The Bloody Cup (51 page)

Morgan’s eyes were still alive, young and glistening with malice. Artor felt an even deeper pang of pity. Morgan had become very like the man she had hated most, Uther Pendragon.

‘Be seated, sister, and drink your fill,’ Artor replied in his softest voice. ‘You’ve travelled far and I can see that you’re not well.’

Morgan’s eyes snapped suspiciously at his concern. ‘Don’t pity me, King of the Britons, for I’ll see you in your grave soon enough. But I’m tired, so I’ll drink your wine. You, of all men, would never resort to poison.’

A servant fetched a goblet for her and, as she accepted the wine, her forefinger stroked his young hand. The servant recoiled and Morgan laughed at his fear.

‘I see you’re still striking terror into lesser mortals, sister’, Artor said coldly. ‘I thought you’d have wearied of such unworthy charades by now.’

Morgan glared at her brother.

‘I’m no Uther to need your charms to hold my kingdom under firm control,’ he added. ‘Or to retain a memory of youth.’

‘No, you aren’t, are you?’ Morgan replied, and then she turned her baleful eyes on Wenhaver, who cowered under the obsidian glare. ‘So, this faded husk is all that’s left of the fabled Wenhaver, the great beauty, noblewoman and whore. I haven’t seen you since your wedding day. Ah, what a tantrum you threw. I’m sure you’ve led my brother a nasty dance.’

Wenhaver’s mouth fell open at Morgan’s attack on her character and appearance, then her eyes narrowed into vindictive slits.

‘At least I’m not positively ugly like you are, Morgan,’ she retorted and the nobles gasped at her effrontery towards the famed witch.

‘You will be silent, Wenhaver,’ Artor ordered.

‘You must obey your master, Wenhaver,’ Morgan rasped. ‘You’ve betrayed him often enough with all manner of men, so perhaps you owe him a still tongue.’ She raised one gnarled finger, causing Wenhaver to cover her face with her hands in fear.

Artor laughed. ‘Don’t try your tricks with me, sister. You aren’t able to turn us into toads, or harm us in any way unless we choose to believe you are capable of doing what you claim. I reject your powers utterly.’

It was now Morgan’s turn to laugh, a sound rendered dreadful because it was almost girlish.

The smile abruptly left the face of the old woman.

‘Enough of friendly banter, brother,’ she said. ‘I come bearing news of such urgency that I have been forced to travel many weary miles.’

‘I didn’t think you came because of sisterly love, Morgan, although one of my regrets is that my birth and my sire drove a wedge between us from my infancy. I have always admired your effrontery and your bravery. Speak your news.’

Morgan smiled at Artor without her customary sneer. ‘In truth, brother, I might have loved you for yourself if you hadn’t been the son of Uther Pen Worm. But if that had come to pass, you’d never have become Artor, the Warrior of the West, would you? Fate is a very odd and demanding master.’

Artor began to feel irritation redden his cheekbones as they played their old and vicious game.

‘Enough sparring, Morgan! I believe we’ve established that we are not loving kinfolk.’

‘The news I bring, brother, is that King Lot and Queen Morgause are both dead.’

Artor felt his knees tremble. He resumed his seat before the other nobles should see his weakness.

‘When? How?’

‘Lot was always a huge man and, in recent times, he barely had the strength to leave his throne. Three weeks ago, he was found dead beside his chair. He must have fallen from the throne during the night. When his body was found, his face was purpled with suffocation, for he had choked on his own weight when he couldn’t drag himself upright.’

Morgan displayed no trace of sympathy, but Artor shuddered at the gruesome manner of his brother-in-law’s death. The High King could imagine Lot’s panic and the slow pressure on his lungs that had ultimately defeated the man as he struggled for breath.

‘Lot and I were hardly friends - in fact, our opinions differed on almost everything, but he was a brave and able king. He will be missed.’

Morgan grimaced. ‘He’ll be missed by some, I suppose.’

‘What of Morgause? I cannot imagine her succumbing to grief. How did the queen die?’

‘Only one week after Lot perished, and before riders could be sent to inform Prince Gawayne that he was now King of the Otadini, Morgause was poisoned by her maidservant. I can assure you, the assassin told me everything she knew before she died.’

Artor felt his world stop on its axis. ‘Explain, Morgan. If my sister was killed in some plot, it is essential that I know the details. If her killing is not avenged, we are all at risk of assassination.’

‘Your words are touching, dear brother, but you’re a little late. The maidservant was a Pict who had been taken into slavery as an infant, so my sister trusted her implicitly. Morgause never thought to doubt her loyalty, because the woman used her skills with unguents and creams to preserve my sister’s beauty. Vanity killed Morgause as surely as the poison that was placed in her face powder. The maid used lead, I believe, and it caused Morgause to die in agony. Such poisoning takes time to kill the victim, many months at least. Had I been at court, I might have recognized my sister’s weakness, her aches and her declining appetite. But I was absent.’

‘But why?’ Artor asked, his head whirling with possibilities. ‘What was to be gained by killing the old queen?’

‘The plot must have been a long time in the making. I sense the edges of its purpose. Gawayne is scarcely known to his people after spending his youth and middle years in your service. He must return at speed, or there’ll be no crown for him to claim.’

Artor turned to Odin. ‘Send for Gawayne.’

‘The maidservant resisted our torture for a very long time. Hatred is a potent weapon, and an even more effective shield from agony if it has been nurtured for many years. But, with time, even her obsessive enmity was no protection against pain. Eventually, she begged to tell me everything she knew.’ Morgan paused to regain her heaving breath.

‘She had been swayed by a lover whom she believed was a fellow Pict, but no one in the north has ever heard of him. All I know is that he has one eye, and is called Fydyth. I cannot find him, but I believe he betrayed her, as well as being responsible for the death of Morgause.’

‘But I don’t really understand why?’ Artor muttered. The death of Morgause achieved no practical purpose that he could perceive.

‘Don’t be a dolt, Artor. The Otadini are in turmoil and will be of no use to you should rebellion threaten your throne. Morgause was respected and feared. She would have steadied the people’s resolve and bolstered her son’s reputation. Her death is a loss to you and to Gawayne, but of greater importance is the knowledge that she is lost to the Otadini people who have come to believe that she was ageless. I frighten the tribe, but she awed them.’ She smiled at the concern that was clearly written on Artor’s face. ‘I advise you to watch your back, brother.’

At this point, Gawayne strolled into the hall and, seeing his aunt seated before the king, would have taken to his heels if Artor hadn’t quickly and succinctly explained the situation.

Gawayne shook his head as if his loss was incomprehensible.

‘I must return to my tribe, my lord, and quickly,’ he said impulsively. ‘I must see to the burial of my parents.’

‘Yes, you must depart immediately,’ Artor agreed. ‘Enid and your brood must be having a difficult time coping with the death of both Otadini sovereigns.’ He frowned. ‘You must take great care on the roads, for I’m beginning to suspect there might be a plot to deny the throne to any of my kin. You’re at great risk of ambush during your journey.’

‘You may take my guard with you if you wish,’ Morgan offered. ‘They’re loyal to Lot’s lineage.’

Gawayne thanked her and turned to depart.

‘You must find a large horse for yourself, Gawayne’, she added conversationally. ‘You are getting a little fat; you should remember that you are your father’s son.’

‘Bitch,’ Gawayne muttered. ‘You should spend some time with Galahad when he returns. You’d be perfect company for each other.’

She grimaced. ‘I am spared that lily-white prig at least, if he is away on your service,’ she retorted. ‘Gawayne may not be a clever man, but at least he has a talent for blood work. As for Galahad, he’s useless. Enid must surely have betrayed her husband when she gave birth to that one.’

Fortunately, Gawayne did not hear Morgan’s opinion of his son’s worth.

Wisely, Artor made no comment about the young man.

‘I beg that you find me a soft bed, brother. I’m weary, and even a crone must rest her bones from time to time.’

‘Before you go to your well-earned rest, Morgan, I have one last question to ask you. Are you certain that Lot died by accident? I don’t believe in coincidences, and the death of both sovereigns in such a short period of time stretches my credulity. I could believe in chance more readily if revolution didn’t threaten from the north.’

Morgan grinned. It was a grotesque sight.

‘Yes, the charlatan is causing you trouble, isn’t he? But he’ll pay soon enough for his blasphemies.’ Her baleful eyes narrowed. ‘Lot would have been easy to kill, too easy, but only a trusted servant could have approached so closely to the king. Lot was fat, but not stupid, brother. However, taken by surprise, he could have been murdered.’

‘I suppose it doesn’t matter,’ Artor murmured.

‘It does matter, Artor!’ Morgan snarled. ‘If it was Fydyth who killed Lot and Morgause, he did so as part of a greater plot. I won’t forgive such a crime, or the reasons behind it. Fydyth, or whatever his name is, will wish he had never been born before I’ve finished with him.’

‘Not if I find him first’, Artor said. ‘Thank you for bringing this news to me in person. Given our past history, it’s odd that I always value your opinions so highly.’

Morgan rose and bowed. Try as he might, Artor could not remember her ever doing so before.

‘Sleep well, brother. The bones tell me you will need your rest.’ She turned to the queen and smiled. ‘Perhaps I’ll tell your future, Wenhaver. When I’m rested.’

Wenhaver barely managed to hide a shudder of revulsion.

The presence of Morgan, even sequestered in the best apartments, dampened the spirits of every soul within the fortress.

Gawayne was gone before dawn and the morning brought news of yet another defection. Modred had departed in the dead of the night. He left behind a servant to inform the High King that he was in mourning for his mother and was returning to the north to offer his services to Gawayne.

Morgan smirked at the news. ‘If he thought to avoid my notice, then he failed. He was the slender epicure in black, wasn’t he? Morgause was wise to rid herself of that creature. I read the bones when he was born, and I warn you to beware of that young man, Artor.’

‘Do you think he’ll kill me?’

‘No one can completely kill you, Artor. But he’s wounded you already. He wants your crown, and he’ll tear down every obstacle in his path to achieve his ambitions. He hates you with his entire being and plots to end your reign, so I should be sympathetic to his plans and stratagems. But how could I join with a monster such as Modred? The man is totally unworthy of my regard.’

‘You flatter me with your honesty, sister. But you have judged Modred correctly, for he even rapes children for pleasure. He is indeed a monster while you are merely terrifying.’

Morgan struck Artor’s face gently with one gnarled hand. The softness of the blow was almost a caress.

‘I never despised you, Artor. If your father hadn’t killed mine . . . well, there’s no point in exchanging possibilities. But our long enmity has always been direct, and both of us have scorned the plots and the machinations of lesser creatures. Modred must never be permitted to rule, for the man’s a coward and will, if allowed, become a despot.’

‘Modred is more likely to stab Gawayne in the back than give any material assistance to the Otadini,’ Artor agreed. ‘I hope Gawayne is sensible, for Modred can also claim his throne.’

‘You must take care yourself, Artor,’ Odin warned, ignoring the presence of Morgan in his fear for his master. ‘Modred has chosen to exert himself, so he’s up to something. It’s almost as if the loss of King Lot and Queen Morgause has given him his own version of Targo’s edge.’

‘Of course he’s up to something, you Jute clod,’ Morgan said rudely. ‘The man does nothing that isn’t in his own interests.’

‘I can’t afford to worry about the possibility of threats,’ Artor responded. ‘There are a host of real ones that are massing in the north, so I’ll send word to the fortresses. The last thing we need is another Saxon summer while our strongest allies are in disarray. The Ordovice are too close to Modred’s fist, and as they are the second largest of our allies, we’ll really be at risk if they should fall. I’d like to believe they are loyal, but the twins were lost while carrying out my orders. Bran may harbour a grudge over the death of his brothers. And what of King Mark? I’d as lief trust a snake as accept the word of that man.’

Odin agreed. ‘Targo always said—’

‘United we stand, and divided we’re worth sod all’, Artor finished for him.

The obscenity sat awkwardly on the king’s tongue. Only Morgan laughed at the jest.

The three warriors planned to attack Gronw immediately before dawn, trusting that the Druid would only have a few remaining adherents to protect him. The sun would rise behind their backs, if such a grim night could spawn a sunrise. If they were careful, they might possess the element of surprise.

The three men crawled towards the ruins on their bellies, taking advantage of any depressions that provided concealment. At one point, Bedwyr was forced to slide his body through a pool of frozen blood where the workman had died at the hands of the crowd. He continued onwards, using his elbows to force his body through the packed snow.

They reached the hut, dug into the snow piled against the wooden walls and waited for their prey to emerge.

Galahad had urged a full-frontal assault in the dead of night, but Bedwyr had preached caution. They were still uncertain whether Gronw was alone, in the company of the one-eyed man or protected by some other bodyguard. Percivale reminded Galahad that there had been a number of warriors present at the abomination on the previous night.