“What do you want, Uriens?” I demanded. I suddenly remembered the sword lying on the floor. I did not want him to notice it. I felt flushed still, frustrated, angry to have been interrupted at a longed-for chance to be alone with Accolon.
“Morgan, we have a child together. Don’t you even want to try to get used to me? We ought to have more children.”
“Get used to you?” I shouted.
“You will like it if you get used to it,” he objected, flatly.
“I will not,” I shouted. Uriens stepped forward and grabbed hold of me by the shoulders, and pressed his mouth against mine. I pushed against him, but he did not loosen his grip on me, and when he released me, he threw me towards the bed.
“I am doing this for your own good, Morgan. You must just become used to it, and you must resume your duties as my wife. No more witchcraft against me, no more hiding.” He climbed on top of me as he spoke, while I tried to wriggle away from him, but he was far stronger than I, and he held me fast by the wrists.
“No, Uriens. No,” I hissed, as quiet as I could. I didn’t want Accolon to jump out from under the bed to defend me and get himself killed. He had come unarmed, and Uriens had a sword at his side. Perhaps we would have a chance enough if Uriens threw it off, but then we would have to explain to Uriens’ knights why his steward had killed him in my bedchamber.
Uriens was pushing up the skirts of my dress, and while one of his hands was off me I kicked him hard away, and he stumbled back, released his grip just long enough for me to wrench away, jump from the bed and pick up Excalibur. When he saw the point of a sword before his face, he seemed to understand that I was serious about refusing him. He stepped back from the bed, his hand on the hilt of his own sword. I was not afraid. I had all of the strength of the Otherworld in me with Excalibur in my hands.
“Where did you get a sword?” He growled.
“This is my sword. A dear friend returned it to me. You will not touch me again. Do you understand?”
Uriens threw me a dirty look, and moved towards the door. He hesitated in the doorway, and turned back to me.
“You are truly the foulest of witches, Morgan. I don’t know how you managed to get someone to fuck you before I did. I don’t know how any man could stand you.”
He slammed the door when he left, and I gasped, collapsing back in relief and victory. I did not care what he said to me, or what he thought of me. I was safe. While I had Excalibur, I was safe. I leaned against the wall, closing my eyes, catching my breath.
I heard Accolon climb out from under the bed and I opened my eyes as he came over to me and took my face in his hands. I looked up at him, fierce and proud. He leaned down to kiss me, and I laid my fingers against his lips.
“Come to me again when you have the sword,” I said.
I did not offer him Excalibur to make the copy from, nor did he ask for it. We both knew that I needed it with me.
The next day, a letter came to me from Nimue.
“My most dear Lady Morgan, I hope queenship suits you well. I dreamed of you as a queen. I have gained nothing from Merlin, and he pesters me daily to have him in my bed. The war is drawing to its final close, and talk in Camelot is beginning to turn to whom Arthur should take as a wife. Thanks to his long war, there are many fine princesses in the lands about whose betrothed will not return to them, so he has plenty of choice. By the end, it was nothing less than total destruction. Once the sons of Lot joined with Arthur, victory was assured. He rides with the eldest, Gawain – or is the other twin the eldest, I don’t know – and assures me that he will return to Camelot soon to settle the matter of his marriage. I hope that means I shall see you soon for the grand occasion. Nimue.”
The letter made me feel anxious. It meant that Arthur would come soon for his sword, and I was not ready for him to take it from me.
But I did not have to wait long. It was late at night, and I lay in my bed, with its curtains drawn against the early winter chill. I strained to read in the low light of the fire that only just filled the room. I could barely make out the words on the page, but I got comfort from looking over, again and again, the sleep-medicine that I would use – as soon as the time was right – to kill Uriens.
I heard the scrape of metal on wood as I saw a hand push through the bed curtains and tear them back. I sat up sharply in bed, prepared to run for Excalibur, but I felt bright relief surge through me as I saw, silhouetted against the low fire in the gap of the curtains, a new-forged sword gleaming in his hand, Accolon. His eyes were wild with triumph, and I could see the breath coming to him hard and fast. He threw the sword down on the bed beside me, and I turned to glance at it. It was the very picture of Excalibur. I was sure I would only be able to tell the difference if I took it in my hand. I turned back to him. His mouth opened slightly, as though he were about to say something, but before he could speak, I leapt forward and grasped him by the front of his shirt, pulling him into the bed. The curtains fell shut behind him, and we fell back beside the sword. He kissed me, hot and hard with urgency, and I felt his hands rough and fast, pulling the nightdress up over my head. He smiled gently to himself as he looked my body over.
“It is true, then,” he murmured, tracing one swirling line of blue across my stomach.
I suddenly heard Kay’s voice in my head, You are like that all over. But Kay had forsaken me, and at last I had found another man who was not afraid of a woaded woman.
“It is true,” I whispered back, and he kissed me again. This would bind us together. He could be my partner in this; the others had all been afraid. Kay, Lancelot, Uriens. Not quite brave enough. I pulled him to me, and I felt him tremble in surrender. I pushed him beneath me and tore him free of his clothes; he was just as fine beneath as I had hoped. All broad muscle and dark gold hair. All big, rough hands that tugged in my hair, just enough, and eyes that ran over me with the desire and wonder I had long deserved. So it was swift and wild, all the more so because I had been lonely so long, and it left us both gasping and tangled together in the pleasant exhaustion of lovers who at last have had what they have long waited for.
It was a while after, when the light from the fire was almost dead, and we lay side by side in the sweet haze of pleasure that he spoke.
“So you are pleased, then,” he asked, “with the sword?”
I laughed softly. “Quite pleased. It is a perfect copy. You had it made very fast.”
I felt his hand slide into my hair, and I rolled into his arms once more in the darkness.
“I knew that it would be worth my haste,” he replied.
I covered his mouth with mine before he could speak again, growing lost already in the knowledge of him as mine, and the raw rush of power from my coming revenge, and the sword sleeping beside us.
Chapter Five
Accolon’s haste had been wise, for Arthur came for the sword a week before Christmas, just days later. I heard the horns that announced his arrival from my room where I was standing with my book of medicines, checking one last time the mixture I would make for Uriens.
It would have been Accolon who sounded the horn, and the noise of it made me smile to think of him. I had found some joy in my life here, at least, even if it had not been with the child. And I might yet have a child that would give me joy, for I felt sure I could love a child, if it were one by a man of my own choosing.
Arthur had come from Lothian, where the winter snows were deep already, and he rode in on his armoured horse dressed in rich, heavy furs of a dark grey-brown. He rode without his crown and with just a small company of knights. Among them I recognised Gawain. Every time I saw Arthur he looked more like a king; not in his clothes, but the way he talked, the way he held himself. The war had made him a strong leader and an experienced warrior; I could see that from the way he moved, the easy way he had with the men that rode with him. The boy I had known was almost entirely gone.
He jumped down from his horse as I walked out into the courtyard, and I saw Uriens kneel b
efore him. I wasn’t going to kneel, so I hung back. Uriens got to his feet and Arthur clapped him on the shoulder with a friendly laugh. Behind Arthur, I caught Gawain’s eye. His look was unfriendly, glowering. This could not have been easy for him.
After the formalities of the greetings, Arthur made an excuse to leave with me. He told Uriens he wanted me to show him his new nephew. When he had shut the door behind him in my room, I saw him breathe a sigh of relief. He unbuckled the sword around his waist and laid it on the table.
“It will be good to have my sword back again,” he told me, with his open, trusting smile. “Morgan, I am so grateful that you took care of it for me.”
I gave him my sweetest smile. He would not know how I hated him for selling me to Uriens, and for failing to protect Morgawse. I went to where I had hidden the copy that Accolon had made. I was sure it was not the real sword, for it felt heavy in my hands, and I needed both to lift it. Arthur did not notice that the sword I had carried easily in a single hand before I now lifted with difficulty in both. They would weigh the same to him, anyway. Arthur looked it over with a smile when I handed it to him.
“You have cared for it well. Thank you.” He leaned forward and kissed me on the cheek. Oddly, it reminded me strongly of when we had been children. We had greeted each other always like that, the three of us, when we had been young. It was strange that he still did it, when so much had changed. Arthur turned as if to go, and then turned back to me. “Oh, Morgan. The scabbard.”
The scabbard. Accolon had not copied the scabbard. The scabbard was the more powerful part. I was prepared to lie, to refuse to give it up, but Arthur had already seen it, the glint of its jewels peeping out from between my dresses, giving it away. He reached for it and buckled it around his waist before I could even speak. At least, I thought, I had not put the real sword in the true scabbard. Then I would have lost them both.
“Morgan, many thanks for your safekeeping.” Arthur kissed me on the cheek again and, picking up the scabbard, buckling it on and sliding the fake Excalibur inside, led the way out. He did, after all, want to see his little nephew, and I stood, leaning against the doorway, as he picked up the little boy from his nurse’s lap and threw him playfully in the air until he giggled. Arthur had a son of his own whom he had tried to murder. He would be married soon, and have more children. I wondered if Mordred would have been safer if he had been born a girl. An older son would be a dangerous rival to the children Arthur would have with whoever he was about to take as his wife.
“What is his name?” Arthur asked, interrupting my thoughts.
“Ywain,” I told him. “Uriens named him; it’s some old family name of his.”
Arthur nodded, and seemed pleased. I was relieved when the little boy began to cry and had to be handed back to his nurse, and we could leave. I was relieved, too, that Arthur had not noticed that I did not hold my own child.
Because Arthur and his knights were staying overnight to avoid travelling the cold winter evenings, we all ate in the castle’s great hall. There was far more food than was necessary, and the sight of it all around us, all the roasted game, the apples, the bread, the vegetables from the stores, was sickening when I thought of Uriens’ excuse for killing the Breton woman. Clearly, we had plenty of food. I had to sit through their eating and drinking and tedious stories of the war. Every single man was the greatest fighter, the bravest knight, and all of their victories had been glorious. None of them mentioned how one of the sovereigns they had defeated had been a woman prisoner, bound and executed. No, they would not want that for their honour. I let my attention drift away. Accolon sat with Uriens’ men at the trestle tables in the main hall below the high table on the dais. When I caught his eye, he gave me the slightest of smiles, and I felt the warmth of secret knowledge at my centre, and I held it tight.
Then talk turned to Arthur’s marriage. He said that he had received offers from the fathers of a few princesses, but he wanted to consult with Merlin before he sent for a wife. I thought he seemed reluctant. I supposed he was rather young, but he was the King, and he had a responsibility to secure peace. Besides, he had married me off to Uriens only a couple of years older than he was now, and he had had almost six more years of freedom than Morgawse when she had been sent away to be married.
“Well, my Lord, they say Princess Isolde in Ireland is the most beautiful woman in Britain,” one of the knights with Arthur suggested, jovially.
Arthur laughed. “So I have heard, but she is twelve years old. I don’t want to marry a girl; I want a woman my own age who will be useful as a queen as well as... desirable. I want someone wise, and brave, not just someone beautiful. Besides, Kay has met Isolde, and he says that she is... simple.”
Another of Arthur’s knights, a softly-spoken man with short mousey hair and a reserved manner, who was, I think, Percival, cleared his throat softly to speak. “She ought to be the daughter of one of your old enemies, to keep the peace more strongly.”
Arthur nodded. I grew quickly tired of the conversation as more and more names of princesses were raised and then dismissed. I got the feeling that the discussion wasn’t serious, and this was just dinnertime sport. They were men; they did not understand what a serious matter marriage was.
I saw Accolon leave early, with duties to attend to, but with Arthur here Uriens would notice if I slipped away. As it was, bold with drink, Uriens tried to follow me to me bed when an end was called to the feast. I only noticed him when I was at my door, and he seized me from behind, holding me tight against him in a manner that I could only imagine in his drunken state he thought to be seductive. He had not desired me at all before I had produced a son for him, but now it was as though I was as lovely as Isolde of Ireland herself. I pushed him off. I was not drunk.
“Leave me alone,” I snapped, pulling the door open and stepping through. After I had frightened him with the sword, I did not expect him to try to follow me, but he did. He was drunk enough that I could push him back, and I drew the bolt on the door once I had shut it, and leaned back against it, closing my eyes, pushing away the awful memories that crowded around me: Lot holding me down on the table, Uriens with his hand over my mouth, whispering at my ear, you will be obedient to me. I would kill him soon.
The days in the depths of winter passed slowly, until the nights came. Uriens did not try to come to my room again; when he was sober he remembered well my sword. Reassured that we were safe, Accolon would come to me and we would love passionately together. He was rough, often, and I liked it. I wanted it. I pressed myself into the touch of his hands. I liked the rough rub of his stubble against the smoothness of my own skin. He was far more masculine than the men I had known before. Kay and Merlin had been smoothed-skinned, smooth-faced, and where Kay had been gentle and tender, and Merlin quick and demanding, Accolon was raw and hungry in his passion. I wanted him the more for needing my touch so badly, and I was the more hungry for his kisses for their insistent heat against my mouth. I began to hope more and more strongly that I would have another child. I did not even care that Uriens would know that it was not his.
It was early in spring that I came back to my bedroom to check back through my books, and found Kay there. Well, I knew it was not really Kay. He sat lounging in the chair beside my table, flicking through my book of medicines.
“What do you want, Merlin?” I demanded.
He gave Kay’s sparkling grin, but then turned back into the form he bore as the young man. It was cold outside and I had come in wearing furs, but I was reluctant to take anything off while he was there. When he changed back into himself I noticed that he was wearing the big, ugly sapphire around his neck again. I wondered what it did, if there was some Black Arts secret to that ugly necklace.
“So unkind, Morgan, when I come with an offering of news.” He threw the book down casually on the table. He would not have taken it. There were others like it. It was not like his book of Macrobius. He got lithely to his feet and stepped towards me. I did not mov
e into the room, or shut the door behind me. He came closer, and I noticed that he had made himself taller, so that he looked down on me, as he felt he needed to intimidate me. Perhaps it was the sight of the dress Nimue had made me. I was sure there was some magic in it, a little protection. He slid an arm around my waist, pulling me against him. I pushed back, but he did not release his grip. He leaned down close to me, hissing close and threatening. “But before that, I need you to tell me something. The sword that Arthur brought back with him from here is not Excalibur. Where is the true sword, Morgan?”
I stared back at him, unmoving. I did not have to give in to him. Nimue would have his knowledge from him and I would never have to negotiate with him ever again.
“I don’t know what you’re taking about, Merlin,” I replied.
He pressed his body against mine, as though he thought he was being persuasive, and I pushed him away. He moved back this time, and he changed back into the shape I knew as his own, the grinning skull-faced man.
“Either tell me your news or leave, Merlin. There will be no more transactions between us,” I told him, turning away, walking over to the table to pick up the book.
Softly, behind me, I heard a voice that I was surprised to find sent a flicker of nervous pleasure through me, and in its low and lovely French tones it said, “Morgan, I can give you what you want.”
I wheeled around, and it was truly as if Lancelot stood there before me. I hated the betrayal of my body; I could not stop it. I felt my cheeks flush hot, the breath catch. Merlin had seen it. Merlin knew my weakness. Suddenly I saw myself again, fifteen years old, climbing naked out of the lake, feeling the strange new embarrassment to be naked before Lancelot. There had been something different about it from that long ago, even. I knew I had loved Kay, and I thought that perhaps I was growing to love Accolon, but the overwhelming power Lancelot’s presence alone had over me made me wonder if there was another kind of love, somewhere beyond that, that I would feel, that I could feel, if I could only be alone with him, and away from the rest of the world. I had dreamed it, in a dream as clear as day, that we would be together. I closed my eyes for a moment, sinking in to it, and I could almost feel his lips on mine again, in the forest, and in the dream.
THE CURSE OF EXCALIBUR: a gripping Arthurian fantasy (THE MORGAN TRILOGY Book 2) Page 4
