Rumors floated on the late autumn breeze, thick as trees in a forest yet as phantasmal as smoke. Everywhere I heard people whispering, yet the voices fell silent as soon as my presence was noted. I could not ask my ladies-in-waiting, for they but giggled nervously and changed the subject. So I quickly changed into a loose shirt and breeches, binding my breasts with a strip of linen. I slipped out of my chambers and scrambled onto the low stable roof, then stepped onto a window ledge scarcely a foot wide. A heated conversation was in the works.
“Have you heard the rumors?”
“They’re lovers. Have been since the Grail.”
“Everyone knows it.”
“He mocks Arthur. He mocks us all.”
“His queen and his most famous knight. Lancelot and Guinevere.”
I recognized the last voice. Argaine. My uncle.
“He must be told plainly. No more hints.”
“But that would start war. Some would side with Lancelot, some with Arthur—a bloodbath.”
“And pave the way for a new ruler.” The harsh voice grated on my ears. It was Mordred, Argaine’s youngest brother. “The rule of Pendragon is over. The time has come for Orkney to rule again. Who will fight for me?”
I shuddered and nearly lost my balance. Carefully I crept closed to the window, and watched as one by one the knights knelt before Mordred. Argaine. Florence. Lovel. Colgrevaunce. Megengent. Mordred accepted their vows.
“Tell no one of this meeting.” The knights nodded and left the room. Only Mordred and Argaine remained.
“Brilliant as always, brother.” Argaine smiled, but there was something evil in his face.
“Yes, the lie about Her Majesty seems to be spreading rapidly. And soon, I may tell some about my claim to the throne—through my father, Arthur.”
Argaine laughed scornfully. “That’s going too far, brother. No one will believe that one.”
“But they will. People always believe the worst about others. Arthur and Guinevere appear to be the perfect couple—but there is no heir. They will accept my lies as truth.”
“But what about the girl?”
Mordred snorted. “A foundling. Of no importance. Though it may be wise to have her met with an untimely accident, so my path to the throne is clear.” He glanced towards the window. Frightened, I tried to pull back, but I overbalanced. My feet slipped off the ledge, and I was falling.
I tried to scream, but a strong hand seemed to press upon my chest, squeezing all breath from my lungs. I feared that these would be my last moments, and tried frantically to remember the rosary. But before I could do so, a loose pile of rubbish broke my fall. Even in the dark, my nose informed me that I had landed in the kitchen refuse heap. The odor of spoiled eggs and milk blended with the smells of rotten meat and overripe fruit. Cracked eggshells, gnawed bones, and fruit parings shifted underfoot as I painfully attempted to stand. Putting one foot in front of the other, I stumbled drunkenly out of the heap.
“Who goes there?” A shadowed figure stood near the edge of the building. I stepped backwards, hoping he had not seen me clearly. “What are you doing out at such an hour?” He strode closer, and a beam of moonlight broke through the clouds. Relief flooded me as I recognized him.
“Gawain!”
“What, is that you, Heather?” Gawain boomed.
“Aye, it is.” I whispered, looking anxiously upwards. What if they had heard us?
“What have you been doing? What are you wearing?”
“Not here. They’ll hear.” I took a step towards him, then winced in pain. The fall seemed to have bruised every bone in my body.
“Are you hurt?” Gawain asked.
“‘Tis nothing.” I gritted my teeth against the pain, but as I took another step, pain shot up my legs, and I fell to the ground.
Gawain rushed to my side. “Heather, what happened?”
“I fell… from the window ledge.” Speaking was nearly as painful as walking.
“What were you doing up there?” Gawain asked incredulously.
I glanced at the window. Aragaine and Mordred seemed oblivious to anything beyond their own evil schemes, yet I dared not risk discovery. “Not here. Please, help me to my room.”
Gawain’s brow furrowed in confusion, but he bent down and helped me to my feet. When another stab of pain racked my body, he caught me just as I began to fall. Like a shepherd carrying a lost lamb, he carefully scooped me into his arms and carried me to my chamber. He gently laid me on my bed and I sighed with relief. “Thank you.”
“Now, I believe you have some explaining to do, young lady. What were you doing on a window-ledge?”
“ They say…Lancelot…and Mother…are…lovers.” I gasped. “The very idea…he sits at my father’s side and calls me ‘sister.’ Mother…calls him ‘Son.’ They would never dishonor my father so!”
“I had heard the whispers, but had paid them no mind, hoping they would die out,” Gawain exhaled deeply. “I did not believe people would be so foolish as to accept it as fact. Someone of great prestige must be behind this tale, for it to gain such credence. If only I knew who!”
I closed my eyes. How could I tell him what I knew? But I could still sense Gawain focusing on me. As though compelled by an evil spell, my eyes opened and locked with his. “You know,” he stated.
I could not answer.
“Tell me.” Gawain commanded.
Silence.
“Heather.” My name was spoken sternly yet tenderly, like a command to a well-loved but foolish servant. “Look at me, Heather.”
“Mordred. And Aragaine. They are planning war. They wish Orkney to rule again.”
Gawain sighed. “Once, I believed as they did: that the strongest must take what is their right. But no longer. That only leads to bloodshed. There is a better path.”
“We must…tell Father.”
“No, we must not.”
“What?” The words echoed in my head like a discordant note in a melody. “Why?”
“Heather, that is precisely what they want. If Arthur is told, he must act. That is the law. Guinevere would be brought to trial. And if she was found guilty…” Gawain left his sentence unfinished, but the ominous image of the stake rose in my mind.
“They would not dare.”
“They would. When a man is ambitious, nothing can stand in his way. He does not care for the innocent who would be trampled underfoot. Believe me, for I once thought as they did.”
I rolled over, indicating the conversation was at an end.

The throne room was packed, as it always was on court days. The normally stifling room seemed even hotter than usual as Mordred approached the throne, followed by his cronies. The scarlet “M” emblazed on their black breastplates reminded me of an adder.
“Why have you come?” Father demanded.
“We are deeply sorry to have to bring such news to your grace, but it has come to our attention that Lancelot and the Queen are lovers.”
Gawain leapt from his seat at Father’s right. “You lie, brother!”
“Brother,” Mordred sneered. “We caught Lancelot in the Queen’s bedchambers the night before last.”
“You treacherous lying serpent!” Gawain drew his blade. “Your majesty, may I rid this chamber of a lying wyrm?”
“Enough! Gawain, put down your sword. I will not sanction this fight between brothers in my court. And Mordred, a measure of humility would not go amiss when speaking to your overlord. However, since an accusation has been made, a trial is in order. We shall assemble one week from today with witnesses for both sides.”
“But can we trust you to deliver a fair verdict?” Aragaine snorted. “I demand a different judge!”
“It is your right.” Father sighed. “Whom would you choose?”
“We desire Gaheris as judge.”
Eyebrows raised around the courtroom. Gaheris was Aragaine, Gawain, and Mordred’s brother, but he lived in peaceful obscurity as steward of the Orkney lands.
“I accept. Now leave, before I lose my patience and allow Gawain free reign in his anger.”
Mordred turned and strode proudly from the room. The remainder of the court milled about uneasily, slipping out by twos and threes. At last only Father, Gawain and I were left.
I exploded with rage. “How can you? How can you left him say those things? Lance loves Elaine. Their son Galahad has oft asked for my favor at tournaments. And…Gaheris!”
“He is a willow tree.” Gawain’s whisper was far more frightening then my yells. “He bends as the wind blows. That is why I wanted him to be my steward. Gaheris never enjoyed being a knight anyway.”
“Call it off! Put Mordred in the dungeons!”
“I cannot!” Father pounded his fist on the throne. “If I don’t obey my own laws, why should anyone else?” A curse escaped his clenched teeth. “How I miss Merlin.”
I paced back and forth, my silk dress flowing over the smooth stone. “What can we do?”
“Gawain, would you take Heather for some calming herbs?”
“I am not a child, Father!”
He cupped my face in his hands. “I know. But this is something I alone should tell her.”
My eyes blurred with tears. “If she is convicted…” Flames roared in my mind, licking greedily at Mother.
“I will not allow it!” Father vowed.
“But…if Gaheris finds her guilty…would you overrule him?” Gawain asked.
“I don’t know.” Father rubbed his temples. “I don’t know.”

“…And I say again, I have never done any of these things with which I have been charged. I have always been faithful to Arthur, my lord and husband. But if you find my guilty, I will enter a convent to preserve peace in the kingdom.” Mother sat down, her head held high.
Gaheris nodded. The moments dragged on as the room buzzed with speculation. At last… “Will the defendants please rise?”
Lancelot and Mother rose to their feet.
“Lancelot and Guinevere are found guilty of high treason against his royal majesty, Arthur.” Gaheris’s voice was cold. “For their crimes, Lancelot is stripped of his status as King’s Champion and banished from the realm, and Guinevere shall be burnt at the stake.”
“No!” I cried. “No!”
But my voice was drowned out by the crowd’s approving roar. I shoved my way through the mass, trying to reach Mother. But the force of the crowd delivered me instead to Mordred. His dark eyes burned with triumph. “How dare you?” I spat. “How dare you?”
“Well, cousin,” he stabbed the word like a knife, “I would tread carefully if I were you. Arthur’s illegitimate daughter is in a very precarious position right now.”
My jaw dropped. “I am the legally adopted daughter of Arthur and Guinevere. They will hear of your threats against me.”
“Go on, cry to your parents. They can’t save you. They can’t even save themselves.” A chill shook my body.

“Mother—I am so sorry—I wish there was something I could do—“ I wrapped her in a tight embrace, unwilling to let go.
“It was not your fault.” Mother gazed into my eyes. ‘You need not watch.”
“I will.” I wiped my eyes on her shoulder.
“If only I could do something!” Father slammed his fist on a table. “I’ve searched and searched through the law—“
“You never could have foreseen this,” She kissed him on the cheek. “Be careful, my love. And Heather…” she paused. “Watch out for Mordred.”
Two armored knights stepped into the room. “It is time.”
“Do what you must.” Mother stepped towards them. “I will not resist.”


I stood behind Father, watching as the woodpile grew. “They use old wood—she will not suffocate before the flames—“
Gawain laid his hand on Father’s shoulder. “You must stay. T’would not be legal—“
“I know!” he snapped.
Mordred raised a smoking brand above the wood. I thought I heard distant hoof beats underneath the crackling roar as the brand fell onto the pile. Fire leapt across the logs like an angry cat, blowing in the wind like a phoenix.
The noise grew louder, sending the crowd scattering in all directions. A knight in plain white armor spurred his dappled charge up to the fire’s edge. He quickly sliced Mother’s bonds and swung her into the saddle before springing in behind her.
“Lancelot!” I gasped. “By God’s thumbs, it’s Lancelot!” I tore out of the room, ignoring Father’s cries. I stripped off my heavy outer dress and, clad only in my shift, ran to the stables. I grabbed the first saddled beast I saw and galloped out of the castle after them.
He changed direction several times, but I remained on a straight course for Joyous Garde, Lancelot’s castle. The drawbridge had been left open, and I galloped across moments before Lancelot arrived.
He dismounted and offered a hand to Mother. I ran towards him and threw my arms around his neck. “Lancelot, thank you, thank you…”
“Well, I never thought I’d live to see this day,” He chuckled and removed his helmet.
“Galahad!” I stepped backwards. “I thought you were your father!”
Galahad scowled. “When he and Mother left for France, I stayed behind. This is my home, no matter what Mordred says.” He bowed to Mother. “And you are my Queen.”
Mother kissed his cheek. “I cannot thank you enough, Galahad. I would knight you if I had the authority.”
“Did Elaine leave any gowns here?” I asked. “I would like to get dressed.”
Mother hugged me. “That makes two of us.”
“Yes, but I cannot offer any servants to help. Those loyal to my father joined him in France, and I cannot hire more.”
“I understand,” Mother answered. “We can manage alone.”
Galahad nodded and walked away. “I’ll see what we have in the kitchen. You must be hungry.”
Mother sighed as we walked towards Elaine’s chambers.
“What is wrong?” I asked. “You are alive!”
“This will only add fuel to Mordred’s fires. If they believe Lancelot rescued me…”
“But Galahad did.”
Mother stopped and stared at me. “We cannot let them know that. They wanted to execute Lancelot. Mordred only banished him because he knew the people would revolt. Galahad could be killed easily.”
“I did not consider—“
“Listen, Heather. This will give Mordred his excuse for civil war. Aragaine, Mordred and their sons on one side; Gawain, Gareth and their sons on the other. And the Round Table will splinter into factions.”
“If you return—“ I protested.
“No.’ Mother closed her eyes. “I knew where Mordred’s accusation would lead. No matter how we responded.”


***
She was right. I fought off waves of nausea as I looked over the plains of Camlann, where the only other living beings were the feasting flies. I cried as I picked my way through the bodies. Galahad. Gawain’s two sons, now reunited with him in death. And on the ridge’s crest I found Mordred, a spear through his skull.
I felt no pleasure in the sight.
“Heather? Heather, is that you?” A hoarse voice called.
I looked up and saw a knight on the edge of the carnage. His coat of arms identified him as Sir Bedviere.
“Bedviere!” I ran toward him. “What happened here? Where is my father?’
Bedviere’s gaze seemed distant. “Do not ask, for I do not wish to recall the horrors I have seen today.”
“Where is my father?” I repeated.
“He was wounded by Mordred when he gave the traitor his deathblow. He asked me to throw Excalibur in the lake, and after I did so, a boat came bearing Vivian, Nimue and the Lady of the Lake. They took him.”
“Is he dead?” I demanded.
“He said—“ Bedviere’s voice wavered. “ ‘I go to rest and be healed. And if I return not, give my love to those who remain.’”
“He is dead then.”
“I fear ‘tis so.”
“What shall we do? The kingdom is destroyed. I must return to Camelot immediately.”
“No, wait.” Bedviere caught my wrist. “It will be dangerous.”
“I care not.”
“The man who marries you will have a solid claim to the throne, whether you would have him or no. And once there is an heir, you shall be disposed of. You would be a pawn, Heather.”
Visions of myself seated in the Great Hall were shattered by images of enemy invasions and rebels storming the keep. Bedviere was right.
“I cannot remain in Logres.” I admitted. “I shall flee to France for a time.”
“And who shall you be there, Arthur’s daughter?”
“I will be…Grace.” I remembered Mother’s stories of my adoption. “I must visit my mother at the convent first. And then…” I swallowed hard.
“A new life,” Bedviere closed his eyes. “It will be difficult for us all. Farewell, Heather Arthur’s daughter.
“Godspeed thee, Bedviere."