The Priestess of Camelot

by Jacqueline Church Simonds

  I nodded. “Druisilla was one of the elder priestesses of Avalon when I was there.” She seemed immune to Morgaine and her ways.

  “Druisilla was bringing two new initiates to the Isle this spring. She called forth the barge … and it wouldn’t come.”

  “What? Has Avalon been lost?”

  “No. I went there myself just last moon,” he said. “But, it wouldn’t open for the initiates. Druisilla returned them to their homes. She believes the clanging of the bells at Glast Abbey has somehow interrupted the path to Avalon.”

  I paused to consider the implications of this. “If the Druids cannot attract young ones to join the priesthood, if Avalon is barred from taking in those few who chose to serve the Goddess, then it will not be more than two generations before we who serve in the Old Ways will be gone.”

  “Yes.” He stared deep into the fire as if there were answers there.

  “No wonder you are worried! What is to be done?” I asked.

  “Cedric talks of going to battle with these Christians,” Merlin said, still staring at the fire.

  “Thinks he that a handful of priests and priestesses can meet King Arthur and his Christian knights in battle—those who defeated the Saxon horde at Mount Baden? And how dare he even imagine we could renounce our oaths of peace and take up arms against the Goddess’s own people? Never!”

  Merlin nodded tiredly. “You’re right, of course. We are the protectors. Even should the Christian priests order the people to kill us, we cannot raise a hand against them. We are bidden to protect and never harm.”

  We were silent for a while, staring into the flames together.

  I was reminded of the conversation I had with Mamaidh about the fate of the Picts. The situations seem very similar. “All things are subject to tides. It may be that the Christian God will sweep away the Goddess in the minds of the people. What we must not do is resist the flood, but learn to float on top of it. In what way may we use this new worship to our ends until the tide turns back to the Goddess?”

  Merlin chuckled a little. “Once again, I am reminded you’re a powerful priestess!” He reached into his cloak. “I got a letter from my friend, Marcius, who lives in Rome. I met him when I was traveling during Uther’s reign. He’s not a priest, but a scholar who studies how men worship. Marcius was seeing that the priestesses of the Goddess had done much to change the Christ’s worship.”

  “In what way?” I asked.

  “For instance, the Christ’s birth. Don’t you think it’s an interesting coincidence his birth happens near Yule—just after the last of the darkest days of the year, thus showing the hope of renewal?”

  “When was He born, if not then?”

  Merlin’s eyes twinkled. “He is ‘the Lamb of God,’ so he was born in …”

  “Ah! The spring!”

  “Yes, exactly. The priestesses were able to convince some influential Christians to change the birth celebration of their Christ to the winter solstice in order to ‘steal worshipers of the Old Way.’ But instead, this serves us by keeping a key celebration in place.”

  I shrugged. “I see. But, it seems a small thing.” I considered all I knew about their worship. “I recall from the Christian’s tale only two women of any note: the Christ’s mother and a prostitute. What can be made of them?”

  He hugged me. “Exactly! Marcius told me he thought a better method would be to make much of Maria, the mother. Recall that she bore the Christ, even though she was a virgin.”

  I had to laugh. “What nonsense is this?”

  “Christians believe sex to be a sin—wickedness,” Merlin said.

  “Madness! How can new life begin without coupling?”

  He explained the Christian’s origin story of Adam and Eve. “Somehow, Adam eating the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge was linked to the first people having intercourse. Therefore, sex is sin which separates man from God.”

  I chuckled and shook my head. “How can a person who does not go through the stages of life acquire wisdom? This is why my order—and I suspect yours—will not allow a virgin to be high priest or priestess.”

  “It’s so,” he says.

  “The first time one has sex, one begins to understand one’s power is rooted in the physical and the psychic world. The cycle of life is to be born, to procreate, to grow old, and die. Is the Christian understanding of life so different?” I asked.

  “No,” Merlin said, chuckling, “just that they are made to feel badly about the procreating part!”

  We laughed for a time. I felt his black mood start to lift. I said, “Go on with what you were saying about Marcius’ suggestions.”

  “This Maria—or Mary in our tongue—could be seen as a representative of the Goddess in her All-Mother form. Marcius says there are chapels to her sprouting up around Rome.”

  “The people need the female force in their lives. Even Arthur bears her image into battle on the back of his shield.”

  “Indeed,” Merlin said. “How can we help the Christians include this Mary-goddess in their religion so that we may, as you suggest, ride the flood?”

  We were both quiet a long time while we pursued our separate thoughts. I came up with nothing of use, only thoughts about capturing their children and teaching them the proper way.

  Idiocy, really, and not the right path at all.

  I was pushing the matter too hard. Whenever I had needed a real answer—especially in things related to being a priestess—I emptied my mind, freed it from the chattering of the self. I closed my eyes and did the sacred breathing.

  Out, then in.

  Slowly, mindfully.

  I shut out all of the world’s noise and distraction until I was a mere mote in the center of nothingness.

  I put the question clearly: How do we preserve the Goddess within the Christian worship?

  Almost instantly, an image appeared in my mind. I gasped at the audacity of the idea.

  “What?” Merlin asked.

  “The Goddess chalice. Tell me what you know about it.”

  He gave me a curious look. “The chalice? Well, in fact, I’ve studied quite a bit about it.”

  “When did it first come to Avalon?”

  Merlin paused to think. “I believe it’s been there for about two hundred years.”

  “Only two hundred? Where was it from?”

  “My reading indicates that it probably came from ancient Babylon itself. It’s old magick, steeped in the very beginnings of the worship of the Goddess.”

  I felt his words resonate in my heart. I knew them to be true. “How came it here?”

  He settled himself, the scholar about to instruct the initiate. “It is quite interesting, this chalice. It was originally called the Cup of Life—it’s said whoever drinks from it will live a hundred years, even if nearly dead.”

  “That is a powerful artifact!” I said.

  “It is. But it actually came to us via the worshippers of the Christ,” he said.

  “What? The Goddess chalice is a thing of the Christians?”

  “Indeed,” he said. “The great sage Joseph of Arimathea brought it hence from Jerusalem. It is said Joseph held it to Jesus’ lips as He was expiring on the cross.”

  “Why did he bring it to Avalon?” I asked.

  “He didn’t. He brought it with him when he came to Britain to escape the persecution he expected from the Romans,” Merlin said. “He was aware it was a great magickal item even before the Christ touched it. So, he used it to establish Glast Abby.”

  “Then how did it come to be at the sacred circle?” I asked.

  “The story becomes confused at this point,” Merlin said. “As you know, the Abbey was twice abandoned due to illness and then to invasion. Back in the early years of Christianity, the priests were friendly with the followers of the Goddess. It may be that they gave the chalice to Avalon for safe keeping, then those Christian priests who knew of it perished. Over time, it became integral to Goddess worship and forgotten by the Christians.�
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  We sat silent for a time. But I saw all of the daring plan laid out in my mind, as if written in letters of gold. I said, “We must use the Goddess chalice in such a way as it returns to be part of the Christian rites.”

  He stared at me in horror. “To remove it from Avalon’s Sacred Grove…!”

  “Yes, I know the penalties.” I was taught in my Avalon initiation that to take any of the objects from the Sacred Grove invoked a penalty of death by any number of gruesome methods. But my Sending prompted me to ignore this for the moment. I explained to him how I had come by the idea.

  “The Goddess herself suggested it?”

  “I believe so. But here is what She has not said: I think we should use it so that King Arthur and his men become involved in it. That way, the people shall see that the value of the Mary-goddess is so great, even a king will lay aside his power to pursue it.”

  Merlin pondered this a long while. “What must we do?”

  I explained my idea.

  We were up most of the night thinking through how it could be done. What might we do if this or that happened.

  Finally, toward dawn, we went to bed, exhausted, but clear in our plan.

  Chapter Forty-Five

  In the following dark of the moon, I walked naked through the trees to the Sacred Circle. Since he first introduced me to the Sacred Grove, Merlin and I had celebrated each full moon, equinox, solstice, and festival sacred to both the Goddess and Druids there. Although sometimes Merlin had to be away, and then I performed the rites myself—he had gone so far as to teach me Druidic holy rites. In this way, we had re-charged the holy space. Where I had felt a faint tingling when first I stepped into the center of Drunemeton’s Sacred Circle two years ago, now the air crackled with magick and power. The lifeglow of the trees had changed to the pure white-silver of positive energy.

  I did not light the torches, for it was dark magick I planned for this night.

  Merlin and I had argued at length over the use of this kind of enchantment. But in the end, we decided that, since it was in service to the Goddess and a greater, more positive outcome, it could be forgiven, if practiced carefully and without malice.

  I reached out to the stars and drew in my power. I wove a spell like a fog and sent it into Avalon. The Sisterhood would all likely be asleep anyway, but my enchantment guaranteed they would sleep deeply, and no whisper of the Sight would awaken them from their dreamless slumber.

  Once I was sure the spell covered all of the Holy Isle, I reached out to Merlin in my mind. I had him stay on the shore, well away from Avalon, so that his presence neither alerted Morgaine and the others, nor would he be affected by my powerful sleeping spell.

  As we planned, Merlin cast an enchantment around himself that was like a dark bubble. We had discussed at length whether or not such protection would be needed. But, Morgaine was so powerful, I worried she might be able to use the Sight to see what happened even after the fact.

  And so, Merlin was cloaked with the night as he slipped in to Avalon via the marshland trail.

  As he approached the Sacred Circle, I could see it through his eyes. I recalled my initiation there with a sad pang. I had never intended to leave Avalon, but Morgaine—and perhaps as Merlin said, the Goddess—had other plans.

  There, on the high altar, sat the Goddess chalice. Its surface was cloaked in the reflection of the stars above. It felt to Merlin as if it contained the very heavens themselves.

  If any of the priestesses had been awake to observe, they would have seen a blackness reach out and enclose the holy relic.

  And then it was gone from the altar. The Sacred Circle was empty.

  Near dawn, I helped Merlin into his study at Drunemeton House. Eoghann was asleep and unaware of our activities. I slipped off Merlin’s dew-dampened cloak and had him sit next to the fire. I did not allow him to speak until he had a hot drink filled with my medicines that eased the pain of his joints after tramping about in the damp.

  “I’m still not sure we’ve done rightly, Anya,” he said, once he emptied the cup.

  “We will put the chalice back, once we are through,” I assured him.

  “Perhaps we should have consulted Morgaine,” he said.

  I tried, for his sake, to imagine Morgaine assenting to help us with anything involving me. Or that had to do with relinquishing a piece of Avalon’s power—if only for a day.

  I could not.

  I said, “I am sure she would not have permitted us to go through with our plan. She is jealous of her power and all that falls under it, as you well know. She would not allow the chalice in the world. It is the Goddess’, and therefore Morgaine’s.”

  He nodded wearily. “I have been having this argument in my head the whole trip back.”

  “I should like to see it,” I said, trying—and failing—not to seem too eager.

  Merlin reached beneath his cloak and withdrew a bag as black as night. Slowly, he pealed the cloth back to reveal the ancient golden chalice. “It came willingly enough.”

  “Did you expect it to fight you?”

  “Yes,” he said. “It’s a thing of mighty and ancient power. If it didn’t want to be removed, I believe it could have caused me harm—even killed me.”

  “You said nothing of this when we laid our plan! I would not have sent you there had I known it might have been your doom!” My fingers trembled as I stroked his temple.

  He pressed his still-cold cheek into my hand. “I am the High Druid, my love. I’ve faced great dangers before you were even born. What is one more, if our purpose is righteous?” He handed me the vessel.

  I had only touched it the one time, when I was drugged. Then I sipped from it. The magick of the night was loud, and I could not sort out what was more powerful in that moment.

  It was one thing to sense the powerful object in the room—quite another to hold it. The chalice—a pottery cup dipped in gold, and resting upon a golden stem, supported by three loops of gold, upon which were encrusted precious jewels—seemed to thrum and pulse, and my heartbeat quickly fell into its rhythm. For all its awesome power, it was a beautiful thing. It must have taken an army of artisans years to craft the delicate golden decorations, the beautiful jewels sparkled like living drops of fiery colors. There were no wear spots, scratches or dulling of the pattern wrought in the metal. It looked as new …

  But, I could hear its whisper.

  It was old … so old!

  I felt as if I was simply a wink in time compared to the years the chalice had witnessed.

  It was pleased at my admiration.

  It was grateful to be touched.

  It was intrigued at being part of a plot.

  I told Merlin my feelings.

  “Yes. It whispered to me the whole trip home. I have never felt anything like it,” he said.

  Carefully, I covered the chalice back up, took it to the chest across the room, and placed it inside. Then I locked it away and slipped the key into my pocket. “Now we wait for the right moment.”

  Merlin nodded, and I realized he was spent. I helped him up the stairs, and we both dropped off to sleep immediately.

  Later, near midday, I awoke alone.

  I feel a tumult far away and focused on it. Avalon was in an uproar!

  I perceived Morgaine’s anger—indeed the wrath of the entire Sisterhood—at whoever had taken the chalice from the Sacred Circle. But more, I felt Morgaine’s fear. Who, the High Priestess wondered, defeated all the magick of Avalon to take such a holy item?

  There arose in me a gloating, amused self, who treasured Morgaine’s distress. Humiliate and abandon me, will you? That part of my mind laughed smugly.

  But I quickly beat that hateful self back.

  Jasoslava, my first teacher, warned me against such behavior. “Those types of thoughts are drugs that lead to evil, girl,” the healer told me when I was but a new high priestess. “No one sets out to do ill, to be ‘bad.’ But the temptation to have power over others, to make them l
ook foolish and you great, these are the ways stronger priestesses than you have fallen into wickedness. Don’t give in to it! Use power as you must, but don’t use it to harm or humiliate. Listen to me, for you can fall into evil very quickly, once you give in to these wrongful feelings!”

  “Forgive me, Goddess,” I prayed aloud. “Tell me I am not doing this for the wrong reasons. Tell me I am not doing this to show Morgaine I am the more powerful. Tell me this is not my damaged self creating this plan!”

  And in my heart, I heard:

  Continue.

  Chapter Forty-Six

  At the twilight of the Christian’s Pentecost, I returned to the brightly torchlit grove. A slight breeze warmed my bare skin. I stood for hours at the altar, working up my power.

  For I planned mighty magick that evening.

  I felt Merlin in Camelot’s Great Hall. He was sitting beside the chalice in its black bag. No one thought anything of him bringing the draped object into the room, and if they did, they might have mistaken it for his harp. He watched Father Paulius and the lesser priests celebrate the Pentecostal mass. The knights and their ladies, King Arthur with Queen Guinevere, bowed down before the great oak cross that stood in the middle of the room. The gray smoke of an expensive aromatic called frankincense spread its tendrils around the room. Monks chanted—a lovely sound—between lengthy monologues from the priest.

  The service came to its conclusion with the assembled saying the most sacred words in all worship, the “ah-men.”

  Now, Merlin said in his mind.

  I sent all my power across the land and through Merlin. He unsheathed the chalice and sent it up into the air. I wove a glowing veiled golden lady clad in flowing robes, bearing the sacred vessel before her. The lady and the chalice sailed above the assembled knights, court-hangers-on, King Arthur and Queen Guinevere, and the priests in the great hall.

  The golden woman held up the chalice and said, “Whoso wishes to show his pure faith must seek this chalice. Whoso seeks to prove his worth unto God will find this holy cup and present it on the altar of Glast Abbey.”