The Road to Avalon Read Online Free PDF Page A

beech’s branches, and watch the river, read, or talk. Morgan had changed into breeches and she and Arthur sat now, crossed-legged and identically dressed, throwing dice and talking.
    “Poor Father,” Morgan said as she idly rolled the dice in her palm. “I think he finds it very frustrating not to be on better terms with Uther.”
    “I think so too,” Arthur returned. They spoke in British, as they invariably did when they were alone. Arthur’s thick black hair slid down across his forehead and he pushed it back with a quick, characteristic gesture. “Why isn’t he, Morgan?”
    She lifted her head, and the sun, shining through the leaves of the tree, dappled her hair and face with light. Her hair had just been trimmed and it hung like soft brown silk halfway down her back. Almost absently, Arthur reached out and touched the shining, evenly trimmed ends. Morgan said seriously, “He used to be, I think, until he married my mother.”
    Arthur rubbed his thumb gently back and forth across the lock of hair he held. “What do you mean?”
    “I heard this from Justina, you understand,” Morgan cautioned with amusement. Justina was her nurse and an inveterate gossip.
    Arthur’s eyes mirrored the expression in hers. “Go on,” he prompted. He dropped her hair and she leaned back against the tree trunk and rested her arms around her drawn-up knees.
    “According to Justina,” she began, “my father and Uther used to be fast friends. As my father was friends with Ambrosius. When Ambrosius died and Uther became king and married Igraine, my father was his closest adviser. Then Merlin married my mother, and Uther and Igraine turned against him.”
    Arthur’s black brows drew together. “But why?”
    “Well, Nimue, my mother, was a granddaughter of Maximus, the Maximus the British legions raised to be emperor. Uther was afraid that Merlin was setting up a royal house to rival his own.” Morgan waved an insect away from her face. “Actually, Justina blames Igraine for the quarrel more than Uther.” She shrugged. “At any rate, both Uther and Igraine insisted that Nimue was an enchantress, to have seduced my poor old father into marriage. Father was furious, as you can well imagine. He does not think of himself as old.”
    Arthur grinned. “He does not,” he agreed.
    Morgan continued, matter-of-factly, “Then I was born and my mother died. Father and Uther made it up after a bit, but I don’t think Father ever quite forgave Igraine.”
    “She never comes here.” Arthur produced two pears and handed one to Morgan, who took a healthy bite.
    “I met her once,” she said around the pear in her mouth, “when I was little and my sister Morgause was married. She came to the wedding and left again almost immediately.” Morgan finished chewing and said penitently, “I shouldn’t be unkind. She has had a very sad life, Igraine. All those dead babies!”
    “You have never been unkind in your life,” Arthur said. His strong young teeth crunched into his own pear.
    “But isn’t it sad, Arthur?”
    “It’s sad for Igraine, I suppose.” Arthur took another bite. “But it’s even sadder for Britain. Uther has no son to follow him in the high kingship.”
    “Justina says it’s a judgment on Igraine for betraying her first husband, Gorlois.”
    Arthur’s fine nostrils quivered with derision. “Justina would.” He finished his pear, picked up the three dice, and began to roll them in his palm.
    Morgan watched his thin brown hand, a frown puckering her brow. “I think Father has started his own imperial school,” she said after a short pause. Her eyes were still on his hand. “And it’s not for Cai.”
    The hand stilled. “I know,” said Arthur, and she looked at his face. His hair had fallen forward again, almost to the level black line of his brows. Their eyes met. “He has some plan for me. I wish I knew what it was.”
    “Everyone thinks it is because you are his son.”
    “Well, I’m not.” They