The Mists of Avalon

by Marion Marion Bradley

  Lancelet shrugged. "I know not-in Avalon as a boy I heard of a country far to the south of here, where the royal house married always their own sister and brother that the royal blood might not be diluted by that of the common people, and that dynasty lasted for a thousand years."

  "Heathen men," said Gwenhwyfar. "They knew nothing of God, and knew not that they sinned ... ."

  Yet Gwydion seemed not to have suffered from the sin of his mother and his father; why should he, Taliesin's grandson-no, his great-grandson -hesitate to wed with Taliesin's daughter?

  God will punish Camelot for that sin, she thought suddenly. For Arthur's sin and for mine ... and Lancelet's ...

  Beyond her she heard Arthur say to Gwydion, "You said once in my hearing that Galahad looked not like one who would live to his crowning."

  "And you remember too, my father and my lord," said Gwydion quietly, "that I swore to you I would have no part in his death, but that he would die honorably for the cross he worshipped, and it was so."

  "What more do you foresee, my son?"

  "Ask me not, lord Arthur. The Gods are kind when they say that no man may know his own end. Even if I knew-and I say not that I know -I would tell you nothing."

  Perhaps, thought Gwenhwyfar, with a sudden shiver, God has punished us enough for our sin when he sent us this Mordred ... and then, looking at the young man, she was dismayed. How can I think so of the one who has been to Arthur as a son indeed? He is not to blame for his fathering!

  She said to Lancelet, "Arthur should not have done this before Galahad was cold in his grave!"

  "Not so, my lady. Arthur knows well the duties of a king. Do you think it would matter to Galahad, where he has gone, who sits on the throne he never wished for? I would have done better to make my son a priest, Gwenhwyfar."

  She looked at Lancelet, brooding, a thousand leagues away from her, gone into himself where she could never follow, and she said, awkwardly, reaching for him in the best way she could, "And did you, then, fail to find the Grail?"

  She saw him come slowly back through the long distance. "I came- nearer than any sinful man can come and live. But I was spared, to tell the men at Arthur's court that the Grail has gone forever beyond this world." Again he fell silent, then said across that vast distance, "I would have followed it beyond the world, but I was given no choice."

  She wondered, Did you not, then, wish to return to court for my sake? And it seemed clear to her that Lancelet was more like Arthur than she had ever known, and that she had never been anything more, to either of them, than a diversion between war and quest; that the real life of a man was lived in a world where love meant nothing. All his life he had devoted to wars at Arthur's side, and now when there was no war he had given himself over to a great Mystery. The Grail had come between them, as Arthur had come between them, and Lancelet's own honor.

  Now even Lancelet had turned to God, and thought, no doubt, only that she had led him into grave sin. The pain was unendurable. In all of life, she had had nothing more than this, and she could not keep herself from reaching out to him, clasping his hand. "I have longed for you," she whispered, and was shocked at the longing in her voice; he will think me no better than Morgause, flinging myself at his head ... . He held her hand and said softly, "And I have missed you, Gwen." And then, as if he could read her whole hungry heart, he said in a low voice, "Grail or no Grail, beloved, nothing could have brought me back to this court but the thought of you. I would have remained there, spending the rest of my life in prayers that I might see again that Mystery that was hidden from my eyes. But I am no more than a man, my beloved ... ."

  And she knew what it was that he was saying, and pressed his hand. "Shall I send away my women, then?"

  He hesitated a moment, and Gwenhwyfar felt the old dread ... how dared she be so forward, so lacking in a woman's modesty? ... Always, this moment was like death. Then he tightened his grip on her fingers and said, "Yes, my love."

  BUT AS SHE awaited him, alone in the darkness, she wondered in bitterness if his "Yes" had been like Arthur's, an offer made from time to time out of pity, or a wish to save her pride. Now that there was no longer the slightest hope that she would bear to Arthur a belated child, he could have stopped coming to her, but he was too kind to give her women cause to smile behind her back. Still, it was like a knife in her heart that Arthur always seemed relieved when she sent him away; there were even times when she invited him in and they talked together or she lay for a time in his arms, content to be held and comforted, but demanding no more of him. Now she wondered if Arthur felt that his embraces would be unwelcome to her, so that he seldom offered them, or whether he truly did not desire her. She wondered if he ever had desired her, or had always come to her because she was the wife he had taken and it was his duty to give her children.

  All men praised my beauty and desired me, save for the husband I was given. And now, she thought, perhaps even Lancelet comes to me because he is too kind to abandon me or turn me away. She grew feverish, and it seemed that even in her light bed gown she was overheated, her whole body breaking out in drops of sweat. She rose and sponged herself with the cold water in a jar on her dressing table, touching her sagging breasts with distaste. Ah, I am old, surely it will disgust him, that this ugly old flesh is still as eager for him as if I were young and beautiful ... .

  And then she heard his step behind her; and he caught her into his arms, and she forgot her fears. But after he had gone she lay wakeful.

  I should not risk this. It was different, in the old days; now we are a Christian court and the eyes of the bishop are always on me.

  But I have nothing else ... and it occurred to her suddenly, nor has Lancelet ... . His son was dead, and his wife, and the old closeness with Arthur was gone beyond recall.

  Would that I were like Morgaine, who does not need a man's love to feel herself alive and real ... . And yet Gwenhwyfar knew that even if she did not need this from Lancelet, it was he who needed her; and without her, he would be utterly alone. He had come to court because he needed her no less than she needed him.

  And so, even if it was sin, it seemed the greater sin to leave Lancelet comfortless.

  Even if we are both damned for it, she thought, never shall I turn aside from him. God is a God of love, she thought; how then could he condemn the one thing in her life that was born of love? And if he did, she thought, terrified at her blasphemy, he was not the God she had always worshipped, and she did not care what he thought!

  15

  That summer there was war again, the Northmen raiding the western 1 coasts, and Arthur's legion rode forth to battle, this time riding at the head of the Saxon kings from the southern country, Ceardig and his men. Queen Morgause remained in Camelot; it was not safe to take the road alone to Lothian, and none could be spared to escort her.

  They returned late in the summer. Morgause was in the women's hall with Gwenhwyfar and her ladies when they heard the trumpets from the heights.

  "It is Arthur returning!" Gwenhwyfar rose from her seat. Immediately all of the women dropped their spindles and clustered around her.

  "How do you know?"

  Gwenhwyfar laughed. "A messenger brought me the news last night," she said. "Do you think I am dealing in sorcery at my age?" She looked around her at the excited girls-to Morgause it seemed that all of Gwen-hwyfar's ladies were but little girls, fourteen and fifteen, who made every excuse to leave off spinning; and now the Queen said indulgently, "Shall we go and watch them from the heights?"

  Chattering, giggling, gathering in groups of two and three, they ran off, leaving the dropped spindles where they had fallen. Good-naturedly, Gwenhwyfar called one of the serving-women to put the room to rights and, at Morgause's side, followed at a more dignified pace to the brow of the hill, where they could see the wide road leading up to Camelot.

  "Look, there is the King-"

  "And sir Mordred, riding at his side-"

  "And there is the lord Lancelet-oh, look
, he has a bandage round his head, and his arm is in a sling!"

  "Let me see," said Gwenhwyfar and pushed them aside, while the girls stared. Morgause could make out Gwydion, riding at Arthur's side; he appeared unwounded, and she drew a sigh of relief. She could see Cormac back among the men, too-he had ridden to war with all the men, and he too seemed unhurt. Gareth was easy to find among them-he was the tallest man in Arthur's whole company, and his fair hair blazed like a halo. Gawaine, too, at Arthur's back as always, was upright in his saddle, but as they came nearer she could see a great bruise on his face, darkening his eyes, and his mouth swollen as if he had had a tooth or two knocked out.

  "Look, sir Mordred is handsome-" one of the little girls said. "I have heard the Queen say that he looks exactly as Lancelet did when Lancelet was young," and then she giggled and dug her neighbor in the ribs. They clung together, whispering, and Morgause watched, sighing. They seemed so young, all of them, so pretty with their hair silky-soft and bound in plaits and curls, brown or red or golden, their cheeks soft as petals and smooth as a baby's, their waists so slim, their hands so smooth and white-she felt, suddenly, wild with jealousy; once she had been more beautiful than any of them. Now they were nudging one another, whispering about this knight and that.

  "Look how the Saxon knights are all bearded-why do they want to look shaggy like dogs?"

  "My mother says," one of the maidens said impudently-she was the daughter of one of the Saxon noblemen, her name was something barbarian which Morgause could hardly pronounce, Alfreth or something of that sort -"that to kiss a man without a beard is like kissing another maiden, or your baby brother!"

  "Yet sir Mordred shaves his face clean, and there is nothing maidenly about him," said one of the girls, and turned laughing to Niniane, standing quietly among the women, "is there, lady Niniane?"

  Niniane said, with a soft laugh, "All these bearded men seem old to me-when I was a little girl, only my father and the oldest Druids ever went bearded."

  "Even Bishop Patricius now wears his beard," said one of the girls. "I heard him say that in heathen times men deformed their faces by cutting their beards and men should wear their beards as God made them. Maybe the Saxons think it so."

  "It is but a new fashion," said Morgause. "They come and they go- when I was young, Christian and pagan alike shaved their faces clean, and now the fashion has changed-I think not it has anything to do with holiness either way. I doubt not, one day Gwydion will wear a beard-will you think less of him, Niniane?"

  The younger woman laughed. "No, cousin. He is the same, bearded or shaven. Ah, look, there rides King Ceardig, and others-are they all to be guested here at Camelot? Madam, shall I go and tell the stewards?"

  "Please do, my dear," Gwenhwyfar said, and Niniane moved toward the hall. The girls were shoving one another to get a better view, and Gwenhwyfar said, "Come, come-all of you, back to your spinning. It is unseemly to stare at young men this way. Have none of you anything better to do than talk so immodestly about the men? All of you now, be off with you, you will see them this night in the great hall. There is to be feasting, which means work for all of you."

  They looked sulky, but they went obediently back to the hall, and Gwenhwyfar sighed and shook her head as she walked back at Morgause's side. "In Heaven's name, was there ever such a lot of unruly girls? And somehow I must keep them all chaste and under my guidance-it seems they spend all their time gossiping and giggling instead of minding their spinning. I am ashamed that my court should be so filled with empty-headed and immodest little hussies like this!"

  "Oh, come, my dear," said Morgause lazily, "surely you too were fifteen once? Surely you were not such a model maiden as all that-did you never steal a look at a handsome young man and think and gossip about how it would be to kiss him, bearded or shaven?"

  "I do not know what you did when you were fifteen," Gwenhwyfar flared at her, "but I was behind convent walls! It seems to me that would be a good place for these unmannerly maids!"

  Morgause laughed. "When I was fourteen, I had an eye for everything that wore breeches. I recall that I used to sit in Gorlois's lap-he that was married to Igraine before Uther's eyes fell on her-and Igraine knew it well, for when she married Uther, her first act was to pack me off to be married to Lot, which was about as far from Uther's court as she could send me without crossing the ocean! Come, Gwenhwyfar, even behind your convent walls can you swear you never peeped out at any handsome young man who came to break your father's horses, or the crimson cloak of any young knight?"

  Gwenhwyfar looked down at her sandals. "It seems so very long ago-" and then, recollecting herself, spoke briskly. "The hunters brought in a deer last night-I shall give orders that it be cut up and roasted for dinner, and perhaps we should have a pig killed too, if all these Saxons are to be guested here. And fresh straw must be spread in the rooms where they will sleep, there will never be enough beds for all these people!"

  "Send the maidens to see to that too," said Morgause. "They must learn to manage guests in a great hall-for what other reason are they in your care, Gwenhwyfar? And it is the duty of a queen to welcome her lord when he returns from war."

  "You are right." Gwenhwyfar sent her page to give the orders, and they walked toward the great gates of Camelot together. Morgause thought, Why, it is exactly as if we had been friends all our lives. And she thought, there were so few of them who had been young together.

  She had much the same feeling when she sat that night in the great hall that was hung with decorations and brilliant with the fine clothes of the ladies and the knights. Almost it was like the great days of Camelot. Yet so many of the old Companions were gone in war, or on the Grail quest, and would never return. Morgause did not remember often that she was old, and it frightened her. Half the seats of the Round Table, it seemed, were filled now with hairy Saxons with their great beards and their rough cloaks, or with young men who seemed hardly old enough to hold weapons. Even her baby, Gareth, was one of the older knights of the Round Table, and the newer ones deferred to him amazingly, calling him sir, and asking his advice, or hesitating to argue with him if they differed. As for Gwydion -most of them called him sir Mordred-he seemed quite a leader among the younger men, new knights and the Saxons whom Arthur had chosen as his Companions.

  Gwenhwyfar's ladies and stewards had done their task well; there was roast and boiled meat in plenty, and great meat pies with gravy, platters of early apples and grapes, hot bread and lentil porridge. At the high table, when the feasting was done and the Saxons were drinking and at their favorite game of asking riddles, Arthur called Niniane to sing for them. Gwenhwyfar had Lancelet at her side, his head bandaged and his arm in a sling-he had been wounded by a Northman's battleaxe. He could not use his arm, and Gwenhwyfar was cutting his meat for him. No one, Morgause thought, paid it the slightest attention.

  Gareth and Gawaine were seated further down the table, and Gwydion close to them, sharing a dish with Niniane. Morgause went to greet them. Gwydion had bathed and combed his hair into curls, but one of his legs was bandaged, propped on a stool.

  "Are you hurt, my son?"

  "It does well enough," he said. "I am too big now, Mother, to run and climb into your lap when I stub my toe!"

  "It looks worse than that," she said, looking at the bandage and the crusted blood at the edges, "but I will leave you alone, if you wish. Is that tunic new?"

  It was made in a fashion she had seen many of the Saxons wearing, with sleeves so long that they came down past the wrist and half covered the knuckles of the hand. Gwydion's was of blue-dyed cloth, embroidered with crimson stitchery.

  "It was a gift from Ceardig. He told me it was a good fashion for a Christian court, for it conceals the serpents of Avalon." His mouth twisted. "Perhaps I should give my lord Arthur such a tunic for a New Year's gift this winter!"

  "I doubt if anyone would know the difference," said Gawaine. "No one, now, thinks of Avalon, and Arthur's wrists are so faded no one sees or would cri
ticize if they did."

  Morgause looked at Gawaine's bruised face and eyes. He had in truth lost more than one tooth, and his hands, too, looked cut and bruised.

  "And you too are wounded, my son?"

  "Not from the enemy," Gawaine growled. "This I got from our Saxon friends-one of the men in Ceardig's army. Damn them all, those unmannerly bastards! I think I liked it better when they were all our foes!"

  "You fought him, then?"

  "Aye, and will do so again, should he dare to open his clacking jaw about my king," Gawaine said angrily. "Nor did I need Gareth to come to my rescue, as if I were not big enough to fight my own battles without my little brother coming to my aid-"

  "He was twice your size," said Gareth, putting down his spoon, "and he had you on the ground, and I thought he would break your back or crack your ribs-I am not sure yet that he did not. Was I to sit aside while that foul-tongued fellow beat my brother and slandered my kinsman? He will think twice and then thrice before he opens his evil mouth again with such words."

  "Still," said Gwydion quietly, "you cannot silence the whole Saxon army, Gareth, especially when what they say is true. There's a name, and not a pretty one, for a man, even when that man's a king, who sits back and says nothing while another man does his husband's duty in his wife's bed-"

  "You dare!" Gareth half rose, turning on Gwydion and gripping the Saxon tunic at the neck. Gwydion put up his hands to loosen Gareth's hold.

  "Easy, foster-brother!" He looked like a child in the giant Gareth's grip. "Will you treat me as you treated yonder Saxon because here among kinsmen I speak truth, or am I too to keep to the pleasant lie of the court, when all men see the Queen with her paramour and say nothing?"

  Gareth slowly relaxed his grip and eased Gwydion back to his seat. "If Arthur has nothing to complain of in the lady's conduct, who am I to speak?"

  Gawaine muttered, "Damn the woman! Damn her anyhow! Would that Arthur had put her away while there was still time! I have no great love for so Christian a court as this has become, and filled with Saxons. When I was first knight at Arthur's side, there was not a Saxon in all this land with more of religion than a pig in his sty!"