Chapter XLIV:
A Postscript by the Scribe

I, QUEEN MORGAN’S scribe, must finish the writing of her tale in the discharge of my final oath to my sovereign lady. When at last I bestirred me to look up from the reading thereof, the raft that had been built by cause of her command was departed, as was the queen and her brother the king, and there was no agreement among the queen’s retainers as to whence they had gone. Some said she had borne King Arthur to the chapel of a nearby hermitage for to be buried; others, that she would hie him to Avalon for to heal him of his grievous wound. One man reported the queen’s final words to be thus: “Pray for thy rightful liege lord, King Arthur, and for his humble servant and sister, that I might with the aid of the Lord God help Arthur to become the Once and Future King.” No other person laid claim to hearing these words, but he who reported them is a man of high intelligence and blameless character and so, as mysterious as this utterance may seem to any who read it, I have included it.

Upon this sole fact everyone did agree: that King Arthur was yet alive as he lay upon the raft, his wounded head cradled upon Queen Morgan’s lap as she stroked it with her hands and bathed it with her tears. Of all her retainers, she chose but three ladies to escort her and her royal brother on this dolorous voyage.

Not knowing what else to do, those that remained and I repaired to Castle Gore for to await tidings.

Into the midst of this terrible time of waiting came a visitor, a comely young woman with pale yellow hair and a shrimp-colored dress that seemed like a lone light of heaven compared with the black garments we each of us wore in deference to our departed monarchs. ’Twas the queen she sought. Being he who knew most regarding our sovereign lady’s final moments among us, I received the lady, who was a stranger to mine eyes and yet not to my mind, and I revealed to her that which I have already written herein.

“Alas, have I arrived too late, then?”

“So it would seem, Lady Clarice,” I replied. “A fortnight and more hath passed with no word from our queen. Thou art well come to share our vigil in Castle Gore. An thou be the queen’s sometime companion, she shall not be wroth to see thee, methinks.”

She pondered these words and said, “I thank thee most kindly, but nay. An the queen be yet about her work for to heal King Arthur—and of a cert she must be thus engaged, else she would have returned ere now—then I must needs depart unto my… demesnes.” In her dexter hand she held a small object. ’Twas fashioned of the same fey metal that bound Queen Morgan’s chronicle; easily could I espy this likeness, for the chronicle lay upon the table before me. Of a sudden, Lady Clarice asked, “Good scribe, may I crave a boon of thee?”

“An it lie within my power to grant thee, aye, my lady.”

“I should like to take Queen Morgan’s history and guard it against the day of her return. It wouldst lie unmolested, e’en for centuries, an that be the queen’s will.”

Of late it had become an especial concern of mine for to find safe stowage for this precious royal tome; brigands were become ever so much bolder in the absence of sovereigns to hold their destructive evil at bay. I asked, “Art a sorceress, then, that thou canst do such a thing?”

“Queen Morgan’s apprentice,” she said lightly.

Though the queen never had retained an apprentice of my acquaintance, of a sudden my feeble and grief-smitten wits cleared as I recalled my reading of Queen Morgan’s chronicle and Lady Clarice’s doings therein. ’Twas never wise to cross a practitioner of the magical arts, regardless of the practitioner’s rank. I granted Lady Clarice my consent on the condition that she permit me a day for to finish my work upon the chronicle, to which she agreed.

“For time,” she replied with a smile as mysterious as the midnight sky, “be ever my ally.”

It seemed to me good, right, and proper to allow the Lady Clarice’s strange words to number among the last recorded herein.

 

THE END OF THE MANUSCRIPT