The Mists of Avalon

by Marion Marion Bradley

  For the first hour of the feast she was moving about, making sure that all of the guests were properly seated and served. By the time she took her seat at the high table they were drunk, most of them, and it was very dark outside. The servants brought lamps and torches, fastening them into the wall, and Arthur said jovially, "See, my lady, we are lighting our own Beltane fire within walls."

  Morgaine had come to sit close to Lancelet. Gwenhwyfar's face throbbed with heat and with the wine she had drunk; she turned away so that she might not see them. Lancelet said, with a great yawn, "Why, it is Beltane indeed-I had forgotten."

  "And Gwenhwyfar had it that we must have a feast so that none of our folk would be tempted to slip away into the old rites," Arthur said. "There are more ways to skin a wolf than chasing him out of his fur-if I forbade the fires, then would I be a tyrant-"

  "And," Morgaine said, in her low voice, "faithless to Avalon, my brother."

  "But if my lady makes it more pleasant for my people here to sit at our feast instead of going out into the fields to dance by the fires, then is our purpose achieved more simply!"

  Morgaine shrugged. To Gwenhwyfar it seemed that she was secretly amused. She had drunk but little-perhaps she was the only wholly sober person at the King's table. "You have been travelling in Lothian, Lancelet -do they keep the Beltane rites there?"

  "So says the Queen," Lancelet said, "but for all I know, she may have been jesting with me-I saw nothing to suggest that Queen Morgause is not the most Christian of ladies." But it seemed to Gwenhwyfar that he glanced uneasily at Gawaine as he spoke. "Mark what I say, Gawaine, I said nothing against the lady of Lothian, I have no quarrel with you or yours ... ."

  But only a soft snore answered him, and Morgaine's laughter was brittle. "Look, yonder lies Gawaine asleep with his head on the table! I too would ask news of Lothian, Lancelet... I do not think anyone reared there could so quickly forget the Beltane fires. The sun tides run in the blood of anyone reared on Avalon, like me, like Queen Morgause-is it not so, Lancelet? Arthur, do you remember the kingmaking on Dragon Island? How many years ago-nine, ten-"

  Arthur looked displeased, though he spoke gently enough. "That is many years past and gone, as you say, sister, and the world changes with every season. I think the time for such things is past, save, perhaps, for those who live with fields and crops and must call on the Goddess for their blessing

  -Taliesin would say so, and I will not gainsay it. But I think those old rites have little to do with such as we who dwell in castles and cities and have heard the word of Christ." He raised his wine cup, emptied it, and spoke with drunken emphasis. "God will give us all we desire-all that is right for us to have-without need to call upon the old Gods, is it not so, Lance?"

  Gwenhwyfar felt Lancelet's eyes on her for a moment before he said, "Which of us has all things he may desire, my king? No king, and no God, can grant that."

  "But I want my-my subjects to have all they need," repeated Arthur thickly. "And so does my queen, giving us our own Bel-Beltane fires here-"

  "Arthur," said Morgaine gently, "you are drunk."

  "Well, and why not?" he asked her belligerently. "At my own feast and my own-own fire, and what else did I fight the Saxons for, all those years? Sit here at my own Round Table and enjoy the-the peace-good ale and wine, and good music-where is Kevin the Harper? Am I to have no music at my feast?"

  Lancelet said, laughing, "I have no doubt he has gone to worship the Goddess at her fires, and to play his harp there, on Dragon Island."

  "Why, this is treason," said Arthur thickly. "And another reason to forbid the Beltane fires, so I may have music-"

  Morgaine laughed and said lightheartedly, "You cannot command the conscience of another, my brother. Kevin is a Druid and has the right to offer his music to his own Gods if he will." She leaned her chin on her hands, and Gwenhwyfar thought she looked like a cat licking cream from her whiskers. "But I think he has already kept Beltane in his own way-no doubt he has gone to his bed, for all the company here is too drunken to tell the difference between his harping and mine and Gawaine's howling pipes! Even as he sleeps he plays the music of Lothian," she added, as a particularly raucous snore from the sleeping Gawaine cut the silence, and she gestured to one of the chamberlains, who went and persuaded Gawaine to his feet. He bowed groggily to Arthur and staggered from the hall.

  Lancelet raised the cup in his hand and drained it. "I too have had enough of music and feasting, I think-I have ridden since before daylight, since I would come to your games this day, and soon, I think, I will beg leave to be away to my bed, Arthur." Gwenhwyfar gauged his drunkenness by that offhanded Arthur; in public he was always very careful to speak formally to Arthur as "my lord," or "my king," and only when they were alone did he say "cousin" or "Arthur."

  But indeed, so late in the feast, there were few sober enough to notice-they might as well have been alone together. Arthur did not even answer Lancelet; he had slipped down a little in his high seat, and his eyes were half closed. Well, Gwenhwyfar thought, he had said it himself-it was his own feast and his own fireside, and if a man could not be drunken in his own house, why had he fought so many years to make their feasts safe and secure?

  And if Arthur should be too drunk tonight to welcome her to his bed, after all... she could feel the ribbon about her neck, where the charm hung, and its weight heavy and hot between her breasts. 'Tis Beltane; could he not keep sober for that? Had he been bidden to one of those old pagan feasts, he would have remembered, she thought, and her cheeks burned with the immodesty of the thought. I must be drunk too! She looked angrily at Morgaine, cool and sober, toying with the ribbons of her harp. Why should Morgaine smile like that?

  Lancelet leaned toward her and said, "I think our lord and king has had enough of feasting and wine, my queen. Will you dismiss the servants and Companions, madam, and I'll find Arthur's chamberlain to help him to his bed."

  Lancelet rose. Gwenhwyfar could tell he was drunk, too, but he carried it well, moving with only a little more carefulness than usual. As she began to pass among the guests to bid them good night, she felt her own head swim and her steps unsteady. Seeing Morgaine's enigmatic smile, she could still hear the words of the damnable sorceress: Do not seek to blame me, Gwenhwyfar, if the charm acts other than you think it should ... .

  Lancelet came back through the guests streaming out of the hall. "I can't find my lord's body servant-someone in the kitchens said they were all away to Dragon Island for the fires ... is Gawaine still here, or Balan? They are the only ones big and strong enough to carry our lord and king to his bed ... ."

  "Gawaine was too drunk to carry himself," Gwenhwyfar said, "and I saw not Balan at all. And for sure you cannot carry him, for he is taller and heavier than you-"

  "Still, I'll have at it," said Lancelet, laughing, and bent beside Arthur.

  "Come, cousin-Gwydion! There's none to carry you to bed-I'll give you my arm. Here, come up, there's my brave fellow," he said, as if he spoke to a child, and Arthur opened his eyes and staggered to his feet. Lancelet's steps were none too steady, either, thought Gwenhwyfar as she followed the men, nor for that matter were her own ... a fine sight they must look, if any servants were sober enough to notice, High King and High Queen and the King's captain of horse all staggering to bed on Beltane-eve too drunk for their feet to carry them ... .

  But Arthur sobered a little when Lancelet hauled him over the threshold of their room; he went to a ewer of water in the corner, splashed some on his face, and drank more.

  "Thank you, cousin," he said, his voice still slow and drunken. "My lady and I have much for which to thank you, that is certain, and I know you love us both well-"

  "God is my witness to that," said Lancelet, but he looked at Gwenhwyfar with something like despair. "Shall I go and find one of your servants, cousin?"

  "No, stay a moment," Arthur said. "There is something I would say to you, and if I find not the courage for it now in drink, I shall never say it so
ber. Gwen, can you manage without your women? I have no mind that this should be carried beyond this chamber by idle tongues. Lancelet, come here and sit by me," and sitting on the edge of the bed, he stretched out his hand to his friend. "You too, sweeting-now listen to me, both. Gwenhwyfar has no child-and do you think I have not seen how you two look at each other? I spoke of this once to Gwen, but she is so modest and pious, she would not hear me. Yet now at Beltane, when all life on this earth seems to cry out with breeding and fertility ... how can I say this? There is an old saying among the Saxons, a friend is one to whom you will lend your favorite wife and your favorite sword ... ."

  Gwenhwyfar's face was burning; she could not look at either of the men. Arthur went on, slowly, "A son of yours, Lance, would be heir to my kingdom, and better that than it should go to Lot's sons.... Oh, yes, Bishop Patricius would call it grievous sin, no doubt, as if his God were some elderly chaperone who went about at night looking to see who slept in whose bed ... I think it greater sin to make no provision for a son to inherit my kingdom. Then should we fall into such chaos as threatened before Uther came to the throne-my friend, my cousin-what do you say?"

  Gwenhwyfar saw Lancelet moisten his lips with his tongue, and she felt the dryness of her own mouth. At last he said, "I know not what to say, my king-my friend-my cousin. God knows-there is no other woman on this earth-" and his voice broke; he looked at Gwenhwyfar and it seemed she could not endure the naked longing in his eyes. For a moment she thought she would swoon away, and put out a hand to steady herself on the bed frame.

  I am still drunk, she thought, I am dreaming this, I cannot have heard him say what I thought I heard ... . and she felt an agonizing burst of shame. It seemed she could not live and let them speak of her like this.

  Lancelot's eyes had not moved from hers.

  "It is for my-for my lady to say."

  Arthur held out his arms to her. He had drawn off his boots and the rich robe he had worn at the feast; in his undertunic he looked very like the boy she had wedded years ago. He said, "Come here, Gwen," and drew her down on his knee. "You know I love you well-you and Lance, I think, are the two I love best in the world, save for-" He swallowed and stopped, and Gwenhwyfar thought suddenly, I have thought only of my own love, I have had no thought for Arthur. He took me unseen, unwanted, and he has shown me love and honored me as his queen. But I never thought that as I love Lancelet, there may well be one whom Arthur loves and cannot have ... not without sin and betrayal. I wonder if that is why Morgaine mocks me, she knows Arthur's secret loves ... or his sins ...

  But Arthur went on deliberately, "I think I would never have had the courage to say this, were it not Beltane ... . For many hundreds of years, our forefathers have done these things without shame, in the very faces of our Gods and by their will. And-listen to this, my dearest-if I am here with you, my Gwenhwyfar, then should a child come of this, then you may swear without any untruth that this child was conceived in your marriage bed, and none of us need ever know for certain-dear love, will you not consent to this?"

  Gwenhwyfar could not breathe. Slowly, slowly, she reached out her hand and laid it in Lancelet's. She felt Arthur's touch on her hair as Lancelet leaned forward and kissed her on the mouth.

  I have been married many years and I am as frightened now as any virgin, she thought, and then she remembered Morgaine's words when she laid the charm about her neck. Beware what you ask for, Gwenhwyfar, for the Goddess may grant it to you ... .

  At the time, she had thought Morgaine meant only that if she prayed for a child, then she might well die in childbirth. Now she knew it was more subtle than that, for it had come about that she should have Lancelet, and without guilt, with her husband's own will and permission ... and in a flash of awareness, she thought, It was this I wanted, after all; after all these years it is certain that I am barren, I will bear no child, but I will have had this at least ... .

  With shaking hands she undid her gown. It seemed that the whole world had dwindled down to this, this perfect awareness of herself, of her own body aching with desire, a hunger she had never believed she could feel. Lancelet's skin was so soft-she had thought all men were like Arthur, sunburnt and hairy, but his body was smooth as a child's. Ah, but she loved them both, loved Arthur all the more that he could be generous enough to give her this ... they were both holding her now, and she closed her eyes and put up her face to be kissed, not knowing for certain which man's lips closed over hers. But it was Lancelet's hand that stroked her cheek, moved down to her naked throat where the ribbon clung.

  "Why, what's this, Gwen?" he asked, his mouth against hers. "Nothing," she said, "nothing. Some rubbish Morgaine gave me." She pulled it free and flung it into a corner, sinking back into her husband's arms and her lover's.

  Book Three. The King Stag

  1

  At this season in Lothian, it seemed the sun hardly went to rest; queen Morgause wakened as the light began to steal through the hangings, yet it was so early the gulls were hardly astir. But there was already light enough to make out the hairy, well-muscled body of the young man who slept at her side ... a privilege he had enjoyed most of the winter. He had been one of Lot's esquires, and had cast longing eyes on the queen even before Lot's death. And in the deathly darkness of this winter past, it was too much to ask that she should sleep alone in the king's cold chamber.

  It was not that Lot had been so good a king, she thought, slotting her eyes against the growing light. But his reign had been long-he had reigned since before Uther Pendragon took the throne, and his people were used to him; there were people well into their middle years who had known no other king. He had been on the throne, she thought, when young Lochlann was born ... for that matter, so had she. But that thought was less comfortable, and she flinched away from it.

  Gawaine would have succeeded his father, but Gawaine had hardly visited his native land since Arthur's crowning, and the people did not know him. Here in Lothian, the Tribes were quite content, since there was peace in the land, to be ruled by their queen, with her son Agravaine at hand should they need a leader in war. From time out of mind, a queen had ruled over the people, as a Goddess had ruled over the Gods, and they were content to have it so.

  But Gawaine had not left Arthur's side ... not even when Lancelet had come north before Beltane-he said, to see that the lighthouses had been put in order on the coast so that ships would not be driven on to the rocks. But Morgause supposed, rather, that he came so that Arthur's eyes could see what went on in Lothian, whether there was anyone there at odds with the rule of the High King.

  She had heard, then, of Igraine's death-before that, word had not come north to Lothian. She and Igraine had not been friends when she was younger; she had always envied her older sister her beauty, and had never forgiven her that Viviane had chosen her for Other Pendragon; she would have made a better High Queen than that ninny, so pliant and pious and loving. And when all was said and done, when the lamp was out, one man was not so different from any other, and all of them were ridiculously easy to manage, foolishly dependent on that thing a woman could offer to them. She had ruled well behind Lot's throne; she would have done better yet with Uther, for she would not have become so stupidly entangled with the priests.

  Yet when she heard of Igraine's death she had mourned her sincerely and wished she had made the time to ride to Tintagel before she died. She had so few woman friends now ... .

  Her waiting-women had mostly been chosen by Lot for their beauty or their availability to the king, and he cared most for such women as did not think very much or talk very intelligently; she was, he said once, quite enough in that line. He took her counsel in all things and respected her wit, but when she had borne him four royal sons, he went back to what he naturally preferred for his bed-pretty women with little of sense. Morgause had never begrudged him his pleasures and was just as well pleased to be spared further childbearing. And if she craved babes to play with, there was her fosterling Gwydion, and Lot's w
omen had always been breeding -Gwydion had playmates enough of royal blood!

  Lochlann stirred at her side, muttered, and sleepily drew her into his arms, and she gave over thinking for the moment. She had missed him- while Lancelet was at court she had sent Lochlann to sleep among the young men. Though for all the difference it had made to Lancelet, she might have kept Lochlann in her bed, or slept with the house dog! Well, he was here again; Lot had never begrudged her amusement, any more than she had begrudged him his women.

  But when the excitement had subsided, and Lochlann had trundled down the stairs to the privy outside, Morgause thought suddenly that she missed Lot. Not that he had ever been particularly good at this kind of sport ... he had been old when she married him. But when that was done, he could talk with her intelligently, and she found that she missed the years when they would wake together, and lie in bed and talk of all that was to be done or what befell in the kingdom, or all of Britain.

  By the time Lochlann came back, the sun was already strengthening and the air was alive with the crying of gulls. She could hear small sounds down the stairs, and somewhere there was a smell of bannock baking. She pulled him to her for a quick kiss and said, "You must be off, my dear. I want you out of here before Gwydion comes-he is a big boy now, he is beginning to notice things."

  Lochlann chuckled. "That one, he has been noticing everything since he was out of his nurse's arms. While Lancelet was here he noticed every move he made-even at Beltane. But I do not think you have to worry -he's not old enough to think of that."

  "I'm not so certain," Morgause said, and patted his cheek. Gwydion's way was to do nothing until he was sure he would not be laughed at as too young. Self-possessed as he was, he could never bear to be told he was too young for anything-even when he was four years old he had flown into a rage at being told he could not go birds-nesting on the cliffs, and had nearly fallen to his death trying to keep up with the older boys. She remembered that occasion, and other similar ones, when she had told him never to do so or so again, and he had set his small dark face and told her, "Aye, but I shall, and you cannot stop me." Her only reply to that had had to be, "You shall not, or I will myself beat you." Not that it mattered whether she beat him or not-it only made him more defiant, unless she was prepared to beat him insensible; and once, losing her temper, she had frightened herself with how hard she had struck the harmless child. None of her own sons, even the strong-willed Gareth, had ever been so defiant. Gwydion took his own way and did what he would, and so as he got older she had taken to subtler methods: "You shall not, or I shall have your nurse take off your breeks and beat you with a heather switch before all the house folk as if you were a babe of four or five." That had been effective, for a time-very conscious of his dignity was young Gwydion. But now he did as he would and there was no stopping him; it would have taken a harsh man to thrash him as hard as was needful, and he had a way of making anyone who offended him sorry for it, soon or late.