The Mists of Avalon

by Marion Marion Bradley

  "Morgaine-"

  She ignored him. Kevin said, in a voice as cold as her glance, "Will a daughter of Avalon turn her face away when the Merlin speaks?"

  Morgaine drew a long breath and said, "If you bid me hear you in the name of Avalon, I am here to listen. But that suits you not, you who gave Viviane's body to Christian rule. That I call a traitor's deed."

  "And who are you to speak of traitor's deeds, lady, who sits as queen in Wales when Viviane's high seat is empty in Avalon?"

  She flared, "I sought once to speak in Avalon's name and you bade me hold my peace," and bowed her head, not waiting for his reply. No, he is right. How dare I speak of treachery when I fled from Avalon, too young and too foolish to know what Viviane planned? Only now do I begin to know that she gave me a hold on the King's conscience: And I cast it aside unused and let Gwenhwyfar lead him into the hands of the priests. "Speak, Merlin. Avalon's daughter listens."

  For a moment he said nothing, but only looked at her, and she remembered, sorrowfully, the years when he had been her only friend and ally at this court. At last he said, "Your beauty, like Viviane's, ripens with the years, Morgaine. Next to you every woman at this court, including that Irishwoman they call so beautiful, is a painted doll."

  She smiled faintly and said, "You did not stop me in my tracks with the thunders of Avalon to make me pretty compliments, Kevin."

  "Did I not? I spoke ill, Morgaine-you are needed in Avalon. She who sits there now is-" He broke off, troubled. "Are you so much in love with your elderly husband that you cannot tear yourself away?"

  "No," she said, "but I do the work of the Goddess there too."

  "This much I know," he said, "and so I have told Niniane. And if Accolon can succeed his father, the worship of the Goddess will grow there ... but Accolon is not his father's heir, and the older son is a priest-ridden fool."

  "Accolon is not king, but Druid," Morgaine said, "and Avalloch's death would avail nothing-they follow Roman ways in Wales now, and Avalloch has a son." Conn, she thought, who sat in my lap and called me Granny.

  And Kevin said, as if he had heard her unspoken words: "The lives of children are uncertain, Morgaine. Many come not to manhood."

  "I will do no murder," she said, "even for Avalon, and you may tell them so for me."

  "Tell them yourself," said Kevin. "Niniane said to me that you would be coming there after Pentecost." And now Morgaine felt the empty, cold sickness strike at her stomach and was glad she had eaten but little of the rich food of the feast.

  Do they know all, then? Do they watch, judging me, as I betray my old and trusting husband with Accolon? She thought of Elaine, trembling and shamed in the light of the torches that had caught her naked in Lancelet's arms. Do they know even what I plan before I am certain of it myself? But she had done only what the Goddess gave her to do.

  "What is it that you came to tell me, Merlin?"

  "Only that your place in Avalon is empty still, and Niniane knows it as well as 1.1 love you well, Morgaine, and I am no traitor-it pains me that you think me so, when you have given me so much." He held out his twisted hands. "Peace, then, Morgaine, between us?"

  She said, "In the Lady's name, peace, then," and kissed his scarred mouth.

  For him too the Goddess wears my face ... and pain struck through her. The Goddess is the giver of life and manhood... and of death. As her lips touched his, the Merlin recoiled, and on his face was naked fear.

  "Do you recoil from me, Kevin? I swear it on my life, I will do no murder. You have nothing to fear-" she said, but he put out his twisted fingers to stop the words.

  "Make no oath, Morgaine, lest you pay the penalty of the forsworn ... none of us knows what the Goddess may demand of us. I too have made the Great Marriage, and my life was forfeit on that day. I live only at the will of the Goddess, and my life is not so sweet that I would begrudge to lay it down," he said. Years later Morgaine would remember these words and feel them sweeten the bitterest task of her life. He bent to her, in the salute given only to the Lady of Avalon or to the High Druid, and then, swiftly, turned away. Morgaine stood trembling, watching him go. Why had he done that? And why did he fear her?

  She moved on through the crowds; when she reached the dais, Gwenhwyfar gave her a chilly smile, but Morgause rose and took her into an ample, warm embrace.

  "Dearest child, you look tired-I know you have little love for crowds!" She held a silver cup to Morgaine's lips, and Morgaine sipped the wine, then shook her head. She said, "You seem to grow ever younger, Aunt!"

  Morgause laughed gaily and said, "Young company does that for me, my dear-saw you Lamorak? While he thinks me beautiful, I think myself so, and so I am ... it is the only sorcery I need!" She traced with her smooth finger a little line beneath Morgaine's eye, and said, "I recommend it to you, my dear, or you will grow old and cross ... are there no handsome young men at Uriens' court with an eye for their queen?"

  Over her shoulder Morgaine saw Gwenhwyfar's frown of distaste, even though she certainly believed Morgause was joking. At least the tale of my behavior with Accolon is not common gossip here. Then she thought angrily, In the Lady's name, I am not ashamed of what I do, I am not Gwenhwyfar!

  Lancelet was talking with Isotta of Cornwall. Yes, he would always have an eye for the most beautiful woman in the room, and Morgaine could tell Gwenhwyfar liked it not; Gwenhwyfar said now, with nervous haste, "Lady Isotta, know you my husband's sister, Morgaine?"

  The Irish beauty raised her eyes listlessly to Morgaine, and smiled. She was very pale, her chiselled features white as new cream, her eyes that blue that is almost green. Morgaine saw that although she was tall, her bones were so small that she looked like a child hung with jewels and pearls and golden chains which seemed too heavy for her. Morgaine had sudden pity for the girl and withheld the first words that came into her mind, which were, So they call you queen in Cornwall now? I must have words with Duke Marcus! She said only, "My kinsman told me you are skilled in herbs and medicines, lady. Some day, if we have leisure before I return to Wales, I would like to speak of them with you."

  "It would be a pleasure," said Isotta courteously. Lancelet looked up and said, "I have told her also that you are a musician, Morgaine. Are we to hear you play this day?"

  "With Kevin here? My music is nothing to his," said Morgaine, but Gwenhwyfar shuddered, and interrupted.

  "I wish Arthur would listen to me and send that man from his court. I like it not, to have wizards and sorcerers here, and such an evil face must portend evil within! I know not how you can bear to touch him, Morgaine

  -I should think any fastidious woman would be ill if he touched her, yet you embraced and kissed him as if he were a kinsman-"

  "Clearly," said Morgaine, "I am altogether lacking in proper feelings-and I rejoice at it."

  Isotta of Cornwall said in her soft, sweet voice, "If what is without is like to that which is within, then the music Kevin makes must be a sign to us, lady Gwenhwyfar, that the soul within him is indeed that of the highest angels. For no evil man could play as he plays."

  Arthur had come to join them, and had heard the last few words. He said, "Yet I will not affront my queen with the presence of one distasteful to her-nor will I have the insolence to command the music of such an artist as Kevin for one who cannot receive him with grace." He sounded displeased. "Morgaine, will you play for us, then?"

  "My harp is in Wales," she said. "Perhaps, if someone can lend me a harp, at another time. The hall is so crowded and noisy, the music would be lost ... . Lancelet is as much a musician as I."

  Lancelot, standing behind him, shook his head. "Oh, no, cousin. I know one string from another, because I was reared in Avalon and my mother set a harp in my hand for a plaything as soon as I could hold one. But I have not the gift of music as Morgaine has, nor the nephew of Marcus-have you heard Drustan play, Morgaine?"

  She shook her head, and Isotta said, "I will ask him to come and play for us."

  She sent a page
for him, and Drustan came, a slight young man, dark-eyed and dark-haired; he was indeed, Morgaine thought, not unlike Lancelet. Isotta asked him to play, and he called for his harp and sat on the steps of the dais, playing some Breton tunes. They were plaintive and sad, in a very old scale, and they made Morgaine think of the ancient land of Lyonnesse, far away and sunk past the coastline of Tintagel. He had, indeed, a gift beyond Lancelet's; even, she thought, beyond her own. Though he was not Kevin, nor near to it, he was the finest player, otherwise, that she had heard. His voice, too, was sweet and musical.

  Under cover of the music Arthur said softly to Morgaine, "How is it with you, sister? It is long since you came to Camelot-we have missed you."

  "Oh, indeed?" said Morgaine. "I thought that was why you married me away into North Wales-that my lady"-an ironic bow to Gwenhwyfar-"might not be affronted with the sight of anything distasteful to her, neither Kevin nor me."

  "Why, how can you say that?" demanded Arthur. "I love you well, you know that, and Uriens is a good man, and he seems to dote on you -certainly he hangs on your every word! I sought to find you a kind husband, Morgaine, one who had sons and would not reproach you should you not give him children. And it was my pleasure this day to make your fine young stepson one of my Companions. What could you ask more than this, my sister?"

  "What, indeed?" said Morgaine. "What more could a woman desire than a good husband old enough to be her grandsire, and a kingdom to rule at the far end of the world-I should bow down and thank you on my knees, my brother!"

  Arthur sought to take her hand. "Indeed I did what I thought would please you, sister. Uriens is too old for you, but he will not live forever. Truly, I thought it would make you happy."

  No doubt, thought Morgaine, he was telling the exact truth as he saw it. How could he be so good and wise a king, and have so little imagination? Or was this the secret of his kingship, that he held to simple truths and sought for no more? Was this why the Christian faith had lured him, that it was so simple, with a few simple laws?

  "I like that everybody be happy," Arthur said, and she knew that this was really the key to his nature; he did indeed seek to see everyone happy, down to the least of his subjects. He had allowed what went on between Gwenhwyfar and Lancelet because he knew it would make his queen unhappy if he parted them, nor would he hurt Gwenhwyfar by taking another wife or a mistress to give him the son she could not.

  He is not ruthless enough to be High King, she thought, while she tried to listen to Drustan's sorrowful songs. Ardiur turned to speaking of the lead and tin mines of Cornwall-she should ride to see to them, Duke Marcus should know that he was not ruler over all that country, and, no doubt, she and Isotta would be friends, they both cared for music-see how intently she listened to Drustan.

  It is not love of music which makes it impossible to take her eyes from him, Morgaine thought, but she did not say so. She considered the four queens who sat at this table, and sighed; Isotta could not take her eyes from Drustan, and who could blame her? Duke Marcus was old and stern, with quick, darting, ill-natured eyes that reminded her of Lot of Orkney. Morgause had beckoned to her young Lamorak and was whispering to him; well, who could blame her? She had been wedded to Lot-and he was no prize-when she was but fourteen, and all the while Lot lived she had been mindful of his pride and never flaunted her young lovers in his face. And I am no better than any of them, cosseting Uriens with one hand and slipping away to Accolon's bed with the other, and justifying myself by calling Accolon my priest ... .

  She wondered if any woman ever did otherwise. Gwenhwyfar was High Queen, and she had first taken a lover ... and it seemed to Morgaine that her heart hardened like stone. She and Morgause and Isotta were married to old men, and such was their life. But Gwenhwyfar had been married to a man who was handsome, and no more than her own age, and High King as well-what had she to be discontented with?

  Drustan put the harp aside, bowing, and took up a horn of wine to cool his throat. "I can sing no more," he said, "but if the lady Morgaine would like to take my harp, she is welcome. I have heard of the lady's skill as a musician."

  "Yes, sing for us, child," said Morgause, and Arthur added his entreaty.

  "Yes, it is long since I heard your voice, and it is still the sweetest voice I have ever heard ... perhaps because it is the first voice I remember hearing," Arthur said. "I think you sang me to sleep with lullabies before I could talk plain, and you were no more than a child yourself. Always I remember you best like that, Morgaine," he added, and before the pain in his eyes, Morgaine bent her head.

  Is this what Gwenhwyfar cannot forgive, that I bear for him the face of the Goddess? She took Drustan's harp and bent her head over the strings, touching them one by one.

  " 'Tis tuned differently than mine," she said, trying a few strings, and then looked up as there was a commotion in the lower hall. A trumpet blew, harsh and shrill inside the walls, and there was a tramp of armed feet. Arthur half rose, then sank back into his seat as four armed men, bearing sword and shield, strode into the hall.

  Cai came to meet them, protesting-it was not allowed to bear weapons into the King's hall at Pentecost. They shoved him roughly to one side.

  The men wore Roman helmets-Morgaine had seen one or two of those preserved in Avalon-and short military tunics and Roman armor, and thick red military cloaks streamed out behind them. Morgaine blinked -it was as if Roman legionaries had walked out of the past; one man bore, at the end of a pike, the carved and gilded figure of an eagle.

  "Arthur, Duke of Britain!" cried out one of the men. "We bear you a message from Lucius, Emperor of Rome!"

  Arthur rose from his seat and took a single step toward the men in legionary dress. "I am not Duke of Britain, but High King," he said mildly, "and I know of no Emperor Lucius. Rome has fallen and is in the hands of barbarians-and, I doubt not, impostors. Still, one does not hang the dog for the impertinence of the master. You may say your message."

  "I am Castor, centurion of the Valeria Victrix legion," said the man who had spoken before. "In Gaul, the legions have been formed again, behind the banner of Lucius Valerius, Emperor of Rome. The message of Lucius is this-that you, Arthur, Duke of Britain, may continue to rule under that style and designation, provided that you send him, within six weeks, imperial tribute consisting of forty ounces of gold, two dozens of the British pearls, and three wagonloads each of iron, tin, and lead from your country, with a hundred ells of woven British wool and a hundred slaves."

  Lancelet rose from his place, leaped forward into the space before the King.

  "My lord Arthur," he cried, "let me flay these impudent dogs and send them yelping back to their master, and tell this idiot Lucius that if he wants tribute from England he may come and try to take it-"

  "Wait, Lancelet," said Arthur gently, smiling at his friend, "that is not the way." He surveyed the legionaries for a moment; Castor had half drawn his sword, and Arthur said grimly, "No steel may be drawn on this holy day in my court, soldier. I do not expect a barbarian from Gaul to know the manners of a civilized country, but if you put not your sword back into its sheath, then, I swear, Lancelet may come and take it from you as best he can. And no doubt you have heard of sir Lancelet, even in Gaul. But I want no blood shed at the foot of my throne."

  Castor, baring his teeth with rage, thrust his sword back into his sheath. "I am not afraid of your knight Lancelet," he said. "His days were long gone in the wars with the Saxons. But I was sent as a messenger with orders to shed no blood. What answer may I take the emperor, Duke Arthur?"

  "None-if you refuse me my proper title in my own hall," said Arthur. "But say this to Lucius: that Uther Pendragon succeeded Ambrosius Aurelianus when there were no Romans to aid us in our death struggle against the Saxons, and I, Arthur, succeeded my father Uther, and my nephew Galahad will succeed me on the throne of Britain. There is none who can lawfully lay claim to the purple of the emperor-the Roman Empire rules no more in Britain. If Lucius wishes to rule in his na
tive Gaul and the people there accept him as king, I will surely not come to contest his claim; but if he lays claim to a single inch of Britain or Less Britain, then he shall have nothing from us but three dozen good British arrowheads where they will do him most good."

  Castor, pale with fury, said, "My emperor foresaw some such impudent answer as this, and this is what he bade me say: that Less Britain is already in his hands, and he has imprisoned King Ban's son Bors, in his own castle. And when the Emperor Lucius has laid all of Less Britain waste, then he will come to Britain, as did the Emperor Claudius of old, and conquer that country again, in despite of all your painted savage chiefs smeared with woad!"

  "Tell your emperor," said Arthur, "that my offer of three dozen British arrowheads holds good, only now will I raise my offer to three hundred, and he gets no tribute from me but one of them through his heart. Tell him, too, that if he harms a single hair on the head of my Companion sir Bors, I shall give him to Lancelet and Lionel, who are Bors's brothers, to skin him alive and hang his flayed corpse from the castle walls. Now go back to your emperor and give him that message. No, Cai, don't let anyone lay a hand on him-a messenger is sacred to his Gods."

  There was an appalled silence as the legionaries strode out of the hall, turning crisply on their heels and letting their mailed boots stamp and ring on the stones. When they had gone a clamor arose, but Arthur raised his hand and quiet fell again.

  "There will be no mock battles on the morrow, for we will have real ones soon," he said, "and for prizes I can offer the plunder of this self-styled emperor. Companions, I would have you ready to ride at daybreak for the coast. Cai, you can handle the provisioning. Lancelet"-a faint smile as he looked at his friend-"I would leave you here to guard the Queen, but since your brother is prisoned, I know you will wish to ride with us. I shall ask the priest to say holy service for those of you who wish to be shriven of any sins before you ride into battle, tomorrow at dawn. Sir Uwaine"-his eyes sought out his newest Companion where he sat among the younger knights-"now I can offer you glory in battle instead of war games. I beg you, as my sister's son, to ride at my side and cover my back against treachery."