He turned his head to look at me and took my hand. “I will never get used to that sight of yours. I did die, or at least I thought I did. When I closed my eyes on that plain, I thought my next sight would be of my ancestors in the Otherworld. But the next thing I knew, there was a hard boot in my side. The Saxons and their allies were checking to be sure we were all dead. Those who were not were either captured or killed, depending on how useful they assessed us to be.”
“You were captured?”
“No.” His eyes took on a faraway look as he yielded to his memories. “They passed me by, thinking I was dead. But Morgan was also on the battlefield, administering help and mercy where she could. She saw that I had opened my eyes. Once the Saxons were gone, she dragged me off the battlefield and took me to a safe place to recover.
“I had no memory of who I was or what had happened for months. Yet every morning she was there, encouraging me to try, saying that ‘there will come a day when she will need you.’ I can only assume she had foreseen your near-death by Elga’s blade and that I would rescue you.”
That startled me. How long had she known? If she had foreseen before we met on the battlefield of Camlann that I would one day rely on Aggrivane for my life, why had she not told me he was alive? How long had she known she would suffer Elga’s blade—and possibly give up her life—for me?
Great Goddess, protector of the priestesses of Avalon, send your protection to Morgan, daughter of the Lady of the Lake and the Archdruid. If she is still in the land of the living, minimize her pain and give her the strength and fortitude to heal. If her soul has passed beyond the veil, please grant her peace and richly reward her for her sacrifice.
I shook my head to clear it and forced my mind back to Aggrivane’s story. “Morgan nursed you back to health?”
Aggrivane nodded. “And then some. My injuries were so bad, I had to learn how to eat all over again. How to walk. It was more than a year before I held a sword, much less re-learned what to do with it. You’ve seen my limp. Without Morgan, it would be the least of my worries.” He shook his head. “I can honestly say I would be dead without her.”
“So can I.” I paused, lost in thought again. “How did you come to fight on the side of the Saxons?”
He looked away. “You have always said Morgan was a woman of two faces. I had grown used to regarding her as a kind healer, but after the Isle of Winds, she changed, revealing the cunning woman behind the mask. You see, Accolon’s capture nearly broke her. So when she heard Accolon had offered me to the Saxons as potentially of more use than he was, she jumped at the chance to turn me over to them, hoping they would return him.
“In Din Gefron, Accolon took charge of me personally and spent the next several weeks explaining to me why it would be best to go along with what Elga wanted, as he was doing. The day he asked for my support was the most difficult of my life. By then, I knew Arthur and Mordred were dead, but I had heard nothing of you. I longed to know your fate and thought the best way of obtaining information would be to ally with a powerful ruler. As I had no in with Constantine and I knew my mother did not desire to be a power player in this latest struggle, I agreed, at least verbally, to change my alliance.”
“But you said your mother did not know you were alive. How, why did Accolon go along with keeping your identity a secret?”
Aggrivane grimaced. “He believed that Lothian would be easier to overthrow if my parents were weakened with grief. If all of their sons were dead—and the future of their kingdom with them—then they would be more likely to cede their lands peacefully.”
“But they did not. Gawain lived, and Anna supported our side at Catraeth.”
“Indeed. I fear Lothian would have been Elga’s next target, had she succeeded in killing you. As it stands, I do not know if they will attack now or simply wait for my mother to die. I pray it is the latter.”
“That explains how you infiltrated the Saxons, but how did you get so close to Elga?”
“That was much easier than I expected. Word soon came of your role at Din Eidyn and then in Stirling. Elga knew I had betrayed you to Arthur and decided to use me as a spy to gain information on you. I told her only what would have been common knowledge to anyone watching the Votadini camps prepare, but it was enough. I have a feeling she intended to bait you using me, but when she realized Lancelot was your greater weakness, she changed tack.”
My heart thudded, anticipating where his story was headed. I covered my face with my hands. “Please tell me you had nothing to do with his capture.”
“I led them to the location of your camp, but I did nothing to aid in the act itself, I swear to you. Elga lured him by making it look as though we were scouts who would help him and his horse. I did not know what they were planning to do.”
“Did Lancelot see you?”
“Yes. It was unavoidable. I think he died believing I’d betrayed him.” Doubt must have shown on my face, for Aggrivane continued. “You will have to take me at my word. No proof exists that I can offer. I hope you know my heart well enough to understand that no matter what had passed between us before, I was grateful to Lancelot for rescuing you and taking care of you. In my sickbed, I had no way of knowing if you and I would see each other again. Why would I deny you his love when I could not guarantee I would be there to give you my own?”
Crickets sang their soothing lullaby in the silence that followed as we each mulled over his story. This night, with its beautiful weather and secret confessions, was so much like that of our first kiss in Avalon. Remembering that young man with his dreams of glory and peace, I had to believe in Aggrivane’s innocence, no matter what misgivings my jaded heart might now possess.
“And Elga? You were helping her escape when Kiara and I found you?”
He looked away. “Yes. She wanted me out on the battlefield but did not trust that I would not turn coat when faced with my former compatriots. So she kept me behind with her. I was grateful, because it would have been hard to avoid killing or being killed when no one else knew I was not who I appeared to be.”
Aggrivane was looking at the stars, as if reading his own story in them. “Elga knew she was in danger, regardless of the outcome of the battle. There was no question you would pursue her to your final breath for what she had done to Lancelot. Even if you fell before reaching her, there was a chance your men would still hunt her in your name. All I had to do was drive home that point, and her survival instincts overrode her considerable pride. The plan was to take the horses to a nearby Saxon convent until the skirmish was over.”
I gasped. That was Mayda’s convent, the one where I had sought refuge during Mordred’s revolt. I explained to him about Mayda’s fate after she’d tipped us off about Badon, my time at the convent, and how I came to Din Eidyn. “Elga may well have taken out her anger at me on her sister. It was something Mayda feared, and rightly.”
“Well, now I am especially grateful you foiled our plan. You helped us avoid bloodshed no one knew was coming.”
“So am I. How did you manage to continue your ruse when Kiara and I appeared?”
Aggrivane shrugged. “It was not that difficult, really. You and Elga were so intent on one another that your attention was not on me. All I had to do was play at taking on Kiara while my partner did all the real work. Once she dispatched him, I could already see the battle turning against you. I had to knock Kiara out, lest she think I was joining in the attack against you. She has a hard head, that one. As it was, I was too slow to stop Morgan. I was barely able to get to you in time…”
It was my turn to squeeze his hand. “But you did. That is what matters.” I scooted toward him, allowing him to hold me for the first time since our reunion. “Things may never be as they once were between us, but there is no one else yet living I would rather spend the rest of my days with.”
Aggrivane stiffened at the qualification in my statement. “I kn
ow I have much to make amends for. I will take whatever measure of affection you are willing to give.”
Chapter Twenty
The once gleaming, impregnable fortress of Camelot was a shell of its former glory. Judging from the trickle of people coming and going, it was still occupied, probably by Constantine’s men who were keeping it warm for the day he conquered the entire island. I could only imagine the havoc wreaked inside, the toppled statues of the Pendragon dynasty in the council chambers, the burned-out labyrinth dedicated to gods in whom Constantine did not believe.
We avoided the main roads, not wishing to revisit the places that lived on in our memories or chance being recognized. Instead, we trod the winding coastal roads that led to the harbor. Few people were about, and many of the houses we passed were derelict, feral dogs, cats, and vermin coming and going from their open doors and windows in place of the merchants and tradesmen who used to live there. Rotten shutters hung haphazardly from windows. Thatched roofs went unmended, gaping holes letting in all sorts of weather and rendering whole buildings uninhabitable.
Here and there, there were still signs of life. A stubborn baker cooked his fragrant wares, and a steady tink-tink-tink announced the garrison was keeping the smithy busy, but it was more a sight for sore eyes in the abandoned capital than an expected part of daily life.
When we turned down one street, we were greeted by an unexpected view of the sea. A whole swath of buildings, an entire neighborhood it seemed, had burned to ash, the blackened hulls staring at us like the unseeing eyes of the dead.
Aggrivane whistled. “So it is true. Huh. I thought it was just a tale spun by the victors.”
I stopped, facing him. “What was?”
He pointed at the remnants of the street in front of us. “It was said that after Camlann, those loyal to Arthur and Mordred joined forces to try to destroy Camelot so that no one else could ever use it as their seat of power. Tales of the city burning circulated for days, telling of an inferno unlike anything that had been seen for generations. Ultimately, the arsonists did not succeed in burning down the city, but the story of their attempt was lauded as nothing short of heroic.”
I tried to orient myself and recall what had once stood here. Though I did not know every inch of the city by heart, I prided myself on knowing most of it. “This was a residential area.” I recalled the home of a tailor on the corner of one street. I had helped his daughter give birth to twins. “Over there is where Sobian lived for a while with her girls.” I nodded toward a square patch of land that had once held a fine two-story home. “But what I don’t understand is if they truly wanted to do damage, why did they not set the castle on fire too?”
Aggrivane pointed. “I think they tried.”
I followed his direction to one of the massive square turrets that had not been visible from the main road. It too bore the indelible stain of soot, but that was from the destruction before Camlann. Down further, one entire section of the wall was gone. Judging from the pattern of scattered stones on the hillside below, it had likely exploded from the heat. Those that remained were unmended, as though forgotten and unloved.
Tears filled my eyes as I surveyed the damage done to my beloved home, to the city on which two generations of High Kings had placed their hopes and dreams, their vision for a unified country, the dream I had shared with them through many years and against many dangers, from invaders to corrupt hearts. A dream that was not to be.
“It really is over, isn’t it?” I asked.
Aggrivane placed a consoling arm around me as I wept. “I am afraid so. The world around us is changing, giving way to a new power structure, one in which our ideals no longer have meaning.”
I looked at him, my heart cleaved by despair. “Then why did we bother? What was it all for?”
“You bothered because you believed you could make our country and our people better, and you did, for many years. You and Arthur allowed generations of Britons to live in peace. You turned away the Saxons and preserved our ways. What you did is so much more than most people ever dare to imagine doing. You acted out of the urgings of your heart, following the will of the gods as you saw it. But all ages come to an end. It is the way of things.”
We walked to the water’s edge in silence, each wrapped in our own thoughts. Aggrivane was right; returning here had been a mistake. Everywhere I looked, I saw Camelot as it used to be for a split second before my mind registered the change.
The tide was out, and Aggrivane calculated we had about an hour before it would return, so it was safe to cross the causeway leading to the Grail Castle on foot. As we picked our way across the slimy stones, I looked for signs that it too had been looted or suffered abuse at the hands of angry mobs or those eager to get their hands on its precious treasure. But from the outside, it appeared not to have suffered as the town and fortress had. Perhaps the people had been too respectful or too superstitious to harm the castle.
Then again, perhaps I was wrong. I stopped inside the outer gate. Where once there had been a garden and outbuildings for the upkeep of the castle and those who lived within, now there was a graveyard, at least a dozen headstones marking mounded graves.
“What evil has been done here?” I asked, flitting from stone to stone, seeking to know how so many had died in such a holy place in such a short period of time.
“I did not hear of a plague,” Aggrivane mused as he scanned the names memorialized in stone. “Such news usually travels far and wide.”
I fell to my knees at the foot of the graves with the two tallest monument stones. “Oh no. No, no, no!”
The names Galahad and Peredur inscribed on them. Both bore an image of the Grail and recounted how the two men had found the Grail, heroically defeated those who rose against them, and brought their sacred charge back to Camelot. Thereafter, they became priests and guarded it with their lives.
“So that is it. They died protecting the Grail. No doubt they are in heaven with their god.” Aggrivane’s voice came from right behind me, but I paid him no heed.
Just when I thought I had no one, save Aggrivane, left to lose, no more tears to cry, this happened. I looked at him. “I do not know how much more of this I can bear.” I felt like a towel long ago wrung threadbare, with only the slightest, thinnest of stitching holding me together.
“Do not grieve for them,” came a female voice a few paces away. “Rejoice. They are the martyrs of the Grail, men who shed their blood for the good of the land, just as their Christ gave his life to save others.”
I recognized the voice before I looked up. It was Mona.
I stood, embracing her at once. “And you, how do you yet live?” I stepped back, eyes drinking in her silver hair and dancing eyes. Her face was wrinkled in all the usual places, but she maintained the tranquility of a priestess.
“I could ask you the same.” Her smile was as radiant as my first day on Avalon. “The Goddess willed it. That is all I can say. It is not for me to question.”
I hugged her tightly. “How have you borne it all these years? You spent your childhood dreaming repeatedly of death and destruction on the isle for which you were named, only to witness equal depravity here.”
Her smile was tender now. “It was my fate. Long ago, Argante warned me that my dreams had purpose, even though they seemed nothing more than a cruel joke of the gods at the time. Do you remember that winter night by the fire when we were young and I repeated Argante’s advice that to know the past was to be able to change the future?”
I nodded, recalling how we’d sat in front of the fire in the House of Nine in the dark of night while snow fell outside the window. She was in my arms, weeping, terrified from yet another nightmare of the pillage of the isle of Mona. She said Argante had recently told her that her dreams marked her as special, as powerful.
“Later, during my initiation, I had an experience that revealed to me my vocation as the G
rail Maiden. I have known from that moment that it was connected to my dreams. It was not until the fall of Arthur and destruction of Camelot that I understood why. I cannot tell you the pain it caused me to know that all these good men”—she gestured, indicating the dead around us—“innocent men, would lose their lives just like the Druids and priestesses on the holy isle of Mona, and for the same reason—the desire for power and control. When the time came, I did what I could to defend them, somehow knowing I would escape unharmed, as would the Grail, for I was its sworn protector. I was as helpless to stop the bloodshed here as I was in my dreams, doomed to be a spectator once again. But I tell you this. These men fulfilled the fate laid out for them with more courage and valor than I have seen in any knight. They are truly worthy of the title of heroes.”
I gazed around again, seeing not a drab place of mourning but a hall of heroes, a fellowship united in faith and purpose. Tears once again sprang to my eyes, but this time, they were of pride and joy in having known such courageous men. I sat back down, remembering the first time I saw Galahad in Elaine’s arms, grateful I had had the opportunity to watch him grow into a virtuous young man, then a fine priest at Camelot.
I recalled Peredur as a young boy at our home in Northgallis, remembering with startling clarity the moment he gave me his favorite toy, a carved wooden dog—the one Mona and I had shared to ward off our personal fears as acolytes on Avalon.
I dug around in the pouch at my waist and removed the toy dog.
“Bricriu!” Mona cried with joy. “Oh, you truly are one of Ellen’s own.” Her eyes welled with tears as she stroked the wood, worn smooth with time and the attention of many fingertips.
I looked at her, feeling once again like a girl on Avalon. “I think he has done his service, do you agree?”
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