The Mists of Avalon

by Marion Marion Bradley

  Gwenhwyfar let out her breath. "Lancelet is Arthur's cousin, is he not?"

  "True. He is son to Ban of Benwick by my sister, who is the Great Priestess of Avalon. He was born in the Great Marriage-know you anything of that? In Less Britain, some of the people call for the old pagan rites," Igraine said. "Even Uther, when he was made High King, was taken to Dragon Island and crowned by the old rites there, though they did not demand of him that he marry the land; in Britain, that is done by the Merlin, so that he is sacrifice for the King if need be ... ."

  Gwenhwyfar said, "I did not know these old pagan rites were still known in Britain. Was-was Arthur crowned so?"

  "If he was," said Igraine, "he has not told me. Perhaps by now things have changed, and he is content that the Merlin should be only his chiefest of councillors."

  "Do you know the Merlin, lady?"

  "He is my father."

  "Is it so?" Gwenhwyfar stared at her in the dark. "Lady, is it true that when Uther Pendragon came to you before you were wedded to him, he came to you by the Merlin's arts in the magical disguise of Gorlois, so that you lay with him thinking he was Duke of Cornwall and you still a chaste and faithful wife?"

  Igraine blinked; she had heard rumors of tales that she had borne Uther's son with unseemly haste, but this story she had never heard. "They say that?"

  "Sometimes, lady. There are bards' tales about it."

  "Well, it is not true," said Igraine. "He wore Gorlois's cloak and bore Gorlois's ring which he had taken when they fought-Gorlois was traitor to his High King and his life forfeit. But whatever tales they tell, I knew perfectly well that it was Uther and no other." Her throat closed; even now, it seemed only as if Uther were still alive somewhere, away on campaign.

  "You loved Uther? It was not, then, the Merlin's magic?"

  "No," Igraine said, "I loved him well, though I think at first he chose to marry me because I was of the old royal line of Avalon. And so, you see, a marriage made for the good of the kingdom can come to be happy. I loved Uther; I could wish just such good fortune for you, that you and my son may come to love one another that way."

  "I hope that too." Gwenhwyfar clutched again at Igraine's hand. To Igraine the fingers felt small and soft, easily crushed, unlike her own strong, competent ones. This was not a hand for tending babes or wounded men, but for fine needlework or prayer. Leodegranz should have left this child in her convent, and Arthur sought elsewhere for a bride. Things would go as God had ordained; she was sorry for Gwenhwyfar's fright, but she was also sorry for Arthur, with a bride so childish and unwilling.

  Yet, she herself had been no better when she was sent to Gorlois; perhaps the girl's strength would grow with the years.

  With the first rays of the sun the camp was astir, making ready for the day's march that would bring them to Caerleon. Gwenhwyfar looked white and weak and when she tried to get up, she turned on her side and retched. For a moment Igraine entertained an uncharitable suspicion, then put it aside; the girl, cloistered and timid, was ill with fright, no more. She said briskly, "I told you the closed litter would make you queasy. Today you must get on your horse and take the fresh air, or we shall have you coming to your bridal with pale cheeks instead of roses." She added to herself, And if I must ride behind closed curtains for another day I shall certainly go mad; that would be a wedding to remember indeed, with a bride sick and pale, and the mother of the bridegroom raving. "Come, if you will get up and ride, Lancelet shall ride with you, to gossip with you and cheer you."

  Gwenhwyfar braided her hair, and even gave some thought to the arranging of her veil; she ate little, but she did sip a little barley beer and put a bit of bread in her pocket, saying that she would eat it later, as she rode.

  Lancelet had been out and about since first light. When Igraine suggested, "You must ride with my lady. She is moping, she has never been from home before," his eyes lighted up and he smiled. "It will be my pleasure, madam."

  Igraine rode alone behind the young people, glad of the solitude for her own thoughts. How handsome they were-Lancelet so dark and spirited and Gwenhwyfar all golden and white. Arthur was fair, too, their children would be dazzling. She realized with some surprise that she was looking forward to being a grandmother. It would be pleasant to have little children about, to pet them and play with them, but children who were not her own, over whom she need not worry and fret and trouble herself. She rode in a pleasant daydream; she had grown used to daydreaming a great deal in the convent. Looking ahead to the young people riding side by side, she saw that the girl sat her horse upright and had some color in her face and was smiling. Igraine had done right, to get her out into the air.

  And then she saw how they were looking at each other.

  Dear God! Uther looked so at me when I was Gorlois's wife-as if he were starving and I were food high out of his reach ... . What can possibly come of it if they love one another? Lancelet is honorable, and Gwenhwyfar, I would swear, virtuous, so what can possibly come of it except misery? Then she reproved herself for her suspicions; they were riding at a decent distance from one another, they did not seek to touch hands, they were smiling because they were young and it was a fair day; Gwenhwyfar rode to her wedding, and Lancelet brought horses and men to his king, his cousin, and friend. Why should they not be happy and talk with one another gaily and joyously? I am an evil-minded old woman. But she still felt troubled.

  What will come of this? Dear God, would it be traitorous to you to pray for a moment of the Sight? And then she wondered-was there yet any honorable way for Arthur to get out of this marriage? For the High King to wed a woman whose heart was already given, that would be a tragedy. Britain was filled with maidens ready to love him and wed him. But the dowry price was paid, the bride had left her father's house, the subject kings and liegemen were assembling to see their young King married.

  Igraine resolved to speak to the Merlin. As Arthur's chiefest councillor, perhaps he could yet prevent this marriage-but could even he prevent it without war and ruin? It would be a pity, too, for Gwenhwyfar to be publicly rejected like this, in the presence of all Britain. No, it was too late, the wedding must take place as it was fated. Igraine sighed and rode on, her head lowered and all the beauty gone from the bright day. She told herself, angrily, that all her doubts and fears were meaningless, an idle old woman's imaginings; or that all of these fantasies were sent of the Devil to tempt her into using the Sight she had renounced, and becoming again a tool of wickedness and sorcery.

  Yet as she rode, her eyes kept returning to Gwenhwyfar and Lancelet, and to the almost visible haze that seemed to hover between them, an aura of hunger and desire and longing.

  They arrived at Caerleon shortly before sunset. The castle stood on a hill, the site of an old Roman fort, and some of the old Roman stonework was still in place-it looked, Igraine thought, very much as it must have looked in Roman days. For a moment, seeing the slopes covered with tents and people, she wondered dizzily if the place were under siege, but then she realized that all these folk must have come to see the High King married. Seeing the crowd, Gwenhwyfar had turned pale and terrified again; Lancelet was trying to arrange the long draggled column into some vestige of dignity, and Gwenhwyfar put her veil down over her face and rode silent by Igraine.

  "It is a pity they must all see you worn and travel-weary," Igraine agreed, "but look, there is Arthur, come out to meet us."

  The girl was so weary she hardly raised her head. Arthur, in a long blue tunic, his sword in its preciously worked crimson scabbard swinging at his side, had stopped to speak for a moment to Lancelet, at the head of the column; then, die crowding men and riders separating as he walked through them, he came toward Igraine and Gwenhwyfar.

  He bowed to his mother. "Had you a good journey, madam?" But he had raised his eyes to Gwenhwyfar, and Igraine saw his eyes widen at her beauty, and could almost read the younger girl's thoughts.

  Yes, I am beautiful, Lancelet thinks me beautiful, will my lord Arthur be pl
eased with me?

  Arthur held out his hand to support her as she dismounted; she tottered a little, and he stretched out both arms to her.

  "My lady and wife, welcome to your home and to my house. May you be happy here, and may this day be as joyous for you as for me."

  Gwenhwyfar felt the crimson rising in her cheeks. Yes, Arthur was handsome, she told herself fiercely, with that fair hair and the serious, level grey eyes. How different he seemed from Lancelet's madcap gaiety and mischief! And how differently he looked at her-Lancelet looked at her as if she were the statue of the Virgin on the altar at church, but Arthur was looking at her soberly, tentatively, as if she were a stranger and he was not yet sure whether friend or foe.

  She said, "I thank you, my husband and my lord. As you can see, I have brought you the promised dowry of men and horses-"

  "How many horses?" he asked quickly. Gwenhwyfar was confused. What did she know about his precious horses? Did he have to make it so clear that it was the horses and not herself which he awaited in this wedding business? She drew herself to her full height-she was taller than some men, and for a woman she was a good height-and said with dignity, "I do not know, my lord Arthur, I have not counted them. You must ask your captain of horse. I am sure the lord Lancelet could tell you their number, to the last mare and the last foal at suck."

  Oh, good girl, Igraine thought, seeing the color rise in Arthur's pale cheeks at the reproof. He smiled, ruefully. "Forgive me, my lady, no one expects of you that you should concern yourself with such things. I am sure Lancelet will tell me all of this at the proper time. I was thinking, also, of the men who came with you-it seems fit that I should welcome them as my new subjects, as well as welcoming their lady and my queen." For a moment he looked almost as young as he was. He looked around at the milling crowd of men, horses, carts, oxen, and drovers, and spread his hands helplessly. "In all this hullabaloo, I doubt they could hear me anyway. Allow me to conduct you to the castle gates." He took her hand and led her along the path, searching for the driest places. "I am afraid this is a dismal old place. It was my father's stronghold, but I never lived here after I was old enough to remember. Perhaps some year, if the Saxons let us alone for a time, we can find some place better suited for our home, but for the moment this must suit."

  As he led her through the gates Gwenhwyfar reached out and touched the wall. It was thick, secure Roman stone, piled high and standing as if it had been there since the beginning of the world; here all was safe. She ran her finger almost lovingly along the wall. "I think it is beautiful. I am sure it will be safe-I mean, I am sure I will be happy here."

  "I hope so, lady-Gwenhwyfar," he said, using her name for the first time, speaking it with a strange accent. She wondered suddenly where he had been reared. "I am very young to be in charge of all these-all these men and kingdoms. I will be glad to have a helpmeet." She heard his voice tremble as if he were afraid-but what in the world could a man have to be afraid of? "My uncle by marriage-Lot, King of Orkney-he is married to my mother's sister, Morgause, and Lot has said that his wife rules as well as he, when he is absent in war or council. I am willing to do you such honor, lady, and let you rule at my side."

  Panic clutched again at Gwenhwyfar's stomach. How could he expect that of her? How could it be a woman's place to rule? What did she care what the wild barbarians, these northern Tribesmen, did, or their barbarian women? She said, in a shaky little voice, "I could never presume so far, my lord and my king."

  Igraine said firmly, "Arthur, my son, what are you thinking of? The girl has been riding for two days and she is exhausted! This is no time to plot the strategy of kingdoms, with the mud of the road still on our shoes! I beg you, turn us over to your chamberlains, and there will be time enough to acquaint yourself with your bride tomorrow!"

  Arthur's skin, Gwenhwyfar thought, was fairer than her own; this was the second time she had seen him blush like a scolded child. "I am sorry, Mother; and you, my lady." He raised his arm, signalling, and a dark, slender young man, with a scarred face and a pronounced limp, came unevenly toward them.

  "My foster-brother, Cai, and my chamberlain," Arthur said. "Cai, this is Gwenhwyfar, my lady and queen."

  Cai bowed to her, with a smile. "I am at your service."

  "As you can see," Arthur said, "my lady has brought her furniture and belongings. Lady, I welcome you to your own house. Give Cai whatever orders seem good to you, about where to bestow your things. For now, I beg you give me leave to go; I must see to the men and horses and gear." He bowed low again, and it seemed to Gwenhwyfar that she could see relief on his face. She wondered if he was disappointed in her, or whether his only interest in this marriage was really in the dowry of horses and men, as she had thought. Well, she had been prepared for that; but still, some welcome for her personally would have been pleasant. She realized that the dark, scarred young man he called Cai was waiting expectantly for her word. He was gentle and deferential-she need not be afraid of him.

  She sighed, reaching out again to touch the strong walls around her as if for reassurance and to steady her voice, so that when she spoke she would sound like a queen. "In the greatest of carts, sir Cai, there is an Irish mead-hall table. It is my father's wedding gift to my lord Arthur. It is a prize of war, and very old and very valuable. See to it that it is assembled in Arthur's largest feasting hall. But before that, please see to it that a room is made ready for my lady Igraine, and someone to wait on her tonight." Distantly she was surprised-she thought to herself that she sounded quite like a queen. Nor did Cai sound at all reluctant to accept her as one. He bowed very low, and said, "It shall be done at once, my lady and queen."

  5

  All through the night, groups of travellers had been assembling before the castle; it was barely daylight when Gwenhwyfar looked out to see the whole slope of the hill, leading up to the castle, covered with horses and tents and with crowds of men and women.

  "It looks like a festival," she said to Igraine, who had shared her bed on this last night of her maidenhood, and the older woman smiled.

  "When the High King takes a wife, child, that is as much a festival as anything happening in this island. Look, those men are the followers of Lot of Orkney." She thought, but did not say aloud, Perhaps Morgaine will be with them. As a young woman she had voiced every thought that crossed her mind, but no longer.

  How strange it was, Igraine thought; all through the childbearing years, a woman is taught to think first and only of her sons. If she thinks of her daughters at all, it is only that when they are grown, they will go forth into the hands of another, they are being reared for another family. Was it only that Morgaine had been her firstborn, always closest to her heart? Arthur had returned physically after his long absence, but as all men do, he had grown so far from her that there was no longer any way to reach across that distance. But to Morgaine-she had discovered this at Arthur's crowning-she was bound with a tie of the soul which would never break. Was it only that Morgaine had shared her own heritage of Avalon? Was this why every priestess longed to bear a daughter, who would follow in her footsteps and never be lost to her?

  "There are so many people," Gwenhwyfar said. "I did not know there were so many people in all of Britain."

  "And you to be High Queen over them all-it is frightening, I know," said Igraine. "I felt so when I was married to Uther."

  And for a moment it seemed to her that Arthur had chosen ill in his queen. Gwenhwyfar had beauty, yes, and good temper, and learning, but a queen must be able to take her place at the forefront of the court. Perhaps Gwenhwyfar was all too shy and retiring.

  When you put it into the simplest terms, the queen was the king's lady; not only his hostess and keeper of his house-any chamberlain or housekeeper could do that-but, like the priestess of Avalon, a symbol of all the realities of life, a reminder that life was more than fighting and war and dominion. A king, when all was said and done, fought for the protection of those who were unable to fight for themselves
, the childbearing women and little children and old people, aged men and grandmothers. Among the Tribes, indeed, the stronger women had fought at the side of the men-there had been, of old, a battle-college kept by women-but from the beginning of civilization it had been the work of men to hunt for food and to keep off invaders from the hearth-fire where their pregnant women and little children and old folk were sheltered; and the work of women to keep that hearth safe for them. As the King was joined to the High Priestess in the symbolic marriage to the land in token that he would bring strength to his kingdom, so the Queen, in a similar joining to the King, created a symbol of the central strength behind all the armies and the wars-the home and the center for which the men rallied their strength ... . Igraine shook her head impatiently. All this of symbols and inner truths was fit, perhaps, for a priestess of Avalon, but she, Igraine, had been queen enough without any such thoughts, and there would be time enough for Gwenhwyfar to think of these things when she was an old woman and no longer needed them! In these civilized days, a queen was not a priestess over villagers tending their barley fields, any more than a king was the great hunter who ranged among the deer!

  "Come, Gwenhwyfar, Cai left serving-women to wait on you, but as your husband's mother it is suitable that I should dress you for your wedding, since your own mother cannot be here to make you ready on this day."

  The younger woman looked like an angel when she was clothed; her fine hair floated like spun gold in the sunlight, almost dimming the radiance of the golden garland she had put on. Her dress was of a white woven stuff, as fine as spiderweb; Gwenhwyfar told Igraine, with shy pride, that the fabric had been brought from a far country, further even than Rome, and was more costly than gold. Her father had gotten a length for the altar stone of their church and a little piece to hold a holy relic, and he had given her a piece, too, of which she had made her wedding gown. There was more for a holiday tunic for Arthur-it was her own wedding gift to him.