"No," she said, giving him her hand and smiling. "I look not as if I had gold about me, and the men who ride with me are of the Tribesmen -we could hide in the hills, should we be attacked. Nor am I any temptation to any man who might seek to take a woman." She laughed and said, "And with Lancelet questing to kill all the brigands in this country, it will soon be as it was said once it was, that a virgin of fifteen bearing a purse of gold might ride from one end of the land to the other with no man to offer her insult! Stay here, my son, and mourn your mother, and make peace with your foster-brother. You must not quarrel with him for my sake, Balan." And then she shuddered suddenly as if with cold, for a picture had come into her mind, and it seemed to her as if there was the clash of swords and her son bleeding from a great wound ... .
"What is it, Lady?" he asked her softly.
"Nothing, my son-only promise to me that you will not break the peace with your brother Balin."
He bent his head. "I will not, Mother. And I will tell him that you have said this, so he will not think you bear him any grudge, either."
"By the Lady, I do not," said Viviane, but still she felt icy cold, though the winter sun was warm on her back. "May she bless you, my son, and your brother too, though I doubt he wishes for the blessing of any God but his own. Will you take the Lady's blessing, Balan?"
"I will," he said, bending to kiss Viviane's hand, and he stood looking after her as she rode away.
She told herself, as she rode toward Avalon that surely what she had seen had come of her own weariness and fear; and in any case Balan was one of Arthur's Companions, and it could not be looked for, in this war with the Saxons, that he should escape a wound. But the picture persisted in her mind, that Balan and his foster-brother should somehow quarrel in her name, until at last she made a stern banishing gesture and willed to see her son's face no more in her mind till she should look on it again in the flesh!
She was troubled too about Lancelet. He was long past the age when a man should marry. Yet there were men enough who had no mind to women, seeking only for the companionship of their brothers and comrades under arms, and she had wondered often enough if Ban's son were one of them. Well, Lancelet should take his own road; she had consented to that when he left Avalon. If he professed great devotion to the Queen, no doubt, it was only that his comrades should not mock at him as a lover of boys.
But she dismissed her sons from her mind. Neither of them was as near to her heart as Morgaine, and Morgaine ... where was Morgaine? She had been disquieted before this, but now, hearing Balan's news, she feared for Morgaine's very life. Before this day was ended, she should send out messengers from Avalon to Tintagel, where Igraine dwelt, and northward to Lot's court where Morgaine might have gone to be with her child ... . She had seen the young Gwydion, once or twice, in her mirror, but had paid him little heed, as long as he grew and thrived. Morgause was kindly to all little children, having a brood of her own, and there would be time enough to look to Gwydion when he came of an age for fostering. Then should he come to Avalon ... .
With the iron discipline of years, she managed to put even Morgaine from her mind and to ride home to Avalon in a mood befitting a priestess who had just taken the part of the Death-crone for her oldest friend- sobered indeed, but without great grief, for death was only the beginning of new life.
Priscilla was a Christian. She believed she would now be with her God in Heaven. Yet she too will be born again on this imperfect world, to seek the perfection of the Gods, again and yet again ... . Balan and I parted as strangers, and so it must be. I am no more the Mother, and I should feel no more grief than when I ceased to be the Maiden for her ... yet her heart was filled with rebellion.
Truly, the time had come for her to give up her rulership of Avalon, that a younger woman might be Lady of the Lake and she herself no more than one of the wise-women, offering counsel and advice, but carrying no more that fearsome power. She had long known that the Sight was leaving her. Yet she would not lay down her power until she could place it in the hands of that one she had prepared to take it from her. She had felt that she could wait until Morgaine had outgrown her bitterness and returned to Avalon.
Yet if anything has befallen Morgaine ... and even if it has not, have I the right to continue as Lady when the Sight has left me?
For a moment, when she came to the Lake, she was so cold and wet that when the boat's crew turned to her to call down the mists, she could not force herself to remember the spell. Indeed it is time and more than time that I should lay down my powers ... . Then the words of power came back into her mind and she spoke them, but much of that night she lay wakeful, in dread.
When the morning had come, she studied the sky; the moon was darkening, and it would do no good to consult the mirror at this time. Will it ever profit me anything to look into that mirror again, now the Sight has departed from me? With iron discipline, she forced herself to say nothing of any of this to her attendant priestesses. But later that day she met with the other wise-women and asked them, "Is there anyone in the House of Maidens who is still virgin and has never yet gone to the grove or to the fires?"
"There is Taliesin's little daughter," said one of the women. For a moment Viviane was confused-surely Igraine was grown and wedded and widowed, mother of the High King in Caerleon, and Morgause too was wedded and the mother of many sons. Then she recalled herself and said, "I knew not that he had a daughter in the House of Maidens." A time had been, she thought, when no girl had been taken into the Maiden House without her own knowledge, and it had been her hand that had tested each one for the Sight and for her fitness for the Druid lore. But in the last years, she had let this slip from her.
"Tell me. How old is she? What is her name? When did she come to us?"
"Her name is Niniane," said the old priestess. "She is the daughter of Branwen-do you remember? Branwen said that Taliesin had fathered this child at Beltane fire. It seems it was only a little while ago, but she must be eleven or twelve, perhaps more. She was fostered away in the North somewhere, but she came to us five or six seasons ago. She is a good child and biddable enough, and there are not now so many maidens who come to us that we can afford to pick and choose among them, Lady! There are none now like Raven or your fosterling Morgaine. And where is Morgaine now, Lady? She should return to us!"
Viviane said, "She should return to us indeed," and felt ashamed to say that she did not even know where Morgaine was, or even whether she was alive or dead. How have I the insolence to be Lady of Avalon when I know not even the name of my successor, nor who dwells in the House of Maidens? But if this Niniane was daughter to Taliesin and to a priestess of Avalon, surely she must have the Sight. And even if she had it not herself, Viviane could compel her to see, if she was a maiden still.
She said, "See that Niniane is sent to me before dawn, three days from now," and, although she saw a dozen questions in the eyes of the old priestess, she marked with a certain satisfaction that she was still unquestioned Lady of Avalon, for the woman asked her nothing.
NINIANE CAME TO HER an hour before dawn, at the end of the moon-dark seclusion; Viviane, sleepless, had spent much of the night in restless self-questioning. She knew herself reluctant to set aside her own position of authority, yet if she could lay it into Morgaine's hands, she would do so without regrets. She turned over in her hand the little sickle knife which Morgaine had abandoned when she fled from Avalon, then put it aside and raised her face to look at Taliesin's daughter.
The old priestess, even as I myself, loses track of time; surely she is more than eleven or twelve. The girl was trembling in awe, and Viviane recalled how Morgaine too had trembled when she first saw her as Lady of Avalon. She said gently, "You are Niniane? Who are your parents?"
"I am Branwen's daughter, Lady, but I do not know my father's name. She said only that I was Beltane-gotten." Well, that was reasonable enough.
"How old are you, Niniane?"
"I shall have finished fourteen winters thi
s year."
"And you, have you been to the fires, child?"
The girl shook her head. She said, "I have not been called thither."
"Have you the Sight?"
"Only a little, I think, Lady," she said, and Viviane sighed and said, "Well, we shall see, child; come with me," and she led the way out of her isolated house, upwards along the hidden path to the Sacred Well. The girl was taller than she herself, slender and fair-haired, with violet eyes-she was not unlike Igraine at that age, Viviane thought, though Igraine's hair had been nearer red than golden. Suddenly it seemed that she could see this Niniane crowned and robed as the Lady, and she shook her head impatiently, to clear it of unwanted vision. Surely this was only wandering daydream ... .
She brought Niniane to the pool, then stopped for a moment to look at the sky. She handed her the sickle knife which had been given to Morgaine when she had been made priestess, and said to her quietly, "Look into the mirror, my child, and see where she who held this dwells now."
Niniane looked at her hesitantly and said, "Lady, I told you-I have little of the Sight-"
Viviane suddenly understood-the girl was frightened of failure. "It does not matter. You will see with the Sight that once was mine. Be not afraid, child, but look for me into the mirror."
Silence, while Viviane watched the girl's bent head. In the surface of the pool it seemed only that wind came and ruffled the surface, as always. Then Niniane said in a quiet, wandering voice, "Ah, see ... she sleeps in the arms of the grey king ... " and was still.
What can she mean? Viviane could make nothing of the words. She wanted to cry out to Niniane, to force the Sight upon her undesired, yet she compelled herself, by the greatest effort of her life, to keep still, knowing that even her restless thoughts could blur the Sight for the maiden. She said, hardly above a whisper, "Tell me, Niniane, do you see that day when Morgaine shall return to Avalon?"
Again the empty silence. A little breeze-the dawn wind-had sprung up, and again the riffle of wind came and went across the glassy surface of the water. At last Niniane said softly, "She stands in the boat ... her hair is all grey now ... " and again she was still, sighing as if with pain.
"Do you see more, Niniane? Speak, tell me-"
Pain and terror crossed the girl's face and she whispered, "Ah, the cross ... the light burns me, the cauldron between her hands-Raven! Raven, will you leave us now?" She gave a sharp indrawn breath of shock and dismay, and crumpled fainting to the ground.
Viviane stood motionless, her hands clenched, and then, with a long sigh, she bent to raise the girl. She dipped her hand in the pool, sprinkled water on Niniane's slack face. After a moment the girl opened her eyes, stared at Viviane in fright, and began to cry.
"I am sorry, Lady-I could see nothing," she whimpered.
So. She spoke, but she remembers nothing of what she saw. I might well have spared her this, for all the good it has done. It was pointless to be angry with her-she had done no more than she was commanded. Viviane stroked the fair hair back from Niniane's forehead and said gently, "Don't cry; I am not angry with you. Does your head ache? So-go and rest, my child."
The Goddess bestows her gifts as she will. But why, Mother of all, do you send me to do your will with imperfect instruments? You have taken from me the power to do your will; why, then, have you taken from me the one who should serve you when I am no longer here? Niniane, her hands pressed to her forehead, went slowly down the path toward the House of Maidens, and after a time, Viviane followed.
Had Niniane's words been nothing but raving? She did not think so -she was sure the girl had seen something. But Viviane could make nothing of what Niniane had seen, and the girl's few attempts to put it into words meant nothing to Viviane. And now Niniane had forgotten it all, so that she could not be questioned further.
She sleeps in the arms of the grey king. Did that mean Morgaine was lying in the arms of death?
Would Morgaine return to them? Niniane had said only, She stands in the boat... so Morgaine would return to Avalon. Her hair is all grey now. So the return would not come soon, if at all. That, at least, was unequivocal.
The cross. The light burns me. Raven, Raven, the cauldron between her hands. That was certainly no more than delirium, an attempt to put some tenuous vision into words. Raven would bear the cauldron, the magical weapon of water and of the Goddess ... yes, Raven was empowered to handle the Great Regalia. Viviane sat staring at the wall of her chamber, wondering if this meant that now Morgaine was gone from them, Raven should bear the power of the Lady of the Lake. It seemed to her that there was no other way to interpret the girl's words. And even so, they might mean nothing.
Whatever I do now, I am in the dark-I might better have gone to Raven, who would have answered me only with silence!
But if Morgaine had indeed gone into the arms of death, or was lost to Avalon forever, there was no other priestess fit to carry the weight. Raven had given her voice to the Goddess in prophecy ... was the place of the Goddess to go unserved because Raven had chosen her silent path?
Viviane sat alone in her dwelling, staring at the wall, pondering Niniane's cryptic words again and again in her heart. Once she rose and went alone up the silent path to stare again into the unmoving waters, but they were grey, grey as the unyielding sky. Once indeed it seemed to her that something moved there, and Viviane whispered, "Morgaine?" and looked deep into the silence of the pool.
But the face that looked out at her was not Morgaine's face-it was still, dispassionate as the Goddess herself, crowned with bare wicker-withes ... .
... Is it my own reflection I see, or the Death-crone? ...
At last, weary, she turned away.
This I have known since first I trod the path-a time comes when there is only despair, when you seek to tear the veil from the shrine, and you cry out to her and know that she will not answer because she is not there, because she was never there, there is no Goddess but only yourself, and you are alone in the mockery of echoes from an empty shrine ... .
There is no one there, there was never anyone there, and all the Sight is but dreams and delusions ... .
As she trudged wearily down the hill, she saw that the new moon stood in the sky. But now it meant nothing to her save that this ritual silence and seclusion were done for the time.
What have I to do with this mockery of a Goddess? The fate of Avalon lies in my hands, and Morgaine is gone, and I am alone with old women and children and half-trained girls . .. alone, all alone! And I am old and weary and my death awaits me ... .
Within her dwelling the women had lighted a fire, and a cup of warmed wine sat steaming beside her usual chair so that she might break the moon-dark fast. She sank down wearily, and one of her attendant priestesses came silently to draw off her shoes and put a warm shawl about her shoulders.
There is no one but I. But I have still my daughters, I am not wholly alone. "Thank you, my children," she said, with unaccustomed warmth, and one of the attendants bowed her head shyly without speaking. Viviane did not know the girl's name-why am I thus neglectful?-but she thought she must be under a vow of silence for the time. The second said softly, "It is our privilege to serve you, Mother. Will you go to rest?"
"Not yet awhile," Viviane said, and then on an impulse said, "Go and ask the priestess Raven to attend me."
It seemed a long time before, with silent step, Raven came into the room. Viviane greeted her with a bending of the head, and Raven came and bowed, then, following Viviane's gesture, went to the seat across from Viviane's own. Viviane handed her the cup, still half filled with the hot wine, and Raven sipped, smiling thanks, and put it from her.
At last Viviane said in entreaty, "My daughter, you broke your silence once before Morgaine left us. Now I seek for her and she cannot be found. She is not in Caerleon, nor in Tintagel, nor with Lot and Morgause in Lothian ... and I grow old. There is none to serve. ... I ask of you as I would inquire of the oracle of the Goddess: will Morgaine return?"
<
br /> Raven was silent. At last she shook her head and Viviane demanded, "Do you mean that Morgaine will not return? Or do you mean that you do not know?" But the younger priestess made an odd gesture of helplessness and questioning.
"Raven," said Viviane, "you know that I must lay down my place, and there is no other to bear it, none who has the old training of a priestess, none who has gone so far-only you. If Morgaine does not return to us, you must be Lady of the Lake. Your oath was given to silence, and you have borne it faithfully. Now it is time to lay it aside, and take from my hands the guardianship of this place-there is no other way."
Raven shook her head. She was a tall woman, slightly built, and, Viviane thought, no longer young; she was certainly ten years older than Morgaine-she must be nearing her fortieth year. And she came here as a little maiden with her breasts not yet budded. Her hair was long and dark, and her face dark and sallow, her eyes large beneath dark, thick brows. She looked worn and austere.
Viviane covered her face with her hands and said in a hoarse voice, through tears she could not shed, "I-cannot, Raven."
After a moment, her face covered, she felt a gentle touch on her cheek. Raven had risen and was bending over her. She did not speak, only took Viviane into a close embrace and held her for a moment, and Viviane, feeling the warmth of the younger woman pressed against her, began to sob, and felt that she would weep and weep with no will ever to cease. And at last, when in sheer exhaustion Viviane was silent, Raven kissed her on the cheek and went silently away.
10
Once Igraine had said to Gwenhwyfar that Cornwall was at the world's end. So it seemed to Gwenhwyfar-there might never have been such things as marauding Saxons or a High King. Or a High Queen. Here in this distant Cornish convent, even though on a clear day she could look out toward the sea and see the stark line of Tintagel castle, she and Igraine were no more than two Christian ladies. Gwenhwyfar thought, surprising herself, I am glad I came.
The Mists of Avalon Page 50
