“I believe he knows you were named for her. Nevertheless…”
“And Danu, her daughter. We are Tuatha du Danu, the People of Danu. Has Arthur forgotten?”
“Arthur is quite keenly aware of how effective religious myth is as propaganda. That is precisely why he wants male deities, not female ones.”
Morgan narrowed her eyes. “I’ve known Arthur all my life. He isn’t that thoughtful. This is your idea.”
“Arthur authorized it.”
“I shall pray to England’s traditional deities. That is not subject to further discussion.”
“I see. That is your final answer?”
She nodded.
Merlin rose to go. “That settles it, then. I’ll carry that news to the king.”
“Do so.”
“Trust me, Morgan, I will.”
“And then?”
“He will have to consider whether to have you officiate.”
She forced a smile. “Who else would have that privilege? ”
“There are other priests. Thank you for clarifying your position, Morgan.”
“I am the high priestess of England, chosen of the gods. Remind Arthur of that. To permit anyone else to officiate at a holiday as important as Midwinter would cause a scandal, to say the least.”
“Of course. I’ll be certain to tell him.” He decided to take a shot in the dark. “Oh-by the way?”
“Yes?”
“What was Mark doing here?”
She showed no reaction. “You know about that?”
So he had been there, as he had been at Corfe. “It is not easy to keep intelligence from Arthur, Morgan. You should know that.”
“Or from you?”
“If you like.”
“Mark wants to be king. You must know that, or suspect. Arthur is a fool to keep him in a position of power.”
“And he wants you to… to do what, exactly?” He smiled a politician’s smile.
“If you are so adept at gaining intelligence, you shouldn’t have to ask. Good day, Merlin. Have a nice journey back to Camelot.” Suddenly she narrowed her eyes. “Where is that woman you came with?”
“Britomart? I imagine she’s exercising with your knights.”
“I hope so. Good day, Merlin.”
Brit had agreed to look for Mordred while Merlin kept the boy’s mother occupied. She found him in the library, reading a book.
“Knowledge, at the court of Morgan le Fay, Mordred? Surely superstition is the thing. Or religion-assuming there’s any difference. I’d be careful. You may be setting a dangerous precedent.”
“It’s only one of Caesar’s war commentaries.”
“You’re a warrior, then?”
“No, a historian.” His guard was up; his tone revealed it.
“Oh. I see.”
“Court life doesn’t really suit me. I’ve always wanted to go to Alexandria, to see the great library there.”
“Merlin’s been there. Did you know that? In fact he lived there for a while.”
“Really? I’ll have to ask him about it.”
“I’m sure he’ll be happy to tell you all about it.” In a confidential tone, she added, “He likes to talk.”
“So does Mother. There are times when I’d give my entire inheritance for a bit of peace.”
“Tell me, is she really a witch?”
“She really thinks she is,” he whispered. “Doesn’t that come to the same thing?”
“Why hasn’t she married you off yet? You are the royal heir, after all.”
“I was betrothed for a time. But I’m not really interested in women. I think the girl understood that. She ran off.”
“Just between us, I’m not really interested in men.” Her tone was confidential, but she was smiling.
Suddenly Mordred seemed to relax. “Marriage… it seems so unnatural to me.”
“To me, too.”
“I always felt sorry for the poor girl.”
“You have a reputation for being disagreeable.”
Suddenly he put his guard up. “I imagine I am, to most people. I want to be left alone with my books, not bothered with ritual and protocol and backstabbing plots and all the other rubbish that fills Mother’s world.” He sniffled and wiped his nose on his sleeve. “And Uncle Arthur’s. And yours, for that matter.”
But she saw the opening she wanted. “Yet everyone says you and Lancelot were off whoring together the night of that ceremony at Camelot.”
“When that boy was killed?” He seemed to find it odd. “No, I left the Great Hall that night, looking for the privy. And I got lost-Camelot is such a bewildering place. But I did see Lancelot. He said he was going to the kitchen and asked me if I wanted to join him with the girls there.”
“You didn’t, though?”
“I needed the privy.” He sounded mildly embarrassed; then suddenly his tone shifted. “What madman architected Camelot? Even for a castle it’s quite impossible. I mean, no one in his senses would choose to live in a castle. They’re all unbearable. But Camelot-!” He wrinkled his nose, as if that gesture said what needed to be said. “Uncle Arthur must be insane to live there. They say he took the place from mad old Pellenore. That says it all, doesn’t it?”
“I imagine so.” Brit decided that, against all probability, she could learn to like Mordred. Or at least she wanted to. He wiped his nose on his sleeve again, and she remembered who and what he was.
And he seemed to remember to put his guard up. “You aren’t married. Women should be.”
“So should princes.”
“Not scholar-princes.” His tone was defensive but hushed. “I swear, someday I’ll run away to Alexandria.”
“You really should talk to Merlin. I think the two of you might get along, if either of you would give the other a chance.”
“Merlin is my mother’s enemy. And the enemy of religion, or superstition as he calls it. You too.” His habitual suspicion was returning.
“Is it so awful to think human affairs should be governed by reason?”
“Human beings aren’t reasonable creatures. That is why we need the gods. We are capable of reason, but how often do we make our decisions based on it?” He leaned back in his chair and assumed an air of nonchalance. “No, it’s to be Alexandria for me. They say the library’s walls are lined with books thicker than the stone they’re built of.”
“I imagine so.” She stood to go. Mordred’s moods shifted so quickly she didn’t think she’d learn anything else useful from him. “Well, I’m going to get some exercise. Would you like to join me?”
“No thank you.”
“Until later, then.”
“Have a good day, Britomart.” He smiled at her. “Go and bother someone else for whatever it is you want to know.”
There was dense fog the next morning. Merlin suggested delaying their return to Camelot. But Brit for some reason was anxious to leave. “The roads are marked. And we have our escort; they’ll find the way.”
No one saw the party off. Morgan claimed to be occupied with court business, and there was no sign at all of Mordred. So the carriage and its escort set off through the thickest fog any of them could remember. The sound of the horses’ hooves was deadened by it; the entire world was quiet. Accolon and his men talked in muted voices.
Merlin started another of his panegyrics on life in sunny Egypt, and Brit lapsed into daydreams; she had heard him rhapsodize about Alexandria often enough. But he kept up, and she decided to voice her annoyance. “Don’t the Egyptians live among the corpses of their ancestors?”
“They do not forget their past, if that is what you mean.”
“It sounds perfectly morbid. And they believe in magic. You should have picked up a few pointers while you were there.”
“I saw enough charlatans taking in the gullible to have a fair idea how it is done. Is that what you mean?”
“It’s no fun trying to needle you, Merlin. What did you learn from Morgan? Anything useful?”
“She told me Mark had been there. But I couldn’t get her to say why.”
“Mordred admitted he’d left the Great Hall on the night of the first murder. He says he got lost in the halls.”