“No.”

“No!”

Guenevere urged, “Was it murder then, or execution?”

“The queen is right,” said Lancelot.

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“Never,” declared doughty Lady Rhian. “The woman was under royal protection. By God, I stand with the king.”

“And I with the queen,” said young Bors. “We cannot have

these people here.”

Gareth answered that quietly. “I might agree, lad, but I’ve seen too much royal murder in my own land. Daone sidhe she was, but under the king’s peace.”

“And under a royal roof,” Guenevere countered. “And who is to say what she was planning there?”

“I am, Guenevere.”

I rose from the body to confront her, “I was there, Gwen. We were sleeping when your men came.”

She didn’t move, but the steel went out of Guenevere. Her mouth opened silently. Oh God, no.

“Since the court is mixed in judgment, I put a further case. If in that judicial execution the king’s life be endangered so that only darkness and good luck preserve him—in such a case, whatever extenuation, what is the charge?”

Lady Rhian had not wavered from the beginning in her judgment. Perhaps there was a trace of grim satisfaction in her answer now.

“High treason, my lord.”

“Treason,” said Gareth.

“No, not the queen!”

“No!”

I whirled on them. “Lords-comites, draw your swords.”

The blades hissed from their scabbards.

“Restrain anyone who tries to interfere.”

“Arthur!” Guenevere broke and ran to kneel at my feet. “I didn’t know you were there. I’ll swear it on relics, I would not hurt you, not my husband.” She looked at Morgana. “But for this, you’ll have my head before my repentance.”

I grabbed her hair and twisted. “Not your head, woman.”

“Stop!” Lancelot sprang forward, but Bedivere tripped him neatly and slammed the iron manacles down on the back of his head. Lancelot sprawled like a slain ox.

“Your filthy pride.” I forced Guenevere down to Morgana’s body, to the wound, grinding her face back and forth against it until she was smeared and caked with blood, then let her up.

“Guards!”

Guenevere was stunned. She wiped at her cheek, unbelieving. “A real king would kill me rather than this.”

“Bedivere, the irons.”

Gueneverc’s hands were manacled to the chain that clasped to the heavy iron ring about her neck. The chains were absurd on her, but meant more as symbol than restraint.

“Lock her up.”

Guenevere lifted her chains. “Is this what we come to, Arthur? We ‘stood against the world together. When was I ever less concerned with justice than you? Whea did I ever do anything against the good and safety of Britain?”

“Don’t add hypocrisy to your other talents, Lady. It would make you too dangerous.”

“Kill me then,” she flared. “You lack the courage?”

“I lack your facility, but 1 won’t let you wear good intent like a butcher’s apron. We said it years ago. Right is bigger than princes. If not, your Brocan deserves to be king.”

“Then I won’t be a hypocrite, nor should you.” Guenevere’s haggard glance drifted to the inert Lancelot. “Is it really for her, ‘ ail for Morgana, that I’m in chains?”

“As sure as you are that her death was impersonal.”

Her fists balled. “Damn you. When Peredur hears of this—”

“He’ll know before anyone else. You see, Modred escaped. And I think Peredur will be the first item on a very long bill of charges. Take her away.”

With Guenevere gone the tension shuddered out of my court. The knights relaxed, the women whispered back and forth-They ail wanted to be dismissed. I went to sit on my audience chair, but it seemed much too far.’ I slumped down on the edge of the dais like a bag of sand.

“My people, it must be nigh time for matins. Before you go to pray for God’s blessing on this jewel of a land, think on this. If this dead woman wasn’t safe under my law, which of you is?”

Suddenly the white anger that had sustained me for two hours drained dry. I sagged, elbows on my knees, imperial dignity be damned. “You can all go.”

Lady Rhian stepped forward from Gareth’s side. “It must be said. Long life and God’s blessing on our wise and just king.”

“Please, all of you go now. Leave Lord Ancellius. I’ll speak with him.”

He lay stretched on his side, the blood drying on the back of his head. When the hall emptied, I got up heavy as an old man and went to flop down again beside Morgana, cradling her in my arms, fussing over the clumsy blanket wrap as one would with a baby.

I brought her to this. She came in trust, with no place else to

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run. Even now, at the Wall, they waited for Morgana to lead them into the land of the Firelord. Now Modred would lead them, doomed as his mother, but with less time. Someone would ride him to earth, but not before his vengeance took so much down with him.

Lancelot stirred and opened his eyes.

“It’s over,” I grated. “Get up.”

He rolled over and blinked at me, then the empty hall around us. “What have you done with her?”

“Nothing yet.”

Lancelot lurched to his feet. “Where is she?”

“In irons.”

He didn’t believe it at first. “God damn you, Arthur. If that’s treason, I’ll make it stick. God damn you. Do you know what

you’ve done?”

“Do you see this? What the hell do you think she is, a dead

cat?”

“She begged you not to bring them.”

Christ, I was tired. “Yes. As you begged her not to commit murder, I’m sure. But you wouldn’t prevent it, either. This woman—I know what you think, what they all think. But she touched my soul once and never let go. She was my wife, she had my son, she took her whole life and hung it on a belief in me. Yes, she was wrong. Narrow, ignorant and wrong, but.she was looking for a Grail like you, in the only way we left her. And when she needed my help, she put on all her bangles and that big, silly cloak and—”

The tears wouldn’t be held any longer. I choked on them.

“Go on, get out. Go to Astolat, say good-bye to your dreary little wife. I want you at Badon in ten days.”

Lancelot nodded. “So I will be. And if I live through Badon, let me be far from you.”

“Go to hell for all I care. Get out.”

He shook his head slowly. “And I saved your life once.”

“Get out.”

Lancelot walked out of the hall, leaving me with Morgana in my arms on the cold floor. No one dared to come near, so that my crying echoed alone from the stone walls until first light crept through the casement.

Morgana was carried to rest by Bedivere, Gareth, Bors and myself and laid beside her husbands and Drost in the new cairn,

her name etched before theirs on the entrance stone. We placed her on the centra! bier with her husbands on either side. The shroud was of simple linen, but her small head was fitted with a bronze circlet inscribed in Latin and British:

This Is Morgana, First Wife to Belrix

Peredur was pressed between two painful choices, loyalty to me or to Gwen. Predictably, he decided for the blood tie.

—must insist that Guenevere be restored or at least returned to Eburacum. She does not deserve this, Arthur, and while she remains in prison, no Parisi or Brigante will march under your banner.

__ Even my stalwarts were dubious. Waiting for Cerdic at Badon, Maelgwyn kept his grim silence, but Kay wrote it for both of them.

You’ve made no friends with this, and it may be used against you. Among my western trevs, they say Artorius is become a tyrant too full of power …

Too full of power? When was there ever a leader in Britain who ruled enough of them at one time?

“His Excellency, the ambassador to Theodoric, King of Italy, Luccullus Aurelianus!”

Lucullus wafted into my scriptorium, a perfumed and tonsured vision in fur-trimmed blue and gold, no less than eight heavy rings on his slim fingers, the medallion of his office set in rubies aod emeralds and suspended from a heavy gold chain. He looked the very manual for a fashionable prince, from his precisely crafted boots to the meticulously arranged black curls on his scalp. A little too black, I thought. At least my age, Lucullus should have sported a white lock here and there. But he was determinedly youthful, speech and movement of a studied grace as he knelt to me.

i* “Long life and prosperity to the Emperor of Britain.” ?”- “We welcome the ambassador from Rome. My dear cousin, how does your lord?”

“Most happy that he greets Britain through me.”

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“We receive him thus and hope our poor comforts please his embassy. Come by the fire and enjoy some Faternian with me.”

While I poured the wine, I took the measure of my cousin, Lucullus Aurelianus. Close-set eyes over a long, severe nose. The mouth seemed incongruous, soft and sensual as Modred’s. “We hear you stopped at Castle Dore.”

Lucullus accepted the wine and sat, arranging the folds of his cloak like a great bird coming to rest. His exquisite hands fluttered away the negligent matter.

“Merely trade schedules. Lead, tin. The usual.”

“And we further hear you put in at Wight. Forgive me, I’ve forgotten wtot Rome imports from there.”

He didn’t bat an eye. “An emergency anchorage, urged by the vessel’s master. Fresh water only. The Saxons—as my lord knows—are at present quite outside our sphere of felicity. Our love in Britain is for Britons, whose blood flows richly in ray

own veins.”

God, he was good. I could almost believe him. “Your beloved father was our teacher, and we remember you might have been emperor in our stead.”

The hands danced again to the measure of his musical laughter. “Kingship is not among my talents. I’ve seen too many dicers lose everything on one throw. But I made a profit standing on the edge of the game and betting on the odds. That is my poor gift, to see how things will fall.”

“Very prudent,” I observed. “Sometimes 1 wish I had that choice. For convenience, ample quarters have been prepared for you and your consorts within the walls of Camelot,”

Lucullus set down his goblet. “Touching that, I’d hoped to convey Rome’s greeting to Queen Guenevere.”