The Mists of Avalon

by Marion Marion Bradley

  Yet if I had had my way, if Lot and I had been successful in our plotting against Arthur, perhaps the whole land would be like this, silent and desolate and full of fears ... .

  Why was it so quiet? It seemed in all the world there was no sound but their horses' hooves, and even these seemed to fall like stones dropped into water, muffled and dying away in ripples. They had nearly reached the Roman road-or where the Roman road should have been-when they heard hoofbeats on a hard road; a rider was coming, slow and deliberate, from Glastonbury. They could make out a dark figure through the fog, some kind of heavy-laden pack animal behind him. After a moment one of her men cried out, "Why, look there, it is sir Lancelet of the Lake-God give you good morning, sir!"

  "Hallo! Who rides there?" It was indeed Lancelet's well-known voice, and as he came closer, the homely sound of the hooves of horse and pack mule seemed to release something in the world around them. Sounds carried a long way in the fog, and this was a simple sound, dogs barking somewhere, a whole pack of dogs, perhaps quarrelling over their food after a hungry night, but it broke the unworldly stillness with its simple, normal noise.

  "It is the Queen of Lothian," called Cormac, and Lancelet rode toward them, halting his horse before her.

  "Well, Aunt, I had not hoped to meet with you here-are my cousins with you, perhaps, Gawaine or Gareth?"

  "No," she said, "I ride alone for Camelot." If, she thought irritably, such a place still exists upon the face of this earth! Her eyes rested intently on Lancelet's face as he said some polite words of greeting. He looked weary and travel-worn, his clothing ragged and not overly clean, a cloak of fustian worse than he would have given his groom. Ah, the beautiful Lancelet, Gwenhwyfar will not find you so handsome now, even I would not stretch out my hand to invite him into my bed.

  And then he smiled, and she realized, In spite of all, he is beautiful.

  "Shall we ride together then, Aunt? For indeed I come on the most sorrowful of missions."

  "I had heard that you were on the quest of the Grail. Have you found it, then, or failed to find it that you are so long-faced?"

  "It is not for such a man as I to find that greatest of Mysteries. Yet I bring with me one who did indeed hold the Grail in his hands. And so I have come to say that the quest is ended, and the Grail gone forever out of this world."

  And then Morgause saw that on the pack mule, covered and shrouded, was the body of a man, She whispered, "Who-?"

  "Galahad," said Lancelet quietly. "It was my son who found the Grail, and now we know that no man may look on it and live. Would that it had been I-if only because I bear such bitter news to my king, that the one who should be King after him has gone before us into the world where he may forever follow his quest unspoilt-"

  Morgause shuddered. Now indeed will it be as if Arthur had never been, the land will have no king save for the king in Heaven, ruled over by those priests who have Arthur in their hands ... but angrily she dismissed those fancies. Galahad is gone. Arthur must choose Gwydion to rule after him.

  Lancelet looked sorrowfully at the pack mule with Galahad's body, but he said only, "Shall we ride on? I had not intended to rest a night by the road, but the mists were thick, and I feared to lose my way. I would have thought it Avalon itself!"

  "We could not find Camelot in the mists, no more than Avalon-" Cormac began, but Morgause interrupted him fretfully.

  "Have done with that foolishness," she said. "We mistook the road in the darkness, and rode back and forth half the night! We too are in haste to come to Camelot, nephew."

  One or two of her men present knew Lancelet and had known Galahad, and now they crowded close to the body, with soft expressions of sympathy and kindly words. Lancelet listened to all they had to say, his face sorrowful, then, with a few soft words, brought it to an end.

  "Later, my lads, later, there will be time enough to mourn. I am in no haste, God knows, to bear such news to Arthur, but delaying will make it no kinder. Let us ride on."

  The mist was thinning and burning away fast as the sun gained height. They set off down the road where Morgause and her men had ridden back and forth for hours in search of Camelot, but before they had gone very far there was another sound that broke the strange silence of the haunted morning. It was a trumpet call, clear and silver in the still air, from the heights of Camelot. And before her at the clump of four trees, broad and unmistakable in the growing sunlight, lay the wagon road built by Arthur's men for his legions to ride.

  IT SEEMED appropriate that the first man Morgause should see on the heights of Camelot was her son Gareth. He strode forth to challenge them at the great gates of Camelot; then, recognizing Lancelet, hurried to him. Lancelet flung himself headlong from his horse and took Gareth into a strong embrace.

  "So, cousin, it is you-"

  "Aye, it is that-Cai is too old and lame to be patrolling the walls of Camelot in these days. Ah, it is a good day in which you return to Camelot, my cousin. But I see that you found not Galahad, Lance?"

  "Aye, but I did," said Lancelet sorrowfully, and Gareth's open face, still boyish despite his full beard, was struck with dismay as he looked at the outlines of the dead man under the pall.

  "I must bear this news to Arthur at once. Take me to him, Gareth."

  Gareth bowed his head, his hand resting on Lancelet's shoulder. "Ah, this is an evil day for Camelot. I said once before, it seemed to me that yonder Grail was the work of some devil, not of God at all!"

  Lancelet shook his head, and it seemed to Morgause that something bright shone through him, as if his body were transparent; and through his sad smile there was hidden joy. "No, my dear cousin," he said, "you must put that from your mind forever. Galahad has had what God gave to him, and, God help us, so have we all. But his day is finished, and he is free of all human fate. Ours is still to come, dear Gareth-God grant us that we meet it with as much courage as he."

  "Amen to that," said Gareth, and to Morgause's horrified surprise he crossed himself. Then, with a start, he looked up at her.

  "Mother, is it you? Forgive me-yours is the last company in which I would expect to find Lancelet." He bent over her hand with a dutiful kiss. "Come, madam, let me summon a chamberlain and take you to the Queen. She will make you welcome among her ladies while Lancelet is with the King."

  Morgause let herself be led away, wondering now why she had come. In Lothian she ruled as queen in her own right, but here in Camelot she could only sit among Gwenhwyfar's ladies, and know no more of what was going on than what one of her sons might see fit to tell her.

  She said to the chamberlain, "Say to my son Gwydion-sir Mordred -that his mother has come, and bid him to wait upon me as soon as he can." But she wondered, sunk in despondency, if in this strange court he would even be troubled to pay her such respects as Gareth had done. And once again, she felt she had done wrong to come to Camelot.

  14

  For many years, Gwenhwyfar had felt that when the Companions of the Round Table were present, Arthur belonged not to her but to them. She had resented their intrusion into her life, their presence at Camelot; often she had felt that if Arthur were not surrounded by the court, perhaps they might have had a life happier than the one they led as King and Queen of Camelot.

  And yet in this year of the Grail quest, she began to realize that she had been fortunate after all, for Camelot was like a village of ghosts with all the Companions departed, and Arthur the ghost who haunted Camelot, moving silently through the deserted castle.

  It was not that she took no pleasure in Arthur's company when at last it was entirely hers. It was only that now she came to understand how much of his very being he had poured into his legions and the building of Camelot. He showed her ungrudging courtesy and kindness, and she had more of his company than ever she had had in all the long years of war or the years of peace that followed them. But it was as if some part of him was absent with his Companions, wherever they might be, and only a small fraction of the man himself was here with h
er. She loved Arthur the man no less than Arthur the King, but she realized now how much less was the man without the business of kingship into which he had put so much of his life. And she was ashamed that she could notice it.

  They never spoke of those who were absent. In that year of the Grail quest, they lived quietly and in peace from day to day, speaking only of everyday things, of bread and meat, of fruits from the orchard or wine from the cellars, of a new cloak or the clasp of a shoe. And once, looking around the empty chamber of the Round Table, he said, "Should we have it put away until they return, my love? Even in this great chamber, there is small room to move, and now when it is all empty-"

  "No," she said quickly, "no, my dear, leave it. This great room was built for the Round Table, and without it, it would be like an empty barn. Leave it. You and I and the household folk can dine in the smaller chamber." He smiled at her, and she knew he was glad she had said that.

  "And when the knights return from the quest, we can once again make a great feast there," he said, but then fell silent, and she knew he was wondering how many would ever return.

  Cai was with them, and old Lucan, and two or three of the Companions who were old or infirm or nursing old wounds. And Gwydion- Mordred as he was now called-was always with them, like a grown son; often Gwenhwyfar looked on him and thought, This is the son I might have borne to Lancelet, and heat went scalding and flooding through her whole body, leaving her broken into a hot sweat as she thought of that night when Arthur himself had thrust her into Lancelet's arms. And indeed this heat came often now and went, so that she never knew whether a room was hot or cold, or whether it was this strange sudden heat from within. Gwydion was gentle and deferential to her, calling her always lady or, sometimes, shyly, Aunt; the very shyness with which he used this term of family closeness warmed her and made him dear to her. He was like to Lancelet, too, but more silent and less light of heart; where Lancelet had ever been ready with a jest or play on words, Gwydion smiled and was always ready with some wit like a blow or the thrust of a needle. His wit was wicked, but she could not but laugh when he made some cruel jest.

  One night when their shrunken company was at dinner, Arthur said, "Until Lancelet comes back to us, nephew, I would have you take his post and be my captain of horse."

  Gwydion chuckled. "Light enough will that duty be, my uncle and my lord-there are few horses in that stable now. The finest horses in your stables went with your knights and Companions, and who knows, indeed, whether or no some horse will be the one to find that Grail they seek!"

  "Oh, hush," Gwenhwyfar said. "You must not make fun of their quest."

  "Why not, Aunt? Again and again the priests tell us that we are the sheep of our Lord's pasture, and if a sheep may seek a spiritual presence, why, I have always thought a horse a nobler beast than any sheep. So who's to say whether or no the nobler beast may achieve the quest? Even some scarred old war horse may come at last to seek spiritual repose, as they say the lion shall one day lie down beside the lamb and never think it dinner-time."

  Arthur laughed uneasily. "Will we need our horses again for war? Since Mount Badon, God be praised, we have had peace in the land-"

  "Save for Lucius," Gwydion said, "and if I have learned one thing in my life, it is that peace is something which cannot last. Wild Northmen in dragon ships are landing on the coast, and when men cry out for Arthur's legions to defend them, the answer comes only that Arthur's Companions have ridden away to seek their souls' peace. And so they seek for help from the Saxon kings in the South. But no doubt when this quest is done, they will look once more to Arthur and to Camelot-and it seems to me that war horses might be in short supply when that day comes. Lancelet is so busy with the Grail and his other deeds that he has had little time to see to the King's stables."

  "Well, I have told you I wished you to fill that place," said Arthur, and it struck Gwenhwyfar that his tone sounded peevish, and old, without the strength it once held. "As captain of horse you have authority to send for horses in my name. Lancelet used to deal with traders from somewhere to the south, beyond Brittany-"

  "As I shall do also, then," said Gwydion. "There were no horses like the horses from Spain, but now, my uncle and my lord, the best horses come from further still. The Spaniards themselves buy horses from Africa, from a desert country there. Now these Saracens are beginning to overrun Spain itself-this I heard from yonder Saracen knight Palomides, who journeyed here and was guested for a time, then rode away to see what adventure there might be among the Saxons. He is not a Christian, and it seemed strange to him that all these knights should ride away after the Grail when there was war in the land."

  "I spoke to Palomides," said Arthur. "He had a sword from that southern country of Spanish steel-I would gladly have had one like to it, though I think it is no finer than Excahbur. No sword in our country will hold such an edge, like a razor. I am glad I never had to face such a sword in the lists. The Northmen have great axes and clubs, but their weapons are not so good even as the Saxon weapons."

  "They are fiercer fighters, though," said Gwydion. "They go into a madness of fighting, as sometimes the Tribesmen of Lothian used to do, casting away their shields in battle.... No, my king, we may have had peace for a goodly time, but even as the Saracens are beginning to overrun Spain, so the wild Northmen are on our coasts, and the wild Irishmen. In the end, no doubt, the Saracens will be good for Spain even as the Saxons have been good for this land-"

  "Good for this land?" Arthur looked at the younger man in astonishment. "What do I hear you say, nephew?"

  "When the Romans left us, my lord Arthur, we were isolated at the end of the world, alone with the half-savage Tribes. The war with the Saxons forced us to reach beyond ourselves," he said. "We had trade with Less Britain and with Spain and the countries to the south, we had to barter for weapons and horses, we built new cities-why, here's your own Camelot, sir, to show that. I do not even speak of the movement of the priests, who now have come among the Saxons and made them no longer wild Tribesmen with hair on their faces, worshipping their own barbarian Gods, but civilized men with cities and trade of their own, and their own civilized kings who are subject to you. For what else has this whole land been waiting? Now, even, they have monasteries and learned men writing books, and much more ... without the wars against the Saxons, my lord Arthur, Uther's old kingdom would have been forgotten like that of Maximus."

  Arthur said with a glimmer of amusement, "Then, no doubt, you think these twenty years and more of peace have endangered Camelot, and we need more wars and fighting to bring us into the world again? It is easy to see you are not a warrior, young man. I have no such romantic view of war as that!"

  Gwydion smiled back. "What makes you think I am not a warrior, my lord? I fought among your men against Lucius who would have been emperor, and I had ample time to make up my own mind about wars and their worth. Without wars, you would be more forgotten than the least of those kings in Wales and in Eire-who now can call the roll of the kings of Tara?"

  "And you think one day it may be so with Camelot, my boy?"

  "Ah, my uncle and my king, would you have the wisdom of a Druid or the flattery of a courtier?"

  Arthur said, laughing, "Let us have the crafty counsel of a Mordred."

  "The courtier would say, my lord, that the reign of Arthur will live forever and his memory be forever green in the world. And the Druid would say that all men perish, and one day they will be, with all of their wisdom and their glories, like unto Atlantis, sunken beneath the waves. The Gods alone endure."

  "And what would my nephew and my friend say, then?"

  "Your nephew"-he put just enough emphasis on the word that Gwenhwyfar could hear that it should have been your son-"would say, my uncle and my lord, that we are living for this day, and not for what history may say of us a thousand years hence. And so your nephew would advise that your stables should once again reflect the noble days when Arthur's horses and his fighting men were known and fearful
to all. No man should be able to say, the King grows old and with all his knights on quest, cares nothing to keep his men and horses in fighting trim."

  Arthur gave him a friendly clap on the shoulder. "So let it be, dear boy. I trust your judgment. Send to Spain, or to Africa if you will, for horses such as best suit the reputation of Arthur's legion, and see to their training."

  "I shall have to find Saxons for that," said Gwydion, "and the Saxons know little of our secrets of fighting a-horse-you have always said they should not. Is it your will that since the Saxons are our allies now, they should be trained in our fighting skills?"

  Arthur looked troubled. "I fear I must leave that, too, in your hands."

  "I shall try to do my best for you," Gwydion said, "and now, my lord, we have sat overlong in this talk, and wearied the ladies-forgive me, madam," he added, inclining his head to Gwenhwyfar with that winning smile. "Shall we have music? The lady Niniane, I am certain, would be happy to bring her harp and sing to you, my lord and my king."

  "I am always happy to hear my kinswoman's music," said Arthur gravely, "if it is pleasing to my lady."

  Gwenhwyfar nodded to Niniane, who fetched her harp and sat before them, singing, and Gwenhwyfar listened with pleasure to the music- Niniane played beautifully, and her voice was sweet, though not so pure or strong as Morgaine's. But as she watched Gwydion, his eyes on Taliesin's daughter, she thought, Why is it that we, a Christian court, must always have here one of those damsels of the Lady of the Lake? It worried her, although Gwydion seemed as good a Christian as anyone else at court, coming always to mass on Sunday, as did Niniane herself. For that matter she could not remember how Niniane had come to be one of her ladies, save that Gwydion had brought her to court and asked the Queen to extend her hospitality as a kinswoman of Arthur and as Taliesin's daughter. Gwenhwyfar had only the kindest memories of Taliesin, and had been pleased to welcome his daughter, but somehow it seemed now that, without ever putting herself forward, Niniane had assumed the place of the first among her ladies. Arthur always treated her with favor and often called to her to sing, and there were times when Gwenhwyfar, watching them, wondered if he looked on her as more than kinswoman.