“495 IN THE HOUR BEFORE DAWN, THE PRIESTESSES GATHERED IN THE largest of the roundhouses on the Isle of Maidens. Mist lay like a veil across the lake; glittered in golden haloes around the lamps. Silent and anxious, some still rubbing sleep from their eyes, they filed in and took their places around the hearth. Igierne was waiting for them. From sunset of the night before, when her spirit, open in the evening meditation, had received Merlin’s message to this moment, she had not been able to slee...p at all. Since the beginning of this last and greatest Saxon rebellion, the priestesses had met three times daily to support with the strength of their spirits the Britons’ campaign. But this was the last battle, the final confrontation with the ancient enemy. Through Merlin’s eyes she had seen the hill called Mons Badonicus where Artor’s army stood at bay, the scattering of campfires on its summit surrounded by a multitude below. The men were tired, food was low, and their water was almost gone.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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