The Mists of Avalon

by Marion Marion Bradley

  Morgaine came too, to play the harp, while he was unable to leave his bed. One day, watching them when they spoke of Avalon, Gwenhwyfar caught the look in Morgaine's eyes, and thought, Why, she still loves him! She knew Arthur still hoped for this-a match between Morgaine and Lancelet and she watched, sick with jealousy, as Lancelet listened to Morgaine's harp.

  Her voice is so sweet; she is not beautiful, but she is so wise and learned -beautiful women are so many, Elaine is beautiful, and Meleas, and the daughter of King Royns, and even Morgause is beautiful, but why should Lancelet care for that? And she marked the gentleness of Morgaine's hands as she lifted him and gave him her herb medicines and cooling drinks. She, Gwenhwyfar, was not good at all with the sick, she had no skills, she sat dumb while Morgaine talked and laughed and amused him.

  It was growing dark, and at last Morgaine said, "I can no longer see the harp strings, and I am hoarse as a crow-I can sing no more. You must drink your medicine, Lancelet, and then I will send your man to you, to get you settled for the night-"

  With a wry smile Lancelet took the cup she put in his hand. "Your drinks are cooling, kinswoman, but ugh! The taste of them-"

  "Drink it," Morgaine said, laughing. "Arthur has put you under my command when you are sick-"

  "Aye, and I do not doubt, if I refused you should beat me and put me supperless to bed, while if I drink my medicine like a good lad I shall have a kiss and a honey cake," Lancelet said.

  Morgaine chuckled. "You cannot have a honey cake yet, you can have your nice gruel. But if you drink up your potion, you shall have a goodnight kiss and I will bake you a honey cake when you are well enough to eat it."

  "Yes, Mother," Lancelet said, wrinkling up his nose. Gwenhwyfar could see that Morgaine did not like the jest, but when he had emptied the cup she bent over him and kissed him lightly on the brow, and drew up the covers under his chin as a mother smooths a child's cradle. "There, now, good child, go to sleep," she said, laughing, but the laughter sounded bitter to Gwenhwyfar, and Morgaine went away.

  Gwenhwyfar stood by Lancelet's bed, and said, "She is right, my dear, you should sleep."

  "I am weary of Morgaine being always right," said Lancelet. "Sit you here by me for a little, dear love-"

  It was seldom he dared speak so to her, but she sat herself on his bed and let him hold her hand. After a little he pulled her down beside him and kissed her; she lay along the edge of his bed and let him kiss her again and again, but after a long time he sighed, weary, and did not protest when she rose from his side. "My dearest love, this cannot go on like this. You must give me leave to depart from the court."

  "What? To chase Pellinore's favorite dragon? Why, what will Pel-linore do in holidaytime, then? It is his favorite hunting," Gwenhwyfar said, jesting, but it was like a pain in her heart.

  He seized both her arms, pulling her down. "No, make this not a jest, Gwen-you know it and I know it, and God help us both, I think even Arthur knows it, that I have loved none but you, or ever will, since first I set eyes on you in your father's house. And if I am to remain a true man to my king and my friend, then I must depart from this court and never set eyes on you again-"

  Gwenhwyfar said, "I would not hold you, if you feel that you must go-"

  "As I have gone before," he said violently. "Every time I rode forth to war, half of me longed that I should fall at Saxon hands and return no more to hopeless love-God forgive me, there were times when I hated my king, whom I have sworn to love and serve, and then I thought, no woman should part the friendship that was between us two, and I have sworn I would think of you no more, save as the wife of my king. But now there are no more wars, and I must sit here day by day and look upon you at his side in his high seat, and think of you in his bed, his happy and contented wife-"

  "Why do you think I am any more happy or contented than you?" she demanded, her voice shaking. "At least you can choose whether to stay or to go, but I was given into Arthur's hands without even so much as 'will you or no?' Nor can I rise and ride forth from court when things go not to my will, but must stay here within walls and do what is expected of me ... if you must go, I cannot say, Stay; and if you stay, I cannot say to you, Go! At least you are free to go or to stay as makes you happiest!"

  "Do you think there is happiness for me, either in staying or going?" Lancelet demanded, and for a moment she thought that he would weep. Then he mastered himself and said, "Love, what do you want me to do? God forbid I should give you more unhappiness. If I am gone from here, then is your duty plain, to be a good wife to Arthur, no more and no less. If I stay here-" He broke off.

  "If you feel it is your duty to go," she said, "then you must go." And tears flooded down her face, blurring her sight.

  He said, and his voice was strained as if he had had a mortal wound, "Gwenhwyfar-" He so seldom spoke her formal name, it was always my lady or my queen, or when he spoke to her in play it was always Gwen. When he spoke it now, it seemed to her she had never heard a sweeter sound. "Gwenhwyfar. Why do you weep?"

  Now she must lie, and lie well, because she could not in honor tell him the truth. She said, "Because-" and stopped, and then, in a choking voice, she said, "because I do not know how I shall live if you go away."

  He swallowed hard and took her hands between his own and said, "Why, then-why, love-I am not a king, but my father has given me a small estate in Brittany. Would you come with me away from this court? I-I know not, perhaps it would be the more honorable way, than stay here at Arthur's court and make love to his wife-"

  He loves me, then, Gwenhwyfar thought, he wants me, this is the honorable way ... but panic flooded through her. To go forth alone, so far, even with Lancelet... and then the thought of what everyone would say of her, should she be so dishonored ... .

  He lay clasping her hand in his. He said, "We could never return, you know-never. And it's likely we should be excommunicated, both of us- that would mean little to me, I am not so much a Christian as all that. But you, my Gwenhwyfar-"

  She put up her veil over her face and wept, knowing what a coward she was.

  "Gwenhwyfar," he said, "I would not lead you into sin-"

  She said bitterly, "We have sinned already, you and I-"

  "And if the priests are right we will be damned for it," Lancelet said bitterly, "and yet have I never had more of you than these kisses-we have had all the evil and the guilt, and none of the pleasure which is said to come from sin. And I am not so sure I believe the priests-what sort of God goes about every night like a night watchman, peeping here and prying there like an old village gossip to see if any man beds with his neighbor's wife-"

  "The Merlin said something like that," Gwenhwyfar said, low. "And sometimes it seems to me sensible, and then again I wonder if it is the Devil's work to lead me into evil ... ."

  "Oh, talk not to me of the Devil," he said, and pulled her down beside him again. "Sweetheart, my own, I will go away if you want me to, or I will stay, but I cannot bear to see you so unhappy ... ."

  "I do not know what I want," she wept, and let him hold her, sobbing. At last he murmured, "We have paid for the sin already ..." and his mouth covered hers. Trembling, Gwenhwyfar let herself surrender to the kiss, his eager hands searching at her breast. She almost hoped that this time he would not be content with that, but there was a sound in the hallway and Gwenhwyfar drew herself upright, in sudden panic. She sat on the edge of the bed as Lancelet's esquire came into the room. He coughed and said, "My lord? The lady Morgaine told me you were ready to go to your rest. By your leave, my lady-?"

  Morgaine again, damn her! Lancelet laughed and let go of Gwenhwyfar's hand. "Yes, and I doubt it not, my lady is weary. Will you promise to come and see me tomorrow, my queen?"

  She was both grateful and angry that his voice sounded so calm. She turned away from the light the serving-man carried; she knew her veil was crushed and her dress rumpled, her face smeared with crying and her hair coming down. How she must look-what would the man think they had b
een doing? She put her veil over her face and rose. "Good night, sir Lancelet. Kerval, care you well for my king's dear friend," and went out, hoping forlornly that she could get down the hall to her own room before she burst into weeping again. Ah God, how-how dare I pray to God that I may sin further? I should pray to be free of temptation, and I cannot!

  16

  A day or two before Beltane-eve, Kevin the Harper came again to Arthur's court. Morgaine was glad to see him; it had been a long and weary springtime. Lancelet had recovered from the fever and gone north to Lothian, and Morgaine had thought she should ride to Lothian too, to see how it was with her son; but she did not want to go in Lancelet's company, nor would he have wished for her as a travelling companion; she thought, My son is well where he is, another time I will go and see him.

  Gwenhwyfar was sorrowful and silent; in the years Morgaine had been absent, the Queen had altered from a lighthearted, childish woman to a silent, thoughtful one, more pious than was reasonable. Morgaine suspected that she pined after Lancelet, and knowing Lancelet, Morgaine thought with a touch of contempt that he would neither leave the woman in peace nor lead her wholeheartedly into sin. And Gwenhwyfar was a good match for him-she would neither give in to him nor give him up. She wondered what Arthur thought, but it would have taken a braver woman than she to ask him.

  Morgaine welcomed Kevin to court, and to herself she thought it not unlikely that they would keep Beltane together-the sun tides ran hot in her blood, and if she could not have the man she wanted (and she knew it was still Lancelet to whom she was drawn), it might be as well to take a lover who found delight in her; it was good to be cherished and sought after. And, as neither Arthur nor Lancelet would do, Kevin spoke with her freely of affairs of state. She thought, with a moment of bitter regret, had she stayed in Avalon, by now, she would be consulted in all the great affairs of her time.

  Well, it was too late for that; done was done. So she greeted Kevin in the great hall and had him served food and wine, a task Gwenhwyfar gladly gave over to her-Gwenhwyfar liked well enough to hear Kevin play on the harp, but she could not bear the sight of him. So Morgaine served him, and spoke to him of Avalon.

  "Is Viviane well?"

  "Well, and still resolved to come to Camelot at Pentecost," said Kevin, "and it is well, for Arthur would scarce listen to me. Though he has promised not to forbid the Beltane fires this year, at least."

  "It would do him little good to forbid them," said Morgaine. "But Arthur has trouble nearer home, too." She gestured. "Beyond that window, almost within sight from the heights of the castle, lies the island kingdom of Leodegranz-had you heard?"

  "A chance-come traveller told me he was dead," Kevin said, "and he left no son. His lady Alienor died with her last child, a few days after his death. The fever was cruel in that country."

  "Gwenhwyfar would not travel thither for the burying," Morgaine said. "She had little to weep for-hers was not a loving father. Arthur will have consulted her about setting a regent there-he says that now the kingdom is hers, and if they should have a second son, that son shall have it. But it seems not likely now that Gwenhwyfar will have even one."

  Kevin nodded slowly. "Aye, she miscarried of a child before Mount Badon, and was very ill. Since then I have not heard even a rumor that she was pregnant," said Kevin. "How old is the High Queen?"

  "I think she is at least five-and-twenty now," said Morgaine, but she was not certain, she had dwelt so long in the fairy country.

  "That is old for a first child," said Kevin, "though, I doubt not, like all barren women, she prays for a miracle. What ails the Queen that she does not conceive?"

  "I am no midwife," said Morgaine. "She seems healthy enough, but she has worn out her knees in prayer, and there is no sign."

  "Well, the Gods will have it as they will," Kevin said, "but we will need their mercy on this land if the High King dies with no son! And now there are no threats from the Saxons outside to keep the rival kings of Britain from falling one upon the other and tearing this land to shreds. I never trusted Lot, but he is dead, and Gawaine is Arthur's staunchest man, so there is little to fear from Lothian, unless Morgause finds herself a lover with ambition to be High King on his own."

  "Lancelet has gone there, but he should return quickly," said Morgaine, and Kevin added, "Viviane, too, would ride to Lothian for some reason, though we thought, all of us, that she was too old for such a journey." Why, then, she will see my son ... . Morgaine's heart leapt, and there was a tightness like pain, or weeping, in her throat. Kevin seemed not to see.

  "I met not with Lancelet on the road," he said. "No doubt he took another road, or stayed to greet his mother, or perhaps"-he grinned slyly -"to keep the Beltane feast. That would give joy to every woman in Lothian, if he tarried there. Morgause would not let such a tender morsel escape her clutches."

  "She is his mother's sister," Morgaine said, "and I think Lance is too good a Christian for that. He has courage enough to face the Saxons in battle, but small courage for that battle."

  Kevin raised his eyebrows. "Oh ho, is it so? I doubt not you speak from knowledge," he said, "but for politeness' sake we will say it is from the Sight! But Morgause would like well to see Arthur's best knight brought low by scandal-then would Gawaine stand nearer to the throne. And the lady is liked well by all men-she is not so old, either, but still beautiful, her hair still red as ever without a line of grey-"

  "Oh," said Morgaine caustically, "they sell henna from Egypt in the markets of Lothian."

  "And her waist is slim, and they say she practices magic arts to spellbind men to her," Kevin said, "but this is gossip and no more. I have heard she has ruled well enough in Lothian. Do you dislike her so much, Morgaine?"

  "No. She is my kinswoman and has been good to me," Morgaine said, and started to say, She fostered my child, and that would open the way to ask if he had heard news of Gwydion ... then she stopped herself. Even to Kevin she could not confess that. She said, instead, "But I like it not that my kinswoman Morgause should be the common talk of Britain as a bawd."

  "It is not so bad as that," Kevin said, laughing, and put away his wine cup. "If the lady has an eye to handsome men, she would not be the first or last. And now Morgause is widowed, no man can call her to account for who lies in her bed. But I must not keep the High King waiting. Wish me fortune, Morgaine, for I must bring ill news to my king, and you know the doom meted of old to him who brought the king news he had no mind to hear!"

  "Arthur is not that sort," said Morgaine. "But if it is not secret, what ill news do you bring?"

  "Not news at all," said Kevin, "for it has been said more than once that Avalon will not have it that he rule as a Christian king, whatever his private faith may be. He shall not allow the priests to put down the worship of the Goddess, nor touch the oak groves. And if he does so, then am I to say to him from the Lady: the hand which gave him the sacred sword of the Druids can turn it in his hand to smite him."

  "That will not be pleasant hearing," said Morgaine, "but perhaps it will call his oath to mind."

  "Aye, and Viviane has still one other weapon she can use," said Kevin, but when Morgaine asked what, he would tell her no more.

  When he had gone from her, Morgaine sat thinking of the night to come. There would be music at dinner, and later-well, Kevin was a pleasant lover, gentle and eager to please her, and she was wearied of sleeping alone.

  She was still sitting in the hall when Cai came to announce that another rider had come-"A kinsman of yours, lady Morgaine. Would you greet him and serve him wine?"

  Morgaine agreed-had Lancelet returned so soon already?-but the rider was Balan.

  She hardly knew him at first-he was heavier, so big now that she supposed it must take an oversized horse to carry his weight. But he recognized her at once.

  "Morgaine! Greetings, kinswoman," he said, and sat beside her, taking the cup she offered. She told him that Arthur was speaking with Kevin and the Merlin, but would see him at dinner, an
d asked him for the news.

  "Only that a dragon has been sighted again in the North," Balan said, "and no, this is no fantasy like old Pellinore's-I saw the track where it had been, and talked with two of the people who had seen it. They were not lying, nor telling a tale to amuse or give themselves importance; they were in terror of their lives. They said it had come out of the lake and taken their serving-man-they showed me his shoe."

  "His-shoe, kinsman?"

  "He lost it when he was taken, and I did not like touching the-slime -that besmeared it," Balan said. "I am going to ask Arthur for half a dozen knights to ride with me and put an end to it."

  "You must ask Lancelet, if he returns," Morgaine said, as lightly as she could. "He will need some practice with dragons. I think Arthur is trying to make a match between Lancelet and Pellinore's daughter."

  Balan looked at her sharply. "I do not envy the girl who has my little brother for husband," he said. "I have heard his heart is given-or should I not say-"

  "You should not say it," said Morgaine.

  Balan shrugged. "So be it. Arthur then has no special reason for wishing to find Lancelet a bride well away from court," he said. "I had not heard that you had come back to court, kinswoman. You look well."

  "And how is it with your foster-brother?"

  "Balin is well enough, when last I saw him," said Balan, "though he still has no love for Viviane. Still, there is no reason to believe he bears grudge for our mother's death. He raved and swore revenge then, but he would have to be a madman indeed to think still of such things. In any case, if such was his thought, he spoke not of it when he was here at Pentecost a year ago. That is Arthur's newest custom, you may not know-that wherever we may travel in all of Britain, every one of his old Companions should gather at Pentecost and dine at his table. At that time, too, he makes new Companions in the order of knighthood, and he will accept any petitioner, however humble-"