Killing the Past

Chapter One: Seeds

Sixth century Britain

Tintagel, Cornwall

Uther Pendragon pulled the curtains aside and stepped out in to the corridor; he adjusted his trousers with a self-satisfied look on his face. Merlin would be rewarded for this; the disguise was perfect and no one had been able to tell he wasn't Gorlois, not even Gorlois' wife. He smirked at the memory of their tryst. Ygraine had been worth the trouble. Oh yes, once tomorrow's battle was over he would have her anyway but it was so much better when they were willing - and she had just been very willing.

A movement in the shadows caught his eye; trained soldier that he was, he noted the size and build of his stalker and held no fear. This was just a child.

"Come in to the light," he commanded, certain of Merlin's magic disguising his face as that of the master of this hall. The little girl stepped out in to the glow from the tallow candles. The dark hair surrounding her face and the glitter of those black eyes told him without question this was Morgan, Gorlois' daughter.

"Go to bed, child," he said dismissively, finishing the adjustment of his clothes, but she did not move. He glanced up again and frowned, "Why do you stare at me so?" She was making him uncomfortable. Her face, pale as the moon, was expressionless but those piercing dark eyes disturbed him.

"You are not my father," she said quietly.

How could she possibly know? "Of course I am and you will feel my fist if you do not obey me," he barked, nervously.

"My father's blood will be on your hands Pendragon. I will not forget."

Uther Pendragon watched, aghast, as the little girl turned and disappeared back in to the shadows. He promised himself that, when he took Ygraine as his wife, he would beget a son without haste and this – this spectre - would be packed off to a convent as soon as expedient.

Six years later

"My Lord," the nun bowed her head and gestured for him to sit. Uther perched uncomfortably on the bench.

"You received my missive?" she asked.

"Indeed, Sister, I did, otherwise I would not be here," he said impatiently. "Tell me what the child has done."

"May I be frank, my Lord?"

"I would prefer it."

"She is Godless. She has been resident here for six summers and in this time have seen her engage in such tricks and deceits that the Devil himself would be proud of. You may recall my previous letters?" the nun asked, pointedly. Uther avoided her stern gaze.

"Please. Tell me what has she done this time? What line has been crossed that you refuse to continue housing her?"

But the nun was persistent, "We thought you might come and remove her after her mother died."

"Sister Mary!"

"Very well then," the nun leaned forward conspiratorially, "she mended Sister Octavia's bowl."

Pendragon could not hold back the snort of disdain. Women mystified him, they clucked like hens at such trifles.

The old nun drew back from his scepticism, sniffing and pointing her nose in the air, "The bowl was a favourite, a gift from Sister Octavia's deceased brother. It smashed on the floor in to smithereens my Lord. Thousands of pieces. The child bent down and swept the pieces in to her arms. Her robes meant we could not see the magic take place but she handed Octavia her bowl back in one piece." The nun leant forward once more. "Octavia was so disturbed she dropped it again and fled."

He was no stranger to magic; Merlin was his closest advisor but Uther could not admit that to this woman. However, if Gorlois' brat had power then it needed to be nipped in the bud. His son, Arthur, would be king and he could not have the child meddling. Uther congratulated himself for having had the foresight to make plans before he left Tintagel.

"I understand your concern but fear not, Sister, for I have the answer. I have a prospective husband who is willing to…" he paused, "… overlook her shortcomings." But this will cost me, he thought. Vortigern will not take the girl without a substantial endowment. "I will remove the child from your house immediately. I thank you for your care."

The little girl sat at the far end of the convent library; she had her back to them and her nose buried in a large book. She did not look round but, as they entered, her words echoed through the hall, "Uther Pendragon. You can sell me to that brute, Vortigern, but do not think your sins will go unrewarded."

Sister Mary crossed herself.