flames with each snap of the breeze. The intrusion of the riders as they passed by the sentinel tree sent the crows up in a flurry of feathers to circle above them cawing and complaining.
A bell began tolling its dirge from high in the wooden bell tower, and the sound of annoyed shouting could be heard from inside the Abbey and, as more nuns came out to run across the yard, chickens flapped and squawked to get out of their way. The nuns, as they gathered about the gate, were doing a good imitation of the clucking chickens as they gossiped, chattered and called to each other; the approaching visitors a very welcome respite from the tedious regulation of Abbey life. Morgana, Abbess of Glastening, arrived, hushing and shushing them as she also tried to see some detail of what was approaching.
'Sisters, calm yourselves. Kindly recall that you are daughters in the service of our Lord, not maidens seeking ribbons at the Samhain festival.' She clapped her hands, and the nuns gathered around her appearing suitably chastened and even more like chicks surrounding a mother hen. 'Prepare the King's chamber, and we must be ready lest he has been struck down by some injury upon the field of battle.' Several nuns dashed back inside the Abbey while the rest scuttled behind Morgana, to await their guests.
The first of the horses came through the great wooden arch and entered the old Roman courtyard, the sound of their hooves clattering and echoing around the stone enclosure. Sir Ector was third in line, he pulled his horse to the side and dismounted with no little difficulty and stood swaying before Morgana. He appeared to be stiff and even wearier than the last time she had seen him. Blood splattered the front of his tunic, and he had a dirty rag tied about a wound on his forearm which he favoured, cradling it protectively with his other arm.
'Morgana, a good day to you.' He glanced at her then around the Abbey, clearly unhappy about being back so soon. Stretching his back he gestured towards the open cart that was still creaking and struggling up the small incline towards them.
'Our King is not well again; we know not what afflicts him. He took a small wound on the field of battle, a gash to his neck, lots of blood, but it did not sever his lifeline. If that had been cut, we would never have stopped the bleeding.' He rubbed at his sore arm, then drew a breath and looked her in the eyes. 'The battle was long and especially tiring for him, but whatever it is that ails him now, it is more than just fatigue and a scratch to the neck.' Sir Ector turned at the sound of skittering hooves, but it was nothing, one of his men was calming his horse, the huge animal was highly stressed after the recent battle and obviously unhappy to be within the enclosed courtyard once again; he turned back to Morgana.
'We are both now aware that Merlyn had him under some sort of enchantment, but whatever it was, it has evidently deserted him. The Druid told us to bring him back here and place him directly into your care.' Sir Ector leaned closer: 'Morgana… Uther is dying again. I don't know if you can save him this time. I believe it may indeed be more of a kindness to allow him to pass in some comfort and peace.' The cart finally arrived, and the two stepped to the side and watched as Uther was unloaded and taken into the Abbey under the guidance of several nuns and the grim, sad figure of Maude, the King's protector. Morgana noticed that Uther's armour had already been removed, but that he still wore the dirty stained clothing that he had dressed in prior to battle. His eyes were closed, and he looked as white as the thin shroud with which one of the nuns was trying to cover him, he looked, very much, as if he may already be dead. Laid out on a simple wooden plank, his arms had fallen to the sides and were swaying with the movement of the board; he made a pitiful sight.
'Hurry sisters. Place the King in his former chamber; I shall attend him shortly.'
A bell began tolling its dirge from high in the wooden bell tower, and the sound of annoyed shouting could be heard from inside the Abbey and, as more nuns came out to run across the yard, chickens flapped and squawked to get out of their way. The nuns, as they gathered about the gate, were doing a good imitation of the clucking chickens as they gossiped, chattered and called to each other; the approaching visitors a very welcome respite from the tedious regulation of Abbey life. Morgana, Abbess of Glastening, arrived, hushing and shushing them as she also tried to see some detail of what was approaching.
'Sisters, calm yourselves. Kindly recall that you are daughters in the service of our Lord, not maidens seeking ribbons at the Samhain festival.' She clapped her hands, and the nuns gathered around her appearing suitably chastened and even more like chicks surrounding a mother hen. 'Prepare the King's chamber, and we must be ready lest he has been struck down by some injury upon the field of battle.' Several nuns dashed back inside the Abbey while the rest scuttled behind Morgana, to await their guests.
The first of the horses came through the great wooden arch and entered the old Roman courtyard, the sound of their hooves clattering and echoing around the stone enclosure. Sir Ector was third in line, he pulled his horse to the side and dismounted with no little difficulty and stood swaying before Morgana. He appeared to be stiff and even wearier than the last time she had seen him. Blood splattered the front of his tunic, and he had a dirty rag tied about a wound on his forearm which he favoured, cradling it protectively with his other arm.
'Morgana, a good day to you.' He glanced at her then around the Abbey, clearly unhappy about being back so soon. Stretching his back he gestured towards the open cart that was still creaking and struggling up the small incline towards them.
'Our King is not well again; we know not what afflicts him. He took a small wound on the field of battle, a gash to his neck, lots of blood, but it did not sever his lifeline. If that had been cut, we would never have stopped the bleeding.' He rubbed at his sore arm, then drew a breath and looked her in the eyes. 'The battle was long and especially tiring for him, but whatever it is that ails him now, it is more than just fatigue and a scratch to the neck.' Sir Ector turned at the sound of skittering hooves, but it was nothing, one of his men was calming his horse, the huge animal was highly stressed after the recent battle and obviously unhappy to be within the enclosed courtyard once again; he turned back to Morgana.
'We are both now aware that Merlyn had him under some sort of enchantment, but whatever it was, it has evidently deserted him. The Druid told us to bring him back here and place him directly into your care.' Sir Ector leaned closer: 'Morgana… Uther is dying again. I don't know if you can save him this time. I believe it may indeed be more of a kindness to allow him to pass in some comfort and peace.' The cart finally arrived, and the two stepped to the side and watched as Uther was unloaded and taken into the Abbey under the guidance of several nuns and the grim, sad figure of Maude, the King's protector. Morgana noticed that Uther's armour had already been removed, but that he still wore the dirty stained clothing that he had dressed in prior to battle. His eyes were closed, and he looked as white as the thin shroud with which one of the nuns was trying to cover him, he looked, very much, as if he may already be dead. Laid out on a simple wooden plank, his arms had fallen to the sides and were swaying with the movement of the board; he made a pitiful sight.
'Hurry sisters. Place the King in his former chamber; I shall attend him shortly.'
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