The Mists of Avalon
Page 37
"Are you not afraid of that great fierce horse?"
Lancelet shook his head. "My lady, I do not believe the horse was ever foaled that I cannot ride."
She said, almost whispering, "Is it true that you control horses with your magic?"
He threw back his head with a ringing laugh. "By no means, lady; I have no magic. I like horses and I understand their ways and the way their minds work-that is all. Do I look to you like a sorcerer?"
"But-they say you have fairy blood," she said, and his laughter grew grave. He said, "My mother was indeed one of the old race who ruled this land before the Roman people ever came here, or even the northern Tribesmen. She is priestess on the Isle of Avalon, and a very wise woman."
"I can see that you would not want to speak ill of your mother," Gwenhwyfar said, "but the sisters on Ynis Witrin said that the women of Avalon were evil witches and served the devils ... ."
He shook his head, still grave. "Not so," he said. "I do not know my mother well; I was fostered elsewhere. I fear her, as much as I love. But I can tell you she is no evil woman. She brought my lord Arthur to the throne, and gave him his sword to stand against the Saxons-does that sound so evil to you? As for her magic-it is only the ignorant among them who say she is a sorceress. I think it well that a woman should be wise."
Gwenhwyfar hung her head. "I am not wise; I am very stupid. Even among the sisters, I learned only enough to read my way through the mass book, which they said was all I needed of learning, and then such things as women learn-cookery and herbs and simples and the binding of wounds-"
"For me, all that would be a greater mystery than the training of horses, which you think magic," Lancelet said, with his wide smile. Then he leaned down from his horse and touched her cheek. "If God is good and the Saxons hold off a few moons yet, I will see you again, when I come here in the High King's train. Say a prayer for me, lady."
He rode away, and Gwenhwyfar stood watching, her heart pounding, but this time the sensation was almost pleasant. He would come again, he wanted to come again. And her father had said she should be married to someone who could lead horses and men into battle; who better than the High King's cousin and his captain of horse? Was he thinking, then, to marry her to Lancelet? She felt herself blush with delight and happiness. For the first time she felt pretty and bold and brave.
But inside the hall, her father said, "A handsome man, this Elf-arrow, and good with horses, but far too handsome to be reckoned more than that."
Gwenhwyfar said, surprised at her own boldness, "If the High King has made him his first of captains, he must be the best of fighters!"
Leodegranz shrugged. "The King's cousin, he could hardly be left without some post in his armies. Has he tried to win your heart-or," he added, with the scowl that frightened her, "your maidenhead?"
She felt herself blushing again and was hopelessly angry at herself. "No, he is an honorable man, and what he has said to me is no more than he could have said in your presence, Father."
"Well, don't get any ideas into that featherhead of yours," Leodegranz said gruffly. "You can look higher than that one. He's no more than one of King Ban's bastards by God-knows-who, some damsel of Avalon!"
"His mother is the Lady of Avalon, the great High Priestess of the Old People-and he is himself a king's son-"
"Ban of Benwick! Ban has half a dozen legitimate sons," said her father. "Why marry a king's captain? If all goes as I plan, you'll wed the High King himself!"
Gwenhwyfar shrank away, saying, "I'd be afraid to be the High Queen!"
"You're afraid of everything, anyway," her father said brutally. "That's why you need a man to take care of you, and better the King than the King's captain!" He saw her mouth trembling and said, genial again, "There, there, my girl, don't cry. You must trust me to know what's best for you. That's what I'm here for, to look after you and make a good marriage with a trusty man to look after my pretty little featherhead."
If he had raged at her, Gwenhwyfar could have held on to her rebellion. But how, she thought wildly, can I complain of the best of fathers, who has only my own welfare at heart?
3
On a day in early spring, in the year following Arthur's crowning, the lady Igraine sat in her cloister, bent over a set of embroidered altar linens. All her life she had loved this fine work, but as a young girl, and later, married to Gorlois, she had been kept busy-like all women-with the weaving and spinning and sewing of clothes for her household. As Uther's queen, with a household of servants, she had been able to spend her time on fine broideries and weaving of borders and ribbons in silk; and here in the nunnery she put her skill to good use. Otherwise, she thought a little ruefully, it would be for her as it was with so many of the nuns, the weaving only of the dark plain woolen dresses which all of them, including Igraine herself, wore, or the smooth, but boring, white linens for veils and coifs and altar cloths. Only two or three of the sisters could weave with silks or do fine embroidering, and of them Igraine was the cleverest.
She was a little troubled. Again, as she sat down at her frame this morning, she thought she heard the cry, and jerked around before she could stop herself; it seemed to her that somewhere Morgaine cried out "Mother!" and the cry was one of agony and despair. But the cloister was quiet and empty around her, and after a moment Igraine made the sign of the cross and sat down again to her work.
Still ... resolutely she banished the temptation. Long ago she had renounced the Sight as the work of the fiend; with sorcery she would have no doings. She did not believe Viviane was evil in herself, but the Old Gods of Avalon were certainly allied to the Devil or they could not maintain their force in a Christian land. And she had given her daughter to those Old Gods. Late last summer Viviane had sent her a message saying, If Morgaine is with you, tell her that all is well. Troubled, Igraine had sent a reply that she had not seen Morgaine since Arthur's crowning; she had thought her still safe at Avalon. The Mother Superior of the convent had been dismayed at the thought of a messenger from Avalon to one of her ladies; even when Igraine explained that it was a message from her sister, the lady had still been displeased and said firmly that there could be no coming and going, even of messages, with that ungodly place.
Igraine, then, had been deeply troubled-if Morgaine had left Avalon, she must have quarrelled with Viviane. It was unheard of for a sworn priestess of the highest rank to leave the Island except upon the business of Avalon. For Morgaine to leave without the knowledge or permission of the Lady was so unprecedented that it made her blood run cold. Where could she have gone? Had she run away with some paramour, was she living a lawless life without the rites either of Avalon or the church? Had she gone to Morgause? Was she lying somewhere dead? Nevertheless, although she prayed continually for her daughter, Igraine had resolutely refused the constant temptation to use the Sight.
Still, much of this winter, it seemed that Morgaine had walked at her side; not the pale, somber priestess she had seen at the crowning, but the little girl who had been the only comfort, those desperate, lonely years in Cornwall, of the frightened child-wife, child-mother she had been. Little Morgaine, in a saffron gown and ribbons, a solemn child, dark-eyed in her crimson cloak; Morgaine with her little brother in her arms-her two children sleeping, dark head and golden close together on the one pillow. How often, she wondered, had she neglected Morgaine after she had come to her beloved Uther, and had borne him a son and heir to his kingdom? Morgaine had not been happy at Uther's court, nor had she ever had much love for Uther. And it was for that reason, as much as from Viviane's entreaty, that she had let Morgaine go to be fostered at Avalon.
Only now she felt guilty; had she not been overquick to send her daughter away, so that she might give all her thought to Uther and his children? Against her will, an old saying of Avalon rang in Igraine's mind: the Goddess does not shower her gifts on those who reject them ... in sending her own children away, one to fosterage (for his own safety, she reminded herself, remembering Arthur lyi
ng white as death after the fall from the stallion) and the other to Avalon-in sending them away, had she herself sown the seed of loss? Was the Goddess unwilling to give her another child when she had let the first go so willingly? She had discussed this with her confessor, more than once, and he had reassured her that it was just as well to send Arthur away, every boy must go for fostering sooner or later; but, he said, she should not have sent Morgaine to Avalon. If the child was unhappy in Uther's court, she should have been sent to school in a nunnery somewhere.
She had thought, after hearing that Morgaine was not in Avalon, of sending a messenger to King Lot's court, to find out if she was there; but then the winter settled in in earnest, and every day was a new battle against cold, chilblains, the vicious dampness everywhere; even the sisters went hungry in the depths of winter, sharing what food they had with beggars and peasants.
And once in the hard weeks of winter, she thought she heard Morgaine's voice, crying-crying out for her in anguish: "Mother! Mother!" Morgaine, alone and terrified-Morgaine dying? Where, ah God, where? Her fingers clenched the cross which, like all the sisters of the convent, she wore at her belt. Lord Jesus, keep and guard her, Mary, Mother divine, even if she is a sinner and a sorceress ... pity her, Jesus, as you pitied the dame of Magdala who was worse than she ... .
In dismay, she realized that a tear had dripped down on the fine work she was doing; it might spot the work. She wiped her eyes with her linen veil and held the embroidery frame further away, narrowing her eyes to see better-ah, she was getting old, her sight blurred a little from time to time; or was it tears that blurred her vision?
She bent resolutely over her embroidery again, but Morgaine's face seemed again to be before her, and she could hear in her imagination that despairing shriek, as if Morgaine's soul were being torn from her body. She herself had cried out like that, for the mother she could hardly remember, when Morgaine was born ... did all women in childbirth cry out for their mothers? Terror gripped her. Morgaine in that desperate winter, giving birth somewhere ... Morgause had made some such jest at Arthur's crowning, saying Morgaine was as squeamish with her food as a breeding woman. Against her will, Igraine found herself counting on her fingers; yes, if it had been so with her, Morgaine would have borne her child in the dead of winter. And now, even in that soft spring, she seemed to hear again that cry; she longed to go to her daughter, but where, where?
There was a step behind her and a tentative cough, and one of the young girls fostered in the nunnery said, "Lady, there are visitors for you in the outer room; one of them is a churchman, the Archbishop himself!"
Igraine put her embroidery aside. After all, it was not spotted; all the tears women shed, they leave no mark on the world, she thought in bitterness. "Why does the Archbishop, of all men living, wish to see me?"
"He did not tell me, lady, and I do not think he told the Mother Superior either," said the little girl, not at all unwilling to gossip for a minute, "but did you not send gifts to the church there at the time of the High King's crowning?"
Igraine had, but she did not think the Archbishop would have come here to speak of a past charity. Perhaps he wanted something more. Priests were seldom greedy for themselves but all priests, especially those from rich churches, were greedy for silver and gold for their altars.
"Who are the others?" she asked, knowing that the young girl was eager to talk.
"Lady, I do not know, but I do know that the Mother Superior wanted to forbid one of them, because"-her eyes grew wide-"he is a wizard and sorcerer, so she said, and a Druid!"
Igraine rose. "It is the Merlin of Britain, for he is my father, and he is no wizard, child, but a scholar trained in the crafts of the wise. Even the church fathers say that the Druids are good and noble men, and worship with them in harmony, since they acknowledge God in all things, and Christ as one of many prophets of God."
The little girl dropped a small curtsey, acknowledging correction, as Igraine put away the embroidery work and adjusted her veil smoothly around her face.
When she came into the outer room, she saw not only the Merlin and a strange, austere man in the dark dress which churchmen were beginning to adopt to set them off from seculars, but a third man she hardly recognized, even when he turned; for a moment it was as if she looked into Other's face.
"Gwydion!" she exclaimed, then, quickly amending, "Arthur. Forgive me; I forgot." She would have knelt before the High King but he reached out quickly and prevented her.
"Mother, never kneel in my presence. I forbid it."
Igraine bowed to the Merlin and to the dour, austere-looking Archbishop.
"This is my mother, Uther's queen," Arthur said, and the Archbishop responded, stretching his lips in what Igraine supposed was meant for a smile. "But now she has a higher honor than royalty, in that she is a bride of Christ."
Hardly a bride, Igraine thought, simply a widow who has taken refuge in his house. But she did not say so, and bowed her head.
Arthur said, "Lady, this is Patricius, Archbishop of the Isle of the Priests, now called Glastonbury, who has newly come there."
"Aye, by God's will," the Archbishop said, "having lately driven out all the evil magicians from Ireland, I am come to drive them forth from all Christian lands. I found in Glastonbury a corrupt lot of priests, tolerating among them even the common worship with the Druids, at which our Lord who died for us would have wept tears of blood!"
Taliesin the Merlin said in his soft voice, "Why, then, you would be harsher than Christ himself, brother? For he, I seem to remember, was greatly chided that he consorted with outcasts and sinners and even tax collectors, and such ladies as the Magdalen, when they would have had him a Nazarite like to John the Baptizer. And at last, even when he hung dying on his cross, he did promise the thief that that same night he would join him in Paradise-no?"
"I think too many people presume to read the divine Scriptures, and fall into just such errors as this," said Patricius sternly. "Those who presume on their learning will learn, I trust, to listen to their priests for the true interpretations."
The Merlin smiled gently. "I cannot join you in that wish, brother. I am dedicated to the belief that it is God's will that all men should strive for wisdom in themselves, not look to it from some other. Babes, perhaps, must have their food chewed for them by a nurse, but men may drink and eat of wisdom for themselves."
"Come, come!" Arthur interrupted with a smile. "I will have no controversies between my two dearest councillors. Lord Merlin's wisdom is indispensable to me; he set me on my throne."
"Sir," said the Archbishop, "God set you there."
"With the help of the Merlin," said Arthur, "and I pledged to him I would listen to his counsel always. Would you have me forsworn, Father Patricius?" He spoke the name with the North country accent of the lands where he had been fostered. "Come, Mother, sit down and let us talk."
"First let me send for wine to refresh you after your long ride here."
"Thank you, Mother, and if you will, send some, too, to Cai and Gawaine, who rode hither with me. They would not have me come unguarded. They insist on doing for me the service of chamberlains and grooms, as if I could not lift a hand for myself. I can do for myself as well as any soldier, with only the help of an ordinary groom or two, but they will not have it-"
"Your Companions shall have the best," Igraine said, and went to give orders for food and wine to be served the strangers and all their retinue. Wine was brought for the guests, and Igraine poured it.
"How is it with you, my son?" Looking him over, he seemed ten years older than the slightly built boy who had been crowned last summer. He had grown, it seemed, half a hand's span, and his shoulders were broader. There was a red seam on his face; it was already drawing cleanly together, God be praised ... well, no soldier could escape a wound or two.
"As you see, Mother, I have been fighting, but God has spared me," he said. "And now I come here on a peaceful mission. But how is it with you here?"
He shook his head. "Why, no, Mother, I've hardly a court worth the name," he said. "Cai keeps my castle-I had to force it on him, he'd rather ride with me to war, but I bade him stay and keep my house secure. And two or three of Father's old knights, too old to ride, are there with their wives and youngest sons. Morgaine's at the court of Lot-Gawaine told me as much when his brother came south to fight in my armies, young Agravaine. He said Morgaine had come to attend on his mother; he'd only seen her a time or two, but she was well and seemed in good spirits; she plays on the harp for Morgause, and keeps the keys of her spice cupboard. I gather Agravaine was quite charmed with her." A look of pain passed over his face, and Igraine wondered at it but said nothing.
"God be thanked that Morgaine is safe among kindred. I have been frightened for her." This was not the time, certainly not with churchmen present, to inquire whether Morgaine had borne a child. "When did Agravaine come south?"
"It was early in the fall, was it not, Lord Merlin?"
"I believe it was."
Then Agravaine would have known nothing; she herself had seen Morgaine and never guessed. If indeed it had been so with Morgaine, and not a fantasy born of her own imaginings.
"Well, Mother, I came to speak of women's affairs, at that-it seems I should be married. I have no heir but Gawaine-"
"I like not that," Igraine said. "Lot has been waiting for that all these many years. Don't trust his son behind you."
Arthur's eyes blazed with anger. "Even you shall not speak so of my cousin Gawaine, Mother! He is my sworn Companion, and I love him as the brother I never had, even as I love Lancelet! If Gawaine wished for my throne, he need only have relaxed his vigilance for five minutes, and I would have a split neck, not this slash on my face, and Gawaine would be High King! I would trust him with life and honor!"