Page 79 of The Faerie Morgana
He pulled his staff against his shoulder, feeling the smoothness of the bogwood where his palm had rubbed it so many times. “I saw a—let us call it a conflict—between Priestess Morgana and Queen Gwenvere.”
“A conflict? An argument?”
“A physical conflict.”
Braithe’s brow furrowed again, but this time it was clear she was thinking what to say. The Blackbird said, “You can tell me anything, Braithe. I am more than discreet. I have withdrawnfrom the court for so long I now speak to almost no one but Marcus.”
Braithe put her fingers to her lips while she considered this. Finally, she said, “Yes, sir, I will confide in you. The thing—the problem—is that the queen is given to outbursts.”
“Temper?”
Braithe’s lips flattened into a sour line that did not become her, and she abandoned her careful manner. “Tantrums is a better word,” she said sharply. “She struck me. She throws things at her servants. It is said that in her own demesne she pushed a servant down the stairs and the woman never walked again.”
“I trust you have told the priestess these things?”
“Yes. The king asked me to be a companion to his new bride, and for his sake, I have done so, but my first loyalty is to Priestess Morgana. I mean—aside from the king himself, of course.”
“I see.” The Blackbird absently rubbed the already smooth spot on his staff. “I presume Arthur knows nothing of these things.”
“That’s correct, sir. He will hear nothing against her, and I have not tried to tell him. I know he would not listen.”
“A young man in love is oblivious to his beloved’s faults, I believe.”
“But she—the queen, I mean—does not love the king.” Braithe hesitated, averting her gaze for a moment, then faced him with eyes that glistened with anger. “Sir, she aborted his child!”
The Blackbird stiffened and thumped his staff against the floor. “This is true? Are you sure?”
“By the hand of the Lady, I swear it.”
The Blackbird pulled at his beard as he wondered how Arthur had come to make such a mistake in his bride. He supposed kingcraft did not encompass an understanding of women, but this was a grave fault. It worried him. He said, half to himself, “Some would call that treason.”
“Some would say that of a king who poisoned his son and heir, too, sir!”
Wearily, the Blackbird nodded. “They would. We walk among vipers, Braithe, we who deal with the highborn.”
“Will you tell me what you saw, sir? The conflict?”
“I will try. My scrying is not so clear as Morgana’s, and my deep sight has to fill in the confusing things. But I saw, or I believe I saw, Queen Gwenvere and Morgana on top of the courtine. Morgana stood still, in that imposing way she has, and the queen was screaming at her, then lunging at her. Now that you have told me what she’s capable of, I am even more alarmed.”
Braithe’s answer was drowned by the blaring of horns from the gatehouse.
“The king has returned,” the Blackbird said.
“I must go down,” Braithe said. “But tell me what you want me to do.”
“I fear it is unpleasant for you, but I need you to watch Queen Gwenvere, especially if she thinks she’s alone.”
“How—” Braithe lifted her small hands in confusion.
“I have prepared a charm for you,” the Blackbird said. “Of course you can refuse it. Many would. But I am concerned forthe priestess’s safety, and she is as important to Lloegyr as is the king.”
Braithe stared at him in astonishment. “As the king?” she breathed.
“Indeed. Priestess Morgana is part of the Lady’s plan.”
“But what can I do? I am only a handmaid.”
“You are wise beyond your years, Braithe, and I think you have already sensed that there is some dark force at work here in Camulod.”
