The Mists of Avalon

by Marion Marion Bradley

  Igraine was amazed at his vehemence. "Then I am glad you have so loyal and trusty a follower, my son." She added, with a caustic smile, "That must be a grief indeed to Lot, that his sons love you so well!"

  "I know not what I have done that they should wish me so well, but they do, for which I consider myself blessed."

  "Aye," Taliesin said, "Gawaine will be staunch and loyal to death, Arthur, and beyond if God wills."

  The Archbishop said austerely, "Man cannot presume to know God's will-"

  Taliesin ignored him and said, "More trusty even than Lancelet, Arthur, though it grieves me to say so."

  Arthur smiled, and Igraine thought, with a pang at heart, he has all of Uther's charm, he too can inspire great loyalty in his followers! How like his father he is! Arthur said, "Come, I will chide even you, Lord Merlin, if you speak so of my dearest friend. Lancelet too I would trust with my life and my honor."

  Merlin said, with a sigh, "Oh, yes, with your life you may trust him, I am sure. ... I am not sure he will not break in the final test, but certainly he loves you well and would guard your life beyond his own."

  Patricius said, "Certainly Gawaine is a good Christian, but I am not so sure about Lancelet. A time will come, I trust, when all these folk who call themselves Christian and are not may be revealed as the demon worshippers they are in truth. Whosoever will not accept the authority of Holy Church about the will of God are even as Christ says-'Ye who are not for me are against me.' Yet all over Britain there are those who are little better than pagans. In Tara I dealt with these, when I lighted the Paschal fires for Easter on one of their unholy hills, and the king's Druids could not stand against me. Yet even in the hallowed Isle of Glastonbury, where the sainted Joseph of Arimathea walked, I find the very priests worshipping a sacred well! This is heathendom! I will close it if I must appeal to the Bishop of Rome himself!"

  Arthur smiled and said, "I cannot imagine that the Bishop of Rome would have the slightest idea what is going on in Britain."

  Taliesin said gently, "Father Patricius, you would do a great disservice to the people of this land if you close their sacred well. It is a gift from God-"

  "It is a part of pagan worship." The eyes of the Archbishop glowed with the austere fire of the fanatic.

  "It comes from God," the old Druid insisted, "because there is nothing in this universe which does not come from God, and simple people need simple signs and symbols. If they worship God in the waters which flow from his bounty, how is that evil?"

  "God cannot be worshipped in symbols which are made by man-"

  "There you are in total agreement with me, my brother," said the Merlin, "for a part of the Druid wisdom lies in the saying that God, who is beyond all, cannot be worshipped in any dwelling made by human hands, but only under his own sky. And yet you build churches and deck them richly with gold and silver. Wherefore, then, is the evil in drinking from the sacred springs which God has made and blessed with vision and healing?"

  "The Devil gives you your knowledge of such things," Patricius said sternly, and Taliesin laughed.

  "Ah, but God makes doubts and the Devil too, and in the end of time they will all come to him and obey his will."

  Arthur interrupted, before Patricius could answer, "Good fathers, we came here not to argue theology!"

  "True," said Igraine, relieved. "We were speaking of Gawaine, and Morgause's other son-Agravaine, is it? And of your marriage."

  "Pity," Arthur said, "that since Lot's sons love me well, and Lot-I doubt it not-is eager to have his household heir with me to the High Kingship, that Morgause has not a daughter, so that I could be his son-in-law and he would know that his daughter's son was my heir."

  "That would suit well," Taliesin said, "for you are both of the royal line of Avalon."

  Patricius frowned. "Is not Morgause your mother's sister, my lord Arthur? To wed with her daughter would be little better than bedding your own sister!"

  Arthur looked troubled. Igraine said, "I agree; even if Morgause had a daughter, it is not even to be thought of."

  Arthur said, plaintively, "I should find it easy to be fond of a sister of Gawaine. The idea of marrying a stranger doesn't please me all that much, and I wouldn't think the girl would be pleased either!"

  "It happens to every woman," Igraine said, and was surprised to hear herself-was she still bitter over what was so long past? "Marriages must be arranged by those with wiser heads than any young maiden could have."

  Arthur sighed. He said, "King Leodegranz has offered me his daughter -I forget her name-and has offered, too, that her dowry shall be a hundred of his best men, all armed and-hear this, Mother-each with the good horses he breeds, so that Lancelet may train them. This was one of the secrets of the Caesars, that their best cohorts fought on horseback; before them, none but the Scythians ever used horses except to move supplies and sometimes for riders to send messages. If I had four hundred men who could fight as cavalry-well, Mother, I could drive the Saxons back to their shores yelping like their own hounds!"

  Igraine laughed. "That hardly seems reason to marry, my son. Horses can be bought, and men hired."

  "But," Arthur said, "Leodegranz is of no mind to sell. I think he has it in his mind that in return for this dowry-and it is a kingly dowry, doubt not-he would like it well to be bound by kinship's ties to the High King. Not that he is the only one, but he has offered more than any other will offer.

  "What I wished to ask you, Mother-I am unwilling to send any ordinary messenger to tell the king that I'll take his daughter and he should bundle her up like a package and send her to my court. Would you go and give my answer to the king, and escort her to my court?"

  Igraine started to nod her agreement, then remembered that she had taken vows in this place. "Can you not send one of your trusty men, Gawaine or Lancelet?"

  "Gawaine is a wencher. I am not so sure I want him within reach of my bride," Arthur said, laughing. "Let it be Lancelet."

  The Merlin said somberly, "Igraine, I feel you should go."

  "Why, Grandfather," Arthur said, "has Lancelet such charms that you fear my bride will love him instead?"

  Taliesin sighed. Igraine said quickly, "I will go, if the abbess of this place gives me leave." The Mother Superior, she thought, could not refuse her leave to attend her son's wedding. And she realized that after years of being a queen, it was not easy to sit quietly behind walls and await tidings of the great events moving in the land. That was, perhaps, every woman's lot, but she would avoid it as long as she could.

  4

  Gwenhwyfar felt the familiar nausea gripping the pit of her stomach; she began to wonder if before they set forth she would have to run at once to the privy. What would she do if the need came on her after she had mounted and ridden out? She looked at Igraine, who stood tall and composed, rather like the Mother Superior of her old convent. Igraine had seemed kind and motherly on that first visit, a year ago, when the marriage had been arranged. Now, come to escort Gwenhwyfar to her bridal, she seemed stern and demanding, with no trace of the terror that gripped at Gwenhwyfar. How could she be so calm? Gwenhwyfar ventured, in a small voice, peering at the waiting horses and litter, "Aren't you afraid? It's so far-"

  "Afraid? Why, no," said Igraine, "I have been to Caerleon many times, and it's not likely the Saxons are on the road to war this time. Travelling in winter is troublesome, with mud and rain, but better that than fall into the hands of the barbarians."

  Gwenhwyfar felt the shock and shame gripping her, and clenched her fists, looking down at her sturdy, ugly travelling shoes.

  Igraine reached out and took her hand, smoothing the small fingers. "I had forgotten, you have never been from home before, except to and from your convent. You were in Glastonbury, were you not?"

  Gwenhwyfar nodded. "I wish I were going back there-"

  She felt Igraine's sharp eyes on her for a moment, and quailed; perhaps the lady would know she was unhappy at marrying her son, and come to dislike her ... b
ut Igraine only said, holding her hand firmly, "I was not happy when I went first to be wedded to the Duke of Cornwall, I was not happy until I held my daughter in my arms. But I had scarce completed my fifteenth year; you are almost eighteen, are you not?"

  Clinging to Igraine's hand, Gwenhwyfar felt a little less panic; but even so, as she stepped outside the gate, it seemed that the sky overhead was a vast menace, threatening, low, filled with rainclouds. The path before the house was a sea of mud where the horses had been trampling. Now they were being drawn up into riding order with more men, it seemed to Gwenhwyfar, than she had ever seen together in her life, shouting and calling to each other, the horses neighing and the yard full of confusion. But Igraine held her hand tightly and Gwenhwyfar, shrinking, followed her.

  "I am grateful that you came to escort me, lady-"

  Igraine smiled. "I am all too worldly-I like a chance to travel beyond convent walls." She made a long step to avoid a pile of horse dung which steamed in the mud. "Mind your step, there, child-look, your father has set aside these two fine ponies for us. Do you like riding?"

  Gwenhwyfar shook her head, and whispered, "I thought I could ride in a litter-"

  "Why, so you can, if you wish," Igraine said, looking at her wonderingly, "but you will grow very weary of it, I should think. When my sister Viviane went on her travels, she used to wear men's breeches. I should have found you a pair, though at my age it would hardly be seemly."

  Gwenhwyfar blushed scarlet. "I couldn't," she said, shaking, "it's forbidden for a woman to put on the clothes of a man, so it says in Holy Writ-"

  Igraine chuckled. "The Apostle seemed to know little of the North country. It is hot where he lived," she said, "and I have heard that the men in that country where our Lord lived knew nothing of breeches, but wore long gowns as some Roman men did and do still. I think it meant only that women were not to wear the garb of some particular man, not that they were not to wear clothing fashioned in a man's style. And certainly my sister Viviane is the most modest of women; she is a priestess of Avalon." Gwenhwyfar's eyes were wide. "Is she a witch, madam?"

  "No, no, she is a wise-woman, learned in herbs and medicines, and having the Sight, but she has sworn a vow never to hurt man nor beast. She does not even eat flesh food," Igraine said. "She lives as austerely as any abbess. Look," she said, and pointed, "there is Lancelet, Arthur's chief Companion. He has come to escort us, and to bring back the horses and men-" Gwenhwyfar smiled, feeling a blush spread to her cheeks. She said, "I know Lancelet, he came to show my father what he could do with the horses."

  Igraine said, "Aye; he rides like one of those centaurs the ancients used to speak of, half horse and half man!"

  Lancelet swung down from his horse. His cheeks were as crimson with the cold as the Roman cloak he wore; the collar was turned high around his face. He bowed to the ladies.

  "Madam," he said to Igraine, "are you ready to ride?"

  "I think so. The princess's luggage is already loaded on that cart, I think," Igraine said, looking at the bulky wagon loaded high and covered with skins: a bed frame and furnishings, a great carved chest, a large and a small loom, pots and kettles.

  "Aye. I hope it does not get mired in all this mud," Lancelet said, looking at the yoke of oxen hauling it. "It is not that wagon I am worried about, but the other-the king's wedding gift to Arthur," he added, without enthusiasm, looking at the second, much larger cart. "I would have thought it better to have a table built for the King's house in Caerleon, if Uther had not left tables and furniture enough-not that I begrudge my lady her bride furniture," he added, with a quick smile at Gwenhwyfar that made her cheeks glow, "but a table, as if my Lord Arthur had not enough furniture for his hall?"

  "Ah, but that table is one of my father's treasures," said Gwenhwyfar. "It was a prize of war from one of the kings of Tara, where my grandsire fought him and carried off his best mead-hall table ... it is round, you see, so a bard can sit at the center to sing to them, or the servants pass round to pour wine or beer. And when he entertained his fellow kings he need not set one higher than another ... so my father thought it fitting for a High King, who must also seat his well-born Companions without preferring one above the other."

  "It is truly a king's gift," Lancelet said politely, "but it takes three yoke of oxen to haul it, lady, and God alone knows how many joiners and carpenters to put it together again when we have come there, so that instead of travelling at the pace of a company of horse we must plod along at the pace of the slowest ox. Ah well, the wedding cannot begin until you get there, my lady." He cocked up his head, listened and shouted, "I will come in a minute, man! I cannot be everywhere at once!" He bowed. "Ladies, I must get this army moving! Can I help you to your horses?"

  "I think Gwenhwyfar wants to travel in the litter," said Igraine.

  Lancelet said, with a smile, "Why, it is as if the sun went behind a cloud then-but you do as you will, lady. I hope you will shine out on us again another day perhaps."

  Gwenhwyfar felt pleasantly embarrassed, as she always did when Lancelet made his pretty speeches. She never knew whether he was serious or whether he was teasing her. Suddenly, as he rode away, she felt afraid again. The horses towering around her, the hordes of men coming and going -it was as if they really were the army Lancelet had called them, and she no more than an unregarded piece of luggage, almost a prize of war. Silent, she let Igraine help her into the litter, which was covered with cushions and a fur rug, and she curled up in a corner of it.

  "Shall I leave the curtains of the litter open so we can have some light and air?" Igraine asked, settling herself comfortably in the cushions.

  "No!" said Gwenhwyfar in a choking voice. "I-I feel better with them closed."

  With a shrug, Igraine closed the curtains. She looked out through a crack, watching the first of the horsemen ride out, the wagons swing into line. A kingly dowry, indeed, all these men. Armed horsemen, with weapons and gear, to be added to Arthur's armies-it was almost like what she had heard of a Roman legion.

  Gwenhwyfar's head was on the pillows, her face white, her eyes shut.

  "Are you sick?" Igraine asked in wonder.

  Gwenhwyfar shook her head. "It's just-so big-" she said. "I'm- I m afraid," she whispered.

  "Afraid? But my dear child-" Igraine broke off, and after a moment said, "Well, you'll feel better soon."

  Gwenhwyfar, her arms crossed over her eyes, hardly knew it when the litter began moving; she had willed herself into a state of half-sleep in which she could hold the panic at bay. Where was she going, under that huge all-covering sky, over the wide moors and through so many hills? The knot of panic in her belly pulled tighter and tighter. All round her she heard the sounds of horses and men, an army on the march. She was merely part of the furniture of the horses and men and their gear and a mead table. She was only a bride with all that properly belonged to her, clothes and gowns and jewels and a loom and a kettle and some combs and hackles for spinning flax. She was not herself, there was nothing for herself, she was only some property of a High King who had not even bothered to come and see the woman they were sending along with all the horses and gear. She was another mare, a brood mare this time for the High King's stud service, hopefully to provide a royal son.

  Gwenhwyfar thought she would smother with the rage that was choking her. But no, she must not be angry, it was not seemly to be angry; the Mother Superior had told her in the convent that it was a woman's proper business to be married and bear children. She had wanted to be a nun and stay in the convent and learn to read and make beautiful letters with 1 her clever pen and brush, but that was not suitable for a princess; she must obey her father's will as if it were the will of God. Women had to be' especially careful to do the will of God because it was through a woman I that mankind had fallen into Original Sin, and every woman must be aware 1 that it was her work to atone for that Original Sin in Eden. No woman could ever be really good except for Mary the Mother of Christ; all other women were evil,
they had never had any chance to be anything but evil. This was her punishment for being like Eve, sinful, filled with rage and rebellion against the will of God. She whispered a prayer and willed herself into semiconsciousness again.

  Igraine, resigning herself to riding behind closed curtains although| craving fresh air, wondered what in the world was wrong with the girl. She had not said a word against the marriage-well, she, Igraine, had not rebelled against her marriage to Gorlois, either; remembering the angry and terrified child she had been, she sympathized with Gwenhwyfar. But, why should the girl huddle behind curtains instead of going with her head up to meet her new life? What was she afraid of? Did Arthur seem such monster? It was not as if she were marrying an old man, three times her age; Arthur was young, quite ready to give her honor and respect.

  They slept that night in a tent pitched on a carefully chosen dry spot listening to the winds and the rain moaning and pelting down. Igraine wok once in the night to hear Gwenhwyfar whimper.

  "What is the matter, child? Are you sick?"

  "No-lady, do you think Arthur will like me?"

  "There is no reason he should not," Igraine said gently. "You certainly know you are beautiful."

  "Am I?" In her soft voice, it sounded only naive, not the self-conscious or coy plea for compliment or reassurance that it would have been in another. "Lady Alienor said my nose was too big, and that I had freckles like a cowherd."

  "Lady Alienor-" Igraine reminded herself to be charitable; Alienor was not much older than Gwenhwyfar, and had borne four children in six years. "I think perhaps she is a little shortsighted. You are lovely indeed. You have the most beautiful hair I have ever seen."

  "I don't think Arthur cares for beauty," Gwenhwyfar said. "He did not even send to inquire if I were cross-eyed or one-legged or had a squint or a harelip."

  "Gwenhwyfar," said Igraine gently, "every woman is wedded for her dowry, but a High King, too, must marry as his councillors bid him. Do you not think he is lying wakeful of nights, wondering what fortune the lottery has cast him, and that he will not greet you with gratitude and joy because you bring him beauty and good temper and learning as well? He was resigned to taking whatever he must, but he will be all the happier when he discovers that you are not-what was it?-harelipped or pockmarked or cross-eyed. He is young, and has not much experience with women. And Lancelet, I am sure, has told him that you are beautiful and virtuous."