Chapter 44
We climbed the twisting stair to its very top, and I ushered my brother into my eyrie of a study. A honeyed evening light shone through the encircling windows, the breeze meadow-sweet through the balcony doorway.
Arthur stepped inside, gazing all around: at the upper gallery and its circular shelves; my desk and chair carved with birds; the long worktable covered with parchment, quills and inks; my own quests for knowledge scribed in sketches and words.
He rested a kingly hand upon a pile of manuscripts, his face glowing with a subtle pride.
“It’s a beautiful room,” he said. “Bright and orderly, as one would imagine great scholars at their books. I did not expect it to be so impressive.”
“What were you expecting?” I said archly. “Some dark and dingy undercroft, filled with dog bones and bats? A cauldron in the corner, bubbling green? Jars of human teeth?”
He considered it, then said, “Yes, I rather was.”
The candour of his admission, and its ridiculousness, made me burst into laughter. My brother followed, and we laughed long and hard, until it struck us both that we were sharing a moment of mirth over our rift, and we quietened.
“How good it feels to laugh with you again, sister,” Arthur said, catching his breath. “I have missed that.”
It had pleased me too, but I wasn’t sure enough yet to trust in our shared enjoyment. There was still so much to say.
We ate a quiet dinner perched at the long worktable, served by a kitchen lad who had no reason to recognize the High King of All Britain, which Arthur found rather amusing.
“When did we last share a meal together like this?” he asked.
I shrugged. “I can’t say we ever have. Most of the meals when we lived under the same roof were held in public. And I wasn’t in your retinue for all that long.”
He regarded me sadly. “You weren’t in my retinue, Morgan. What we were to one another was far more than that.”
“Yet it came to an end regardless.”
Arthur put a hand to his forehead, rubbing his thumb along his crownless temple. “I know, and I should not have said that. It is trite, useless. Attempting to redraw the past gets us nowhere.”
His quick repentance moved me despite myself. He was trying his hardest, and if I was willing to let him exist under my roof, I had to afford him some grace.
“It’s all right,” I said. “This won’t be easy, we knew that, and it will take more than just one evening’s conversation. Why don’t you rest at Belle Garde for a few days? Give us enough time to discuss everything we need to.”
My brother looked up, his expression soft, weary. “Thank you, sister. I am humbled by your generosity and will gladly stay.”
“Then it’s settled,” I replied. “Do you wish to retire now?”
“Not yet,” he said. “I’d like us to talk a little longer, if it suits you.”
A swell of pleasure expanded in my torso—the joy I used to feel at being in the beam of Arthur’s regard.
“Let’s take some air on the balcony,” I said. “I’ll call for wine and arrange for your chamber. We make an apple cyser in this valley fit even for a High King.”
Arthur smiled and strode outside while I called down for the serving lad. When I joined my brother again, he was standing at the balustrade, his strong, upright figure silhouetted against the evening, a rare stillness in his demeanour.
“God be praised,” he said. “What an astonishing view. When I arrived, I was running, head down against the storm—I didn’t notice the beauty of the place.”
His youthful wonder amused me, as if he didn’t have a hundred castles to stand atop, a view to please the Lord from every tower.
I followed his gaze, surveying the glorious expanse of trees, meadow, rivers and hillsides, handsomely lit by the setting sun.
The storm that guided him to me had rained itself out entirely, leaving the skies blue-gold and serene.
“Belle Garde, we call it,” I said. “It belonged to our mother first, did you know? She gave it to me. I think part of her always knew I would end up here.”
“She was a good woman. I wish I had known her better.” Arthur sighed and for once I felt sorry for his lack; being raised by our mother was the one thing I possessed that he never could. “I have often pondered what she would think of all this.”
I smiled. “She would wonder, as she often did with me and my sisters, why we couldn’t all just get along.”
It cheered him enough to chuckle, and for a moment it was pleasant to imagine all of our troubles explained as typical sibling disagreements.
“I would like to see the rest of Belle Garde, if you have the time,” he said.
“Of course. We will ride the entire valley in the morning. My Val Sans Retour, as Sir Lancelot liked to call it. Though he returned to you from here more than once.”
I don’t know why I brought up Lancelot’s name, but I watched keenly my brother’s reaction. Perhaps I wanted to see where his attitude lay if we truly began to speak of the things that divided us.
As it was, it didn’t stir him at all, but he cast his eyes back to the view. “Lancelot will always return. He knows when I need him most. When we both do.”
“Both?” I queried.
“Guinevere,” he replied. The way he said her name still held a thread of awe.
I bit back on any reaction. Upon reflection, it seemed dangerous to our relative peace to have thrown a light upon the subject at all.
But my brother was far from finished. “What you claimed, Morgan, when you came to Camelot,” he said quietly. “The truth you insisted I should know.”
“Arthur, I—”
He held up a halting hand. “No, I understand it, why you chose to say what you said. But it was a misreading of the circumstances, from not knowing how my life has changed since you were by my side. Being High King is a lonely place, with a level of solitude and pressure that not many souls can breach, but my wife is one of them, and so is Lancelot. It is unusual, maybe, and there have been troubles between us, as with any deep bond, but without them, our mutual closeness, I don’t know how I would have endured it all. ”
Nothing: not a flicker in his eyes, or a twitch of tension in his jaw. He still loved his wife and best knight too much to believe me, and it stung.
“Then consider me enlightened,” I said bitterly. “I’m sure Guinevere would be delighted to hear herself vindicated in such a way.”
I expected anger, the cold imperiousness I was used to, but Arthur did not yield to my goading. “I would lay down my life for Guinevere, no matter what has gone between us,” he said. “That will never change. It is important you know it.”
“Certainly, if you say so,” I retorted.
He regarded my pique with a grave calm, as a polite call came from within.
“That’ll be our apple wine,” I said. “Excuse me.”
I escaped back inside and called in the serving page, who placed a tray on the worktable with two goblets and a stoppered glass vessel.
“One more thing, if you could please see to it,” I said. “My guest has decided to stay, so will require a good sleeping chamber.”
I glanced through the external door to where my brother stood in profile, hand once again at his temple, worrying his phantom crown.
“Prepare the long chamber beside the inner courtyard,” I added. “It’s the best we have, and he requires a room fit for a king.”
Even as I spoke, I wasn’t sure if I was making the right choice, but I let the boy go and poured the sweet drink, carrying the goblets out to the balcony. A crescent moon was just visible above the tiltyard’s silver birches, cusps yellow and sharp.
Arthur stood awaiting me, his face serious. “This ill humour is not what I want for us,” he said. “Perhaps you are right, and we should not speak of them. I never thought I would stumble through the forest and into our reunion, but here and now, we are what matters, Morgan. Nothing else.”
Again he had disarmed me, so I let my battle-readiness go and handed him his drink.
Its heady scent rose up, taking my mind back to Camelot and the shaded apple grove outside the Great Hall; of the two of us walking there, companionable, discussing the day.
Tentatively, Arthur lifted his cup and I let our goblets touch.
“Do you truly believe we can be reunited?” I asked. “Despite everything?”
“That’s up to you, sister,” he said. “Though in some ways, you could say we have never been apart. Our joint vision of Tintagel has kept us connected even when we were determined to tear ourselves asunder.”
I sipped my wine, letting my mind travel to the island and blue wildness we were born within. The sea, always roiling—except for one significant day.
“I remember the moment you were taken away from Tintagel,” I said.
“The sea was flat, lifeless as I had never seen it, and not a hint of breeze in the cove. Everything was wrong. Then you cried, loud and fierce, proving you were alive, as I knew but no one let me believe. As soon as your voice sounded, the wind came, gusting across the water with such strength the waves rose up at once.”
I looked at him, and saw in my brother’s golden, indomitable aspect what had been obvious all along. “It was you, Arthur. You cried out in defiance and the wind answered, bringing the sea—my sea—back to its full power. The two have always been connected, part war, part harmony.”
He met my gaze, absorbing the revelation. “Exactly as we have, sister. First through our bond, then our visions of Tintagel. Something within us is incomplete without the other.”
Tears rose in my throat at his understanding, this epiphany that was so perfect, yet I wasn’t sure I was ready for. We were almost found, but still lost.
“I am the sea,” I said, “and you are the wind that makes the waves.”
Arthur nodded, his eyes silver with emotion. “That is us entirely. We are meant to be in one another’s lives, Morgan. I know your faith won’t be easy to come by, but I hope one day you will trust me again.”