“WHAT do you mean, my wife is fled?” Arthur roared as he stomped into the Long Hall at Camlann.
Morgaine stood proud and tall between Arthur’s chair and the always unoccupied seat to his left — the Siege Perilous reserved for the one perfect Companion. Satisfaction beamed from Morgaine’s pale white skin. Her clouds of black hair crackled with energy.
I wondered if she dared sit in the unmarked chair. Legend proclaimed that only an honest Companion pure of heart and innocent of sin could sit there without being burned to ash.
She’d never survive that test. As far as I knew, no one had tried the chair.
Behind Morgaine stood Nimuë and a young man who sported the same bright auburn hair and green eyes as Carradoc’s eldest daughter. I searched their faces for the resemblance to my father. Tall and slender, the man had a similar build to Myrddin Emrys. His nose and clean-shaven chin could resemble any man. Da had worn a beard for as long as I had known him, disguising the shape of his face. Beyond that I couldn’t tell. Their auras revealed nothing.
Nimuë still stood awkwardly with the drooping left shoulder. I checked her quickly for the presence of a demon with every sense I could muster. If she still carried one, she hid it very well. But her spine seemed permanently twisted. The pain must be excruciating.
My healer’s sense wanted to gather a crone and a maiden and reach out to straighten her back. As the daughter of the murdered Merlin I refused to aid her in any way.
I slid into my usual silent place behind a massive oak pillar. I draped shadows around me without thinking.
“I told your insipid little wife the truth,” Morgaine replied. “The white-and-gold brenhines had no choice but to flee the poison you bring to Britain.”
“W-what p-poison?” Arthur struggled to remain calm. I knew him too well to miss the tension in his back and shoulders. Too many people crowded the hall for him to reveal his true emotions. But his speech patterns dissolved.
Morgaine had chosen her stage well.
“The poison of your infidelity with the witch.”
Both Arthur and I flinched at the term the Christians used to denounce those who still followed the Goddess. In this case, Morgaine’s statement could mean either her or me.
“You. Lie. You m-must leave.”
“I have renounced the evils of the old religion and accepted Jesu Christus!” Morgaine spread her arms as if preaching, revealing a large gold cross on a chain around her neck “I tell the truth so that we may all be cleansed of your sin of adultery.”
The people crowding into the hall crossed themselves. No priest was present, though. Why? There was always a priest hanging around somewhere, Gildas the chronicler if no one else.
“Have you taken baptism?” I asked innocently, keeping my voice anonymous within the crowd. Her demons wouldn’t be able to use her as a host body once she truly accepted the sacrament.
Morgaine’s gaze focused on the direction of my voice, but I kept hidden behind my pillar within my shadows.
“How dare you allow your pet witch, your adulterous witch, to question my faith?” Morgaine screamed in outrage. She clutched her cross with both hands and rolled her eyes skyward. She still hadn’t answered my question.
More mumbling and crossings from the crowd.
“You I-lie to gain p-power for you-yourself. You h-harbor the m-m-murderess N-Nimuë. Leave. Now.”
“Think again, Arthur!” Morgaine spat her words. “Guinevere has fled with Lancelot, her lover. They sailed yesterday for Armorica, Less Britain, on the continent. Your client kings have been informed that your pet witch has weakened you to the point you can’t satisfy your own wife, let alone beget any heirs. You need my son as your heir and me, your sister, to rally the kings to your banner.”
“I do n-not n-eed you, Morgaine.”
“But you need the Christians. My son and I are Christians. She,” Morgaine pointed directly to my hiding place. “She brings death and betrayal with her witchcraft and her pagan gods.”
“I ride with my Companions at dawn.” Decision returned force to Arthur’s words. “We sail from Porchester with the noon tide! You, Morgaine, will be on a ship for the Orcades tonight. And you will take Nimuë with you. I b-banish her again for the crime of murder.”
Morgaine smiled knowingly. I knew she’d be back as soon as Arthur’s ship disappeared beyond the horizon.
o0o
“You can’t leave Mordred as your regent while you sail off on this wild goose chase!” I protested loudly when Arthur and I were alone once more. “Mordred is too young.” Arthur wouldn’t hear the argument that he was also too much under his mother’s influence.
“I was younger than Mordred when I became Ardh Rhi.” Arthur played with the heavy royal seal of a dragon rampant. He held it in both hands, examining it from all sides.
“You were a proven war leader, tested and honed in battle. Men respected you. Mordred is none of those things. Send for Bedewyr or Cai. Agravain, Gwalchmai, or Gaheris would be better choices if you must choose one of your nephews.”
Panic gibbered inside my head like one of Morgaine’s demons. My father must have felt like this as he watched his vision of disaster come true, no matter what he did to prevent it. If I had stayed at Camlann to reassure Guinevere that Arthur and I were not lovers, then Mordred would have had a free hand with Arthur — poisoning his thoughts or his body. By going with Arthur and watching Mordred, I had left the door open for Morgaine to preach malicious lies in vulnerable Guinevere’s ear.
“Agravain, Gwalchmai, and Gaheris are not my sons.” Arthur stared at me, his jaw firm. Every bit of his stubbornness and determination went into his expression.
“Do you plan to tell the world that Mordred is your son? How will you explain that when your crown is already in jeopardy for the lesser sin of adultery? By both you and your brenhines.”
“I don’t need to explain anything. I need only prove myself in battle once more. I’ve done it hundreds of times.”
“You are twenty years older than when you battled Saxons on a daily basis.”
He shrugged as if stiffening joints and tired muscles didn’t matter.
“This is Lancelot and Guinevere,” I argued. “Lancelot is on his home ground in Armorica. He’s waited over twenty years to openly love Guinevere. He won’t give her up easily.”
“Then we will both die in battle.”
“Leaving Britain in the hands of Mordred, Morgaine’s son, the only son she raised, the only son she can influence.”
“Why must you persist in your persecution of Mordred?” Arthur turned on me, still juggling the great seal in both hands, symbol of his authority, easily recognized.
“Because I saw demons eating at his soul.” I held up my demon-scarred wrist. “Because his mother has never ceased undermining your authority.” Because she and Nimuë are allies. Together they commanded a great deal more cunning and demonic power than either could alone.
“I have promised Mordred the regency in public. He deserves the opportunity to prove himself. My other councillors agree. They trust and respect him.”
“Then appoint another councillor as co-regent. Protect yourself with an older guiding voice behind Mordred’s, someone who can act decisively when — if — Mordred makes a mistake. Maintain a balance of authority, Arthur.” I deliberately appealed to his kingship by using his real name. Bonds of affection and nicknames had no place in this argument.
“An older, wiser voice. Yours perhaps, Wren?” He cocked one eyebrow in a mockery of my father’s expression.
“No. I have never desired power. I wish only the safety of the kingdom.”
“Nevertheless, you are co-regent.” He split the seal into two halves, handing me one of them. He must have had it broken earlier, this was not a spontaneous decision. “You are an older, wiser voice who can counteract Morgaine with magic as well as words. That is where you will be needed. Now leave me, I have much to prepare.”
“Making me co-regent will only intensify the rumors that I am your mistress. Guinevere will never return to you while I am here.”
“That doesn’t matter now. A king proves his virility by scattering his seed. When a queen does the same, she proves only the king’s weakness. I must defend my honor on the field of battle in order to defend my kingdom.”
“Only three of your kings and the Companions ride with you. And the Companions are of two minds. Lancelot is one of their own.”
“He betrayed me. Twenty years I have been able to ignore them, pretend I didn’t see the love in their eyes, that I didn’t suspect she crept into his bed whenever I left Camlann. Twenty years! Why must it all explode now, just when Britain has gotten used to peace?”
Nothing I could say would ease the anguish I sensed in his heart.
“Three kings with their warbands and the Companions will be enough for now. The others will rally to my side when I am victorious. They always wait to side with the winner. The kings won’t cause trouble while I’m gone. Others will. I’ve done what I could to protect Britain by making you co-regent.”
“What am I supposed to do if Morgaine and Nimuë come back? If Mordred rescinds your banishment and welcomes his mother with open arms?”
“You can watch them and prevent them from working sorcery. You can counter their whispers and innuendos. Now leave me, please, before I forget that you and I are only friends.” He closed his eyes and held his clenched fists firmly at his side.
I wanted desperately to gather him in my arms and hold him there forever. The time was fast approaching when I would hold him one more time as I prepared his dead body for the grave.
We both knew it.
“Be careful, Curyll.” I kissed his cheek and fled before tears betrayed me.
“You, too, Wren.”
o0o
The dust had barely settled behind Arthur and his Companions when Mordred rescinded the edict of banishment for his mother and Nimuë. They returned to Camlann about noon the day after Arthur sailed for the continent. Carradoc rode into the caer with a small warband less than an hour later.
Nimuë must have contacted him before this entire mess began for him to arrive in so timely a manner.
At the evening meal, Nimuë introduced the young man who had hovered beside her as her son Myrddin Emrys, and therefore the proper heir to the title of The Merlin. She had even named him Myrddin Emrys.
I didn’t use the title of The Merlin. Others applied it to me. I should be called The Morrigan, but I didn’t reside in Avalon’s lakeside village aloof from the world, so people forgot that title. I resented this young man who expected to supplant my place as adviser to the Ardh Rhi and leader of any who might still follow the Goddess. He wore an ornate Christian cross as did his mother and all of Morgaine’s party.
If he truly believed in Jesu Christus, he couldn’t be The Merlin!
None of them managed a straight answer when asked about their baptism.
My protests went unheard. My demands for proof of Myrddin’s paternity met with disdain. Nimuë played the poor, misunderstood widow well. Sympathy for her raising the fine, upstanding young man on her own banished their memory of outrage at how she had brought about my father’s downfall.
The next day, Morgaine ordered the felling of Da’s oak tree.
“You will do no such thing!” I yelled in protest. All of Arthur’s remaining councillors were gathered at the Round Table. Only a few Companions had stayed behind, the older men who would defend Camlann but no longer had the vigor to sail off to war. Carradoc sat among them, next to Nimuë. She sat next to Morgaine, with Mordred on the other side of his mother. I had been pushed several places away from my co-regent. Clearly, Morgaine held more sway with Mordred than I.
“You can’t stop me, witch!” Morgaine hissed. “The tree embodies all that is evil about you and your damned collection of impotent gods.”
I had yet to hear her speak of Christianity as her true faith. All her religious discussions centered only on my Goddess and my witchcraft.
Nimuë remained quiet, patting her father’s hand in mute sympathy for my alleged transgressions.
“I can and will keep you from felling a perfectly healthy tree for no reason but to satisfy your personal whim. Or is it Nimuë who desires the destruction of my father’s grave within the roots of the tree? The grave of her son’s father. The grave of a man we all held to be wise and a great mentor to our Ardh Rhi and his father before him.”
Silence sat heavy around the huge table. The old ways were so far off that almost no one present remembered how we honored trees as gifts from the Goddess, to be used only when necessary — akin to asking an animal’s forgiveness before hunting it and making certain that meat, hide, sinew, hooves, and bone were all put to good use. We honored the prey we hunted as well as the trees we used.
“My warriors will fell the tree,” Morgaine announced.
“Mother.” Mordred patted her hand affectionately. “We don’t need the tree. The Merlin’s influence is dead.” He looked at me and smiled knowingly, silently including me in his proclamation.
I looked more closely at the dozen men who sat around the table. All were close companions of Mordred. They drank together, practiced swordplay together, whored together. Age and weariness hadn’t kept them home. Loyalty to Mordred had. Every one of them nodded in silent agreement with my co-regent.
“I want the tree down.” Morgaine pounded her fist into the table. “I must know that The Merlin’s spirit is extinguished forever. As long as the tree stands, he is alive within it.” She stood up so hastily, her heavy chair crashed backward. Then she pounded the table with both fists. Red blotches stained her cheeks.
“Your zealous faith, madam, is appreciated,” Myrddin said, bowing his head and crossing himself. He did that too frequently for me to believe in his sincerity — more like a memorized gesture than a true act of faith. “But chopping down a healthy tree is not the answer. We must purify the site and build a church there. A church dedicated to the Holy Virgin Mother, Mary.”
I kept my mouth shut. From what I knew of the Mother of Jesus, she resembled the Goddess in every aspect but name. I’d allow a church dedicated to her next to the tree, though Dana, my Goddess, didn’t require buildings as the place of worship.
Mordred rushed through the other business of the day. All of it innocuous, not requiring us to affix the royal seal to a document. As soon as I could, I slipped out of Camlann and ran to the nearby forest. I couldn’t find Newynog. She was in heat and had her own business to attend to.
An aura of welcome enveloped me the moment I entered the clearing around the ancient oak. I traced the outline of a face in the whorls of bark.
“Oh, Da, I miss you. You would have persuaded Arthur to appoint a different regent. You foresaw the disaster with Lancelot and Guinevere. What would you have done to prevent it?”
Nothing. ’Tis fated to be.
I looked around for the source of the voice. Only a raven croaked in the tree branches above me.
The same raven that haunted the well back home?
“Not every vision has to come to pass.” I reminded myself “We who have the gift of prophecy are the tools of the gods. Our destiny is to use our visions to help people make choices, weave a better life pattern.” But no alternatives came to my mind.
You saw Curyll’s death.
“Yes. And I know I can’t do anything to prevent it.” Morgaine had schemed and maneuvered me to a position devoid of choices.
All you can do is curb Mordred’s excesses as long as possible.
“How, Da?” I knew the voice was born of my imagination. But speaking aloud helped me sort through the problems.
Make certain that all of Britain remembers Arthur’s dreams. Government must rule through justice and law. Peace can work. Honor and promises are important.
The raven croaked a raucous warning above.
Horses pounded the well-worn track to the clearing.
I hadn’t much time. Myrddin could easily damage the tree while building his church. I had to protect it.
I walked a path deosil, along the path of the sun and light, around the base of the tree, scattering herbs and muttering spells of protection. I wound my path into a tight spiral, moving even closer to the trunk. Not much protection. All I could manage for the moment.
Mordred, Morgaine, and Carradoc reined in their horses as I finished the last circuit of the tree and turned to face them.
All three pulled their mounts to a halt so violently, their horses reared. The beasts pawed the air with their iron-shod hooves. An intimidating display. If I hadn’t seen Carradoc teach my boys to do the same when engaging an enemy, I might have been frightened.
I should have been.
Myrddin sat his horse just behind them, a silent observer — like a priest at an execution.
None of them wore crosses now. They had no need to impress the Christians at court.
Carradoc jumped off his war stallion and stalked toward me. His mailed fists clenched. Armor! Why would he wear armor this close to the capital?
Then he backhanded me across the face.
“Whore!” he roared and repeated the blow.
Through the roaring pain in my head, I heard Mordred and his mother giggle.