MORGAN: A Gripping Arthurian Fantasy Trilogy

by Lavinia Collins

  “So, is this your real shape?” I demanded, resentfully.

  “They are all my real shape,” Merlin replied archly. “When I want something from a pretty young girl, I go as you saw me before, and when I want something from a warlike old king I come as a white-haired old man, and when I want something of an eager young king, I come like this. You will learn, little Morgan, that it is as well to frighten people as to seduce them to get what you want.”

  “Give me back my sword,” I demanded again, though I had no room to bargain with.

  “Give me back my book,” Merlin countered, with a deepening grin. I did not assent. I had seen myself with the sword in the future, and I had not yet finished with the book. Defeated for the moment, I slumped back against the edge of the barge. Merlin clicked his tongue. “That sword is not meant for you. Its destiny is with the new King, and the new King’s destiny is with it.”

  He was a fool. The sword was made for me. It did not belong to anyone else. We passed the rest of the journey in a resentful silence. I felt sick at the sight of Merlin. I was sure this ugly shape was his real shape. It was the woad. He had not had the woad when he had been the young man. The thought of his hands on me made me shudder, and I wished that I was brave or strong enough to shove him from the boat to drown in the water, but who knew the depths of the Black Arts that he knew? Besides, he might have taken the sword in with him, and then I would never get it back.

  I wished that I had never left Ector’s house. All those visions I had had of Kay had only made me miss him more. I decided I would not tell him, though, about Merlin. I was sure I could not explain how I had done what I had done for the sake of a book of black magic without making him hate me. I would keep that to myself, and only hope that he had not found a different girl. I did not know, though, how long it would be until I saw him. The thought suddenly struck me that Kay might have been killed. I pushed that thought from my mind, quick as it came.

  The journey with Merlin was slow, because the snows had come. We did not get far each day, and had to stop often, so it was almost a month before we reached Camelot, and when we arrived, Camelot was almost empty. Everyone, they told us, was in the great Cathedral in London, watching Uther’s boy prove his right to be king by pulling the sword from Merlin’s magic stone.

  So, we rode on. We reached London as spring did, and I was glad that we would finally be somewhere. Merlin and I travelled together in an inimical silence all the way from Avalon, only speaking when we needed to, and each jealously guarding the sword and the book.

  Pavilions had been set up around the great Cathedral, huge with thick swathes of silk flapping in the spring breeze. I could hear sounds echoing inside, too, of shouting and cheering. This son of Uther’s must have spent all winter putting the sword in and out of the stone to prove himself. Now at last Merlin had come to claim him. I wondered what Merlin would do to the boy. It seemed to me more Merlin’s lust for power than his desire to see the right man on the throne that had brought him here. He had made Uther King, after all. Was that because he had wanted to control him? But once Uther was King, he had all but disappeared, until Uther was on his deathbed. What did Merlin want with Uther’s bastard son? I was not sure I wanted Uther’s son to be my king, not if he was anything like his father.

  Men moved out of the way at the sight of me and Merlin, with our woaded faces, and he with his huge chain of gold and the huge sapphire set in it. They knew that we were witches, and they were reluctant to brush against us. Merlin pushed the heavy doors of the Cathedral open and inside I heard the roar of cheering again as a small figure at the far end, before the altar draped in red and gold, drew the rusting old sword from the block of stone and held it above his head. All I could see from where I stood was a glint of gold hair, and beneath it a red and gold surcoat that I knew as one of Uther’s. So the son was wearing his father’s clothes already. People were accepting him as their king. The boy’s raised hands hid his face from me, but as Merlin and I walked closer and the cheering rose around us, the light streaming red and gold through the huge stained-glass window behind the boy, he turned, the sword held over his head to smile at the crowd, and I saw his face and my heart stopped. It was Arthur. Arthur.

  “That’s not Uther’s son,” I cried out, unable to stop myself, and a murmur of disapproval grew up around me. Arthur was the younger brother. Arthur was the younger. If Arthur was going to be made king, did that mean Kay was dead? I could not see Kay, nor their father, anywhere in the Cathedral.

  Arthur saw me when he heard my voice and, dropping the sword, ran down to throw his arms around me in a rough, good-natured embrace. After a moment of this, which I barely noticed through how stunned I was, he held me away, at arm’s length. His mouth hung open, stunned, and his eyes were wide and excited. Over the months of winter, when he had turned only thirteen, he had grown even more, though he was still not quite as tall as I was.

  I could see the rapturous disbelief on his kind, honest face. Arthur had come to this moment by mistake. But all I wanted to ask was where is Kay?

  Behind us, I could see other men lining up to pull the sword from the stone, but once it was in the stone again none of them could budge it, even though there were men twice Arthur’s size there. Merlin’s stone had truly chosen him king. Suddenly, awfully, the voice of the Lady of Avalon came back to me; he does not know it, and it is not his fault, but he is a child of rape. I did not know why I had not seen the likeness he bore to Uther before, how Arthur bore his father’s fair, Germanic look, the look of the folk from the flat middle of Logrys. Kay and I were old Celtic blood, tall and slight, where Arthur was fair and stocky like Uther had been. I wondered what kind of woman his mother had been. She must have been kind-faced, for Arthur had not got that from his father. With an awful sinking feeling in my stomach I realised that I knew who Arthur’s mother was. That Uther must have taken kind old Ector’s shape to rape the mother Kay and Arthur shared. Perhaps he had wanted her magic blood for his own child, or perhaps it was just that he was a beast of lust, for Ector’s wife had been beautiful. I wondered if Arthur had even begun to think about such things, such awful possibilities.

  “Morgan…” Arthur began, his voice stunned. “Morgan… I’m the King.”

  I gave a slow nod, still taking it in. Arthur, though he had been performing this trick with the sword and the stone since Christmas, which was when Merlin had said he had done it first, still seemed as though he had not fully taken it in. I opened my mouth to try to answer, but Merlin stepped in front of me. I saw Arthur flinch back from the sight of him, and I did not blame him.

  “Arthur, I was your lord father’s chief advisor and counsellor, and I have come to offer myself in the same role to you. Also, it is I who put Uther’s sword in the stone. Do you accept?”

  Arthur nodded, as though he were hypnotised. I wanted to say this man helped your father rape your mother, but I said nothing. I would bide my time with Merlin, though I did not trust him.

  “You’re a witch?” Arthur asked him, with all the clumsy bluntness of a child. Merlin nodded, and Arthur looked warily pleased. “You, too, now Morgan,” he said to me, with a smile.

  “Me, too,” I replied. I felt the warmth of my fondness for Arthur about me; the fondness of a sister for a brother, after all our years together as children. His sweet, youthful face beamed out at the men cheering his name, and to please them he ran back to draw the sword from the stone again, and the roar of cheering got louder. He was just a boy, but he was popular already. Merlin’s little trick had made sure of that.

  As dusk was beginning to fall, Arthur invited me and Merlin back to his pavilion, the grandest one in dark blue-green outside the Cathedral. Inside it was draped with silks, rich but faded. Uther’s old things, inherited riches. Newly acquired, and Arthur, too, seemed not quite used to them. I saw no sign, still, of Ector and Kay. Arthur could, surely, not have forgotten his father and brother as soon as he was found to be king?

  “We shall
set the day for the official coronation, my Lord Arthur,” Merlin began, in his rasping voice – it had been so different, I noted, while he had borne the shape of a young man – full of dark persuasion. He was going to try to control Arthur already. “And you shall take your father’s seat at Camelot.” Stunned and tired, Arthur nodded, shrugging off the red and gold surcoat and sinking into a chair in his shirt and breeches. “And, my Lord Arthur, I bring you a gift.”

  From deep within his cloak, Merlin drew my sword in its scabbard. I felt the rage within me. I was ready to open my mouth and say it was my sword, for I was sure that Arthur would have what was rightfully mine returned to me, when Merlin spoke again.

  “This sword is Excalibur, cutter of steel, and it was made for you in Avalon. Its destiny is with you, Arthur, and you will become a great king with it at your side.” Arthur, mesmerised at the sight of the gold and the jewels, and the silky, wheedling promise in Merlin’s words, reached out, took it by the pommel and drew it. It weighed heavy in his hands, and it took both of them around its hilt for him to hold it point-upwards. There was no Otherworld in Arthur.

  “Which do you like better, my Lord Arthur?” Merlin asked, softly, his eyes flashing with a dangerous amusement that I did not like at all. “The sword, or the scabbard?”

  Arthur did not look down at the scabbard at all. His eyes were fixed on the blade of the sword, the gentle ripples in the smooth steel where the icy waters of Avalon’s lake had tempered it, its paleness, its cool hard perfection.

  “The sword, of course,” Arthur replied, breathless with wonder at the weapon in his hands.

  “Then you are foolish, sire. For, whoever wears the scabbard can spill not a drop of blood.”

  Arthur reddened, glancing down at Merlin and the scabbard. He looked like a scolded child. I could tell that he did not like being called foolish. He snatched the scabbard from Merlin and buckled it about himself, sliding my sword into it.

  “Guard the sword and the scabbard well, Arthur,” Merlin warned.

  I did not want Arthur guarding the sword and the scabbard well. He had no magic blood; an ordinary sword and scabbard would be just as good to him. It was ridiculous. Excalibur and its scabbard belonged with me. I eyed him slyly, standing in his shirt and breeches with the jewelled scabbard slung low around his hips, his hand against the pommel of my sword, imagining himself a grown man and the king he must be, and in that moment, though I loved Arthur as a brother, I was resolved that whatever it took, I would get my sword back from him, and the scabbard too, even if it meant his life.

  Chapter Eight

  We rode for Camelot the next day, and I was glad of it. I thought I would get bored watching Arthur perform the trick with the stone again and again and again, and besides it made me uneasy to see Excalibur casually resting against Arthur’s hip, and he half-ignoring it. I knew I could not snatch it back, and I would have to wait, so I welcomed the distraction.

  The ride was short, though Arthur chattered eagerly all the way. I was anxious, and I longed to ask him about Kay, but I dared not with Merlin beside me. I was afraid his greedy listening ears would guess too much. It was just the three of us on the road. If it were just a young boy, and old man and a girl of sixteen, we would have been easy prey in the uneasy interregnum, but Arthur dressed in Uther’s surcoat and Merlin and I with our woad faces kept any attackers at bay. I supposed my blue-painted face was a better protection from attack than any armour. No man would risk his life against a witch. Little would they know that at that moment my arts exceeded no more than mending wounds and curing chills, but soon I would have strength enough to be as Merlin was, a creature of any shape. As soon as I could be alone with the book I would learn what I could of its secrets, and properly this time.

  Camelot was as I had remembered it in Uther’s day when we arrived this time. A vast fortress with four tall round towers, encircled in a thick wall. News had reached Uther’s old capital properly of his son’s emergence, and silk banners flew from the battlements, and inside the great courtyard I could see knights gathered to train. These men had come to Arthur, not yet knowing who he was. I wondered if they would be disappointed by his youth. They would not be disappointed at his size or strength, but sometimes men only saw another man’s age or station. For, besides, Arthur had been raised like a common boy, though his foster-father was a knight. It had been no castle for him, no lessons with a clerk or priest, no master-at-arms to teach him to fight with miniature swords. It had been wooden sticks in the fields with Kay that had made Arthur the king he suddenly was now.

  “Arthur,” Merlin announced grandly, as we rode in the main gates of Camelot, thrown open to receive their King, “this is Camelot, your father’s capital and his fortress. It is your seat now.”

  Arthur nodded dumbly, gazing around. I glanced around, too, in the crowd for Kay, but I did not see him. I did, however, see his father at the back of the crowd, a kind smile crinkling his face. He raised a hand in greeting when he saw me, and I waved back in return. I wondered how strange we must have looked to him, the two children who not long ago were splashing around together in Avalon’s great lake, one now painted with woad, the other now wearing the clothes of a king. It had not been so long ago that we had played together as children. Now, Arthur wore my sword, and I carried with me a book of forbidden knowledge, and I dreaded that both of these were at once our darkest dangers and our only protection. I wondered if he had even thought what Arthur’s parentage meant for him. I wondered if he had known. After all, there had been no talk of how Arthur had been fathered, and I only knew from what the Lady of Avalon had said to me. I hoped that Ector had been spared the truth.

  We slid from our horses and the crowd gathered around Arthur, cheering. I felt glad that the people liked him already, but it was all overwhelming, and besides I longed to be away from Merlin, so I carefully took my things, checking for the books at the bottom of my back and comforted by the feel of the leather, and snuck away, through the crowd, up to the room that had been mine as a child.

  I was pleased to find it little changed, and unoccupied, and I thought to claim it as my own. Since I was the daughter of the Queen, I did not think anyone would challenge me. I wished, once I was there, that I had searched for Ector in the crowd and asked him where I could find his older – I supposed only – son, but I had missed him in my hurry to be alone.

  I had not been long at Camelot before. Our mother had brought me when she had married Uther, but his displeasure at my presence had quickly showed, and after a few short months I had been sent to the abbey. She had sent Morgawse to be married after only a few weeks at Camelot. While I looked like our mother, Morgawse was the picture of our father. No man wants to stare in to the face of a dead rival, even if that face is worn by an innocent child. Not a man as small and greedy and jealous as Uther Pendragon had been. I hated him. I even hated the sound of his name. Despite myself, I even found myself liking Arthur less because I knew now that he was somehow Uther’s son, though Arthur had done me no wrong.

  I slowly unpacked my things, hiding the book of Macrobius among my dresses. Having lost my sword from under my bed, I was reluctant to hide anything else there. I did not think that anyone who was looking among my dresses would know what Macrobius’ book on the changing of shapes was, let alone that it was forbidden. Actually, I doubted if anyone who would rootle in my dresses would even be able to read the Latin. Even Arthur, if I had thrown the book down in front of him, would not have had a clue what it was about. It was only Merlin, really, that I had to hide it from. He spoke as though we had made an exchange, but I did not think he was above stealing the book from me again. Especially if he thought he might get something from me in return if he offered to give it back.

  When I had organised my things, I decided I would go out to the courtyard again, and walk around Camelot, getting my bearings once more. I ran lightly down the stairs and out in to the fading evening light, turning my face up to the pale spring sunset, breathing
in the fresh smells of Camelot, the hay of the horses, the clean grass of the fields all around. As much as I hated Uther, I had loved this castle.

  “Hey, blue-face.” I heard a familiar voice behind me and turned around with a smile to see Kay lounging against the doorway to the tower with a sly grin on his face. I felt myself blush, suddenly self-conscious of the new tattoos, my new face, and unconsciously I raised a hand to my cheek.

  “Oh, Kay… Oh, yes, I suppose I look quite different now.”

  I was suddenly, painfully aware of how much I had changed in so little time, and Kay had hardly changed at all, but Kay’s smile deepened and I saw the wonderful wicked glint in his eye.

  “I like it,” he said, beckoning me closer. I came, casting a wary look around me. There was no one watching so I came close enough for him to whisper in my ear, and felt with a thrill the slightest brush of his lips at my ear. “Are you like that… all over?”

  Kay, wonderful Kay, had not changed at all. I didn’t answer, and I felt him slide his arm around my waist. If Arthur saw I was sure he would be angry. He would be angry that we had a secret – for I was sure from Arthur’s anger about Kay and Lancelot that he hated secrets – and his advisors would tell him to punish Kay because I was a powerful political tool for him now he was King, and he would not want Kay involved with me. I was a stepsister princess ready to be married to secure Arthur’s rule. Well, I was not willing to be so. I had not gone to Avalon, nor lost my sword for black magic to be bought and sold like a horse. I would do as I pleased. Especially once I had mastered that book, and won back my sword. Kay, too, never seemed to me to be one that cared for prudence, and I was glad of it. He would not have been afraid of Arthur’s reprimands; Kay would have laughed at them. Kay leaned closer and whispered again,

  “Will you let me see?”