The Mists of Avalon

by Marion Marion Bradley

  "Now you have wakened my babe-" Igraine said, and sat down on the edge of the bed, hushing the child. Gradually the angry color receded from Viviane's face. She sat down beside Igraine and said, "You have not understood me, Grainne. Do you think Gorlois immortal? I tell you, child, I have sought to read in the stars the destinies of those who are vital to Britain's wholeness in the years to come, and I tell you, the name of Gorlois is not written there."

  Igraine felt her knees weaken and her whole body loosen at the joints. "Will Uther kill him?"

  "I swear to you: Uther will have no part in his death, and when Gorlois dies, Uther will be far away. But think, child. Tintagel is a great castle; do you believe, when Gorlois can hold it no longer, that Uther Pendragon would be slow to say, Take the castle, and the woman who holds it, to one of his war dukes? Better Uther than one of his men."

  Morgaine. What will become of my child; of Morgause, my little sister? Truly, the woman who belongs to any man must pray that he will live to protect her.

  "Can I not return to the Holy Isle, and live out my life in Avalon as priestess?"

  "That is not your destiny, little one," Viviane said. Her voice was tender again. "You cannot hide from your fate. It is given to you to play a part in the salvation of this land, but the road to Avalon is closed to you forever. Will you walk the road to your destiny, or must the Gods drag you to it unwilling?"

  She did not wait for Igraine's answer. "It will not be long. Ambrosius Aurelianus is dying; for many years he has led the Britons, and now his dukes will meet to choose a High King. And there is none but Uther whom they can all trust. So Uther must be duke of war and High King, both. And he will need a son."

  Igraine felt as if the walls of a trap were closing around her. "If you make so much of this, why do you not do this thing yourself? If there is so much power to be gained as the wife of Britain's war duke and High King, why do you not seek to attract Uther with your charms, and bear this ordained king yourself?"

  To her surprise, Viviane hesitated for a long time before saying, "Do you think I had not thought of that? But you have forgotten how old I am, Igraine. I am older than Uther, and he is not young as warriors go. I was twenty-six when Morgause was born. I am nine-and-thirty, Igraine, and I am past childbearing."

  In the bronze mirror, somehow still in her hand, Igraine saw her sister's reflection, distorted, misshapen, flowing like water, the image suddenly clearing then clouding and vanishing. Igraine said, "You think so? But I tell you that you will bear another child."

  "I hope not," Viviane said. "I am older than our mother was when she died in bearing Morgause, and I could not now hope to escape that fate. This is the last year I shall take part in the rites at Beltane; after this I shall hand on my office to some woman younger than I, and become as the Ancient One, the wise-woman. I had hoped that one day I would hand on the place of the Goddess to Morgause-"

  "Then why did you not keep her in Avalon and train her to be priestess after you?"

  Viviane looked very sad. "She is not fit. She sees, under the mantle of the Goddess, only power, not the unending sacrifice and suffering. And so that path is not for her."

  "It does not seem to me that you have suffered," Igraine said.

  "You know nothing about it. You did not choose to walk that path either. I, who have given my life to it, say still it would be simpler to live the life of a peasant woman, beast of burden and brood mare in season. You see me robed and crowned as the Goddess, triumphant beside her cauldron; you do not see the darkness of the cave or the depths of the great sea ... . You are not called to it, dear child, and you should thank the Goddess that your destiny is laid elsewhere."

  Igraine said silently, Do you think I know nothing of suffering and enduring in silence, after these four years? but she did not say the words aloud. Viviane had bent over Morgaine, her face tender, stroking the little girl's silky-dark hair.

  "Ah, Igraine, you cannot know how I envy you-all my life I have so longed for a daughter. Morgause was like my own to me, the Goddess knows, but always as alien to me as if she had been born of a stranger, not my own mother.... I longed for a daughter into whose hands I could resign my office." She sighed. "But I bore only one girl-child, who died, and my sons are gone from me." She shuddered. "Well, this is my destiny, which I shall try to obey as you do yours. I ask nothing of you but this, Igraine, and the rest I leave to her who is mistress of us all. When Gorlois comes home again, he will go to Londinium for the choosing of a High King. Somehow you must contrive to go there with him."

  Igraine burst out laughing. "Only this you ask me, and this is harder than all the rest! Do you truly think that Gorlois would burden his men with escorting a young wife to Londinium? I would like to go there, indeed, but Gorlois will take me thither when figs and oranges from the south grow in the garden of Tintagel!"

  "Nevertheless, somehow you must contrive to go, and you must look upon Uther Pendragon."

  Igraine laughed again. "And I suppose you will give me a charm so that he will fall so deep in love with me that he cannot resist it?"

  Viviane stroked her curling red hair. "You are young, Igraine, and I do not think you have any idea how beautiful you are. I do not think Uther will have need of any charms."

  Igraine felt her body contract in a curious frightened spasm. "Perhaps I had better have the charm so that I will not shrink from him!"

  Viviane sighed. She touched the moonstone about Igraine's neck. She said, "This was not Gorlois's gift to you-"

  "No; I had it from you at my wedding, you remember? You said it was my mother's."

  "Give it to me." Viviane reached under the curling hair at Igraine's neck and unfastened the chain. "When this stone comes back to you, Igraine, remember what I said, and do as the Goddess prompts you to do."

  Igraine looked at the stone in the hands of the priestess. She sighed, but she did not protest. I have promised her nothing, she told herself fiercely, nothing.

  "Will you go to Londinium for the choosing of this High King, Viviane?"

  The priestess shook her head. "I go to the land of another king, who does not yet know that he must fight at the side of Uther. Ban of Armorica, in Less Britain, is being made High King of his land, and in token, his Druids have told him that he must make the Great Rite. I am sent to officiate in the Sacred Marriage."

  "I thought Brittany was a Christian land."

  "Oh, it is so," Viviane said indifferently, "and his priests will ring their bells, and anoint him with their holy oils, and tell him that his God has made the sacrifice for him. But the people will not accept a king who is not himself vowed to the Great Sacrifice."

  Igraine drew a deep breath. "I know so little-"

  "In the old days, Igraine," Viviane said, "the High King was bound with his life to the fortunes of the land, and pledged, as every Merlin of Britain is pledged, that if the land comes upon disaster or perilous times, he will die that the land may live. And should he refuse this sacrifice, the land would perish. I-I should not speak of this, it is a Mystery, but in your own way, Igraine, you too are offering your life for the healing of this land. No woman knows, when she lies down to childbirth, whether her life will not be demanded of her at the hands of the Goddess. I too have lain bound and helpless, with the knife at my throat, knowing that if death took me, my blood would redeem the land ... ." Her voice trembled into silence; Igraine, too, was silent, in awe.

  "A part of Less Britain, too, has withdrawn into the mists, and the Great Shrine of Stones cannot now be found. The avenue leading to the shrine is empty stone, unless the Way to Karnak is known," Viviane said, "but King Ban has pledged to keep the worlds from drifting apart, and the gateways open to the Mysteries. And so he will make the Sacred Marriage with the land, in token that if there is need his very blood will be spilled to feed the crops. It is fitting that my last service to the Mother, before I take my place among the wise-women, shall be to bind his land to Avalon, and so I am to be the Goddess to him in this mys
tery."

  She was silent, but for Igraine the room was filled with the echo of her voice. Viviane bent over and picked up the sleeping Morgaine in her arms, holding her with great tenderness.

  "She is not yet a maiden, and I not yet a wise-woman," she said, "but we are the Three, Igraine. Together we make up the Goddess, and she is here present among us."

  Igraine wondered why she had not named their sister Morgause, and they were so open to one another that Viviane heard the words as if Igraine had spoken them aloud.

  She said in a whisper, and Igraine saw her shiver, "The Goddess has a fourth face, which is secret, and you should pray to her, as I do-as I do, Igraine-that Morgause will never wear that face."

  3

  It seemed to Igraine that she had been riding forever in the rain. The journey to Londinium was like a journey from the end of the world. She had travelled but little before, except, long ago, from Avalon to Tintagel. She contrasted the frightened, despairing child of that first journey with herself today. Now she rode at Gorlois's side, and he went to some trouble to tell her something of the lands they passed through, and she laughed and teased him, and at night in their tent she went willingly to his bed. Now and again she missed Morgaine, wondering how the child would be faring-would she cry at night for her mother, would she eat at Morgause's bidding? But it was pleasant to be free again, riding in this great company of men, conscious of their admiring looks and their deference- none of them would dare to approach Gorlois's lady, except with an admiring glance. She was a girl again, but not, now, frightened and shrinking from the strange man who was her husband and whom she must somehow manage to please. She was a girl again without the childish awkwardness of her real girlhood, and she was enjoying it. She did not even mind the ceaseless rain that obscured the distant hills so that they rode within a little circle of mist.

  We could lose our way in this mist, wander off into the realms of Fairy, and never return at all to this world, where the dying Ambrosius and the ambitious Uther plan for the salvation of Britain from the wild savages. Britain could sink like Rome, under the barbarians, and we need never know nor care ... .

  "Are you weary, Igraine?" Gorlois's voice was gentle and concerned. Really, he was not the ogre he had seemed during those first terrifying days four years ago! Now he was only an aging man, grey in his hair and beard (though he shaved himself carefully in Roman fashion), scarred from years of fighting, and touchingly eager to please her. Perhaps, if she had not been so frightened and rebellious in those days, she might have seen that he was eager to please her then, too. He had not been cruel to her, or if he was, it was only that he seemed to know little of women's bodies and how to use them. Now it seemed only clumsiness, not cruelty; and if she told him he hurt her, he would caress her more gently. The younger Igraine had thought it inevitable, the hurt and the terror. Now she knew better.

  She smiled at him now, gaily, and said, "No, not at all; I feel I could go on riding forever! But with so much mist, how do you know that we will not lose our way and never come to Londinium at all!"

  "You need not fear that," he said gravely. "My guides are very good, and they know every inch of the road. And before nightfall we will come to the old Roman road which leads into the very heart of the city. So we will sleep this night under a roof and in a proper bed."

  "I shall be glad to sleep again in a proper bed," said Igraine demurely, and saw, as she had known she would see, the sudden heat rising in his face and eyes. But he turned his face away from her; it was almost as if he was afraid of her, and Igraine, having just discovered this power, delighted in it.

  She rode on at his side, reflecting on the sudden kindness she felt for Gorlois, a kindness mixed with regret, as if he had become dear to her only now, when she knew she must lose him. One way or another, she knew her days at his side were numbered; and she remembered how she had first known that he would die.

  She had had his messenger, warning her to prepare for his coming; he had sent one of his men, with suspicious eyes which peered everywhere, telling Igraine without words that if this man had had a young wife, he would have come home without warning, hoping to surprise some misconduct or extravagance. Igraine, knowing herself guiltless, her steward competent, her kitchen in order, had ignored the prying stares and bade the man welcome. Let him question her servants if he would, he would find that except for her sister and the Lord Merlin she had received no guests at Tintagel.

  When the messenger had gone, Igraine, turning to cross the courtyard, had stopped, a shadow falling across her in full sunlight, stricken with causeless fear. And in that moment she saw Gorlois, wondering where was his horse, his entourage? He looked thinner and older, so that for a moment she hardly knew him, and his face was drawn and haggard. There was a sword cut on his cheek which she did not remember.

  "My husband!" she cried. "Gorlois-" And then, stricken by the unspeakable grief in his face, she had forgotten her fear of him and the years of resentment, rushed toward him and spoken as she would have spoken to her child. "Oh, my dear, what has happened to you? What has brought you here like this, alone, unarmed-are you ill? Are you-" And then she stopped, her voice dying away among the echoes. For there was no one there, only the fitful light from clouds and sea and shadows, and the echo of her own voice.

  She tried, all the rest of that day, to reassure herself that it was only a Sending, like the one that had warned her of Viviane's coming. But she knew better: Gorlois had not the Sight, would not have used it or believed in it if he had had it. What she had seen-and she knew it even though she had never seen anything like it before-was her husband's fetch, his double, the shadow and precursor of his death.

  And when at last he arrived, whole and sound, she had tried to shrug away the memory, had told herself that it was only a trick of the light that made her see, behind him, the shadow she had seen, with the sword cut on his face and the unspeakable grief in his eyes. For Gorlois now was neither wounded nor disheartened; on the contrary, he was in high good humor, bringing gifts for her, and even a string of little coral beads for Morgaine. He had looked in the sacks of his Saxon plunder and given Morgause a red cloak.

  "No doubt it belonged to some Saxon strumpet, some camp follower, or even one of the screaming swordswomen who fight alongside their men, half-naked on the field of war," he said, laughing and chucking the girl under the chin, "so it is just as well it should be worn by a decent British maiden. The color becomes you, little sister. When you have grown a bit, you will be as pretty as my wife." Morgause had simpered and giggled and tossed her head, posing in the new cloak, and later Gorlois had said sharply, as he and Igraine were making themselves ready for bed (Morgaine, howling, had been banished to Morgause's room), "We must have that girl married as soon as can be arranged, Igraine. She is a puppy bitch with eyes hot for anything in the shape of a man; did you see how she cast her eyes not only on me but on my younger soldiers? I will not have such a one disgracing my family, nor influencing my daughter!"

  Igraine had given him a soft answer. She could not forget that she had seen Gorlois's death, and she would not argue with a condemned man. And she too had been annoyed by Morgause's behavior.

  So Gorlois is to die. Well, it takes not much prophecy to foresee that a man of five-and-forty, who has been fighting Saxons much of his life, will not live to see his little children grown. I shall not let it make me believe all the rest of the nonsense she spoke to me, or I shall be expecting Gorlois to take me to Londinium! But the next day, as they lingered over breaking their fast and she was mending a great rent in his best tunic, he spoke bluntly.

  "Did you not wonder what brought me here so suddenly, Igraine?"

  After the night past, she had the confidence to smile into his eyes.

  "Should I question fortune, which has brought my husband home after a year's absence? I hope it means that the Saxon Shores are free and in British hands again."

  He nodded absently, and smiled. Then the smile was gone. "Ambrosius
Aurelianus is dying. The old eagle will soon be gone, and there is no hatchling to fly in his place. It is like the legions going again; he has been High King for all my days, and a good king for those of us who still hoped, as I did, for the return of Rome one day. Now I know that day will never come. The kings of Britain from near and far have been summoned to gather in Londinium to choose their High King and war leader, and I too must go. It was a long journey to stay so little time, for I must be off again within three days. But I would not come so near without seeing you and the child. It will be a great gathering, Igraine, and many of the dukes and kings will bring their ladies; would you like to come with me?"

  "To Londinium?"

  "Yes, if you will travel so far," he said, "and if you can bring yourself to leave that child. I do not know why you should not. Morgaine is healthy and sound and there are enough women here to look after a dozen like her; and if I have managed to get you with child again"-he met her eyes in a smile she could hardly have imagined on his face-"it will not yet hinder you in riding." There was a tenderness she had never guessed in his voice as he added, "I would rather not be parted from you again for a little while, at least; will you come, my wife?"

  Somehow you must contrive to come to Londinium with him. Viviane had said it. And now Gorlois had made it unnecessary even to ask. Igraine had a sudden feeling of panic-as if she were on a runaway horse. She picked up a cup of beer and sipped at it, to cover her confusion. "Certainly I will come if you wish it." Two days later they were on the road, riding eastward to Londinium and the encampment of Uther Pendragon and the dying Ambrosius, for the choosing of a High King ... .

  In midafternoon they came to the Roman road, and could ride more swiftly; and late that day they could see the outskirts of Londinium, and smell the tidal river that washed its shores. Igraine had never guessed so many houses could be gathered together in one place; for a moment she felt, after the chill spaces of the southern moors, that she could not breathe, that the houses were closing in on her. She rode as if in a trance, feeling that the stone streets and walls cut her off from air and light and life itself.. .. How could people live behind walls this way?