Page 20 of The Faerie Morgana
She rose and threaded her way out of the crowded room. She supposed she appeared cold to the grieving woman, but there was nothing to be done about that. She dared not give in, or she would be overwhelmed.
The common folk, like this sad woman, believed that the priestesses of the Lady’s Temple had power over life and death.
They journeyed to the Isle despite their fears of the fae, convinced that the priestesses’ magic could work any miracle.
The Temple encouraged their belief, because it was profitable.
Such thinking laid a further burden on the shoulders of the Nine. Some carried the weight lightly, untroubled by the fiction. Others—Niamh, Joslyn, Olfreth, Morgana herself—felt it as an obligation, and never more than in a situation like this one.
She knew, as she measured out the tincture of poppy, that more deaths lay ahead. The Romans, abetted by the bloodthirsty Saxons, would see to it.
At least, she told herself, Arthur was not well enough to go to war. She would not allow it, nor would the Blackbird. Let murderous Uther, so greedy to keep his stolen crown, be the one to face the invaders.
Another group of terrified women and children appeared in the late afternoon, and the Blackbird hurried to help tend to them.
There was a child with a broken arm, who required a dose of poppy tincture before Morgana could move the bones back into place and wrap the arm in linen.
One girl of thirteen or fourteen had very nearly been carried away, and she was still hysterical.
Morgana gave her mother a potion of lavender to calm her, with instructions to administer it whenever she began to scream again.
She had to avert her gaze so as not to see the grief in the mother’s face.
Her husband had fought for his daughter and had been cut down by a Saxon axe.
There were other stories, other tragedies.
The kitchen maids proved invaluable in helping to stanch wounds and distribute water and food.
The Blackbird was gratified to see Braithe put aside her natural inclination to weep in the face of these horrors and shoulder her share of the labor.
More than her share, in truth, he thought, because she was young and strong and had learned so much in her service to Morgana.
Arthur, leaning on a stick to steady himself, moved from keep to barracks to granary to kitchen, mustering the supplies needed for a campaign, organizing the knights and their mounts, wielding his authority as if he were already king.
The Blackbird listened to the fearsome tales of slaughter and looting with a heavy sense of recognition.
He had heard it all before. It seemed there would never be an end to the stories of the evils men were willing to perpetrate on innocents.
Sometimes he wished that when the Lady anointed him, she had not extended his life so dramatically.
It was wearying to see that through the long years, nothing had changed.
The Romans had decided to kill any male of fighting age or close to it, leaving bereft mothers and wives hollow-eyed with grief.
When the survivors had been fed and cared for as much as possible, the Blackbird sent Morgana and Braithe to their beds.
Arthur, too, returned to bed, pale with exhaustion.
The Blackbird lay down in his own chamber but found he was unable to sleep.
He gave it up after an hour. He left the room and climbed the stairs to the door that led outside, onto the broad top of the courtine.
He strolled along it, his wrinkled fingers trailing along the thigh-high parapet as he listened to the night sounds of the castle and worried over the decision he had to make.
A harsh white moon hung in the summer night sky, making the wall glitter and the towers shine as if rimed with ice.
On any other night, the beauty would have soothed the Blackbird’s spirit. On this night, such relief didn’t come.
Arthur was right, of course. The attacks on the remote villages of Lloegyr must be addressed.
The prince had been impressive this day, despite the ravages of his illness.
The knights of Camulod had not hesitated to obey his orders, to prepare as he instructed, fully demonstrating their readiness to follow him. He would one day be a great king.
But his time had not yet come. His destiny lay in the future, part of the Lady’s great plan for her beloved Lloegyr. It was Uther who must lead the strike against the Romans and the Saxons.
And Uther must survive. Morgana must ensure that, however much she loathed him.
The question the Blackbird wrestled with, this moonlit summer night, was whether Morgana could be convinced without revealing too much.
The Blackbird’s deep sight had faded with his mounting age, but he recalled the vision vividly, as if he had experienced it only yesterday instead of lifetimes ago.
He had seen the true king with a retinue of knights, shining and handsome, more glorious than any collection of warriors in history.
He had seen them riding through the highlands of Lloegyr beneath royal-blue pennants, with Arthur’s crest painted in black.
Farmers and villagers hurried to the side of the road to see them pass.
Maidens handed them flowers, and their mothers offered loaves of bread and wheels of cheese, while their men bent the knee in fealty.
When Arthur was born, the vision reappeared, and when Ygraine showed the Blackbird the babe, he recognized him instantly.
It fell to the Blackbird to choose his name.
He had to stand by, mute, as Uther Dragoun ordered his stepdaughter to be banished from the castle.
Ygraine had not told her new husband the truth of her daughter’s birth, and the Blackbird didn’t dare. Not yet.
It was all the Lady’s plan. Each of them—Ygraine, Uther, Arthur, Morgana, and most especially, the Blackbird himself—was a part of it. If one element failed, the entire edifice could collapse.
The Blackbird had seen the true king fulfilling his destiny, but the Arthur he saw had been a grown man, tall and broad-shouldered, noble of mien. That Arthur had not been a half-grown boy, his beard barely visible, his hair fine and pale as a child’s.
The time had not yet come for the vision to manifest. It was too soon. It was all coming too soon, and the Blackbird didn’t know what he should do to prevent it.