Mistress of Legend

Chapter 4-2

“By daybreak, I was retching and so dizzy I was unable to stand. I heard the crowds below and became concerned, but I was not yet alarmed. I’d given no order, so I never imagined what was taking place. However, when the wind shifted and blew the smoke to me, I knew something was very wrong. I tried to stand but fell to the floor. I needed to know what was happening, so I crawled to the casement and threw myself upon it. That was when I saw that the fire had been lit. Again, I tried to stand, but to no avail. All I could do was cry out my dissent, hoping someone would hear me and stop what was taking place below.

“Eventually, I must have lost consciousness because when I next opened my eyes, I was in Morgan’s arms. She was rocking me and telling me I had become ill, but all would be well.” He stopped and faced me. “It was only later that I heard about Lancelot’s intervention and that you were alive.” He looked over his shoulder at Mordred. “I wish to publicly thank my son for his part in setting you free. And when we finally locate Lancelot, he will have my gratitude and pardon as well. Please know that I would never have ordered you to be executed.”

With that, Arthur ceded the floor to me and I was free to question him. His testimony matched up to what I had seen in my vision, but I still had a few questions. “Did you ever determine what made you ill?”

“No. There was no way to do so.”

I didn’t expect so. If only I could have gotten my hands on that communion chalice before the damn priest washed it. Even smelling the dregs or tasting the residue on my finger might have helped. I put that aside and turned to my next concern. “What was Morgan’s reason for being in your chamber?”

Morgan answered instead. “Perhaps you would like to address that question to me rather than asking Arthur to guess?”

I fought the urge to roll my eyes. “Fine. But you have to wait your turn. I would like to hear from Bishop Marius first. And I suggest you remember that I hold your fate in my hands and address me with the respect I deserve.” I eyed Marius. “That goes for both of you. Bishop, you may speak.”

Marius cleared his throat and stood. “I stand here today an innocent in chains, much like our Lord and Savior before Pilate. But unlike him, I know my judge has already found me guilty and I have not the virtue to remain silent.”

I took a deep breath, willing myself to remain calm. I should have expected a performance from this man. He never could resist an audience.

“I do not deny placing a drop of some liquid in the king’s communion wine.”

An astonished rumble went through the Combrogi. Marius raised a hand to silence them.

“But it was not poison, as everyone was so quick to assume. I would never do such a thing to my king.” He fell silent and did not seem inclined to continue.

“What was it then?” I prompted.

Victory glittered in his eyes. “I do not know. I was only following the orders of Arthur’s wife”—he gestured toward Morgan—“whom I assumed had his best interests at heart. She is a healer and so could have given him any number of remedies for any number of conditions. I am but a humble priest who knows nothing of such things.” He touched his breast and bowed his head slightly in a gesture of humility that made me want to gag.

“Now, as I have explained the only charge against me, I suggest you question her”—he nodded in Morgan’s direction—“about the exact nature of the substance.”

Arthur stood before Marius in three long strides, a finger poking the bishop’s chest before I could even speak, his pent-up anger on full display. “That is not the only charge against you, you pompous traitor. How do you explain giving the order to kill Guinevere? I never offered my final judgment.”

Marius looked at me as if to inquire whether I would allow Arthur to question him in my place.

I smiled coldly. “I was just about to ask the same question.” I sat back, awaiting his response.

Marius’s eyes shifted back to Arthur as a wolf-like grin spread across his face. “Oh, but you did. Perhaps you do not remember because you were so ill. You looked at me and clearly said ‘guilty.’”

Arthur grabbed the priest by the collar of his tunic. “I said no such—”

Marius continued as though Arthur had done nothing. “The point is, I was still carrying out the king’s will.”

“No. You. Were. Not.” Arthur ground out each word between clenched teeth.

“Morgan, you were there when Arthur was ill. Did he say anything of the sort?”

Morgan shook her head. “No. Marius told me before I saw Arthur that he had spoken to the king in private and he had passed his verdict. He said he was headed to help Guinevere meet her fate, but never elaborated.”

“There you have it.” I fought back a smile. “Two people say no and one, with a very strong motivation for self-preservation, disagrees. Plus, we have testimony stating you spoke of Arthur’s will before anyone saw him that day.” Given this evidence, there was no need for me to mention my vision. “It seems to me there is nothing left to be said. I am ready to render my verdict.”

This was one sentence I did not have to deliberate upon. I had been waiting twenty-five years to avenge the wrongs this man had done to me—separating me from my first love and my family, turning Arthur away from Avalon, installing Morgan in my place, and trying to have me killed—and now I could do so in full knowledge it would be justice.

I finally allowed my grin free rein. “Bishop Marius, through the power granted to me by High King Arthur Pendragon, you are hereby found guilty of the crime of high treason for the attempted murder of a royal person, the punishment for which is death by the method of the king’s choosing.”

Marius’s mouth hung open in shock.

“Take him back where he came from,” Arthur ordered Gawain and Bedivere.

Each man took one of Bishop Marius’s shoulders and dragged him toward the door.

“I protest! I am not guilty. I protest!” he yelled. “You cannot do this to me. The Bishop of Rome will hear about this! Arthur, think what having the blood of a priest on your soul will mean when you go before God.”

Arthur shuddered involuntarily, which made me wonder if he had the stones to go through with the punishment demanded by law, especially since he was giving that damn priest time to frame himself as a martyr. I would have executed him on the spot.

Putting away such dark thoughts, I turned to Morgan, whose face had gone white, as though she only now realized this was not some silly play we were enacting; I truly held over her the power of life and death. “It is your turn to speak.”

Slowly, she rose, regarding each person in the room before finding her voice. “I am guilty of no crime except caring for my husband. Each of you remembers what that day was like. By the time Arthur left this room, his nerves were frayed and he still had an enormous decision to make. I cannot imagine what he must have been feeling, but I knew he needed the clear mind that would come with rest. That is why I suggested the bishop add a drop of valerian to his cup. Arthur had already refused dinner and I knew he would argue with me if I suggested to him that he take it. I only meant to ease his nerves and help him sleep.” Her eyes welled with tears.

Once again, I fought the urge to make a face. I had seen Morgan’s false tears before and they did not move me. “You know as well as I that valerian doesn’t make people violently ill.”

“Not usually, no. But we also know that many things can change how an herb works. It may not have even been the valerian that made Arthur sick. It could have been anything.”

For the first time all morning, Aggrivane spoke. “Is that the same excuse you offered Viviane when Rowena nearly died during the testing to determine the next Lady of the Lake?”

That Aggrivane remembered the incident was a surprise. But he had been close with us during our time in Avalon and understood what a puzzle that event had been to everyone who knew Morgan. She had always maintained her innocence, and no one had ever conclusively proven Rowena’s poisoning was Morgan’s fault. However, the rumor of her guilt dogged her, lending her a reputation for being talented with poisons, deserved or not.

Morgan’s eyes narrowed and her cheeks flamed. “How dare you! Did Guinevere prompt you to say that? My life is on the line and the two of you are dredging up the past because it might help justify your hatred of me. Perhaps the bishop was right and we were both condemned in your eyes from the start.” She was crying in earnest now, tears dripping onto her freckled cheeks.

“Oh, this is bullocks,” Sobian muttered, just loud enough for those around her to hear.

“I have a question,” Arthur interjected, perhaps to allay further argument. “Morgan, how did you come to find me that morning? I never had the chance to ask.”

Morgan wiped the area beneath her eyes, giving Arthur a soft, sorrowful smile. “I couldn’t stand to watch when the bishop went to get Guinevere. Something about his manner made me believe he was leading her to death, and despite all that has passed between us, that I could not bear. I went to your room when you were not outside with the crowds, nor in the great hall. I was worried something might have happened to you, especially in light of your uncharacteristic verdict.”

“Something might have happened to me?” Arthur raised an eyebrow. “Like what?”

Morgan shrugged. “I don’t know. I was scared you might have been taken by an ill humor and could be a danger to yourself. You were so upset the day before. Frankly, you hadn’t been yourself since you removed our son from the Combrogi because of that woman’s false accusation against him. Then there was poor Elaine’s death, and then Guinevere betrayed you.” She took Arthur’s hands. “I couldn’t leave you alone if you were still in pain.”

Arthur looked at her with such tenderness, I thought I was going to vomit. I cleared my throat to break the spell between them. “Do you still have the bottle?”

Morgan blinked. “The what?”

“The bottle of valerian. I’d like you to take me to it so I might examine it myself.” Morgan had no way of knowing I had seen the bottle in my vision and this was my way of testing her.

She blinked a few more times, as though considering my odd request. “If you wish.”

She led Arthur, Gawain, Bedivere, and me through the halls to her chamber. A cheer went up when we passed the great hall. Through the cacophony, my ears discerned a few cheers of joy that Morgan was still with our party and two particularly loud shouts of protest over Marius’s verdict from his acolytes Galahad and Peredur, who vowed the wrath of God upon our heads if we carried out his sentence.

When we reached Morgan’s room, she knelt and unlocked a large chest sitting near the fireplace. She withdrew a small wooden box from within and lifted its lid. Inside stood a dozen small dark glass vials, each identical.

Morgan held two bottles up to the light before finding the one she desired and holding it out to me. “This is it.”

It matched the vial in my vision, but so did all of the others in the box. “How do you know it is the right one? I don’t see any markings on it.” It was possible Morgan could have mixed up the vials and inadvertently given Arthur the wrong liquid.

She looked at me as if I was a child in Avalon once again. “I don’t want untrained people pawing through my medicinal store and mistaking a poisonous herb for something innocent, so I use a special ink made from the milk of goat’s lettuce that is only visible when you apply ash over it.” She displayed a sooty thumb I hadn’t even seen her dip into the cinders. “Once the milk is dry, it won’t rub off, but the ashes will, so the bottles are unrecognizable to anyone else.”