“I didn’t allow anyone to do anything! That is my whole point. That is what the outcome of this trial will establish. The bishop used me for his own ends.”
“What will that do, Arthur? Yes, justice will be done, but half the people will disagree no matter what ruling I give. It will not solve the bigger problem.”
“I think you underestimate your influence,” Mordred said. “As judge, you are acting in the Goddesses’ stead since you are still sovereignty personified, regardless of whether or not my father wishes to acknowledge you as queen. It is an honor that cannot be reversed by mortal man. Those who follow the old ways know this. That is why some of the people are demanding you for their queen instead of submitting to my father.”
My eyes grew wide and my mouth fell open as I struggled to voice my shock.
Mordred chuckled. “Sobian did not tell you?” He clucked his tongue. “The country is not only divided in allegiance between the High King and his two heirs, one of blood and the other of declaration. No, there are many who back you. You have been their mother-figure for more than two decades and they trust you. This is why the role my father has set for you is so important. It will not only show that the High King follows the same rules he enforces, but it will shore up the people’s flagging faith in Camelot once again.”
Arthur seized on his son’s logic. “He is right, you know. You can turn the people’s thoughts back to loyalty to our cause and end the brewing unrest before it blossoms into something worse.”
I sat back down, stunned at the sharp turn this conversation had taken. I had come to Camelot to heal and do a favor for Arthur, and now the fate of the kingdom rested in my hands. I closed my eyes and inwardly groaned. Long ago, I swore as a priestess of Avalon to enforce the ways of might and right. Then on the day I was crowned queen, Arthur’s subjects became my children, unruly and taciturn though they may be. I owed it to myself and to them to once again shoulder the twin weights of priestesshood and queenship, no matter how distasteful I found them.
But even more than that, Arthur and Mordred needed me. I may have had every right to be angry with Arthur, but he was still the man I’d once loved and my heart tugged me back in his direction. Mordred may have been Morgan’s blood, but I’d acted as a second mother to him, watching him grow from a boy into the man who would be king. Mordred was as much son to me as the twins I had long ago given into the arms of the Goddess. I could not abandon father or son simply because doing so was easier. That was a coward’s response, and I was not one to shirk my duty. The quick escape into a peaceful life with Lancelot I had envisioned would have to wait.
After waiting another three weeks for word from Lancelot, but not enacting my suggested solution, Arthur chose to move forward with the trials. He gathered those concerned in his circular chamber, the one in which I had been tried and found wanting months before. Only this time, it was not I who was to plead for my life; Fortuna’s wheel had turned, and rather than being crushed beneath its weight, I rode it to its apex as judge.
I sat alone at the front of the room in the throne I’d always occupied when we met in council in this room. Unlike previously, Arthur did not sit beside me, choosing instead to stand off to the side where he could pace nervously. On my right and left, Morgan and Marius waited in the chairs previously occupied by Arthur’s most trusted knights. Morgan’s expression was serene, as attentive and composed as though she was going to lead a council session and nothing was amiss. Marius, on the other hand, fiddled with the chains binding his wrists. His uneven beard and wrinkled, dirty tunic indicated he had been plucked straight from Arthur’s dungeon. He may have been gaunt from his travails, but that did nothing to extinguish the fiery loathing he threw my direction with every glance.
The remaining chairs were occupied by the top Combrogi. Others clustered behind them arranged based on allegiance—Accolon leading Gawain, Bors, and the others who supported Morgan and Arthur, while Aggrivane sat at the head of Bedivere, Sobian, and those who favored Mordred and myself. There was little difference from the groups that had formed at my own trial, showing loyalties only slightly shifted in my favor. Those eager to oppose me needed more than attempted murder to change their allegiances.
They shifted nervously, many refusing to meet my eyes. Now that I was the one in control, they knew I might exact revenge and so feared me. The temptation was strong. But my role as judge had its origin in the power of the Goddess herself, and so I tried to keep my pride and personal feelings in check. My role was to be as neutral as possible until the moment I was asked to render a verdict. Still, it would be easier if I could call the Goddess down into me as I had on the day I chose my champion. But this was not a ceremony or ritual; it was a judicial matter among mortals, and as such, I had only my instincts and conscience through which to hear the guidance of the gods.
Thankfully, Arthur had chosen the most secluded area of Camelot to hold this trial. Had we been in the great hall—or really anywhere else in the castle—the buzz and chant of the crowds likely would have been audible during the proceedings. Word had gotten out, and throngs of people waited outside, some of whom were shouting their support for Morgan or the bishop, while others made it clear they were already reserving their seats for an execution.
Arthur approached me and turned to face the assembly. Even though he was the victim as well as a witness, it was his duty as king to open the proceedings since the Archdruid was not here to do so. “As you all know, we are gathered here today to determine what really occurred last autumn when Queen Guinevere was erroneously sentenced to death by fire. She is serving as judge in my stead at my request, and she has intimate knowledge of the events from two perspectives, which she will share. But first, I invoke my right as the wronged party to tell my own tale.”
He paced again, head bowed in concentration and hands clasped behind his back. “After listening to all assembled at Guinevere’s trial, I retreated to the Grail Castle to be alone with my thoughts and pray. When night fell, Bishop Marius suggested I retire and ask God’s guidance in my dreams. I was bone weary, so after taking Holy Communion, I did as he suggested. That night I slept fitfully, waking often to the sensation I had consumed far too much drink, even though I had not had any.
“By daybreak, I was retching and so dizzy I was unable to stand. I heard the crowds below and became concerned, but I was not yet alarmed. I’d given no order, so I never imagined what was taking place. However, when the wind shifted and blew the smoke to me, I knew something was very wrong. I tried to stand but fell to the floor. I needed to know what was happening, so I crawled to the casement and threw myself upon it. That was when I saw that the fire had been lit. Again, I tried to stand, but to no avail. All I could do was cry out my dissent, hoping someone would hear me and stop what was taking place below.
“Eventually, I must have lost consciousness because when I next opened my eyes, I was in Morgan’s arms. She was rocking me and telling me I had become ill, but all would be well.” He stopped and faced me. “It was only later that I heard about Lancelot’s intervention and that you were alive.” He looked over his shoulder at Mordred. “I wish to publicly thank my son for his part in setting you free. And when we finally locate Lancelot, he will have my gratitude and pardon as well. Please know that I would never have ordered you to be executed.”
With that, Arthur ceded the floor to me and I was free to question him. His testimony matched up to what I had seen in my vision, but I still had a few questions. “Did you ever determine what made you ill?”
“No. There was no way to do so.”
I didn’t expect so. If only I could have gotten my hands on that communion chalice before the damn priest washed it. Even smelling the dregs or tasting the residue on my finger might have helped. I put that aside and turned to my next concern. “What was Morgan’s reason for being in your chamber?”
Morgan answered instead. “Perhaps you would like to addre
ss that question to me rather than asking Arthur to guess?”
I fought the urge to roll my eyes. “Fine. But you have to wait your turn. I would like to hear from Bishop Marius first. And I suggest you remember that I hold your fate in my hands and address me with the respect I deserve.” I eyed Marius. “That goes for both of you. Bishop, you may speak.”
Marius cleared his throat and stood. “I stand here today an innocent in chains, much like our Lord and Savior before Pilate. But unlike him, I know my judge has already found me guilty and I have not the virtue to remain silent.”
I took a deep breath, willing myself to remain calm. I should have expected a performance from this man. He never could resist an audience.
“I do not deny placing a drop of some liquid in the king’s communion wine.”
An astonished rumble went through the Combrogi. Marius raised a hand to silence them.
“But it was not poison, as everyone was so quick to assume. I would never do such a thing to my king.” He fell silent and did not seem inclined to continue.
“What was it then?” I prompted.
Victory glittered in his eyes. “I do not know. I was only following the orders of Arthur’s wife”—he gestured toward Morgan—“whom I assumed had his best interests at heart. She is a healer and so could have given him any number of remedies for any number of conditions. I am but a humble priest who knows nothing of such things.” He touched his breast and bowed his head slightly in a gesture of humility that made me want to gag.
“Now, as I have explained the only charge against me, I suggest you question her”—he nodded in Morgan’s direction—“about the exact nature of the substance.”
Arthur stood before Marius in three long strides, a finger poking the bishop’s chest before I could even speak, his pent-up anger on full display. “That is not the only charge against you, you pompous traitor. How do you explain giving the order to kill Guinevere? I never offered my final judgment.”
Marius looked at me as if to inquire whether I would allow Arthur to question him in my place.
I smiled coldly. “I was just about to ask the same question.” I sat back, awaiting his response.
Marius’s eyes shifted back to Arthur as a wolf-like grin spread across his face. “Oh, but you did. Perhaps you do not remember because you were so ill. You looked at me and clearly said ‘guilty.’”
Arthur grabbed the priest by the collar of his tunic. “I said no such—”
Marius continued as though Arthur had done nothing. “The point is, I was still carrying out the king’s will.”
“No. You. Were. Not.” Arthur ground out each word between clenched teeth.
“Morgan, you were there when Arthur was ill. Did he say anything of the sort?”
Morgan shook her head. “No. Marius told me before I saw Arthur that he had spoken to the king in private and he had passed his verdict. He said he was headed to help Guinevere meet her fate, but never elaborated.”
“There you have it.” I fought back a smile. “Two people say no and one, with a very strong motivation for self-preservation, disagrees. Plus, we have testimony stating you spoke of Arthur’s will before anyone saw him that day.” Given this evidence, there was no need for me to mention my vision. “It seems to me there is nothing left to be said. I am ready to render my verdict.”
This was one sentence I did not have to deliberate upon. I had been waiting twenty-five years to avenge the wrongs this man had done to me—separating me from my first love and my family, turning Arthur away from Avalon, installing Morgan in my place, and trying to have me killed—and now I could do so in full knowledge it would be justice.
I finally allowed my grin free rein. “Bishop Marius, through the power granted to me by High King Arthur Pendragon, you are hereby found guilty of the crime of high treason for the attempted murder of a royal person, the punishment for which is death by the method of the king’s choosing.”
Marius’s mouth hung open in shock.
“Take him back where he came from,” Arthur ordered Gawain and Bedivere.
Each man took one of Bishop Marius’s shoulders and dragged him toward the door.
“I protest! I am not guilty. I protest!” he yelled. “You cannot do this to me. The Bishop of Rome will hear about this! Arthur, think what having the blood of a priest on your soul will mean when you go before God.”
Arthur shuddered involuntarily, which made me wonder if he had the stones to go through with the punishment demanded by law, especially since he was giving that damn priest time to frame himself as a martyr. I would have executed him on the spot.
Putting away such dark thoughts, I turned to Morgan, whose face had gone white, as though she only now realized this was not some silly play we were enacting; I truly held over her the power of life and death. “It is your turn to speak.”
Slowly, she rose, regarding each person in the room before finding her voice. “I am guilty of no crime except caring for my husband. Each of you remembers what that day was like. By the time Arthur left this room, his nerves were frayed and he still had an enormous decision to make. I cannot imagine what he must have been feeling, but I knew he needed the clear mind that would come with rest. That is why I suggested the bishop add a drop of valerian to his cup. Arthur had already refused dinner and I knew he would argue with me if I suggested to him that he take it. I only meant to ease his nerves and help him sleep.” Her eyes welled with tears.
Once again, I fought the urge to make a face. I had seen Morgan’s false tears before and they did not move me. “You know as well as I that valerian doesn’t make people violently ill.”
“Not usually, no. But we also know that many things can change how an herb works. It may not have even been the valerian that made Arthur sick. It could have been anything.”
For the first time all morning, Aggrivane spoke. “Is that the same excuse you offered Viviane when Rowena nearly died during the testing to determine the next Lady of the Lake?”
That Aggrivane remembered the incident was a surprise. But he had been close with us during our time in Avalon and understood what a puzzle that event had been to everyone who knew Morgan. She had always maintained her innocence, and no one had ever conclusively proven Rowena’s poisoning was Morgan’s fault. However, the rumor of her guilt dogged her, lending her a reputation for being talented with poisons, deserved or not.
Morgan’s eyes narrowed and her cheeks flamed. “How dare you! Did Guinevere prompt you to say that? My life is on the line and the two of you are dredging up the past because it might help justify your hatred of me. Perhaps the bishop was right and we were both condemned in your eyes from the start.” She was crying in earnest now, tears dripping onto her freckled cheeks.
“Oh, this is bullocks,” Sobian muttered, just loud enough for those around her to hear.
“I have a question,” Arthur interjected, perhaps to allay further argument. “Morgan, how did you come to find me that morning? I never had the chance to ask.”
Morgan wiped the area beneath her eyes, giving Arthur a soft, sorrowful smile. “I couldn’t stand to watch when the bishop went to get Guinevere. Something about his manner made me believe he was leading her to death, and despite all that has passed between us, that I could not bear. I went to your room when you were not outside with the crowds, nor in the great hall. I was worried something might have happened to you, especially in light of your uncharacteristic verdict.”
“Something might have happened to me?” Arthur raised an eyebrow. “Like what?”
Morgan shrugged. “I don’t know. I was scared you might have been taken by an ill humor and could be a danger to yourself. You were so upset the day before. Frankly, you hadn’t been yourself since you removed our son from the Combrogi because of that woman’s false accusation against him. Then there was poor Elaine’s death, and then Guinevere betrayed you.” Sh
e took Arthur’s hands. “I couldn’t leave you alone if you were still in pain.”
Arthur looked at her with such tenderness, I thought I was going to vomit. I cleared my throat to break the spell between them. “Do you still have the bottle?”
Morgan blinked. “The what?”
“The bottle of valerian. I’d like you to take me to it so I might examine it myself.” Morgan had no way of knowing I had seen the bottle in my vision and this was my way of testing her.
She blinked a few more times, as though considering my odd request. “If you wish.”
She led Arthur, Gawain, Bedivere, and me through the halls to her chamber. A cheer went up when we passed the great hall. Through the cacophony, my ears discerned a few cheers of joy that Morgan was still with our party and two particularly loud shouts of protest over Marius’s verdict from his acolytes Galahad and Peredur, who vowed the wrath of God upon our heads if we carried out his sentence.
When we reached Morgan’s room, she knelt and unlocked a large chest sitting near the fireplace. She withdrew a small wooden box from within and lifted its lid. Inside stood a dozen small dark glass vials, each identical.
Morgan held two bottles up to the light before finding the one she desired and holding it out to me. “This is it.”
It matched the vial in my vision, but so did all of the others in the box. “How do you know it is the right one? I don’t see any markings on it.” It was possible Morgan could have mixed up the vials and inadvertently given Arthur the wrong liquid.
She looked at me as if I was a child in Avalon once again. “I don’t want untrained people pawing through my medicinal store and mistaking a poisonous herb for something innocent, so I use a special ink made from the milk of goat’s lettuce that is only visible when you apply ash over it.” She displayed a sooty thumb I hadn’t even seen her dip into the cinders. “Once the milk is dry, it won’t rub off, but the ashes will, so the bottles are unrecognizable to anyone else.”
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