I was ready, now. More ready that I had ever been, for now I knew that I had to stop him.
It was high summer, and stiflingly hot. Everyone was uncomfortable, sweating in the heat. I moved about the castle in the secret form I had. I was not yet ready to reveal myself to Arthur, because there was too much to explain. I had taken too many wrong steps, there was too much for me to apologise for. I was not ready. Besides, he did not trust me.
One hot day, the knights were gathered in the courtyard, training with one another. No one’s heart was really in it, for it was too hot, and most of the men lounged in the shade of the stone buildings. It was just Mordred and Gawain fighting, and neither of them were really trying, but there was nothing else to do when it was so hot. Arthur stood with Kay, leaning against the wall, and I moved closer to them to overhear their conversation. I was pleased to see that Kay showed no signs of his injuries. I could see, on the other side of the courtyard, Lancelot standing with Guinevere. They were side by side, leaning into the shadow of the tower that housed Arthur’s chambers, she with her back against the wall, he turned slightly towards her, leaning down slightly, speaking softly in her ear. She turned her face towards his, the hint of a smile passing across her face. They did not touch each other, nor did anyone seem to think it was unusual, and yet as I stood there, looking across at them, it felt unbearably raw, exposed. I did not know how Arthur did not see it. He was looking right at them.
Kay, however, had noticed it.
“Arthur,” I heard him say, softly. “Don’t you think it might be time for Lancelot to go out to tourney again? We cannot let the border kingdoms think our knights have forgotten how to fight.”
“Oh no, Kay,” Arthur complained. “Not yet. He’s just been away a long time. It’s good to have him here. Good for the men – they follow his example. Besides, Guinevere likes having him here.”
Kay made a noise of reluctant agreement.
“You don’t understand, Kay, because you never married,” Arthur said, gently, and I thought I heard something a little like sadness in his voice. “I am with her as much as I can be, but I have many duties, and she gets lonely. I can feel it; I could while he was gone. With Christine dead and Margery gone, she was lonely without him, and it made her quiet, a little bit... lost from me. But since he has come back, she has been more like she used to be. She has been happy. I do not think we can understand how lonely it is to be a woman, sometimes.”
“I have been a friend to her,” Kay objected, indignantly. Arthur put a hand on his shoulder and gave him a kind smile.
“I know, Kay, but look at her now.” Arthur smiled more deeply, watching Guinevere laugh at something Lancelot had said to her, looking down at her feet shyly. “You cannot say she has not been lonely without Christine and Margery. And she does not make friends easily.”
“No. That is because she is bossy and demanding. And rude,” Kay replied. But he was grinning, as though he was fond of her because of those qualities. Arthur laughed softly.
“Kay, if you were not my brother, I would have to punish you for saying such things about my wife.” But Arthur was grinning, too.
On the other side of the courtyard, Guinevere was moving away from Lancelot and disappearing through the stone archway that led to her walled garden. After a moment, Lancelot went, too. Arthur did not seem to notice, but I watched Mordred’s eyes, and Kay’s, follow Lancelot as he left.
“Still,” Kay persisted, absently, watching Lancelot disappear after Guinevere, “it might be for the best, to send him away.”
Arthur did not answer. He seemed tired of the discussion, and I had heard enough. I slipped away, to the walled garden. I could feel Mordred watching me, too.
I stepped through the archway and let myself melt into the shape of one of the rose vines climbing the side of the wall. In the summer, the grass in the garden was yellowing a little, and the smell of the roses was sweet and overpowering. Guinevere was picking up a petal from the ground where it had fallen and was about to tuck it into her plaited hair when Lancelot took it lightly from her fingers and reached around to tuck it himself, their eyes locked together. I could see it all in the way they looked at one another. It had begun again. He brushed his fingertips down her cheek, and she closed her eyes, sighing as they brushed across her lips.
“Lancelot...” she whispered. He looked up and around them for a moment. When he was satisfied that no one could see them, he slowly, softly, pressed his lips against hers. For a moment, she sank into it, running her hands into his hair, but almost as soon as she weakened, she pushed him back. I could see she was flushed already. One hand brushed down the front of his surcoat as though she longed, but did not dare, to touch. He reached for her hand. She stepped back, shaking her head, but as he stepped towards her again she took his face in her hands and gave him one brief, tantalising kiss before she slipped away. Lancelot groaned and rubbed his face. The pair of them were drunk with it, reckless, unable to resist. Kay was right. Lancelot ought to leave.
When I came back out into the courtyard, Guinevere was standing with Arthur, and Kay was fighting with Gawain. Arthur had his arm possessively around her waist, holding her against him, and she rested her head on his shoulder, but I could see her eyes gaze, unfocussed, into the distance. In her mind she was in another man’s arms. She only seemed to come back to herself when she saw Lancelot walk from the little garden, through the courtyard, and off up to his room.
I wrote to Nimue, too, telling her she should come to Camelot, because whatever danger there would be would be soon. I wanted her close. Nimue was the only person I knew who had no need to be afraid of Mordred.
Mordred came late in the night, and put my hand over his eyes without speaking. He watched that one secret kiss that I had seen with rapt attention, and seemed disappointed when they moved apart, throwing my hand back to me and pacing before me.
“They are cautious now,” he murmured as he paced, more to himself than to me. “We need to give them an opportunity to be alone.”
I gave a nod of agreement. I hoped to delay him until Nimue came. It was easier than I thought. He was engrossed with watching Guinevere. His eyes followed her everywhere she went. Every moment he saw her with Lancelot gave him hope that she would accept him, too, once he had killed his father.
Summer was beginning to draw to an end when Nimue arrived. The time was right. I went with her to Arthur, in my own shape. Nimue warned me to say nothing of what I knew. She did not want Arthur finding out about Lancelot and his wife. I had suspected that she would want to reveal it to him, for I knew how she felt about Arthur, but she seemed to be long past that, and when we met with him in the room with the Round Table, her manner with him was entirely different. Calm and authoritative rather than shy. Then I heard Arthur refer to the knight Pelleas as her husband, and I was glad for her. I was pleased, too, that she had brought Pelleas and there would be one more knight in Camelot that we could rely on.
Arthur greeted me warmly when he saw me, as though he had forgotten what I had shown him before and how we had argued. He kissed me on both cheeks and told me that he had missed me. He asked after my son. I realised that I did not know how Ywain was. There was someone else I needed to forgive. He could not help what a man his father had been.
“Do you come with news?” Arthur asked Nimue, his tone friendly.
“There is none,” Nimue replied with a smile. “Happily, peace brings little news.”
“I have news,” I interrupted. Nimue glanced at me warily, but I was not thinking of betraying her. I drew in a deep breath, steeling myself to say the words I knew would hurt me more than they hurt Arthur. “Morgawse is dead.”
Arthur nodded slowly, taking it in. He sat back against the table, and I could see him thinking it over. He had loved her once.
To my surprise, he put his head in his hands, and said thickly, “God will punish me, too, for my unkindness to her.”
I stepped forward and put a hand on his shoulder, a
nd he looked up at me.
“She did not blame you,” I told him, gently. It was a lie, but it was better for him to never know the truth. He stood and wrapped his arms around me in a tight embrace. For him, things had never changed between us. We had argued, but I was his sister. He had always loved me as a sister, always the same. In the face of Arthur’s simple, enduring brotherly love, I felt myself crack a little more, I felt how cold my bitterness had made me, and I felt the tears come again, for Morgawse, and for myself.
Chapter Sixty Eight
Mordred was suspicious of Nimue’s arrival, and of me moving about the castle in my own shape, but I assured him that it made no difference, that I too was trying to win Arthur’s trust as he was. He seemed satisfied, but not entirely. He was pushing, now, for some definitive action.
Late one afternoon at the very end of summer when the sun was still bright, but the air beginning to turn chill, I was with Nimue in Arthur’s council chamber. We sat on the edge of the great Table, talking over our times at Avalon. When I remembered with her, I found myself laughing, and the sound of it surprised me, for I had not laughed in a long time. Not with happiness.
But we were interrupted by the arrival of Aggravain and Gawain, and following them, Mordred, and then Kay. Aggravain and Gawain were arguing, but when Aggravain saw us, he stopped in the doorway.
“Arthur is not in here?” he demanded. Nimue shook her head.
“Well, that is for the best,” Gawain declared, gruffly, turning to his brother.
“It is not for the best,” Aggravain insisted, pacing before the rest of them. Mordred hung at the back, watching carefully. Kay crossed his arms over his chest, leaning against the wall. When he caught my eye, he gave me a strange look of resignation. “Arthur has to face the truth. He has to deal with the truth. It is dishonour to us all that Lancelot has been with his wife, not just once but many times, and he must deal with it.”
“Be quiet, Aggravain,” Gawain hissed. “He might be nearby, and he might hear you.”
“I want him to hear me,” Aggravain shouted.
“You will dishonour us all if you insist on bringing such things to light,” Gawain said, stubbornly, squaring up to his brother. “It is not worth destroying both Lancelot and Arthur’s honour for the sake of one woman. As you said once, just an ordinary woman. These matters are better kept private. If Arthur does not mind then I think we should leave the matter.”
“Arthur does not know,” Aggravain shouted. He was red-faced with his anger, and I thought he looked ready to strike Gawain.
Gawain shrugged. “This is a man’s business with his wife. I will not get involved. It is you who dishonour Arthur with your gossiping.”
Before Aggravain could answer, Gawain left, pushing past Mordred. It was only moments later that Arthur stepped through the door, pushing it shut behind him. His brow was creased in confusion. He must have seen Gawain on the way down, storming out.
“What is going on here?” Arthur demanded, his voice low. Aggravain looked between Mordred and Kay for a moment, to see if either of them would try to stop him. He did not look to Nimue, or me. As women, witches though we were, we were beneath his interest.
“Arthur...” he began, tentatively. Arthur seemed to know what it was already and shook his head, raising a hand to quiet Aggravain.
“No, Aggravain.” Arthur was fired with anger already. I saw Mordred glance towards him, unable to keep a sly, unpleasant smile from his face to see his father so disturbed. “Not more of your malicious rumours.”
“Arthur,” Aggravain tried more forcefully, “you have to take this seriously. Lancelot has had your wife. You must do something about it.”
Arthur lunged forward as though he was going to strike Aggravain, and Kay stepped into the way to hold him back. He stumbled a step under Arthur’s force, but held him steady before he struck Aggravain, who stepped back, but continued speaking, undeterred.
“It’s plain to see, Arthur, and it’s no good. I don’t know how you can stand the shame of it. You have to do something about it. Everyone is talking about it, saying they are lovers, and it’s dangerous for you.” He was calm now, and he fixed Arthur with an even stare.
Arthur drew back under it, straightening his red and gold surcoat. “Aggravain, I can’t give out justice based on rumour. There are tales all around that are not true. Her and Kay, at Meleagaunt’s castle. Isolde and Palomides. You don’t see me rushing to have Kay’s head, for the sake of a bit of gossip. If you stop talking, others will stop talking.” Arthur sounded annoyed, tired.
Kay was watching Aggravain, waiting to see if he would give up. I was not. I was watching Mordred. After a moment of tense silence, Mordred stepped forward, behind his father, to speak softly in his ear.
“Yet, my Lord, the rumours about Isolde and Tristan were true. And, Lancelot harboured them at Joyous Guard. He’s obviously not a man who has a problem with adultery. Don’t you think it is suspicious that she goes missing overnight and he brings her back without any of her clothes?”
“You’re being ridiculous,” Kay said to Mordred, sharply. He turned to Arthur, his look deeply serious and said, “There are always rumours, Arthur. The best thing to do is ignore them.” And over Arthur’s shoulder, he stared back at Mordred.
“My Lord, they are always together. Always talking together and walking together. It’s plain to see from the way he looks at her that he has had her,” Aggravain persisted.
“Enough,” Arthur’s voice boomed, so loud that I felt the vibrations of it through the wood of the table. “I won’t tolerate any more accusations based on gossip. I don’t want to hear any more about it, nor do I want to hear that any of you have spoken of it. Do you understand?”
There was a long silence. Aggravain was not going to back down.
“We cannot ignore this, Arthur,” Aggravain said, very softly. “Some action must be taken. Against Lancelot. Against his kin.”
That meant Kay. And Ector as well. I saw the thought pass across Kay’s face, and I felt the danger thicken in the room.
“I cannot be fighting everyone over every little rumour. What good is a king who cannot keep the peace?” Arthur said.
“What good is a king who cannot keep his wife?” Aggravain replied.
“I can keep my wife –” Arthur roared again, and once more Kay stepped between him and Aggravain. We were moments away from an open brawl between Arthur and Aggravain in Arthur’s own council-room. Nimue looked up at me. I wondered if she would step in. I did not think I could. Not in front of Mordred, not after what I had shown Arthur.
“What if... proof could be obtained?” Mordred’s voice came, quiet and sly, from behind Arthur. Arthur turned around, and Kay stepped back from him, watching Mordred.
“It cannot, because it is not happening,” Arthur answered.
“If you are so sure,” Mordred continued, “then surely there is no harm in... arranging an opportunity to catch Lancelot in the act... as it were.”
“No,” Arthur insisted, and before Mordred and Aggravain could speak again, he stormed out, slamming the door. Kay, throwing a dirty look at Aggravain, went after him. Aggravain groaned.
“How can we make him understand?” he complained.
Mordred shook his head. “Now we wait. We have put the idea into his mind. We wait.”
Aggravain seemed reluctant, but without speaking to either of us, they left. When they left, Nimue assured me that she would keep watch over it. She said there was nothing else to be done.
That night, Arthur ate with his men and Nimue in the room with the Round Table. I hid among the servants, making an excuse to Arthur, still trying to convince Mordred I was on his side. All seemed well, until the food had been cleared and Arthur moved from Guinevere’s side to talk with Gawain. She turned to Lancelot beside her, and I watched them talking, becoming more and more engrossed in one another. He was saying something to her, she was staring down at the table before her, leaning towards him. Lightly, he
brushed his hand against hers where it rested on the table, and I saw a flush rise in her cheeks. I was not the only one who saw. Arthur, the other side of the room, had frozen mid-conversation with Gawain and was staring right at his wife. Lancelot noticed before she did, drawing back suddenly, pretending he had not noticed Arthur and he was merely continuing the conversation, but Guinevere looked up, across the room, right back at him, her eyes wide and empty with the blankness of panic. She had given herself away. Arthur looked away, pretending not to have noticed, but I looked to Nimue, and I could see from her face that she was afraid that it had begun.
It was soon after that when Arthur called us – Nimue, myself, Kay, Aggravain and Mordred – to his council chamber. He paced in front of us before he spoke, and I could see his jaw clenched in anger, the tension of it running through his whole body. He turned to Aggravain.
“How is it to be done?” he demanded.
Aggravain took a moment to understand what Arthur meant. He opened his mouth to respond, but Mordred was there first.
“Arrange a hunt. Say that we will travel out and stay overnight. Lancelot will not come. When she thinks you are gone for the night, she will send for Lancelot. Aggravain and I will surprise them, and bring them to you, who will have been waiting here all along, and you may deal with them as you please.”
“Arthur –” Nimue stood, stepping towards him. “This is not wise, this is not honourable –”
He raised his hand for silence, and to my surprise, she stepped back. He was staring at Aggravain and Mordred still.
“I must know the truth. And if you find nothing, you will never, never speak of this again.”
Mordred grinned. “Never.”
Arthur nodded. “See that it is done,” he ordered, and turned from the room, slamming the door hard as he left. I felt cold and sick with dread. When I looked at Nimue she only looked back with cold resignation. When the others had left, I asked her if we ought not to warn Lancelot. She sighed.
MORGAN: A Gripping Arthurian Fantasy Trilogy Page 50
