Chapter Twenty-Five

Summer 518

Outside the mists, the Grail was true to its promise of peace until our own men began to turn on us. The rumors began with rumblings from the countryside of bands of marauders terrorizing farmers and herders, destroying crops and livestock. Then one of Arthur’s men was brought before us, accused of inciting a riot in a village by killing the local lord’s heirs and carrying off his eldest daughter to become his wife.

I would never forget the intensity in his eyes as he strove to justify his actions, pupils dilated, blue-green irises burning with the passion of the depraved.

“What would you have me do, sit around and whittle figurines out of wood? I am a fighter. I know nothing else. When the opportunity for combat doesn’t arise naturally, I make one.” He pointed a stubby finger at Arthur. “You made me this way. I am only doing what you’ve trained me to do.”

The warrior’s words hit Arthur hard. He sent the man to work in the gold mines of Gwynedd, hoping a sense of purpose would rehabilitate him.

That night, Arthur ran a hand over his tired face and through his graying hair. “I wish Merlin was here to tell me what to do. He was wise. He would know how to handle this.”

I wanted to remind him that he was the one who had told Merlin he could go and replaced him with Bishop Marius, but I did not. I stroked his shoulders instead. “You too are wise. You learned from him. You have his wisdom inside you.”

My words calmed Arthur for a while, but there was one thing we weren’t prepared for—a charge against Arthur’s own kin.

The next full moon, only three days after Beltane, we heard cases as we did every month, but there was something different about this gathering. The crowd was agitated, restless as if they were waiting for something. Many of them didn’t come forward, so I began to wonder why they were there, what it was they were present to witness. I didn’t have to wait long.

One of Arthur’s underlords from Strathclyde, a man called Ceredig, approached our thrones with a hooded woman at his side. He bowed before us, expression somber.

“My king and queen, Lady Morgan, I am sorry to have to lay this before you, but I must do my daughter justice. I charge your son, Lord Mordred, with the rape of my daughter, Caitlin.”

I inhaled sharply. That was a most grievous charge. If Mordred was found guilty, the official penalty would only involve a fine, but it would also make legal any retribution the girl’s family wished to make against Mordred, including murder.

I looked at Mordred, who appeared as stunned as I was. He was holding onto Morgan’s arm as though he would fall without her support, and his mouth was open in silent horror.

Arthur’s whole body was taut, but he responded as he would have if the person in question were a stranger. “What grounds have you for this charge?”

“Three days ago, on Beltane eve, my daughter attended the fires with her friends. Your son and his companions met them late in the night, when they were already deep in their cups. Your son took a particular liking to my daughter. They danced together, and soon he took her off to a secluded area. I have several witnesses who will testify to this. After that—” Lord Ceredig became flustered, apparently not wishing to speak of sexual details about his daughter.

Arthur held up a hand. “Let us hear from your daughter.”

Caitlin lowered her hood, revealing two bruised eyes, several scratches, and what appeared to be a bite mark on her cheek. When she lifted her arms, there were bruises on both wrists, and the longer I looked, I realized they matched the ones on her neck. This woman had definitely been abused. The question was, by whom?

“We went off into the woods, as all couples do on Beltane,” she spoke in a small, shaky voice. “Mordred kissed me and touched my body, to which I had no objection, but when he began to remove his trousers, I knew what he intended was different from what I wanted. I told him no, but he wouldn’t listen. He tried to hold me down, and I fought against him, scratching at his hands and face, screaming with all my might, but he was too strong. It was then he—he overpowered me.” She looked down, clearly ashamed.

I grasped the arms of my chair, digging my nails into the wood and fighting the panic that followed her testimony. It was so much like my own experience with Malegant that the memories, so long ago locked away, threatened to come rushing back.

“What did you do then?” Arthur asked in his most tender voice.

“Eventually, I stopped struggling.” She looked up, eyes pleading. “I just wanted it to be over. When it was, he stumbled away as though nothing had happened. I lay on the ground, sobbing. That is how one of my friends found me.”

“Is your friend here?”

Caitlin nodded and pointed at a plain girl with hair the color of dirty dishwater. She was standing with two others of the same age who must have been their other companions.

Arthur motioned the girl forward. “You may return to your father,” he said to Caitlin.

Caitlin’s friend curtsied awkwardly in front of us.

“What is your name?”

“Ellen.”

“Ellen, what is your account of that night?”

“What Caitlin says is true. We met the boys and danced, and she went away. Not long after, we heard screaming, but it took us a while to find her. By then, the deed was done. I found the poor thing crying and shivering. She was bleeding, especially from—” She motioned to the place between her thighs.

Arthur turned his attention to the other two girls. “Do you support her testimony?”

“We do, my lord,” they answered in near unison.

“Thank you, Ellen.” Arthur motioned Mordred forward, his face stricken. “What say you to these charges?”

Mordred looked as though he had no idea what to say. “I didn’t rape her if that is what you are asking. What she said is accurate up to the point of me leading her into the forest.”

“What happened then?”

“I—” He looked at Caitlin. “I don’t remember. The next thing I recall is meeting up with my friends at a dockside tavern.”

“You lie!” Lord Ceredig yelled.

Caitlin clung to her father as though her life depended on it.

“Son, if you cannot recall, how can you be certain you did not do what you are accused of?” Arthur asked.

“Because I would never do that!” Mordred’s voice cracked. He looked at his mother. “You raised me better than that.” He turned back to Arthur. “I have sworn a vow to you to respect all of your people. I couldn’t, wouldn’t do this.” He was desperately pleading now.

“Are any of your friends from that night here?”

Mordred looked around. “Yes, Naill.”

Arthur gestured for him. “What say you?”

Naill stood confidently before Arthur. “They are all correct about the attraction and going off. What happened then, I cannot say. I was with a girl of my own—consensually, mind you. We had agreed to meet at the Paps of Anu—that was the tavern—if we split up. Mordred came in shortly after I did.”

“Did he say anything that would lead you to believe he’d forced himself on that girl?”

“No, sire. He said he had lain with a girl, but it sounded like she was agreeable.”

“Did he have any marks on him indicating he had been in a fight?”

“No, only those consistent with the heat of passion.” Naill grinned.

Caitlin found her voice and used it to shout at Mordred. “Then what are those scrapes on his knuckles? I gave him those.”

Mordred held up his left hand. “These are from archery practice yesterday. Ask Lancelot. He was there.”

Arthur and I inspected his hand.

“He is telling the truth,” I said. “His wounds are too recent to have been received on Beltane.”

“He could have reinjured himself!” Caitlin’s father yelled.

“Silence, all of you! I’ve heard enough. Does anyone else have anything else to add?” Arthur asked.

The room became eerily silent.

“My wife and I will discuss this in private and return with our judgment. Lancelot, guard Mordred. Kay, Bedivere, Bors, make sure the crowd remains peaceful.”

He and I went to a small antechamber reserved for this and other private matters.

Arthur leaned heavily against the closed door. “You were trained as a judge. What do you think?” Even though we were alone, his voice was barely a whisper.

“I don’t know. I want to believe Mordred, but because he cannot remember, either one of them could be telling the truth. It’s clear she was abused and probably even raped, but the question is was Mordred the perpetrator? Her family could just be accusing him to try to extort money from us.”

“On the other hand, even if he is innocent, if we let him go without punishment, it will appear the law does not apply to him because he is my son.”

“Arthur, we cannot punish an innocent man.”

“I know, Guinevere. I know.” He banged his fist against the wall. “Three decades on the throne, and this is the most difficult decision I’ve ever had to make.”

When we returned to the great hall, the crowd was growing restless. All eyes were on us as we took our seats. Arthur spoke. “We cannot determine whether or not a crime has been committed by the man accused. However, since it is possible, Mordred, you will pay this family the full body price and honor price as prescribed by law.”

“This is outrageous!” Caitlin’s father roared. “The crown is simply going to pay away his offenses? I demand stronger punishment.”

“Lord Ceredig, we have ruled. You cannot bring suit again,” I reminded him. I chose not to remind him there were now other legal ways for him to exact revenge.

“However, given the shame this charge has brought upon the throne, I hereby strip Lord Mordred of his membership in the Combrogi, and all the rights and privileges that accompany it, for a year and a day. At that time, we will consider reinstatement,” Arthur added.

“What?” Mordred attempted to surge toward us, but Lancelot held him fast. “This is ridiculous! You are practically disowning me over a crime I did not commit.” He pointed at both of us. “You will pay for this! Mark my words.”

“Lancelot, Kay, lock him up until he regains his senses.” Arthur addressed the crowd now. “This pleading day has ended. If you have concerns that have not been addressed, please take them up with your local lord or return next month.”

Mordred didn’t speak to any of us unless he had to, which was to be expected. What I hadn’t anticipated was Morgan’s added hostility toward us. If it had only been me, I wouldn’t have been as surprised, but her anger at Arthur was unprecedented. Granted, Mordred was her son, but what else could we have done?

After Mordred’s threats, Lancelot and I decided it was best we end our relationship. Though we had reconciled after my return from Avalon, things were never the same between us again. Couple that with the possibility of Elaine, unstable ever since she had been publicly humiliated by Lancelot, finding out, and there was no sense in continuing.

In Lancelot’s mind, that meant leaving Camelot. A few weeks after Mordred’s censure, he was packed and prepared to be away. We met at the edge of a swampy clearing leading away from Camelot. It was nearly midnight—Lancelot wished to leave under cover of darkness to avoid questions from the Combrogi, whom he was abandoning.

“Where will you go?” I asked.

“I’m not sure. Maybe back to Brittany, perhaps to the Goddodin. I still have some lands there.”

I vaguely remembered Malegant or Diarmad making reference to that. “So this is good-bye then.”

He smiled in the way that broke hearts every time he neared a woman. “Not yet. We still have a few moments more.” He leaned toward me.

I put up a hand. “Lancelot, you know my position on that—”

“That’s not what I’m suggesting.” He put his arms around my waist and pulled me to him. “I simply want to hold you one last time.”

I sank into his warmth, my head on his chest, and listened to his heartbeat. Around us, the forest continued its chirps and clicks, oblivious to our presence. We hugged each other closer, loathe to part. But finally the moment came.

Lancelot was the first to pull back. “You know I have loved you from the moment I saw you at the tournament, and I will always love you, simply from afar.”

Tears welled in my eyes. “I love you too. It may have taken me longer to realize it, but I do. I do not know how I would have survived these years with Morgan were it not for you. You will be in my heart always.”

I rose onto my tiptoes and kissed him, long and deep.

That was when I heard a crack in the trees. I started to step away but was too slow. We were still in each other’s arms when Mordred and Aggrivane leapt into view, weapons drawn. Instinctively, Lancelot pushed me behind him and drew his own blade.

Elaine emerged from behind Mordred and Aggrivane, clapping slowly. “Isn’t that touching? You’re still defending the trollop after all these years. And those declarations of love? Almost as good as a bard’s song.” She pretended to wipe her eyes.

“Elaine, what are you talking about? Did you follow us?” I squinted at her in the moonlight.

“Oh, yes. He’s been following you for some time now.” She indicated Aggrivane and circled us as she spoke. “You know, I’ve suspected for years that my husband—do not bother to protest, Lancelot—was unfaithful to me. Then Mordred mentioned he thought Guinevere to be unfaithful as well. I couldn’t imagine the two of you together, but it was worth investigating. Turns out I was right.”

I turned my attention to Aggrivane. “And what are you doing here?”

“Having my worst nightmare confirmed. Not that I haven’t known for years what was going on.” The dejection in his voice and disappointment in his eyes tore my heart in two. They asked the question, “Why him instead of me?”

I had no answer.

Mordred cleared his throat. “We are not here for a reunion. Let’s get on with it.” He leveled his sword at us. “In the name of High King Arthur, you are both under arrest on suspicion of adultery and treason.”

As Mordred approached me, Lancelot slashed at him, tearing into his arm. Three guards appeared from the trees. I had no weapon nor any will to resist, so I allowed one to bind my hands while the others assisted in capturing Lancelot. He laid one low before Aggrivane finally disarmed him. Lancelot continued to struggle as he was bound.

Aggrivane’s expression was full of disdain. “Believe me, I take much pleasure in doing this.” He brought the butt of his sword down on Lancelot’s head, knocking him out. “Carry him,” he ordered the two Combrogi who remained unharmed.

They each grabbed him under an armpit and dragged him forward, feet scraping the ground, head lolling to one side.

“Elaine, take care of our injured friend,” Mordred called as he led the way into the woods.

“Where are you taking us?” I demanded, finally terrified.

Mordred looked back over his shoulder. “He is going to the prison. You are going to face the king.”