Children of the May (Children of the May Book 1)

Chapter Twenty-Three: The Knot-Garden

Lady Bertilak agreed that we could stay that night, though it was obvious that we had hurt her feelings. We tried to sail again the next day, and again for the few days after that, but each time the same thing happened: we went from a clear morning on the cliffs, to a heavy mist at the harbour that rolled in as soon as we had cast off. After the fifth day we gave up, and moved the longboat back into the cave.

The weather had stayed fair, but the atmosphere within the group began to sour. Elia would tell me of the latest argument between one or other of our friends. Palomides and Agravaine developed a rivalry over their skills with the longbow that occasionally came close to blows; Piers and Melwas clashed after the former unhorsed the latter in a joust. Our evening meals would drag out in listless silence. Bellina and Accolon didn’t even join us at table; they preferred to take their meals in Lady Bertilak’s chambers in the south tower. When we saw our hostess she was curt with us; she had lost the smile in her eyes.

I took to spending most of my time in the library with Epicene and Palomina. The fire-sorcerer had been working on finding ways to break the strange mist that was keeping us on the island, and had asked me to help her. I admitted, a bit ashamed, that I had never learnt to read. The words that you are reading now are thanks to those days I spent in the library of Castle Eudaimon with Epicene; that was when she taught me to read and write.

‘I-I-I-I-I know Mordred thinks it’s M-M-Merlin,’ I said one evening, after a long day slaving over the books, ‘b-b-but might it n-not be closer to home?’

Epicene rocked back in her chair. ‘There is clearly magic in the mist, anyone with eyes can see that. I should be able to sense it ­– you should too. But I cannot feel a thing. Merlin’s magic is more obvious than most because it is unnatural. He was not born with it; he stole it from others. He devours the magic of other mages, digesting all their power into himself, leaving his victims broken.’ She ran her hand over her bald scalp. ‘Those terrible beginnings make his magic sharp and jagged as shattered glass – you can feel it everywhere under the skin of Britain. I cannot sense those edges anywhere here.’

‘W-W-W-W-W-What if it isn’t m-magic? What if it’s n-natural to the island?’

‘A mist like that, which comes down only when we try to leave? That is a thought. We should find out more about the place. Have you been back to see the madwoman on the hill?’

I shook my head. ‘I-I-I-I can’t get M-Mordred to g-go with me. He just w-wants to k-keep watch on the sea.’ Since our plan to leave in the longboat had failed, Mordred had become obsessed with the idea that Arthur was sending soldiers to the island to kill us. He would stand at the edge of the castle gardens, desperately scanning the horizon for approaching ships.

‘It is a line of investigation, certainly.’ Epicene stood. She called to the back of the library, where Palomina was studying the map collection. The Saracen had removed her leather jerkin, and rolled up the sleeves of her brown dress. ‘Palomina, have you come across anything of the history of this place in your researches?’

‘Nothing,’ said Palomina, rolling out a map on the table which showed the lonely island equally distant from Britain, Erin and the southernmost of the islands of the Hebrides. ‘All the maps that show the island name it Bertilaksland.’

‘How long have the lady’s family lived here, do you think?’ said Epicene.

‘The c-c-castle doesn’t l-look that old. Remember the stairs up the c-c-c-c-cliffs: they l-looked as if they’d been cut the day b-before we c-climbed them.’

‘Perhaps the place has a more ancient name,’ said Epicene.

‘H-H-Hilda’s island?’

Epicene fixed me with the tiny points of black in the vast whites of her eyes. ‘Drift, you must go and see the hermitess, with Mordred or not. She must be able to help us.’