daring, coupled with the self-affirmation they got from having men attracted to them constantly: that had long since worn off. They both, in rapid succession, found men they fell madly in love with; and ran off to be with them. In one case, it was a handsome traveler who was a successful businessman from far away, coming to trade in the town. Once one of the twins made the decision to become engaged though, her sister rather predictably did the same thing soon afterward.

  Alas, I’d accomplished my goal for Bedemer! Alguin and I rejoiced at each girl’s engagement like it was our very own child. Bedemer was overjoyed. He was pleased for his daughters and got to see both of them happily wedded. He even got to give them away at their weddings. Though both of them initially ran off to be with the man they’d fallen in love with, they eventually returned with their betrothed and sought their father’s blessing. He was glad to do so. He even sought out a local priest to perform the ceremonies; and saw them off with their new husbands on their wedding day. The town turned out for each lovely event, and the parties that followed were epic in size. I personally saw to that. After all, since I’d never gotten to experience anything like it for myself; I surely wasn’t going to miss the opportunity to plan a lovely reception for “my girls.”

  Oh, how we loved that period of our lives, and when it was finally over—when the second daughter was married off and went on to raise a family of her own—Alguin and I simply returned to our cottage, happy and satisfied with ourselves for doing something worthwhile. What’s more we’d done this for such a deserving soul like our dear friend Bedemer!

  Not surprisingly, with the second of the daughters married off, Bedemer had no desire to keep the family business going. He’d amassed a good-sized fortune by then anyway, and was quite ready to move on. Bedemer soon decided he’d take his old war chest to a bigger town and start over.

  Maybe he wanted to live out that dream he’d once had. Maybe he felt a sense of accomplishment, too. But we knew—he was still missing his wife and the joy they could have had together. It broke our hearts thinking of it that way, you know?

  It saddened us to see him go, too, because Bedemer had by then become a great friend to us. We were kind of like Arthur, Lancelot, and Gwynevere in a way, the three of us. Sitting there in that empty tavern each morning, sharing our stories of the night before. Always together. Always laughing. Yet Bedemer had nothing to keep him there in our little village. Perhaps when the second daughter left, it felt so terribly lonely for him there. He wanted to get on with his life.

  We heard he eventually made his way to London—where oddly enough he purchased a brothel! We could not follow, of course. Alguin was getting older by then, and I was worn out from all those nights on my feet. But his daughters, you’d be glad to know, went on to have wonderful marriages, putting their tawdry pasts behind them, diving into marriage and family life instead. We’d hear about them occasionally after that and it always did my heart proud to learn they were doing well. Bedemer though? We never heard from him again.

  I have to say those two years felt like a decade to me, and when Bedemer shut down that tavern in the village, I felt almost relieved to be honest. I looked forward to going back to my life at my little cottage in the woods and dropping out of sight once again. Yes, I was more than ready for country life by then.

  I guess looking back, it was far too risky what we did, in that many a traveler or visitor to the inn looked familiar; and on some nights I found myself dreading someone would speak my name inquisitively, identifying me to everyone who I used to be when I was a young handmaiden at Camelot. Someone might recall and detail for everyone listening that whole embarrassing affair: the pillory, the trial for witchcraft, and the vicious rumors that must have started about me being a temptress.

  No one ever did. But then again, why would anyone care, as I’ve often speculated? It had been years since all that happened. Instead I was both glad to see this period of our lives end; and so very grateful to have had the experiences. That said, the life of a barmaid had been rather unhealthy for me. I’d gained considerable weight from the rich diet—and perhaps drinking a little too much ale in the process! The day I retired from the innkeeping business, I figured I must have put on twenty pounds since I’d started.

  I didn’t really mean to. I simply fell into tipping a mug or two with the customers in the tavern. It kept the night from dragging on; and other times it made me feel more a part of the wild party going on. Frankly, it was the ale that made most of the money for the inn; and truly our recipes were delicious. As I filled out in my tummy and my hips, I merely let out the material of my dresses, and left room for my big bottom to stick out prominently.

  That said, the men liked me even more, the bigger I got. They really did! I don’t know why but they sure appreciated my ample curves. What’s more, they brashly told me so—repeatedly. No matter. I loved the compliments, didn’t mind a grope or getting felt up once in a while either. Like I said, it made me lust for my own lover whenever he got back to our tavern the next morning!

  But when all was said and done; and when I returned to our little cottage in the forest that is, I knew I needed to get back into healthier habits. Live a cleaner life. If only Sir Lancelot and Queen Gwynevere might have done the same…

  Chapter 11

  Exposure of the Affair

  With Cloey gone, and the chickens long-since made into supper, I set myself once more to growing my garden. I grew fava beans and peas over the years to go along with our carrots, so that my meals were nutritious. The food in the tavern was often rich soups and breads and cheeses that were fine for a guest drinking ale, but not too healthy for me. Alguin planted an orchard, and once I learned to compete with the birds—especially crows—I found I could get quite a few baskets of apples, pears, and plums each fall.

  During those years of eating tavern food, my lanky, tall, and gaunt lover started filling out into a hulking giant. Once we got back to living in the country though, I improved our diet, and he started slimming down into a healthy specimen. I slimmed down as well.

  Of course I couldn’t do anything about the sooty air he had to breathe in that cave, but I could certainly work on his diet, and his color. We spent so many hours working that garden during the spring, summer, and fall, that we started getting darker. Me, I worked bare-breasted, or stripped down to underwear when it got too hot. Alguin worked in short braies, so that he tanned right up. He turned bronze every summer, and looked incredible. Even well into his forties and fifties, he continued to look amazingly handsome and healthy.

  But that cough he acquired from all those years in the cave? It never went away, and by the time he’d turned fifty, it became quite severe, practically hobbling him. He’d have to bend over and cough until he could expel the disgusting phlegm from his throat. At forty, it was a minor nuisance. At forty-five it became more frequent and difficult. By age fifty it was no use. We both knew, but never discussed it openly: it was slowly killing him.

  Then, to make matters worse, a temporary regime change in the kingdom led to an even bigger threat to Alguin’s lungs ….

  Time had certainly passed since those terrible things had happened to me back at the castle. People had lived out the remainder of their lives. New lives had been started. But the most famous people I’d known or known of when I was a handmaid—those I kept on hearing about. They’d aged a bit, yes; and their lives had changed. Yet folks kept on talking about them, and I kept getting new information about their latest exploits.

  True, I never found out about my own family. It was sad to accept, but it was safer for them to be
lieve I was dead, I’d always assumed. I never heard anything about M’lady, nor the village I’d grown up in either. Never heard about the skittish miller’s boy nor the kindly chandler—he’d probably grown old by then or died. I never heard about Gilbert again either, nor any of the palace guards.

  And what of Ywedelle—my once inspiring mentor? Well, women like her you see—they live out their lives much like pretty unicorns, mythical and mysterious, frolicking in a world of sexual fascination and experience until they fade gracefully into old age. They don’t need a man to love them heart and soul; nor be their companion in life. They enjoy sex and what it does for them until they one day no longer desire it. Making love with a man made Ywedelle feel good; nothing more. If she loved anyone at all, it was probably Gwynevere. She wanted men for only one thing, and her ‘mate’ in life was the queen. Gwynevere was her Mistress. Ywedelle served absolutely no one but her.

  By way of comparison, Gilbert served no one but Gilbert. So I wasn’t terribly worried about him. When his time came, and his days were finally at an end, he’d face the Lord’s judgment and have to atone for his sins. I’d washed my hands of him years ago anyway. People like Gilbert live at the behest of fate, getting away with their sinful acts and improprieties just long enough and often enough to go back and do them again. Regardless of consequences; even when there are any, they feel neither remorse nor regret. They’re excited by the thrill of escaping punishment, and sorry only when they get caught.

  The only person I still wondered about was Duchess Lorelei. She was a good person, who could have changed my future. Perhaps by returning with her; if she’d requested it and Morgana had approved it, I would have experienced a much different fate. But there would have been no Alguin either, and I’d never have experienced the incredible happiness—the peaceful country life that I got to enjoy.

  My cottage was beautiful, and the forest was magical. There were trees, rocks, plants, flowers, gurgling streams, the fishing pond. I had joy in my life and in turn gave it right back to the world around me. The world was beautiful and I tried to treat everyone and everything with appreciation and compassion. That’s the lesson that life had taught me. When I had brought satisfaction to people and addressed their needs, I felt fulfilled and valued. Best of all, I never had to regret the times I’d given selflessly to others and got hurt in the process; or simply not been appreciated for what I’d done. The peace I felt in seeing someone get what they desired from life because of me was reward enough.

  Reward, for that matter, was represented in the peace I found in my lover’s arms, living way out in the forest; far from the incredible events unfolding back in the castle. Luckily, I was not around to experience them first hand; for being there to see it in person would have been terribly dangerous!

  You see, Morgana, after I left Camelot—after I was removed from Camelot, dragged naked out of Arthur’s court pleading for mercy—eventually married King Loth of Orkney. We found this out right before I went to work at the inn with Bedemer. One day the villagers were all abuzz over the fact that Princess Morgana was finally going to get married, and to one of Arthur’s allies in the north.

  At first, I was quite shocked at hearing the words MARRIAGE and MORGANA in the same sentence! But then I remembered Morgana telling me about her betrothal years before as a little girl.

  Many years ago, her father Gorlois promised his daughters to lords of other noble families as wives. Morgana of course was the youngest of the late Lord Cornwall’s little girls, and on top of that she took the longest to finally get engaged. Loth was much older than Morgana, so she had spurned him initially, denying him his claim to her. Loth had therefore married another noblewoman from Orkney, but that woman had eventually died.

  Now apparently, Morgana had agreed to the marriage with the widowed King Loth, which was—in my opinion—a last resort for Morgana to try and bear a legitimate son and heir to the throne. At the time it had been five years or so since my trial, and I was sure Morgana was losing her amazing beauty by then.

  Anyone could tell the marriage was a farce, between Loth and Morgana that is, but most noble weddings as you may know already were political alliances or an attempt by one family to further its status and prestige. King Loth only wanted to solidify the connection he had to the royal family. And Morgana? She needed legitimacy to be able to bear and raise her new baby.

  Yes, baby. Morgana was pregnant, I eventually came to find out! “Hast thou heard?” hollered one of the old market ladies in town one day. “The princess, she be with child now! Lord preserve us. Morgana is going to have a baby!” This drew quite a crowd around her as the market ladies chattered like hens about the exciting news. Myself, I stayed clear. There was so much I could have told them about my former boss, you know? Better to keep my mouth shut.

  But amazingly enough, it wasn’t a half year later after hearing of the engagement that my Alguin was coming back to the inn telling Bedemer and me that Morgana was not only with child, but quite clearly showing!

  “The princess hath become full and round as of late,” laughed Alguin. I couldn’t imagine what that might look like! On her skinny frame the way I remembered it, a baby most certainly would show quite easily. But the real question remained—was it even King Loth’s child? No one publicly doubted the legitimacy of the child of course. No one would dare. But the circumstances of the sudden pregnancy did surprise most everyone at Camelot; because after the wedding, King Loth had returned to Orkney while Morgana remained in Camelot with Arthur and her remaining handmaids! Nevertheless, in the blink of an eye, Morgana was preparing to have a baby. And eventually, as most everyone I’m sure knows, she would go on to bear a son named Mordred.

  That said, Loth already had three other sons from his first marriage to help him run his vast kingdom. Morgana could very well have returned with him and led a very happy life as his duchess. But she had objectives of her own frankly and very lofty ambitions for her child.

  I seriously doubt Loth found any issue with that! He married her for power and position after all. When she never returned with him to his castle in the north, he probably couldn’t have cared less. By way of comparison, Morgana’s half-brother Arthur was more than happy to see Morgana marry and bear a son. Probably didn’t concern him one bit whether the child was even Loth’s, I’d wager. King Arthur didn’t trifle with matters such as these. Again, you have to understand, Arthur didn’t desire love and companionship, only glory, power, and peace—through the successful display of force that is. Practically speaking, this made sense because Arthur’s entire kingdom was a collection of different counties held together by a constant obligation to muster troops in time of war, thereby proving their obedience to the king.

  Moreover, each county was managed by a warlord wielding power due to that man’s previously displayed prowess in combat. The best solution to achieving ongoing control over his widespread empire, in Arthur’s view, was to continue making war and keep his very dangerous but technically loyal warrior-lords busy with unremitting combat. If they were busy fighting for him they’d be too busy to join forces with each other against him. The system worked, as long as Arthur could maintain it.

  Years passed. Alguin and I continued to enjoy the peace and tranquility of country life, every bit as much as we did in those first few years together. We grew older, slowed down a lot, and appreciated things more and more. Far from all the strife facing Camelot we both were, away from all the intrigue. Safe and sound in our little cottage day after day, with Alguin working in the dungeon at night, we managed to live in relative peace and tranquility.

  However eventually, when Mordred turned sixteen, he was being groomed as the heir-apparent to King Arthur by his own mother. His supposed father, King Loth of Orkney, had already passed away by then, leaving Mordred as the youngest of Loth’s four “sons.” Yet Morgana was not the least bit concerned about her son being denied a birthright. A new opportunity was already in the works.

  By then, you see, b
ack at Camelot, Gwynevere and Lancelot were becoming a growing problem for good King Arthur. And Morgana was playing every angle she could to try and advance her cause in someday making Mordred the next King—at the expense of anyone who stood in her way, including Queen Gwynevere.

  Yet by Mordred’s sixteenth birthday, King Arthur had an even larger problem to deal with—an external one really—and it came from across the sea, way down at the very bottom of Europe, from the country they say is shaped like a boot. This new threat began in the oddest of circumstances, at the last place we ever could have imagined—ROME!

  It was Alguin who informed me of this, long after we’d returned to our cottage in the woods.

  Arthur had over the years done a tremendous job quelling opposition to his reign, wiping out peasant uprisings, threats from rebellious barons up north, and weeding out plots to assassinate him or challenge his rule. Occasionally this kept my man Alguin quite busy in that dank cavern, as conspirators and rebel leaders would be captured and taken to “Vile’s” dungeon for interrogation.

  As I said before, I greatly appreciated the mornings following a night when my Alguin had to extract confessions from a prisoner. Sinful as it may seem, this made my man an even more incredible lover somehow. Too bad for the unfortunate prisoner enduring the horrors of that underground hell—but when “Vile” became Alguin once again and finally came home to me next morning? Well that was truly heavenly.

  Efficiency can also work against us sometimes though, I’ve learned. Arthur’s otherwise driven and loyal knights had become complacent and directionless over the years. Conflicts became hard to find. The warriors in his realm had little left to do—Lancelot especially—and that was dangerous. Arthur needed something for them to be challenged by, something for them to conquer. Bored knights occasionally resorted to squabbling and confrontation over relatively petty matters. Jousts and duels were held to resolve conflicts, but it simply wasn’t enough. These were trained killers! What’s worse, Lancelot found himself with a little too much time to spend alone…with Gwynevere!