MORGAN: A Gripping Arthurian Fantasy Trilogy

by Lavinia Collins

  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 move 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 wa
s 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.

  I opened my eyes to find that Lancelot had stepped towards me again, and he reached out to brush his fingertips against my cheek. I felt the blood in me grow hotter. It’s Merlin, I told myself, but I was frozen to the spot. I knew I should push him back and run, but the shock of it held me still. Slowly, gently, he took my face in his hands and, as my breath fluttered fast from me, he leaned down and our lips brushed. I sighed with longing, and in response, I felt his lips open on mine, his kiss become deep and passionate, and the wave of sweet excitement run through my body. I could feel my heart racing, and my spine weaken as I felt his tongue against mine, and his kiss grow more powerful and hungry with my need for it.

  But when I felt the forceful grip of his hands on the skirts of my dress, pushing it up, I thought again this is Merlin, and this time the feeling that flooded through me was raw disgust. I pushed him back and slapped him hard across the face. Grinning, he changed back into himself. I would have killed him if I had had Excalibur in my hands.

  “Well, it is well enough that Arthur does not have Excalibur. He can pose no mortal danger to me without it. Still, I shall have the sword for myself, Morgan.”

  “It’s a pity that you cannot get a woman to touch you in your real form, isn’t it, Merlin?”

  I felt that I had some ground to win back from him. He had surprised me, and found me vulnerable. I wanted him to feel weak as well. “You think you are the only one who knows other people’s secret desires?”

  I closed my eyes and pictured Nimue; the small-boned frame, the white-blonde hair, the pretty, attentive face. When I opened my eyes, it was the first time I had seen Merlin in his real form with anything other than a grin on his face. His ugly face had fallen, drooping low around the mouth, his eyes wide and staring.

  “But, Merlin, I am not here to give you what you want,” I said, and the voice that came from me was Nimue’s whispery soprano, not the voice I knew as my own. “Why so surprised, Merlin? Did you think I would not study the book that I exchanged for my sword? Or did you think I did not know that you desire Nimue, and she has denied you?”

  Merlin was struggling to regain his control again, and I was beginning to feel stronger and bolder. He tried to gather his expression into one of superiority, and he gave a cruel laugh.

  “You have so much to learn, Morgan.” He leaned closer, to whisper it at me one more time in his rasping voice, “You have so much to learn.”

  As I reached out to slap him again, he disintegrated into mist under my hand, and he was gone. Gone without my ever knowing his news.

  Chapter Twenty Seven

  The news came nonetheless. Arthur was getting married. Uriens and I would have to ride to Camelot. I told him I did not want to take Elaine. She avoided me now that she knew she irritated me. I wished I could have liked her. It would have been nice to have some female company in Rheged Castle. I missed the communities of women that I had known at the abbey and in Avalon. I missed the conversation of women. I missed Morgawse. I was sorry, too, that now I was married we would not sleep side by side as sisters. I knew I would worry for her, afraid and alone, and unable to sleep in Camelot.

  It was decided that Uriens and I would travel with only two of his knights, leaving the household and our son behind in the cares of Accolon and Elaine. I was sorry to leave Accolon behind, but I thought it would be hard to be secretive with Camelot full of people. We did not talk about parting, the night before I left for Camelot. I would be back soon, and when I was back the mixture I had made for Uriens would be ready. I had not told Accolon yet, but when I returned from Camelot I would.

  We left before light was fully up, to reach Camelot before it was too dark to ride anymore. Uriens did not like the thought of spending a night on the road with me any more than I did with him. It was cold, still. The air was fresh with the coming spring, but it was not yet warm, and I wore my light furs, thin and glossy-black over the gleaming black dress Nimue had made me. I was pleased with how I looked. A little fearsome, I thought, and that was how I wanted it. Uriens wore his crown. I had seen myself wearing it in my dreams of the future, and the sight of it heartened me. He would soon be gone, and his lands would be mine.

  When Camelot came in sight, a huge black silhouette against the fading sunset, Uriens drew his horse up to mine and leaned close to me.

  “You will not embarrass me when we are in Camelot. You will be a proper wife to me. Do you understand, Morgan?”

  I said nothing.

  I heard the horn sound for our arrival, and the gates opened wide. Camelot’s great courtyard was filled with people holding torches. At the head of the group Arthur stood, dressed in his crown and his red and gold surcoat. Merlin stood beside him, his nasty black eyes shining from within his hood, his face a mass of bluish darkness in the shadow the torches threw. Just behind them stood Ector. My mother – our mother – stood at Arthur’s side. It was what was proper, but I thought Arthur would probably have preferred to have Ector beside him. Beside his father, in his black and gold surcoat, stood Kay. He was even more handsome than I had remembered, his dark eyes intense and thoughtful where they were usually bright with laughter. He did not look at me, but I knew he was thinking about me. In the light of the torches, the soft thickness of his black hair shone. I looked for Morgawse in the crowd, but I did not see her.

  I jumped from my horse before Arthur and accepted his kisses on my cheeks, then kissed my mother.

  “You did not bring your son,” she said softly, with disappointment.

  “He is still very young,” I protested gently. She nodded indulgently, thinking me the doting mother. Whenever I thought about the child, it made me feel hollow and sick.

  As I made my excuses that I was tired, Kay slipped through the crowd to meet me on my way to my bedchamber.

  “Morgan, you,” he gave a weak smile, “you look well.” I returned his smile. “Arthur tells me you have a son. Ah…” Kay shifted a little on his feet. “How is he? Is he...?”


  I sighed with annoyance, both at how the boy had turned out, and with Kay’s inability to ask the brave question. “He is the image of his father, which pleases the old man tremendously.”

  Kay nodded thoughtfully. He looked a little disappointed, and I was sorry for my sharpness. I wished that we were in a place where I could touch him, could kiss him, could talk honestly with him.

  “Well, I am so happy to see that you are well. Goodnight, my Lady Queen Morgan.” He took my hand and kissed it softly. I knew how those lips felt all over my body, and I felt their impression on the back of my hand after he had slipped back away into the crowd.

  I undressed and climbed right into bed when I got to my chamber. It was dark and no one had prepared a fire, but I didn’t care. I was exhausted from the ride, and I wanted to be asleep before Uriens came. I hoped that he would leave me alone if I were asleep.

  I fell asleep fast, and I dreamed a sweet dream. The dream began with me and Kay lying side by side in the woodland clearing by Ector’s house. It happened as it had before, and Kay turned to me and kissed me, and we melted together with it, with all the exploratory delight of young love. I felt the sensations again as I had felt them before, the quiver of excitement when Kay found the secret place within me I did not know I had, and the heat of his breath against my neck, and most of all, the gentle power of the first kiss which was full of the smell of the lilacs and the lazy feeling of the end of summer. Then, in the dream, before it was over, Kay turned me over again beneath him, and I was lying on my back in the grass looking up at not Kay, but Lancelot, and the kiss I felt against me was the intense sensual kiss I had felt in the forest, only this time I was not denied, for he was there, at the centre of me, and all around me, our lips and bodies pressed tight together in the ecstasy of passion. In the lovely haze of the dream I felt myself growing hot and eager with it, I felt it gather tight in the low centre of me, deep in my stomach.