Lady of Avalon

by Marion Zimmer Bradley

  “I did not speak as High Priestess, but as a woman…” she whispered. Her eyes again filled with tears.

  “And it has been a long time since she was allowed to feel?” he asked with a ghost of humor. “The Emperor of Britannia might say the same.”

  To her blurred vision, his features seemed to alter. She had seen them before, when he and she sought visions in the silver bowl upon the Tor. With a sudden conviction she thought, I have loved this man before.

  Carausius straightened. Slowly the aura of power that always made him seem the biggest man in any room returned. It was not the power of the Emperor he had become that she recognized, but the aura of the King. He had been right, she thought, in identifying what she wanted for Britannia. But the Sacred King she sought was not Allectus but himself. He strode to the door and said something to the guard outside. Then he closed it firmly and turned back to her.

  “Dierna…” He spoke her name once more.

  Her heart began to pound, but it seemed the power of voluntary motion had abandoned her. Carausius gripped her shoulders and bent to kiss her as a thirsty man bends to a pool of water. She sighed, her eyes closing, and as he felt her yield he pulled her hard against him. Dierna trembled, suddenly achingly aware of everything he was feeling, because his need was her own. And in that moment she did not care whether he was king or emperor, or only a man.

  After a time her released her, fumbling for the fastenings of her gown. Dierna could not protest: her hands were as eager on his body as his upon her own. The small part of her mind not yet overwhelmed by passion observed in amusement that she was as clumsy as a virgin. Indeed, she had never known a man except in the ceremonial joinings of the Druid rituals, never taken a lover simply for desire. She wondered vaguely how they would consummate their union, for there was no bed in the room.

  Carausius kissed her once more and she clung to him; her bones were melting, she flowed to meet him as the river seeks the sea. Then he lifted her and laid her down upon the map of Britannia that covered the table. Dierna laughed softly, in a single flash seeing the symbolism, and understanding that the Goddess had blessed even this hasty coupling, for, without design or ceremony, High Priestess and Emperor were celebrating the Great Rite after all.

  The walls that Eiddin Mynoc had built around his city were high and strong. Teleri could walk all day if she wished, and never have to look at the sea. Since she had come down from Aquae Sulis, she had spent a great deal of time walking, to the despair of the maidservants her father had assigned to attend her. And since Dierna’s visit, she found it impossible to be still.

  Sometimes Teleri wondered what the High Priestess had wished to say to her. She had refused to see her, afraid Dierna would try to persuade her to go back to her husband, or to Avalon. But the other woman had spent a great deal of time talking to the Prince, so perhaps she had not really been interested in Teleri after all. In any case, the priestess was gone now, and Teleri’s brothers and their friends were happily practicing cavalry maneuvers on their blooded horses, and learning how to adapt the skills of the hunt to the battlefield. Soon they would leave as well, and then there would be nothing to remind her of Carausius and his war.

  A gull swooped across her path, yammering, and she jumped, her fingers making the sign to avert evil.

  “Oh, my lady, you must not give way to such superstitions,” said her maid Julia, who had recently become a Christian. “Birds are not evil, only men.”

  “Unless it was no natural bird, but an illusion of the Evil One,” said Beth, her other attendant, laughing as Julia crossed herself.

  Teleri turned away, their bickering as meaningless as the squawking of the bird. “We will go to the market to look at plates and bowls.”

  “But, lady, we were there only two days ago—” began Julia.

  “A new shipment of Castor-ware is expected,” answered Teleri, and set off at such a pace that the girl had no breath to spare for another objection.

  By the time they returned to her father’s town house, the maids carefully carrying two dark-brown pots embellished with bas-relief hunting scenes, the sun was sinking in the west. The purchase of the pots had distracted Teleri for a little while, but already they had ceased to interest her, and when the girls asked her what to do with them, she shrugged and said they might take them to the housekeeper or the rubbish heap, for all she cared.

  Teleri went to her rooms and cast herself upon the couch, then rose once more. She was tired, but she feared to sleep, because so often she had troubled dreams. She had just sat down again when one of the house slaves came bowing to her door.

  “Lady, your father says that you should come. The lord Allectus is here!”

  Teleri stood so suddenly she felt faint, and grasped the curved end of the couch for support. Had Allectus come as the Emperor’s advocate, or was there another reason? Suddenly self-conscious, she pulled off the stola she had worn to the market, smudged with the dust of the day, and cast it aside.

  “Tell them to bring me water for washing, and tell Julia to lay out the rose silk tunica and the matching veil!”

  By the time Teleri joined her father and his guest in the dining chamber, she was composed in appearance, if not inwardly. When she had been seated, the conversation returned to the coming invasion.

  “And does your intelligence indicate that the Romans will come soon?” asked the Prince.

  “I do not think that Constantius has enough transports for the men he will need to bring, and he will need to build more warships as well. He defeated Carausius in Gesoriacum, but our lads gave them a good savaging.”

  Allectus sipped at his wine, his gaze slipping sideways to Teleri. He had colored when she came in, but his greeting had been formal. He looked fit, she thought then, his skin browned from much riding in the sun. And he looked older—all the boyish softness had been worn away.

  “And the lads we have here,” said the Prince, “will they, as you put it, give the Romans ‘a good savaging’ as well?”

  “If we are united,” said Allectus. “But as I travel about, I hear murmurs. Our people—the men of the old Celtic blood—are awakening. To escape from the Roman yoke is much, but some say we should go further, and choose a king who is not himself a foreigner.”

  Teleri’s gaze moved to her father, who continued to peel the apple he was holding.

  “And how would a high king be chosen?” asked the Prince. “If our people had been able to unite, Caesar—the first one—would never have gotten a foothold on these shores. Our tragedy is that we have always been more eager to fight each other than any foreign foe.”

  “But if they could agree? If there were some sign to mark the man our gods have chosen?” asked Allectus softly.

  “There are many omens, and many interpretations. When the time comes, a chieftain must judge by what he sees….”

  Teleri stared, wondering if she dreamed or they did. What about Carausius? But already the talk had become more general, turning to the training of men and the supplies that fed them, and routes for moving one or another where they must go.

  The night was warm, and when dinner was done, Allectus asked Teleri if she would walk with him in the atrium. For a time, they paced in silence. Then Allectus stopped suddenly.

  “Teleri—why did you leave Carausius? Was he cruel? Did he hurt you?”

  She shook her head wearily. She had been expecting something like this. “Hurt me? No—he never cared enough for that. Carausius did nothing, but when I looked at him I saw a Saxon.”

  “You never loved him?”

  She turned to face him. “Never. But you did, Allectus, or at least he was your hero! What do you want me to say?”

  “I thought he would save Britannia!” Allectus exclaimed. “But it was only a change of masters. And I was always in his shadow. And you belonged to him….”

  “Did you mean what you said to my father, or were you only testing him?” Teleri asked then.

  He let out his breath in a
long sigh. “Teleri, I could lead this land. A government runs on money, and I control it. I come of the Belgic princes, and the Silures on my mother’s side. That is not enough, I know. But if you could love me—they would follow me if you consented to be my Queen.”

  She fingered the fabric of her gown. “And do you love me, or do you only want to marry me, as he did, because it will help you to gain power?” She looked up and realized that Allectus was trembling.

  “Teleri,” he whispered. “Don’t you know what I feel for you? You have haunted my dreams. But when we met, you were a priestess of Avalon, and then, suddenly, the wife of Carausius. I would give you my heart on a platter if it would please you, but I would rather offer you Britannia. Give me your love and you shall be, not Empress, but High Queen.”

  “And what of my husband?”

  His gaze, which had been so luminous and open a moment before, grew hard. “I will reason with him until he agrees….”

  Even if the Emperor relinquished her, Teleri could not imagine Carausius voluntarily giving up his power. But Allectus was kneeling before her, and she found it hard to care. He took her hand and kissed it, then turned it gently and pressed his lips to her palm.

  Such a gentle touch, she thought. Allectus would not stop her if she rose and walked away. But as Teleri looked down at his bent head, she felt a surge of protective pity, and for the first time realized that she too had power. Carausius had needed her as a link to the British, and to Avalon. This man needed her love.

  Gently, she stroked his hair, and when he looked up, she accepted him into her arms.

  The messenger Prince Eiddin Mynoc sent to the Emperor had said the Prince’s men would be leaving Durnovaria on the ides of Junius. He had recommended that an officer be sent to take charge of them at Sorviodunum, where the main road from the southwest met the routes coming down from Aquae Sulis and Glevum.

  A few days before Midsummer, Carausius, exasperated by a week of conferences with the local senators at Venta, decided to ride over himself to meet them. He still wore his German breeches for riding, but his advisers had persuaded him to put his Menapian bodyguard in Roman gear. They looked now, he thought as he glanced at the file riding behind him, like any other recruits sent to serve at the other end of the Empire.

  When they came to Sorviodunum, the Durotriges had not yet arrived, but the weather was fair and bright; it was not a day for a man to sit inside when he might be out in the clean air. What he wanted, thought Carausius as he led his men out along the Durnovaria road, was to be on the deck of a ship. It would have been a fine day for sailing. But he would sway instead to the motion of the horse beneath him, and pretend that the undulations in the land before him were the rolling waves of the sea.

  It was nearing noon when one of the Menapians called out and, looking up, Carausius saw a cloud of dust on the road. The past few years had taught him to judge cavalry, and he estimated that perhaps two score horsemen were coming, pushing their mounts harder than an experienced commander would have recommended, out of exuberance, probably, rather than emergency. He squeezed his own mount’s sides, and the Menapians speeded into a trot behind him as they hurried to meet the Durotriges.

  With a smile he recognized Teleri’s eldest brother, more heavily built than she, though with the same dark hair. But, then, he had already figured out whose these riders must be. They looked good, he thought as he scanned the others—their gear, all aflutter and jingling with ornaments and tassels, was more suited for parade than the field, but they seemed energetic and determined. And of course they rode well.

  Only one man sat his horse without the easy grace of the others. Carausius shaded his eyes with one hand, blinking as he recognized Allectus. It had taken him a moment, for he had never seen the younger man in anything but Roman dress, whereas now he rode in a saffron tunic and crimson mantle, like the Belgic Prince he was.

  It would appear that he himself was not the only one to feel the tug of his native roots, now that they were fighting Rome, thought Carausius. He grinned as the Durotriges pulled up in a swirl of dust before him, and waved.

  “Allectus, my boy, what are you doing here? I thought you were in Londinium.”

  “This is my country and my people,” answered Allectus. “It is here I should be.”

  Carausius felt a faint prickle of uncertainty, but he continued to smile. “Well, you have certainly brought the Durotriges here in prime fettle.” He looked back at the riders and his unease deepened, for they were not smiling.

  Teleri’s brother moved his mount a little forward. “Did you think that you Romans—or you Germans, I should say—were the only ones who can fight? Celtic warriors made the walls of Rome tremble when your people were still crawling out of the mire.”

  Theudibert, one of Carausius’ Menapians, growled, but Carausius motioned to him to be still.

  “If I did not believe in your courage,” he said calmly, “I would not have asked your father to send you. Britannia needs all her sons to fight for her now—those whose forebears battled Caesar, and the children of the Legions, brought from Sarmatia and Hispania and every corner of the Empire to take root in this land. We are all Britons now.”

  “Not you,” said one of the Durotriges. “You were born across the sea.”

  “I have given my blood for Britannia,” said Carausius. “The Lady of Avalon herself accepted my offering.” Even now the thought of Dierna lifted his heart. At Portus Adurni he had given more than blood; he had poured out his seed, his very life, in her embrace that night, and been renewed.

  “The Lady of the Britons rejects it,” said Allectus. The warriors reined aside to let him through. “The daughter of Eiddin Mynoc is your wife no longer. The alliance is ended, and our allegiance withdrawn.”

  Carausius stiffened with anger. Had the boy gone mad?

  “The tribes breed brave men,” he said in a last attempt at conciliation, “but for three hundred years they have not borne arms except for hunting. Without the help of the British Legions, you will be easy meat for Constantius when he comes.”

  “The Legions”—Allectus snorted contemptuously—“will follow whoever pays them. Is that not the history of your Empire? And the mints belong to me. Whether for love or for money, all of Britannia will fight the invader. But they must be led by a man of the old blood.”

  A vein pulsed in Carausius’ temple. “By you…”

  Allectus nodded. “It might have been different if you had had a son by Teleri, but she rejected your seed. She has bestowed the sovereignty on me.”

  Carausius stared at him unseeing. He knew that he had never won Teleri’s love, but he had not realized that she hated him. That hurt, for he still thought of her with affection, even though Dierna had shown him what it meant to love. The part of his mind that was still capable of reason told him that Allectus was saying these things to wound him. And if Dierna had not given herself to him so fully, Allectus might have succeeded. But with the memory of her love like living water within him, no taunt Allectus might make could shake his manhood. It was she, not Teleri, who was the giver of sovereignty.

  But the Durotriges clearly believed Allectus, and he could not betray Dierna by telling them of her gift to him.

  “These men are not bound,” he said slowly, “but you, Allectus, swore an oath to me. How can they trust you if you betray me?”

  Allectus shrugged. “I swore by the gods of Rome—the same gods by whom you swore to serve Diocletian. One broken oath deserves another—‘an eye for an eye,’ as the Christians say.”

  Carausius brought his horse up closer, forcing the other man to meet his eyes. “It was more than an oath, Allectus, between us,” he said softly. “I thought I had your love.”

  The younger man gave a little shake of the head. “I love Teleri more.”

  Teleri, thought Carausius, not Britannia.

  “You may have her with my blessing,” he said grimly, “and may she be more comfort to you than ever she was to me. But as for
Britannia, I believe that the Legions have more sense than to obey an untried boy, even one whose hands flow with gold. And it may be that the other tribes will not be so eager to obey the Belgae, who conquered them before the Romans came. You are welcome to try, Allectus, but I do not think the people of this land will follow you, and I will not abandon those who swore faith to me….”

  Contemptuously, he reined his horse away. He had gone perhaps two horses’ lengths forward when one of the Menapians shouted a warning. Carausius began to turn, and so it was that the lance that Teleri’s brother had thrown took him not in the back but through the side.

  For a moment all he felt was the impact. Then the weight of the lance pulled it free. As it clattered to the road, Carausius felt a gush of warmth below his ribs, and then, finally, the first fiery stab of pain. He heard shouts, and the clash of swords. A horse screamed. He blinked, trying to focus, and saw one of his bodyguard go down.

  I am not dead yet, he told himself, and men are dying for me! A deep breath brought him a moment’s clarity, and he drew his sword. He kicked his mount toward Allectus, but there were too many men between them. A blade flashed toward him; he knocked it away, thrust, felt the jar as it bit, and saw his enemy fall. That had been luck, he thought, but his battle rage was rising, and with every moment he felt stronger. His Menapians, seeing him fighting, took courage and attacked with equal fury.

  Time blurred. Suddenly there was no foe before him. He heard hoofbeats, and saw that the Durotriges were regrouping around Allectus and wheeling away. Arms waved as if they were arguing.

  “My lord,” cried one of his men. “You are bleeding!”

  Carausius managed to sheathe his sword and pressed his hand to his side. “It is not serious,” he gasped. “Tear me a strip from your mantle to stanch it. They outnumber us, but we’ve made them bleed. If we draw off now, they may think twice about following.”