The Mists of Avalon

by Marion Zimmer Bradley

  “It is the barge of Avalon,” Viviane said, low. “I know what you see.” She passed her hand lightly over the water and saw the ripples follow her hand. “Look again, Morgaine. Tell me what you see.”

  This time the silence was longer. Finally the girl said, in that same strange tone, “I see deer—a great herd of deer, and a man among them with his body painted—they put the antlers on him—oh, he is down, they will kill him—” Her voice trembled and again Viviane passed her hand above the surface of the water, and the ripples passed over the surface.

  “Enough,” she commanded. “Now see your brother.”

  Silence, again, a silence that stretched and dragged; Viviane felt her body cramped with the tension of stillness but she did not move, with the long discipline of her training. At last Morgaine murmured, “How still he lies . . . but he is breathing, soon he will wake. I see my mother . . . no, it is not Mother, it is my aunt Morgause, and all of her children are with her . . . there are four of them . . . how strange, they are all wearing crowns . . . and there is another, he is holding a dagger . . . why is he so young? Is he her son? Oh, he will kill him, he will kill him—ah, no!” Her voice rose to a shriek. Viviane touched her shoulder.

  “Enough,” she said. “Wake, Morgaine.”

  The girl shook her head like a puppy stretching after sleep. “Did I see anything?” she asked.

  Viviane nodded. “Some day you will learn to see and to remember,” she said. “For now it is enough.”

  Now she was armed to confront Uther and Igraine. Lot of Orkney was, as far as she knew, an honorable man, and had taken oath to support Uther. But should Uther die without an heir . . . Morgause had borne two sons already and there were likely to be more—Morgaine had seen four, and there was no way in which the little Kingdom of Orkney would support four princes. The brothers, when they grew to manhood, were likely to be at one another’s throats. And Morgause . . . sighing, Viviane remembered Morgause’s vaulting ambition. If Uther died without an heir, then Lot, married to the Queen’s own sister, would be a logical choice for the throne. And the succession would be Lot as High King, Lot’s sons heirs to the smaller kingdoms. . . .

  Would Morgause stoop to plot against the life of a child?

  Viviane did not like to think that of the girl she had nursed at her own breasts. But Morgause and Lot, together, with their ambitions!

  Easy enough, perhaps, to bribe a groom or insinuate one of her own men into Uther’s court, with orders to lead the child into danger as often as possible. Not so easy, of course, to get past a faithful nurse who was his own mother’s faithful waiting-woman, but she could be drugged, or given stronger drink than usual, to make her confused, so that something deadly found its way past her vigilance. And no matter how well a child rode, it would take more strength than any six-year-old had to hold a stallion who scented a mare in season.

  All our plans could have come to ruin in a moment. . . .

  At suppertime she found Uther alone at the high table, while the vassals and serving-men ate their bread and bacon at a lower table in the hall. He rose and saluted her courteously.

  “Igraine is still at her son’s side, sister-in-law; I begged her to go and sleep, but she said she would sleep after he wakened and knew her.”

  “I have already spoken with Igraine, Uther.”

  “Oh, yes, she told me, she said you have given your word that he would live. Was that wise? If he dies after that—”

  Uther’s face was drawn and worried. He looked no older than when he had married Igraine; his hair was so fair, Viviane thought, that no one could see whether it was greyed or not. He was richly dressed in the Roman fashion, and he was clean-shaven, too, like a Roman. He wore no crown, but around his upper arms he had two torques of pure gold, and a rich gold collar.

  “He won’t die this time. I have some experience with head wounds. And the injuries to the body haven’t penetrated the lungs. He’ll be running around in a day or two.”

  Uther’s face relaxed somewhat. “If I ever find out who loosed that mare . . . I should beat the boy senseless for riding Thunder!”

  “There would be no point in that. He has already paid the price of his rashness, and I am sure it will teach him whatever lesson is needed,” Viviane said. “But you should set better guard on your son.”

  “I cannot guard him night and day.” Uther’s face was haggard. “I am away so often at the wars, and I cannot keep so big a boy tied to his nurse’s apron! And we have come near to losing him before this—”

  “Morgaine told me.”

  “Bad luck, bad luck. The man with only one son walks always at the mercy of any stroke of bad luck,” said Uther. “But I am remiss in courtesy, kinswoman. Here, sit beside me, share my dish if you will. I know Igraine longed to send to you, and I gave her leave to send a messenger, but you have come more swiftly than any of us dreamed—is it true, then, that the witches of the Holy Islands can fly?”

  Viviane chuckled. “Would that I could! I would not have spoiled two pair of good shoes in the mire! Alas, the folk of Avalon, and the Merlin himself, must walk or ride, even as common folk.” She took a piece of the wheaten loaf and helped herself to butter from a small wooden cask. “You who wear the serpents at your wrists should know better than to credit those old fables! But there is a bond of blood between us. Igraine is my mother’s daughter, and I know when she has need of me.”

  Uther set his lips tight. “I have had dreams and sorceries enough, I want no more of them in my life.”

  This, as it was intended to do, silenced Viviane. She allowed one of the serving-men to help her to salted mutton, and spoke amiably about the fresh boiled herbs, the first of the year. When she had eaten sparingly, she set down her knife and said, “However I came here, Uther, it was by good fortune, and a sign to me that your child is guarded by the Gods, for he is needed.”

  “I cannot bear much more of such fortune,” Uther said, and his voice was taut. “If you are a sorceress indeed, sister-in-law, I would beg you to give Igraine a charm against barrenness. I thought when we were wedded that she would give me many children, since she had already borne a daughter to old Gorlois, but we have only one, and already he is six years old.”

  It is written in the stars that you shall have no other son. But Viviane forbore to say this to the man before her. Instead she said, “I will speak with Igraine, and be sure whether it is not some sickness in her which keeps her from conceiving.”

  “Oh, she conceives right enough, but she can carry the child no more than a moon or two, and the one she brought to birth bled to death when his navel string was cut,” Uther said grimly. “He was misshapen, so perhaps it was as well, but if you could give her some charm for a healthy child—I do not know whether I believe in such things, but I am ready to grasp at any straw!”

  “I have no such charms,” Viviane said, honestly pitying him. “I am not the Great Goddess, to give or withhold children from you, and I would not if I could. I cannot meddle with what the fates have decreed. Does not your own priest say as much to you?”

  “Oh, aye, Father Columba speaks about submitting myself to the will of God; but the priest has not a kingdom to rule, which will fall into chaos if I die without an heir,” Uther said. “I cannot believe that is what God wants!”

  “None of us knows what God wants,” Viviane said, “not you, nor I, nor even Father Columba. But it seems certain to me, and it needs neither magic nor sorcery to see it, that you must guard the life of this little one, since he must come to the throne.”

  Uther’s mouth tightened. “God avert that fate,” he said. “I should grieve for Igraine’s sake if her son died, and even for my own—he is a fine and promising child—but he cannot be heir to the High King of Britain. There is no man in all the length and breadth of this kingdom who does not know that he was begotten while Igraine was still wife to Gorlois, and he came to birth a whole moon sooner than he should have been born, to be my son. True, he was small and puny, a
nd babes are cast forth from the womb before their proper time, but I cannot go around and tell all those in the kingdom who were counting on their fingers, can I? He will be Duke of Cornwall when he is grown, but I cannot hope to make him High King after me. Even if he lives to grow up, which with his luck is unlikely.”

  “He looks enough like you,” Viviane said. “Do you think everyone at court is blind?”

  “But what of all those who have never come to court? No, I must get myself an heir on whose birth there can be no stain. Igraine must bear me a son.”

  “Well, God grant it be so,” Viviane said, “but you cannot force your will on God either, nor allow Gwydion’s life to be thrown away. Why not send him to fosterage at Tintagel? That is so remote, and if you put him in charge of your most trusted vassal, sending him there would convince everyone that he was truly Cornwall’s son and you have no intention of making him High King; perhaps then they would not bother to plot against him.”

  Uther frowned. “His life would not be safe till after Igraine had borne me another son,” he said, “even if I sent him as far as Rome, or to the country of the Goths!”

  “And with the hazards of the road, that is not practical,” Viviane agreed. “I have, then, another suggestion. Send him to me, to be fostered in Avalon. None can come there except the faithful who serve the Holy Isle. My own youngest son is already seven, but soon he will be sent to King Ban in Less Britain, to be fostered as suits a nobleman’s son. Ban has other sons, so Galahad is not his heir, but Ban acknowledges him, and has given him lands and estates, and will have him at court as a page, and a soldier when he is grown. At Avalon, your son will learn all that he needs to know about the history of his land, and his destiny . . . and the destiny of Britain. Uther, none of your enemies knows where Avalon lies, and no harm could come near him.”

  “It would keep him safe. But for practical reasons, it is not possible. My son must be reared as a Christian; the church is powerful. They would never accept any king—”

  “I thought you said he could not be king after you,” Viviane said dryly.

  “Well, there is always the possibility,” Uther said in despair, “if Igraine should have no other son. If he has been fostered among the Druids and their magic—the priests would call that evil.”

  “Do I seem evil to you, Uther? Or does the Merlin?” She looked straight into his eyes and Uther let his gaze fall.

  “No, of course not.”

  “Then why will you not entrust Igraine’s son to his wisdom and mine, Uther?”

  “Because I too distrust the magic of Avalon,” said Uther at last. With a nervous gesture he touched the tattooed serpents around his arms. “I saw such things on yonder island as would make any good Christian turn pale—and by the time my son is grown, this isle will be all Christian. There will be no need for a king to deal in such things.”

  Viviane felt like raging, Fool, it was the Merlin and I who set you on that throne, not your Christian priests and bishops. But there was no good to be gained in arguing with Uther.

  “You must do as your own conscience bids you, Uther. But I beg you to send him somewhere for fostering, and let that place be secret. Give it out that you are sending him out to be brought up in obscurity, away from the flattery of a prince at court—that’s common enough—and let people think he’s going to Less Britain, where he has cousins at Ban’s court. Then send him to one of your poorer vassals—one of Ambrosius’ old courtiers, perhaps: Uriens, Ectorius, someone very obscure and very trustworthy.”

  Uther nodded slowly. “It will be a wrench to Igraine to part with the child,” he said, “but a prince must be fostered as suits his future destiny, and schooled in military strength. I will not tell even you, sister-in-law, where he is to go.”

  Viviane smiled to herself, thinking, Do you really think you can keep it secret from me, Uther, if I wish to know? But she was too diplomatic to say it aloud.

  “I have another boon to ask of you, brother-in-law,” she said. “Give me Morgaine to foster in Avalon.”

  Uther stared a moment, then shook his head. “Impossible.”

  “What is impossible to a High King, Pendragon?”

  “There are only two fates for Morgaine,” said Uther. “She must marry a man completely sworn to me, one I trust. Or if I can find no such strong ally to give her, she’s for the nunnery and the veil. She’ll raise up no Cornwall party in this kingdom.”

  “She does not seem pious enough for a good nun.”

  Uther shrugged. “For the dower I can give her, any convent will be glad to take her.”

  And suddenly Viviane was angry. She fixed Uther with her gaze and said, “And do you think you can keep this kingdom long without the good will of the Tribes, Uther? They care nothing for your Christ or your religion. They look to Avalon, and when these—” She put out a finger and touched his tattooed wrists. He drew nervously away, but she went on. “When these were set on your arms, they swore to obey the Pendragon. If Avalon withdraws its support from you—as high as we set you, Uther, that low can we bring you.”

  “Fine words, Lady. But can you do as you threaten?” Uther retorted. “Would you do that for a girl and Cornwall’s daughter at that?”

  “Test me.” Her gaze was unflinching. This time he did not lower his eyes from her; he was angry enough to meet her stare equally, and she thought, Goddess! Had I been ten years younger, how this man and I could have ruled! In all her life she had known but one or two men who were her equal in strength; but Uther was an antagonist worthy of her steel. And he would need to be, to keep this kingdom together until the predestined king should grow to manhood. Even for Morgaine she could not endanger that. But she thought she could make him see reason.

  “Uther, listen to me. The girl has the Sight; she was born to it. There’s no way she can escape the Unseen, it will follow her wherever she goes, and in playing about with such things, she’ll come to be shunned for a witch, and despised. Is that what you want for a princess at your court?”

  “Do you doubt Igraine’s ability to rear her daughter as befits a Christian woman? At worst, she could do no harm behind convent walls—”

  “No!” Viviane said, so loudly that some of the folk in the lower hall raised their heads and stared round at her. “Uther, the girl’s priestess-born. Put her behind convent walls and she’ll pine like a caged skua gull. Could you send Igraine’s child to death or lifelong misery? I truly believe—and I’ve spoken with the girl—that she’d kill herself there.”

  She could see that argument had reached him, and quickly pressed her point.

  “She’s born to it. Let her be properly trained to her gifts. Uther, is she so happy here, or such an ornament to your court, that you would be sorry to see her leave it?”

  Slowly, he shook his head. “I have tried to love her for Igraine’s sake. But she’s—uncanny,” he said. “Morgause used to tease her and say she was one of the fairy folk, and if I did not know her parentage I’d well believe it.”

  Viviane’s smile was taut. “True. She is like me, and like our mother. She’s not for the convent or the church bell.”

  “Yet how can I take both Igraine’s children from her at once?” Uther demanded, despairing. That struck Viviane as well with a pang of grief, almost of guilt, but she shook her head.

  “Igraine too is priestess-born. She will abide her destiny as you, Uther, abide yours. And if you fear the anger of your house priest,” she added, striking shrewdly at a guess and saw, in his eyes, that she had hit home, “then tell no one where you have sent her. Put it about, if you wish, that you have sent her for schooling in a nunnery. She is too wise and sober for the ways of the court, small flirtations and womanish gossip. And Igraine, if she knows her children are safe and happy, growing toward their own fates, will be content while she has you.”

  Uther bowed his head. “So be it,” he said. “The boy to be fostered with my trustiest and most obscure vassal—but how can I send him there unknown? Will the d
anger not follow him?”

  “He can be sent by hidden ways, and under a glamour, as you yourself came to Tintagel,” Viviane said. “You trust me not, but will you trust the Merlin?”

  “With my very life,” Uther said. “Let the Merlin take him. And Morgaine, then, to Avalon.” He leaned his head in his hands, as if the burden he bore were too great for endurance. “You are wise,” he said, then raised his head and stared at her with unflinching hatred. “I wish you were a foolish woman I could despise, damn you!”

  “If your priests are right,” said Viviane calmly, “I am already thoroughly damned and you may save your breath.”

  11

  The sun was setting as they came to the Lake. Viviane twisted on her pony to look at Morgaine, who rode a little behind her. The girl’s face was drawn with weariness and hunger, but she had not complained, and Viviane, who had deliberately set a hard pace to try her stamina, was satisfied. The life of a priestess of Avalon was not an easy one, and she needed to know that Morgaine could endure fatigue and hardship. She slowed her pony now, and let Morgaine draw abreast of her.