Guinevere: The Legend in Autumn (48 page)

With that she was gone.

During the next few days I thought constantly about what I could offer Morgan, weighing the matter over and over, even after I heard that the High Priestess had arrived in London. She made no effort to contact me, however, and on the second day, fearful that she would leave to go to Mordred’s side, I sent a message to her. She answered that she would come to the Tower the next morning.

In the afternoon a runner arrived with word of Arthur’s landing and his first pitched battle with Mordred’s troops. “Blood all over,” the man panted, “and nothing decided. Mordred’s withdrawn, but the High King is following, sure as death.”

The news turned London into a madhouse. Always a polyglot city of Saxon, Briton, Celt, and Roman, its peoples now reacted in wildly divergent ways. Everywhere was speculation and rumor: that Saxon partisans were taking over the city in Mordred’s name; the Druids were offering sanctuary to any who wished to accompany them to the sacred groves; Merlin himself was seen flying over the city Wall near Bishopsgate, where he ran into an elm tree and settled down to roost in its branches.

Some of the stories were funny, others unnerving, and all of them without any shred of truth, though the people seemed to swallow them whole.

And if that wasn’t enough, no sooner had the night darkened to the point where torches must be lit than the sentries on the walls sent out a horrendous cry. There, in the West, was a giant comet, plowing across the sky and leaving a furrow of sparks and fire in its wake. I stood and gaped at it, along with everyone else.

What had been confusion quickly turned to terror. Believing it signaled the end of everything, people ran screaming through the streets, hid in attics, and growled like mad dogs at friends and relatives. Some got roaring drunk, others became suddenly devout, but all filled the night with their fear, making sleep impossible.

I heard the commotion, saw the chaos, and wondered if they were right. Perhaps the world was coming to an end, at least as we knew it. “If so,” I prayed, “let it happen now, so that I can avoid meeting Morgan on the morrow.”

But dawn came as usual, and with it the need to rise and dress for the occasion. Though I’d left Camelot with only my traveling dress and cape, I’d found one of my old silk dresses left behind in a cupboard in the Imperial Palace. It was the color of green apples and had been made for me from a garment my mother had owned.

Enid helped me brush out my hair and pinned it into a simple bun at the back of my head, then held the bronze mirror while I slid Igraine’s torc around my neck. The end result, I decided, looked regal without being fussy, authoritative without being harsh.

With luck, I told myself, Morgan and I can discuss this matter calmly, in a statesmanlike way—two monarchs negotiating rationally, in a climate of diplomatic propriety. One doesn’t have to like one’s counterpart to see the need for rational agreement when the life and death of a country are at stake.

Finally, with a heavy heart, I thanked my women for their attendance, and taking a deep breath, went to the upper room to wait for the woman I feared most in the whole of Britain.

Chapter XXXVI

Morgan le Fey

Morgan’s dwarf strode across the floor and planted himself directly in front of me. He was dressed in Kendal green, in a well-cut battle jacket that was padded and studded with brass bosses, and his stunted legs were covered by specially fitted boots. Just as in all our past meetings, he managed to look right through me, as though I didn’t exist.

“Her Royal Highness, Morgan le Fey, Lady of the Lake and High Priestess of the Goddess,” he announced in stentorian tones.

There was a rustle from the shadows beyond the door, and Morgan swept into the room, her cape flowing around her like a swirl of dark smoke. She was still petite and beautiful, with only a trace of gray threading through her black hair, and her green eyes were as compelling as ever.

Once I had been intimidated by Morgan: by her beauty, her power, and her immense presence. Now I just felt ragged and worn down—a tired Queen too used to wielding power of my own to be overawed by a beautiful woman. Not that I underestimated my sister-in-law; clever and determined, she would drive a hard bargain—if, in fact, I could tempt her to negotiate. But her physical elegance no longer impressed me.

When she came to a stop, I scanned her face, noting that age had not softened the vixen sharpness of her features. There were no overt signs of weakness that might give me an advantage: no petulant pout, no hint of overblown appetites. Over the years she had maintained the same purity of energy and dedication that had marked her as a young woman, though I noticed her mouth turned down in a perpetual frown. It was not a visage to inspire confidence in anything but her determination to get her own way. Still, I told myself, there were a few things I held the key to, and with careful bartering, we might reach a suitable agreement.

“Well come, Sister,” I said, but I neither rose nor offered her the kinsman’s embrace. Instead I motioned to the camp chair on the other side of the small table. “Won’t you sit down? I was about to have tea served.”

“I have little time,” the High Priestess snapped, looking at my Spartan living arrangements with obvious distaste. “If there is something you want from me, I suggest you name it.”

“That you help stop this war between Arthur and Mordred.”

My directness didn’t seem to disconcert her, though her eyebrows lifted.

“Why should I? As I recall, as long as my brother is King, I am banished from Logres on pain of death…”

“I’ll have that revoked,” I promised, hoping Arthur would honor it once the rebellion was quashed.

She looked me up and down thoughtfully. “Can you do that?”

“I can try, if you make peace between them.”

So far our dialogue had been clear and to the point, and I began to hope the matter could be quickly settled.

But my optimism was short-lived. Some center of gravity shifted in Morgan, so that she sank down in the chair and began slowly and deliberately taking off her gloves, as though she’d suddenly found all the time in the world.

“What exactly did you have in mind?”

“Negotiations between them. If each of them has a mediator and is willing and able to make a truce on the promise that the concerns of each side be addressed…Mordred will surely listen to you, and Nimue has said she’d represent Arthur.”

“Nimue!” The name whipped out of Morgan’s mouth, and she jerked to her feet. “Merlin’s little darling? Have you forgotten I had to expel her from the Sanctuary for arrogance and insubordination?” My sister-in-law suddenly glared at me with the malevolence of a hoody crow.

Drat, I thought, dimly remembering that back before Arthur and I married, Morgan had been jealous of Nimue’s powers. Apparently the High Priestess never relinquished a grievance, but guarded them like a miser hoarding gold.

“Perhaps you need not deal with her,” I hedged. “Perhaps I can arrange for you to meet directly with Arthur.”

It was a gamble, and one I felt very unsure of, but the idea caught her fancy, and Morgan sat down again and scanned my face with her green cat’s eyes.

“How unfortunate that two men of such close kinship should be at each other’s throats,” she purred. “It is truly a pity when father and son set out to kill each other.”

“So you knew…” The words came out involuntarily, and she smiled at my surprise.

“And you wonder why I never made it public?” Morgan lifted her shoulders with an exasperated sigh and looked off into a space of her own. “My poor, foolish sister…Morgause was never very bright, you know. Big and lusty, she was the one to inherit Mother’s passion for men. Not that she was besotted in the ways Mother was—never prattled on about love and always saw bed for the path to power that it is. But she didn’t think things out very clearly. I remember how proud she was…so proud of having seduced Arthur, bragging to me that she would bind him to her by producing his child, as if it would make any difference to him!”

Morgan shook her head sadly, still seemingly distressed by her sister’s naïveté.

“Men walk away from bed with a shrug and a laugh, but a woman is branded, sniggered at, seen as a whore or tawdry plaything and tossed aside. That was something Morgause never understood, anymore than Mother did. Oh, I suppose the guilty secret of incest could have given her some leverage over Arthur, if she hadn’t let Merlin drive her away from Court. But as it was, she was driven out, left to bear the child and raise it by herself. Arthur took no heed of it at all…or of her, for that matter. Never once sent to inquire how she was, if she lacked for anything, what she might need or want. He’d taken his pleasure, and that was that.”

I winced at the insult to my husband and had to bite my lip to keep from blurting out a rebuttal. But Morgan was caught in the grip of some inner fury and didn’t see my response.

Anger and vindictiveness filled her face, twisting her mouth awry. “That for the power men take to themselves!” she snarled, spitting furiously on the floor.

I gasped at the vehemence of her action, but she quickly regained her composure, sitting back in the chair and carefully arranging the folds of her garment across her lap. By the time she spoke again, both her voice and manner had returned to normal

“When I realized Morgause had died without even telling the boy, I saw no reason to broadcast what had happened. A secret loses its power if it becomes common knowledge, and I suppose I thought someday I’d find a use for the information. In the meantime, why ruin Morgause’s reputation? She may have spent entirely too much time stumbling in and out of bed, but she was still my sister, after all.”

I stared at Morgan with bemused surprise. Who would have thought that familial loyalty to her sister would override Morgan’s desire for revenge against Arthur? As for myself, I was too exhausted from too many nights without sleep to worry about who knew or didn’t know about the incest.

The Lady of the Lake suddenly changed both mood and subject, leaning toward me and speaking in a most patronizing way. “Mordred and I are very close, you know. He’s asked me to become the Dowager Queen if I join his rebellion against your husband. We’ll be discussing the matter shortly.”

So that was why she’d left the Sanctuary. I nodded slowly, glad to know that Mordred had appealed to her political vanity.

“Does he also promise to support your religious crusade?” I inquired. “Build new temples, honor your rites with his presence, help spread the new teaching?” It was the one thing I felt confident she could not get from him.

Morgan’s green eyes narrowed, but not before a gleam of interest flashed through them. I followed my advantage immediately.

“As I recall, Mordred has little use for any deity, much less the Goddess. He’d be an odd one to champion your cause—and not nearly as effective as I could be.”

“In return for my helping Arthur?”

I nodded in affirmation as Enid appeared at the doorway, bringing the teapot and biscuits on a tray. With great deliberateness I turned my attention to the tea things, giving my sister-in-law time to weigh my offer.

When the herbal brew had been poured and Enid retreated, I looked over at Morgan and saw a cool, calculating smile on her face. Clearly she was intrigued by my proposal. It was then I backed away from the subject, hoping to force her to reach for the bait, to commit to wanting it.

“Such a nice tradition,” I said casually, handing her a cup of tea.”I learned it from Igraine.”

“Ah yes, Mother’s famous tea parties.” Morgan’s attention wavered for a moment, then slid away from the negotiations. When she spoke, her voice was both wistful and sharp. “She was always great for manners and nice behavior. And handsome things.”

The High Priestess was studying me with a cold contempt, and I realized too late that statesmanship had been forgotten and I was close to losing control of the entire meeting.

Morgan’s gaze had gone to my throat. “She, too, wore that torc whenever possible. You’re very like her, you know…smug, complacent pussycats, constantly preening yourselves in the belief you can wrap men around your little fingers. Though my mother, of course, was quite foolish about it. She thought those men
loved
her, when she was nothing more than the pitiful receptacle for their stupid rutting.”

Shocked by the ferocity of her attack on Igraine, my already frayed nerves gave way and I lashed back.

“How dare you speak of your mother that way! What do you know of her life, you who never bothered to talk with her, who never came to visit? Why, you weren’t even there when she died. It’s no wonder Igraine considered me the daughter of her heart when you and Morgause cared so little.”

“Cared?” Morgan’s laughter had a hollow ring, as though it came from the sad, embittered core of her. “Don’t talk to me of caring. Have you forgotten she sent both her daughters away the moment Uther Pendragon entered her bed, and farmed Arthur out to Merlin as soon as he was born? Such a singular lack of maternal instinct does little to inspire a sense of caring.”

The High Priestess’s face was hard as flint, and she flung herself from the chair. I blinked in consternation, realizing there’d be no chance to deal with truces and treaties until she’d given vent to the years of anger she’d compiled. So I settled back in my chair and watched the Lady of the Lake throw herself about the room like a wild animal trotting frantically back and forth at the end of a tether.

“All her life Mother was a pawn, a stupid, silly pawn, too proud to admit what a dupe she had been. Sold as a child bride to a man old enough to be her grandfather and kept like a pretty toy in the fortress at Tintagel. Tales of her beauty stirred up the jack-a-napes throughout the realm until the High King murdered my father, just to see for himself. Uther Pendragon”—Morgan’s voice dripped venom—“raped my mother and placed her on the High Throne of Britain like a trophy, all to satisfy his own lust. And she let herself be gulled into thinking it was an honor to be so used. By the Goddess, I call such self-delusions criminal!”

Morgan stopped abruptly in front of the window and, folding her arms, glared out at the river Thames. Her shoulders were shaking, though whether with rage or tears, I couldn’t tell. As the silence lengthened, I judged the worst of the outburst was over, and slowly, as if dealing with a fractious horse, I began to talk to her, quietly and calmly.

“There now, that’s but one way of looking at it. I was with Igraine when she died, heard her last confession and know how she, herself, saw her life, Morgan. Igraine honored your father highly. Yes, he was much older, and yes he had raised her after her family was killed during the Time of Troubles. But that’s hardly the same as purchasing her for prurient reasons, and she was proud to be his wife and bear you and Morgause for him.”

Morgan kept her back to me, but her shoulders no longer shook, so I went on. Perhaps, in some benighted way, I thought that hearing the truth might help her let go of the anger she had nurtured for so long.

“As for Uther Pendragon—he did not murder your father. And she lay with him of her own free will, and with full knowledge and desire. Neither Arthur nor the marriage that followed was the result of rape, and neither your mother nor Uther had any idea that your father would die that night.”

“Not true!” The Priestess whirled from the window, spewing denials in all directions. “Lies, all of it lies!”

Her face was contorted with fury and her hands balled into fists. The green eyes held a glassy malevolence as she stalked across the room, advancing on me with the intent of stopping my words at all cost. It was as though by physically closing my throat she could wipe out the reality she would never admit to. I shrank before the force of her onslaught and threw up my arms in defense just as the dwarf stepped forward and intercepted his mistress.

Carefully and firmly the little man took her hands in his own, staring up at her and murmuring some kind of private message. When her eyes began to fill with tears, he led her gently to the chair across from me. He was as tender with her as a mother with a frail child, and after she was settled, he gave her a courtly bow and resumed his post by the door. At no time did either one of them look at me, and I suddenly felt like an intruder in a very private partnership.

Once Morgan had her emotions under control, she reached for her gloves as though preparing to leave. “I really must get on to see Mordred, you know,” she announced with a brittle smile, though she didn’t look at me.