The Road to Avalon (10 page)

A slave came in with wine, and as it was being served, Morgan appeared. “I knew you had come back,” she said to Arthur, not to her father. She was wearing a yellow gown that hung softly from her young throat and delicate wrists. She had evidently been in the garden, for the skirt of her gown was stained from kneeling in the dirt and there was a smudge on her small straight nose.

Cai made a movement and her eyes went to him. “Cai!” she said, and went to kiss him on the cheek. Cai’s serious hazel eyes watched her with love.

“Sit down, my daughter,” Merlin said, and Morgan took a gilded stool and went to sit beside Arthur. They exchanged a quick look before she turned to her father, who was obviously getting ready to speak.

“I have a story to tell you,” Merlin began. “Some of you may know its ending already, but I am going to start from the beginning and tell it all. I will start with my daughter Igraine, who, when she was the wife of Gorlois of Cornwall, fell in love with Uther Pendragon. . . . ”

“And so,” he was saying some minutes later, “I went to Cornwall to fetch the boy and bring him home to Avalon. The rest of the story you all know. Arthur is that boy, the son of Uther and Igraine. He will be proclaimed Uther’s heir in three weeks’ time, before a council of the kings and princes of Britain” Merlin paused, sipped his wine, and watched his daughter.

Morgan sat rigid on her stool, staring straight ahead of her at the bust of the Emperor Hadrian that adorned the big marble table on the far side of the room. Arthur was looking at her as well, Merlin saw.

“I always thought the boy looked like Uther,” Ector was saying. “But I had no idea of the truth. The story was that the queen’s son had died.”

“Well,” said Merlin, “we did not need Uther’s enemies searching for Arthur and perhaps trying to use him against his father. It was best for everyone to think him dead.”

Morgan finally spoke. “You are saying that you deliberately left him alone with that man for all those years?”

Every eye in the room swung to her in astonishment. No one had ever heard that tone of voice from Morgan. Arthur could sound like that, but not Morgan.

“It was inexcusable,” Merlin said at last, very soberly.

Her face was taut with emotion. “Inexcusable!” she began.

Only Merlin saw Arthur’s hand close on a strand of her hair and give one quick tug. Morgan did not look around at him, but she stopped whatever else it was she had been about to say.

It was Arthur’s voice that filled the sudden awkward silence. He spoke to Ector. “The king has sent Claudius Virgilius to help school me on the present state of the army and our fortifications, sir.”

“Well, you will find you have an apt pupil, Claudius Virgilius,” Ector said heartily. “Nor do I think you will find Arthur’s knowledge of military matters lacking.”

“Certainly not, if you have been his instructor,” the grizzled veteran of thirty years of war against the Saxons returned courteously. He had known Ector in the days before Ector’s injury had forced him to retire from the army.

They had another goblet of wine and then Merlin and Claudius and Cai went to the baths to wash off the dust of the road. Arthur said he would join them, but instead he and Morgan went to the river.

“You’re very quiet,” he said after they had picketed their ponies to graze and were sitting side by side on a thick carpet of grass and wildflowers.

“They just left you there!” Her profile was tense with anger. “How could they have done such a thing?”

“Morgan,” he said. “Don’t.” She turned to look at him. “There is nothing to be gained from harboring old grudges.”

“There is something more at stake here than grudges,” she answered, but her brown eyes were searching his face. “I knew something had happened,” she said. “I could feel it. You were upset. What happened? Did you meet Uther and Igraine?”

“Yes.” They could hear a small animal scurrying in the high grass. He looked at her ruefully. “Merlin waited until we were halfway to Venta before he told me who I was. Then, almost as soon as we had arrived, I had to meet him.” He plucked a piece of grass, put it between his teeth, and squinted at the river. “You might say I was upset. In fact,” and he shot her a look, “I wanted to bolt right back here and put my head in your lap. I didn’t know how I would feel, you see. I hadn’t had time to think about it at all.”

“I think Father must be mad,” Morgan said fiercely.

Arthur shook his head. “No. Not mad, just too clever.” A little breeze had blown up from the river and it ruffled the hair at his brow. “Then, there I was,” he said. “And there he was. And it was not as bad as I had feared.” He frowned, trying to explain. “It wasn’t personal. I could see him as a man, not as a father. A man and a king.” His mouth closed in a grim line around the stalk of grass. “He has not had an easy life, Morgan. He has been in arms against the Saxons since he was a boy. He is worn out. In fact,” and now his gray eyes were as grim as his mouth, “he is dying. He says I will be king before the year is out.”

Morgan’s brown eyes seemed to take up all of her small face. Arthur laughed, although the sound held no amusement. “Yes,” he said. “King.”

“King,” she repeated. “I hadn’t quite thought about that.”

His eyes softened. “You were too busy being indignant for my sake.”

“What did you think of Igraine?” she asked abruptly.

“Oh, meeting her was easy enough. I could never think of her as my mother. Malwyn was my mother.” He lay on his back and looked up at the sky. Clouds were moving in rapidly to cover the sun. “She doesn’t look at all like you.”

Morgan suddenly felt as if something were squeezing all the air out of her lungs. “Arthur,” she said, “Igraine is my sister!”

“I know. I thought of that.” She continued to look stricken and he sat up. “Don’t look like that, Morgan. It will be all right. I thought it all out. She is only your half-sister. You and I are no closer in blood than first cousins. And first cousins marry all the time”

Her brown eyes were thinking. “That is true”.

“Our relationship poses no difficulty,” he said with perfect confidence.

“Our relationship.” She stared at him in outrage. “But Arthur . . . I am your aunt!”

He grinned. “Half-aunt.” His tone changed, became overly solicitous. “And how are you feeling today, old dear?”

“You’re so funny . . . ” She reached out to pull his hair and then they were both down on the grass engaged in a mock wrestling match. He let her manhandle him a little, laughing and cowering away in pretended fear, loving the feel of her elastic young body against his. Then he rolled so that she was under him. Their laughing faces were very close.

“Kiss me,” he whispered, and she reached up her arms and drew him down to her.

Chapter 9

I
T
began to rain before Arthur and Morgan reached the villa. They met Claudius and Merlin in the corridor as they were going to their bedrooms to change.

Claudius looked at the two youngsters and smiled with pleasure. Morgan’s face was flushed with rain, fresh and dewy as a newly opened flower. Arthur’s black hair was sleek against his head and his wet clothing only served to bring out the fine lines of bone and muscle. He would never be a big man, Claudius thought, his eyes going over the young male body appraisingly, but he moved with the grace and coordination of a cat.

“When you said you would take a bath, I didn’t realize you meant in the rain,” said Merlin.

Arthur grinned. He looked lit-up with happiness, Claudius thought. It was difficult to look away from him.

“I wanted to talk to him,” Morgan answered her father.

“I hope you got all your talking done,” Merlin returned austerely. “Arthur is going to be too busy these next weeks to go larking about Avalon with you, Morgan.”

Merlin’s words proved to be true ones. Arthur was closeted for most of each day with Claudius Virgilius, going over lists and maps and troop dispositions. Claudius was impressed by his pupil. “He has a grasp of tactics that is astonishing in so young a boy,” he told Merlin and Ector. The two old men were delighted. They considered Arthur their own personal creation and had him out on the practice field every day to demonstrate his prowess to Uther’s general.

Arthur performed without complaint. As he said to Morgan one night, “I need Claudius Virgilius. I need all of Uther’s officers. I cannot command an army if I don’t have the loyalty of its leaders. If Merlin thinks I should dance for Claudius, I’ll dance.”

They were in Morgan’s room, in Morgan’s bed. For the first time they had begun to take advantage of the fact that their bedrooms were next to each other. Arthur’s days were not free any longer.

Arthur had not yet spoken to his grandfather about marrying Morgan. She wanted him to wait until after the council. In her deepest heart, Morgan was not as confident as Arthur that there would be no obstacle in the way of their marriage. She wanted to keep things the way they were . . . for a little while longer, at any rate.

What would she do . . . what would Arthur do . . . should Merlin object to their marrying? Before, there had been no doubt. When they were just Arthur and Morgan, nothing and no one could have kept them apart. Before. Before Arthur was Britain’s next king.

Amazingly, Arthur himself seemed to have no doubts. His major fear had always been that his birth was not good enough for her, and now that that concern had been put to rest, he was confident that their future was secure. He wanted to speak to Merlin, wanted everything out in the open. She had to beg him before he would agree to wait.

On the day before they left for Venta for the council, Merlin presented Arthur with a sword.

“One day you will have your father’s sword,” he said to the boy. “Constantine’s sword. But this was forged for you alone.” The whole household was gathered in the reception room of the villa and in the quiet one could clearly hear the general intake of breath as Merlin handed the sword to his grandson.

It fitted into Arthur’s hand as naturally as if it had grown there. Arthur flexed his wrist and light glinted, quicksilver bright, off the blade. The pommel was set with a magnificent ruby. “The Emperor Hadrian presented that ruby to my ancestor,” Merlin told Arthur. “It is fitting that an emperor’s gift should grace the sword of the High King of Britain.”

Arthur’s dark face was very still. Then he raised glowing eyes. “Thank you, sir,” was all he said, but Merlin was satisfied.

“I have a gift for you too,” said Morgan, and ran out of the room. She was back in a minute carrying a white hound puppy. “Here, Arthur”—she put the puppy into his arms—“for you.” The puppy promptly began to lick his face.

“Have you named him?” Arthur asked Morgan around the licks.

She shook her head. “No. That is for you to do.”

“I’ll call him Cabal,” said Arthur, and scratched the puppy’s nose. “How typical this is,” he managed to say a little breathlessly to Cai’s grinning face. “Merlin gives me a sword, and Morgan gives me a dog!”

Cai and Ector began to laugh, and after a minute Claudius Virgilius joined in too.

The kings and princes of Britain were gathered in Venta when Merlin’s party rode in the evening before the council. Venta had been a district capital during the days of Roman rule, and the council was to be held in the building where the Civitates, or local legislature, had once met.

The first thing Merlin’s party noticed as they approached the city was the number of men quartered in tents on the outskirts. “They are northerners,” Claudius said grimly. And indeed it was easy to place the strangers from the checked pattern of their tunics and breeches. “Lot’s men,” Claudius added, and looked quickly at Arthur.

The boy’s dark face was unperturbed. “He comes rather heavily escorted for a council.”

“It’s a show of strength,” said Ector, and Arthur nodded.

“I wonder if Lot brought Morgause,” said Morgan.

The men stared at her. It was Merlin who chose to explain. “If Lot has fighting on his mind, he would hardly risk his wife as a hostage.”

Morgan’s brown eyes were wide. “Oh,” she said. “Does he want to fight? I thought he wanted the high kingship handed to him.”

Arthur was the one whose eyes registered comprehension. “In which case, a fruitful wife and three healthy sons would be a distinct asset. Particularly if the wife is the sister of the present queen.”

“Oh,” said Cai, as understanding dawned for him too. “I see what you mean. And Lot, of course, knows nothing of Arthur.”

Arthur laughed. “What odds will you give, Cai, that we meet a whole clutch of Lothians at Venta?”

“This is not a laughing matter,” Merlin snapped.

“No indeed,” echoed Claudius with a worried frown.

Arthur winked at Morgan and she had to look away to maintain her gravity.

Almost the first words Uther uttered as he greeted his son and his father-in-law an hour later were, “Lot’s brought Morgause and his sons.”

“We must make Morgan a member of the council,” Arthur murmured to Merlin under his breath.

Merlin glared. He thought Arthur was taking this new development far too lightly.

“I have had to give house room to all of them.” Igraine was furious.

The king and queen, Arthur, and Merlin were alone in Uther’s chamber. A cozy family party, Arthur thought, and stared at the floor so no one could see the hilarity in his eyes.

“Of course,” said Merlin, “Lot knows nothing yet about Arthur.”

Uther’s face wore its most sardonic look. “It might have been a clever move,” he conceded. “With Morgause already quartered in the praetorium, it would not seem so odd for Lot to move in also as the next high king.”

Igraine’s beautiful face was stamped with satisfaction. “Well, he has overreached himself at last,” she said. “Uther already has an heir.”

Arthur, who had not yet spoken, threw his mother a look that was the duplicate of his father’s.

Merlin spoke quickly. “You might say that Lot has actually played into our hands. He will not risk a fight until he has his family safely home in Lothian.”

Igraine’s voice was cold and sharp as an icicle. “They will not be going home to Lothian. Have your wits gone wandering, Father? They will stay right here, hostages for Lot’s good behavior.”