Chapter 7
By the time Accolon’s birthday came, I had spent most of my free time exploring my newfound skills, testing my link with the magpies and delving deeper into storm-making.
As with any elemental magic, I had to learn the weather’s natural music, the chords and harmonies required to sculpt air and water into vessels of concentrated power.
To converse with nature this way soothed me as it had once done with Ninianne, success as exhilarating as it had ever been.
When I was constructing clouds, experimenting with their form and how far I could push my creations, I was myself again.
In other arenas, I could not claim such strength.
At sunset, the start of Accolon’s revel found me in the doorway to Belle Garde’s dining hall, unable to put one foot over the threshold.
Almost everyone was already inside the room, which had been tastefully draped in his blue and silver jousting colours.
Strains of his favourite songs drifted in from the minstrel stage outside, his preferred drinks from Tressa’s cider house poured freely.
All I had to do was walk in and join the celebration. It was that simple, and that difficult.
“Good evening, Lady Morgan.”
In my paralysis, I had not noticed Sir Manassen’s approach. He smiled in his spare, serious way and offered up his arm. “Allow me to escort you to your seat.”
His artful formality loosened my limbs enough for me to take his elbow and let him guide us to the table. When he pulled out my chair, it made me want to laugh.
“Sir Manassen, I may never have the measure of you,” I said. “Thank you.”
He looked amused. “It is my pleasure. Now, if my lady will point me to where I should sit.”
I gestured to the chair beside mine. “Your place is here. At my right hand.”
“I am honoured,” he said quietly, and I knew he was moved.
As we sat, I glanced to my left—at Accolon’s seat, starkly empty. I had forgotten that on feast occasions they always laid him a place, and the sight of his plate, his knife, his empty goblet, was a cold wave I hadn’t prepared for.
My breath caught, the room and its familiar faces tilting into a spin.
I reached for the gold coin around my neck, but it was not enough this time, inadequate against the sheer force of loss conjured by this day.
I gripped the coin harder; I could not do this here, amidst a heartfelt tribute to the man we had known and loved.
The last thing I wanted was to let grief tear apart what was healing. Leaving was my only choice.
I made to push up from my seat, when a tentative touch on my forearm halted me. I glanced down and met Sir Manassen’s steady, understanding gaze.
“We should drink to him,” he said.
He too had seen the empty place setting, and felt what I felt. With him, I was not alone in this, his grief not a feeling I felt duty bound to fix. I found myself retaking my seat.
“We should,” I agreed.
He reached for a wine jug, pouring for us both. “To Accolon,” he said, raising his goblet. “Would that you were here to drink with us, cousin.”
“To Accolon,” I said, letting my voice tremble. “We love you, and we miss you.”
Our goblets touched with a conclusive clink. It was the first time I had raised a cup to Accolon’s loss, but Manassen had made it feel necessary, strength-giving.
At length, I said, “I’m glad you’re here.”
“So am I,” he replied. “I appreciate you letting me overstay my welcome.”
“You could never do so,” I replied. “Belle Garde is for you as much as any of us. You are always welcome.”
“Thank you, my lady.” He lifted his cup again with a shy smile. “In that vein, I regret to say I will have to leave soon. My wife is returning shortly, and I must meet her there in preparation for our journey to Gaul. Yet I carry some hesitation.”
“You mean with my brother stalking my borders like a territorial lion?” I said. “Do not worry—I can handle Arthur. But such things are not for tonight, of all nights. Just know I am sorry to see you go. We all are.”
“That means a great deal,” he said. “I cannot express how grateful I am for this past fortnight. Not just for this celebration, but the peace, the understanding—for coming to know you better, Lady Morgan. To spend time with Robin, to see how Accolon’s skills, his ways, live on…
I did not know I needed such a thing, but I did. ”
“Robin needed it too,” I replied. “Watching the two of you gave me hope. You helped him heal, more than I ever could.”
Sir Manassen’s shoulders dropped and he looked away, as if the praise was too much to bear. “It was my privilege, but he did the same for me. It’s been so long since I’ve enjoyed knightly life, or felt truly useful.”
I looked at his face, stern but calm, and could finally read him. He was sad to be going, but his true remembrance of Accolon was on the road, years of laughter and adventure that would sit beside him as he traversed Gaul. At least out there, he could keep moving.
I drew in a breath. “I have something to ask, Sir Manassen. It is no small request.”
He turned back to me in interest. “Name it.”
“Take Robin to Gaul with you,” I said. “When he’s ready, knight him on Accolon’s behalf.”
His eyes widened; he had not expected it, though to me it seemed the obvious—nay, essential—move. Just as quickly, his demeanour softened.
“He is skilled, brave and good,” he said. “He will be an excellent knight.”
“With your guidance, yes. I will provide everything he needs—horses, arms, clothing, means to live on. The rest—how to be a knight in heart and mind—I cannot give him, whereas you can. Show him the way, hold him steady, instil in him the self-belief to become the person he has always wanted to be. A man like Accolon.”
Sir Manassen bowed his head. “It would be my honour.”
With his assent came relief, a pressure lifted like a yoke I did not know had lain on my shoulders. Despite my failures, I could do this: for Robin, for Manassen; for the best.
“Keep Accolon’s manor for him too,” I said. “Do not speak of it yet—let him have his run of the world, then give him somewhere he can make a home. He always has a place here, but Robin needs his own life, as he has always worked for. I want him to be free.”
“As you wish, my lady.”
I held out my hand in an official manner. Sir Manassen smiled and took it, planting a kiss of sworn duty upon the ring I wore—my father’s trio of sapphires in gold.
Pledges made, we joined the revel with the others, listening to the music and watching the household dance in the lantern light. Robin stood at the boules pit with the stable lads, laughing and winning the game.
“When will you ask him?” Manassen said.
“You should, if you’re willing,” I replied. “Tell him he has the choice to stay, of course. But he won’t need it—he will choose life.”
He nodded, then paused long, his shoulders shifting. Eventually, he said, “And what of your life, Lady Morgan? Beyond your work, Belle Garde, your pursuit of vengeance on Camelot.”
The question came as a surprise. “What else is there?”
He said nothing until I looked at him, a streak of colour marking his cheeks. “Par Dieu, I am not the right person for this, I… ”
I put my hand on his arm. “Sir Manassen, if there’s one thing I trust and respect in this world, it is your honesty. Never feel you cannot speak freely with me.”
He cleared his throat. “What I mean to say is…I knew my cousin, Lady Morgan. He was not a covetous man, nor would he begrudge you a full life. Accolon would not want for your loneliness, either.”
It was true—I knew that if he could, Accolon would tell me to seek happiness, to not close myself off to connections of mind or body. Remember, and choose to live beyond, he would say. Whether or not I listened was another matter.
“For now, I am happy to change someone else’s life,” I replied. “My own future is still a mystery. Though I appreciate your candour, very much.”
“I’m glad,” he said, still abashed. “The frankness of friendship is new to us, yes?”
I agreed, but a chill of guilt settled upon my shoulders, the fact I could not be equally honest with him.
I wanted to say that Accolon himself should have been the cure for my ever-growing loneliness, but I couldn’t tell him about the heart, my intentions or how I kept failing.
That every passing day, the truth gained a keener edge: I could not raise my Gaul without the Shroud of Tithonus.
“Go and ask Robin,” I told him. “On Accolon’s day.”
Sir Manassen obeyed and left me, beckoning the boy to walk with him along the silver spring’s curved bank. At a distance, I watched Accolon’s cousin stop and put a hand on Robin’s shoulder, saw the question asked into the evening air.
Robin looked surprised, then glanced across to the joust meadow, where his carnedd stood. After a thoughtful pause, he turned back to Manassen with a smiling nod, and they embraced in the manner of knights.
And I, finally, had fixed something.
*
The day Robin left came too quickly, but the skies honoured Belle Garde with the glory such an occasion deserved. The day dawned with luminous beauty, autumnal warmth and chill in balance, deep-gold sun tinting leaves blazing like flame.
Robin and I stood alone on the front green, his horses waiting obediently.
We looked at one another, and I saw the boy whose shattered leg I healed in Camelot, the young man Belle Garde had part raised, and the valiant future knight he would become.
At his hip, he wore Accolon’s longsword, its silver horse hilt polished to brilliance. He was ready.
“Lady Morgan, are you sure it is all right for me to leave?” he said. “I can wait, if the household…if you need me.”
I put my hand to his face. “All I need now is for you to go and do everything you wish—what you and Sir Accolon trained for, and talked about, and dreamed of.”
His eyes widened in sudden doubt. “What if I’m not good enough? How can I be sure I will make Sir Accolon proud?”
“You made him proud every day,” I replied.
“You have always been good enough, Robin—he knew it, and so do I. He would only wish for you to be the most honourable knight you can be, and most of all be happy. Life did not always go his way, but Accolon made sure to follow his heart. Promise me you will do the same.”
“I promise,” he whispered, and ducked his head as his tears broke free.
I drew him into my arms and held him tight. Behind us, Sir Manassen had arrived, flanked by Alys and Tressa, the rest of the household streaming onto the cropped grass from all corners.
“There are others who wish to say farewell,” I said into Robin’s shoulder.
He straightened, flushing in proud surprise, then looked again at me. “Thank you, Lady Morgan,” he said. “For fixing my leg, for Sir Accolon, for Belle Garde. Whatever I become, it will be because of you.”
It was almost too much to bear, but my ability to let him go was the most crucial gift I could give, so I embraced him one final swift time, then made myself pull away.
“Farewell, Robin,” I said. “I will miss you—I cannot tell you how much. Come back one day and see us. But go, be free.”
He nodded, beaming at me as he had first done as a child, then the household swooped upon him in affection, leaving me standing alone.
Quietly, Sir Manassen came to my side. “All will be well,” he said.
I nodded, my words hard-won. “There is one last thing.”
Vision blurring, I drew aside and took a small parcel out of my cloak, wrapped in dense blue silk. I unfolded the fabric, taking in the warm glow of polished gold, and ran one finger over the distinct forked curves.
Accolon’s knightly spurs, gleaming and perfect.
I closed my eyes, remembering the care he had taken of them, imagining how he must have felt when he first saw this eternal symbol of knighthood, made for him.
In my mind’s eye, I conjured Tintagel’s Great Hall, low lit for ceremony, Cornwall’s sea roaring outside; the sudden weight as Sir Bretel—Accolon’s knightly teacher, who he had squired for, sworn to, and loved as a second father—fixed the spurs to his heels.
The race of my Gaul’s heart as he felt himself anchored, finally, to his calling.
I had not been there that day, when Accolon spoke his knightly oath and took the blow of honour to his neck, but in turn I saw myself at St. Brigid’s Abbey, leaning over a volume of anatomy—missing him, but giving flight to a calling all my own.
Neither of us knew then that we would find one another again, many times, until we could no longer.
I turned back to Manassen. “Hold out your hands.”
He obliged, and I placed the spurs on his open palms. A shimmer crossed his face, first of recognition, then an emotion so raw that I had to force myself not to look away.
“Knight Robin with these,” I said. “He already has Accolon’s sword—it’s only right he wears his spurs.”
“Of course,” he replied, but when I tried to uncurl my fingers, I found I could not. We stood hopeless, our despair palpable in the air, but the mere act of looking at one another seemed to bring us strength.
In unison, we nodded, and I slipped my hands free, letting everything go.
Sir Manassen and I looked across at Robin, seated on his horse now beside the spring, gazing at the horizon above the trees, ready to ride towards it.
“When the time comes,” I said, “tell him to swear to no lord.”