The first thing I saw as the sudden sleep came over me, I thought at first was Galahad grown, but it was not. It was Lancelot. Dressed in his armour and soaked with rain, stepping into a pavilion where Guinevere, wearing only a thin nightgown, stood to greet him. In the dream, I could smell the heavy late summer rain. Against the white-blue light of the summer lightening, they rushed together, her jumping up into his arms, wrapping her legs around him, he running his hands through her hair, pulling her mouth against his in a kiss that was unbearably pa.s.sionate to watch. The way they came together, it was as though they had been waiting all their lives. So, despite what I had done, it would happen after all.
Next, I saw my sister, riding through the gates of Camelot, with a man at her side who I would have thought was Arthur had my sister been twenty years younger. Arthur"s son. She looked proud, and defiant, he dark and serious. Standing to greet them were Arthur, his face clouded with anger, and beside him, Guinevere. So, Mordred would return to his father. In a sudden flash, I saw again the dream I had had, where Arthur had forced Guinevere against the floor, just for a second. I wondered, then, if it were really Arthur I was seeing. But what would Arthur"s son want with his father"s ageing Queen?
As though summoned by my thoughts, I saw Guinevere again, standing before the altar in the chapel. I could not see what she was looking at, but whatever she saw as she gazed towards the chapel door had frozen her to the spot. With resentment, I had to recognise that if anything she had grown more beautiful with age. Gone was the prettiness of a girl, any softness, and with it she had the proud looks of a queen. She looked grand, and powerful, and yet whatever she looked on had robbed the strength from her, I could see that well enough. I wondered if I did not see what it was, because it was I.
The last thing I saw was Kay, standing beside his father, his arms crossed over his chest. There was a strange look in his eye, of resignation, of loss. He looked older, maybe even ten years older than I had last seen him, and tired. Beside him Ector looked grim, as I had never seen him before. I was there, I knew I was there.
So, this was what was to come. Mordred. That seemed the answer to everything. If I wanted to destroy Arthur, I only needed to bring his son to Camelot. I did not know how I would get Morgawse to part with him, but I knew that it had to be done, and I knew because I had seen it that it could be done. For the first time in a long long time, in too long, I wrote to Morgawse.
It was only after, when I lay awake in my bed, that I realised that I had not dreamed at all of Galahad.
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