Authors: Shanti Krishnamurty
“So you have found a suitor?”
Marian squealed and leapt to her feet as Robin strolled around the corner, still hidden in his mock friar’s robes.
“What on earth? Are you spying on me?” She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him.
“No, but I was coming to find you,” Robin replied. “I just did not expect to find you kissing someone else.”
“I was not kissing him. He was kissing me.”
Robin raised one eyebrow. “So I noticed.” He stepped forward, taking Marian’s hands and tugging her closer. “Either way, I did not like it.”
“Robin, what if someone sees us?” Marian tried to pull back, to no avail.
“All they will see will be a friar, comforting a young woman who feels lost because of her first foray at court.” He grinned.
She smiled back. “You seem to have thought of everything.”
“You are not serious about allowing Lord Aelfred to court you, are you?”
Marian blushed. “No, he is far too old. Besides, I told him I already have a suitor.”
Robin’s arms slid around Marian’s waist. “And you do, at that,” he murmured before bending his head to hers and capturing her willing lips with his.
After a long, endless moment, she pushed at his chest. “But what are you doing here?”
“The Lady Nyneve sent me to find you.”
“The historian? But—why?”
“She did not tell me. I have instructions, however, to bring you to the chapel. Immediately.”
“Then should we not go?” Marian asked.
“I do not think she will mind if we delay our arrival,” Robin drawled, still holding her in the circle of his arms.
Marian thought of the historian, and silently disagreed with Robin’s assessment. The old woman scared her. But the fear did not stop her from snuggling deeper into Robin’s warm embrace. She rested her head against the scratchy woolen robe and sighed.
“I wish I could just go home,” she said softly. “Being here is complicated.”
Robin reached up and brushed a strand of hair away from her face. “I know it is very different from town,” he started, but Marian interrupted him.
“It is more than that, Robin. It is this feeling I have that Mother and Father are hiding something important from me. And I saw two ghosts last night on the battlements. They acted as though they needed to tell me something, but I have no idea what.”
“Complicated, indeed.”
“Oh, there is something I think you should know,” Marian continued. “Prince John is very interested in the sword of King Arthur.”
Robin nodded. “Tuck already told me,” he said. “John does not think you have it, does he?”
Marian tilted her head back to gaze up at him. “He asked me about it, but, quite honestly, I had no idea what he was talking about.”
“Your mother never told you about Camelot?” Robin asked.
“Mother and I do not speak much,” Marian said. “She never seemed to find much use for me. I think I act too masculine for her tastes.”
Robin kissed the top of Marian’s head. “I am sure that is not entirely true.” He pressed her to him once more before stepping away. “Come, we should go. The Lady Nyneve is tolerant of me, but I do not wish to put that tolerance to the test.”
It was a quiet walk to the chapel. Marian kept pace with Robin, but a few steps behind, so as to not attract unwanted attention. A few of the guards glanced at them as they hurried past, but Robin ensured his cowl was pulled up and they did not say a word.
Robin pulled the wooden doors open, allowing Marian to enter before him. The chapel itself was cool and dark, its only light filtering through a small stained glass window above the altar. Dust motes spiraled toward the high wooden ceiling.
“I do not understand why you asked us all here,” Mother was seated in the first row of pews, Father at her side.
“Marian, do come in and take a seat. You too, Friar. Be sure to lock the door behind you, if you please. We need to have a private conversation.”
Robin nodded, doing as she bade him.
“Will you
please
tell us what this is all about?” Mother sounded impatient, but she patted Marian’s hand reassuringly as Marian sat down beside her.
“You always were impatient,” Nyneve turned away from the altar and faced the pews.
“But this is serious business, Beatrix.” She pinned Mother with her glare. “What were you thinking, bringing it here?”
“I have no idea what you are referring to,” Mother said.
Nyneve stepped forward until she was face to face with Mother. “Do not pretend with me. I am far more skilled at pretense than you. Now, tell me. Where did you hide Excalibur?”
Before Marian could react to the old historian’s words, Mother had lunged forward, her hands wrapped around Nyneve’s throat.
“How could you possibly know about that?” Mother growled; her voice was low and dangerous.
“Mother! What are you doing?” Marian pulled frantically at Mother’s fingers. “You are going to kill her! Let go.”
“Beatrix, think about what you are doing,” Father’s rich voice was calm and soothing.
Mother slowly loosened her hold on the old woman.
Nyneve coughed. “That is all right,” she rasped. “I should have known better than to provoke her.”
“What are you talking about?” Marian said.
“Really, Beatrix? Have you refused to confide in your daughter?” Nyneve rubbed her throat.
“I keep my daughter informed of anything that pertains to her,” Mother responded, her voice still hard. “That will not change.”
“Wrong,” Nyneve’s voice mirrored Mother’s in its strength. “It will change. It must, because of your actions.”
“
My
actions?” Mother spat out. “I do not know how you gathered the information you apparently have, but what you believe you know is wrong.”
Nyneve straightened and, it looked to Marian, gained stature as she did so. “My entire life has been about ensuring that blade did not fall into the wrong hands. What were you
thinking
?”
“You mean…Excalibur is real?” Marian finally said. She glanced at Robin, who had remained standing by the doors. He shrugged.
“Of course it is real, you have been training with it for years,” Nyneve said.
“I—what?” Marian turned to Mother. “Is that true?”
Mother held up one hand. “Wait, Marian.” She glared at Nyneve. “How do you know about the sword?”
“I am its original guardian.” The old historian swiftly knotted her long white gold hair into a knot at the base of her neck.
“You cannot be,” Mother said. “That is—”
“—ancient history? Yes, I know.” Nyneve said. “Nevertheless, here I am. And, thanks to your ham-handedness, so is the sword.”
“Listen, if you are The Lady of the Lake, you would understand there is no way I would have left that sword behind. It is too much of a temptation.” Mother growled back. “Now, prove who you are before I kill you with my bare hands.”
“What proof would you accept?”
“Tell me something only the du Luc family knows,” Mother demanded.
“I know,” Nyneve said slowly, “what secrets the lake Llyn Trawsfynydd holds.”
Mother fell back a step, knees pushed up against the wooden edge of the pew. Her face was white.
Nyneve nodded. “Interestingly enough, that is also where I was killed.”
“But,” Mother whispered, staring at the old woman, “that happened centuries ago.”
“Five centuries, to be somewhat inexact,” Father interjected.
“Correct, Alan,” Nyneve said. “You know my history well.”
“What secrets is she talking about?” Marian asked.
Nyneve glared at Mother again. “Did you teach her
nothing
?”
“Lady Nyneve, enough.” Father spoke. “If Marian knows little of our family history, blame me. Beatrix had—other concerns.”
“Yes, Robin told me of them,” Nyneve said.
Mother, Father and Marian all looked at Robin, who moved away from the doors, pulling his cowl down as he did so.
“What is your part in this?” Mother asked.
“How do you know Mother?” Marian queried at the same time.
Robin raised both his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Lady Beatrix,” he began, but she cut him off.
“You involved my daughter in your Merry Men schemes?!”
Robin’s tone was as unrepentant as his answer. “Well, you were not using her.”
“It is not a joke, Robin!” Mother snapped. “You had no business doing it. It was not your right!”
“She could get me information you could not,” Robin said. “You were not willing to use your station to get near the prince, so I found another source.”
Marian blinked. “You worked for Robin, Mother?”
“I worked
with
him, not for him. Now quit interrupting, Marian.”
“I am not a child. Stop treating me as one.” Marian’s voice was firm. “I think I deserve some answers. From everyone.” Her glare included Robin.
“Very well,” Father said. “What exactly do you want to know?”
“Have you been working with him, too?” Marian asked. She folded her arms across her chest.
“Only indirectly,” Father admitted. “I would hear rumors and pass them to Robin when I could. I understand you are upset at everyone, Mari, but this is truly for the best. What we have been doing has been for the best.”
“So you are telling me that lying to me my entire life has been for ‘the best’?” Her voice shook.
“It was not all lies,” Mother began, but Marian interrupted her.
“It certainly was not the truth, either!”
“Marian, lower your voice,” Nyneve instructed. “We have a modicum of privacy here, but these walls are not meant for yelling.”
“Sorry,” Marian murmured.
“Now, everyone needs to calm down,” Nyneve continued. “I know it is a lot to take in and yes, Marian, I shall answer as many of your questions as I can. First of all, I think
proper
introductions are in order.” She straightened and the air itself seemed to gather around her in a light haze. “I am known simply as the historian of Nottingham now, but I was once the Lady of the Lake, and before that I was Queen Nyneve, wife of King Ban and mother of Lancelot du Luc.”
“Lancelot, as in King Arthur’s Lancelot?” Robin said curiously.
Nyneve cocked one silver eyebrow at him. “As far as I know, there has only been one,” she said.
“You mentioned secrets about Llyn Trawsfynydd.” Marian said. “What secrets did you mean?”
The old woman sighed. “You really did not tell her, Beatrix?”
Mother shook her head. “It did not seem relevant to her life.”
“Very well, then. Marian, Robin, have a seat. You too, Beatrix, though you already know the story.” The haze at Nyneve’s feet wrapped around her white gown, making it glow with an inner light. “Llyn Trawsfynydd is an ancient place,” she began when everyone seated themselves in the pew, Robin taking a seat next to Marian. “Even in my time, it was a place of great power and gatherings.” She stared at their faces for a moment, then shook herself and continued. “Let me begin again. What does each of you know of Merlin Ambrosis?”
“Merlin Ambrosis is ancient history, Nyneve.” Mother objected. “Do you mean to drag out the whole story here and now?”
“Of course not,” Nyneve said. “Very well. Suffice it to say, Merlin was a wizard of King Arthur’s court; some say the greatest wizard, but that is not important. Not really.”
“I remember hearing stories of him,” Marian said. “Was he killed in a battle at…” her voice trailed off.
The Lady of the Lake nodded. “Yes, that is correct. The battle took place at Llyn Trawsfynydd. But he did not die, not completely. We managed to kill his body and trap his spirit for all eternity.”