Lady of Avalon

by Marion Zimmer Bradley

  And yet the others could have managed without her. Certainly all the girls they were considering for training were fluent in British. At times, Teleri still found herself wondering why, before she had even taken her vows, she had been wrested from the peace of Avalon.

  The weather continued fair and bright. This year would bring a good harvest of hay and grain, despite the earlier storms. Clearly, as Cerialis was fond of observing, the gods and goddesses were being kind. But the sheltering hills around Venta cut off the wind, and as the season grew warmer Teleri longed for the refreshing sea-breezes of Durnovaria. When Dierna announced that they were to go down to the coast for the groundbreaking rites of the new naval fortress, she was glad.

  But this was more than a pleasant trip to the seaside. When some of the women questioned why the High Priestess should want to bless a Roman fort, Dierna reminded them of the eagle that had appeared at their Midsummer rite. “Once we were enemies, but our safety depends on the Romans now,” she had told them, and Teleri, remembering the Saxons, agreed with her.

  “Ah, there’s a breeze coming now!” exclaimed Cerialis. “That will cool your rosy cheeks, my dears!”

  Teleri sighed. Despite his broad hat, Cerialis’ face was flushed with heat. Perhaps the wind would cool him off as well.

  As the road curved, she glimpsed blue water through the trees. The road, a new one, ran a little in from the shore southeastward from Clausentum, where they had stayed the night before. A good rider could have made the journey from Venta in a day, but Cerialis obviously believed that ladies needed pampering.

  “Do you think this new fortress will discourage the Saxons?” She braced herself against the sway of the horse litter and looked up at him.

  “Surely, surely!” He nodded emphatically. “Every wall and every ship are a message to those sea scum that Britannia stands fast.” He straightened in the saddle, and for a moment she thought he was going to salute.

  “I disagree,” said his son Allectus, bringing his mare up beside them. “It is the soldiers and sailors who man them that will make the difference, Father. Without men, ships are only rotting wood, and walls are only moldering stones.”

  The son was her own age or a little younger, thought Teleri, as angular and tense as his father was plump and placid, with a narrow face and intense dark eyes. He had the look of someone who has been ill a great deal in childhood. Perhaps that was why he had not gone into the Army himself.

  “True—of course that is true—” Cerialis cast an uneasy glance at the boy.

  Teleri suppressed a smile. The Duovir was a good man of business, but rumor had it that his son, though delicate in body, was something of a wizard with figures. It was his brilliance that had advanced the family fortunes sufficiently to fund the public works and entertainments a magistrate was expected to sponsor, and Cerialis knew it. Allectus was a cuckoo in the nest of a fat pigeon, or maybe something nobler, a sparrow hawk, she thought, eyeing the sharp profile. In any case, it was clear that the older man did not understand his son at all.

  “Well, this new Admiral has persuaded the emperors to strengthen our defenses,” she said brightly. “Surely that is a sign that this man, at least, is worthy of our trust.”

  “It is so. Unless the leaders are worthy, even the best of men will fail.” Cerialis nodded sententiously.

  In Allectus’ glance she saw scorn, so swiftly hidden she could scarcely be sure it had been there.

  “Or women,” she said dryly. She doubted that the Roman Army, for all its tradition and discipline, could match the testing imposed on the priestesses of Avalon. Her gaze moved forward, where Dierna rode in another horse litter with little Adwen. She suppressed her envy, knowing it unworthy. Perhaps, she thought, the High Priestess would ask her to ride with her on the return.

  The litter tilted as they descended toward the shore. Teleri sat up when they emerged from beneath the trees, looking around her. Certainly the new Admiral had a good eye for country. The ground that had been cleared for the fort lay at the northwestern corner of a fair-size harbor connected by a narrow channel to the sea. The site offered equal protection from storms and from pirates, though it was hard to believe in either on such a sparkling summer day.

  Clearly it was going to be a noble fortress. Foundation trenches had been dug for the walls in a square several acres in extent, to be punctuated by U-shaped bastions. This was larger, Cerialis took care to inform them, than any of the other shore forts, even Rutupiae. As they drew closer, he surveyed the laborers with proprietary pride. Teleri had understood that such installations were always constructed by the military, but she could see that some of the men doing the digging were dressed differently.

  “You are wise to notice that, very wise,” said Cerialis, following her gaze. “They are slaves from my own estates, sent down to assist in the building. It seemed to me that a fortress to protect Venta would be a more useful tribute to my magistracy than a new amphitheatre for the town.”

  The curl of Allectus’ thin lips was not quite a smile. Did he disapprove? No, thought Teleri, remembering how he had spoken before. More likely, it was he who had planted the idea in his father’s mind.

  “It was an excellent plan, and I am sure that this new commander will appreciate the assistance,” she said warmly, and saw a faint betraying color stain the younger mans sallow cheeks.

  But his eyes were fixed on the builders. Several men walked up and down, supervising the digging. Where, Teleri wondered, was the Admiral? She saw Dierna sit up suddenly, shading her eyes with her hand. Allectus had reined in, a tension in him like a good hunting dog. Teleri followed his gaze. One of the officers, elegant in a red tunic and a belt with plaques of gilded bronze, was coming toward them, followed by a sturdy, square-built man in a sleeveless sailor’s tunic, faded by sun and salt till its original color could not be told.

  Allectus slid down from his horse’s back to greet them. But it was the second man whom he saluted. Teleri’s eyes widened. Was this man, his fair hair stiffened by perspiration and the skin of his high brow reddened by the sun, the hero about whom they had been hearing such tales? He came forward with the rolling gait of a man who has spent much time at sea, and as he drew closer, she noted how his gaze swept from the water to the woods to the newcomers and back again even as he smiled. It reminded her, oddly, of the way Dierna surveyed the assembled priestesses before they began a ceremony.

  Dierna herself was watching Carausius with a strange look, almost of approval, in her eyes. As the Roman came up to clasp arms with Allectus, his gaze swept once more over the horse litters, and as he looked at the High Priestess, Teleri saw his eyes widen in turn. Then the moment was lost in a babble of introductions. When she thought about it afterward, it seemed to the girl that the look had been one of recognition. But that must be only a fancy, for Dierna had said herself that she had never met Carausius before.

  Beyond the low arm of land that protected the harbor the sun was setting. Carausius stood before the foundations of his fortress with his officers, watching the priestesses prepare for their ritual. The legionaries had been drawn up in formation before what would one day be the gate, with the native workers spreading out to either side behind them.

  A moon before, when they began the digging, a priest had come down from the temple of Jupiter Fides at Venta Belgarum and sacrificed an ox, while a haruspex read the auspices. They had been encouraging—but in truth he could not recall a time, once the plans were all made and the funds committed, when a haruspex had not managed to find a favorable meaning in the entrails of the beast he had slain.

  “For a thousand years and twice a thousand shall these foundations remain to praise the name of Rome in this land….”

  An excellent prophecy, thought Carausius. And yet the priest, a brisk, rotund fellow whose cook was the best in Venta, had not been very inspiring. Looking at the blue-robed priestesses, Carausius understood why he had felt the Roman ceremony was not enough, and why, when he had heard that th
e Lady of Avalon was in the area, he had requested her to come. The fortress of Adurni was Roman, but the land it was intended to protect was Britannia.

  He had stood, sweating in his toga beneath the sun of noontide, throughout the Roman ritual. Tonight he wore a linen tunic dyed crimson, with native needlework around the borders, and a light woolen mantle held by a golden brooch pin. The gear was similar enough to the native dress of his own people in the fens of Germania to bring back memories of a past he had renounced when he swore to serve Rome. His father’s people had made their offerings to Nehallenia. What goddess, he wondered, did they pray to here?

  Brightness flared in the west. The Admiral turned in time to see the edge of the sun showing for a moment like a rim of molten metal above the curve of the hill. As it disappeared, a lesser radiance caught his eye. One of the women had kindled the torches. She lifted them, and for a moment he saw her standing like a goddess with her hands full of light. Then he blinked, and realized it was the youngest of the priestesses, the daughter, they said, of some local king. He had thought her aloof and cold, but now, with the firelight gleaming on her dark hair and her pale skin aglow, she was beautiful.

  The High Priestess, her features a mystery behind her veil, fell in behind her, followed by the other two, one carrying a branch of rowan and the other a wand of apple wood hung with chiming silver bells.

  “It is now the hour between day and night, when we may walk between the worlds,” came the voice of the Lady Dierna from behind her veil. “The walls you will build here will be made from stone, strong to repel the weapons of men. But we, as we walk, will make another kind of barrier, a shield of the spirit that shall defeat the spirits of your enemies. Bear witness, you who serve Britannia and Rome!”

  “I am your witness,” said Carausius.

  “And I,” came the lighter voice of Allectus, behind him.

  “And I,” Cerialis said solemnly.

  Dierna accepted their commitment with a little inclination of the head. Just so, thought Carausius, an empress might acknowledge a service. He supposed that the High Priestess of Avalon must be the equal of an empress, in her own sphere. Was she indeed the woman of his vision? And if so, did she recognize him as well? Her manner to him had been strange; he could not tell if she liked him, or accepted him only by virtue of his position.

  But already the priestesses were beginning their circumambulation, turning to the right. Ever more faintly he heard the shimmer of the silver bells.

  “How long must we stand here?” asked Cerialis after a time. The priestesses had reached the near left-hand corner and paused to make offerings to the spirits of the land. “I do not know why she wanted our witness. There is nothing to see.”

  “Nothing?” whispered Allectus in a shaking voice. “Cannot you feel it? They are singing up a wall of power. Can you not see the shimmer in the air where they pass?”

  Cerialis coughed, casting an embarrassed glance at the Admiral as if to say, He is only a boy, and full of fancies. But Carausius had seen the Lady of Avalon walking upon the waves. He saw nothing now, but it seemed to him that some other sense was corroborating Allectus’ words.

  They waited while the priestesses continued their sunwise progress around to the far end of the rectangle and then came toward them once more. The long twilight of the north drew on, and the colors of the sunset deepened from gold to rose, and from rose to an imperial purple, as if an emperor’s mantle had been drawn across the sky. The procession saluted the near right-hand corner, then moved toward the space where the main gate would one day be.

  “Come, you who would hold this place against our enemies!” the Lady cried. For a moment Carausius did not understand. Then he realized she was pointing at him, and started forward. He came to a halt before her. Her face was hidden, but he could feel the intensity of her gaze.

  “What will you give, man of the sea, to keep the folk of this land in safety?” Her voice was soft, but it held a weight of meaning that disturbed him.

  “I have given my oath to defend the Empire,” he began, but she shook her head.

  “This is not a matter for the will, but for the heart,” she said softly. “Will you shed your heart’s blood, if need be, to preserve this land?”

  This land…, he thought. In the years since he had been assigned to the Channel fleet, he supposed, Britannia had won his affection, as a soldier will become fond of any post at which he is stationed for long. But that was not what she was asking of him.

  “I was born in a land across the sea, and blessed at my birth in the name of its gods…” he said softly.

  “But you have crossed that sea, and been given your life again by the power of the Goddess I serve,” Dierna replied. “Do you remember?”

  He stared at her features, seen dimly through the veil as once he had seen them through the storm. “It was you!”

  She nodded gravely. “And now I claim the price for saving you. Your blood will bind you to this soil. Hold out your arm.”

  In her voice was utter certainty, and he, who with one word could send the entire Britannic fleet to sea, obeyed.

  Torchlight glinted from the small sickle in her hand. Before he could question, she drew the sharp point across the softer skin inside his arm. He bit his lip at the sting and watched as the dark blood welled from the cut and began to drip onto the ground.

  “You feed this earth as she has fed you,” whispered the Lady. “Blood to blood, soul to soul. As you are bound to guard, she is bound to provide, linked by service and destiny….” She looked up at him suddenly, and her voice shook as she went on. “Do you not remember? Your body was bred by the Menapian tribe, who dwell across the sea, but your soul is much older. You have done this before!”

  Carausius shivered and looked down at the dark spots where his blood had fed the earth. Surely he had seen that before…. He took a deep breath, abruptly noticing how the scent of the woods, released by the cooling air, mingled with the scent of the sea. A flicker of vision showed him a high hill crowned with standing stones. Enemies were all around him, Roman soldiers. Blood from his wounds spattered the earth as he swung a shining sword….

  Then one of the torches crackled and his consciousness was wrenched back to the present. But he understood now that what he felt for Britannia was something more than dutiful affection. He would defend her now not only out of ambition, but for love.

  Dierna motioned to the youngest priestess, the one they called Teleri, who handed her torches to the others. She wiped his arm with a cloth that had been thrust through her belt, her face grave and intent, then bound the wound with a strip of white linen.

  The High Priestess drew a sigil above the place where his blood had soaked into the ground. “To those who come in peace, this way shall be ever open,” she chanted, “and ever defended against those who come in war!” She turned to face the east, lifting her arms, and as if in answer, the moon rose over the harbor like a silver shield.

  The next day, Cerialis invited the Roman officers to a feast on the shore. Dierna was standing beneath an oak tree, watching his servants set up tables and benches, when the Roman guests arrived. Carausius had dressed to do their host honor in a white military tunic banded with red, his belt and sandals of red-dyed leather ornamented with gilded relief plaques and tags. Today he was instantly identifiable as a Roman commander. But last night, when they blessed the foundations of his fortress, he had looked like a king….

  What, she wondered, had that ceremony meant to him? He had not expected her summons, but he had answered it. Indeed, she had not intended to bind him. But when they came to the gateway, the image of the man on the ship and the man who stood watching from the hill had become one, and she had known that it was not stone and mortar that would protect her land, but the blood of those who were sworn to defend it. And now the land knew him, and the gods, but did he himself understand?

  Something more was needed, something to make him want to do the duty to which he had been bound. Her night
had been haunted by dreams of sacred kings and royal weddings. An image surfaced suddenly of torches against a night sky, and an idea came—Teleri may not like it, she thought then, but it will serve. She did not think to wonder how she herself would feel, seeing the girl as Carausius’ bride.

  One of Cerialis’ slaves offered her a basket of berries, to take the edge from her appetite until the feast was served. Nodding, she took one, then touched the boy’s sleeve.

  “If there is a time yet to wait, I will walk upon the shore. Go to the Roman Commander and ask if he will escort me.”

  As Dierna watched the lad make his way toward the Romans, she reflected that she had not planned this either. But surely this impulse was not her own. Since her vision just before Midsummer, the gods had been leading her; if she opened her spirit to hear them, she must believe that she would be doing their will, not her own.

  There was nothing wrong with the Admiral’s manners. He maintained a correct distance between them as they walked slowly toward the water’s edge, not quite touching, but close enough to steady her if she should stumble on the smooth stones. But his eyes were as wary as if he were steering toward some enemy.

  “You are wondering what you have gotten into. And you do not trust me,” she said quietly. “It is often so after such a moment. When the excitement fades, doubt creeps in. The morning after my initiation, I wanted to run away from Avalon. Do not fear, nothing was done that affects your honor.”

  He raised one eyebrow, and for a moment the hard crags and planes of his face softened. She noted the change with an odd flicker of emotion. I would like to see him laugh, she thought.

  “It depends on what, exactly, I have sworn to—”

  “To defend Britannia, even to death—” she began, but he shook his head.

  “That was already my duty. This was something more. Did you work magic to compel me?”