She had thought, after hearing that Morgaine was not in Avalon, of sending a messenger to King Lot’s court, to find out if she was there; but then the winter settled in in earnest, and every day was a new battle against cold, chilblains, the vicious dampness everywhere; even the sisters went hungry in the depths of winter, sharing what food they had with beggars and peasants.
And once in the hard weeks of winter, she thought she heard Morgaine’s voice, crying—crying out for her in anguish: “Mother! Mother!” Morgaine, alone and terrified—Morgaine dying? Where, ah God, where? Her fingers clenched the cross which, like all the sisters of the convent, she wore at her belt. Lord Jesus, keep and guard her, Mary, Mother divine, even if she is a sinner and a sorceress . . . pity her, Jesus, as you pitied the dame of Magdala who was worse than she. . . .
In dismay, she realized that a tear had dripped down on the fine work she was doing; it might spot the work. She wiped her eyes with her linen veil and held the embroidery frame further away, narrowing her eyes to see better—ah, she was getting old, her sight blurred a little from time to time; or was it tears that blurred her vision?
She bent resolutely over her embroidery again, but Morgaine’s face seemed again to be before her, and she could hear in her imagination that despairing shriek, as if Morgaine’s soul were being torn from her body. She herself had cried out like that, for the mother she could hardly remember, when Morgaine was born . . . did all women in childbirth cry out for their mothers? Terror gripped her. Morgaine in that desperate winter, giving birth somewhere . . . Morgause had made some such jest at Arthur’s crowning, saying Morgaine was as squeamish with her food as a breeding woman. Against her will, Igraine found herself counting on her fingers; yes, if it had been so with her, Morgaine would have borne her child in the dead of winter. And now, even in that soft spring, she seemed to hear again that cry; she longed to go to her daughter, but where, where?
There was a step behind her and a tentative cough, and one of the young girls fostered in the nunnery said, “Lady, there are visitors for you in the outer room; one of them is a churchman, the Archbishop himself!”
Igraine put her embroidery aside. After all, it was not spotted; all the tears women shed, they leave no mark on the world, she thought in bitterness. “Why does the Archbishop, of all men living, wish to see me?”
“He did not tell me, lady, and I do not think he told the Mother Superior either,” said the little girl, not at all unwilling to gossip for a minute, “but did you not send gifts to the church there at the time of the High King’s crowning?”
Igraine had, but she did not think the Archbishop would have come here to speak of a past charity. Perhaps he wanted something more. Priests were seldom greedy for themselves but all priests, especially those from rich churches, were greedy for silver and gold for their altars.
“Who are the others?” she asked, knowing that the young girl was eager to talk.
“Lady, I do not know, but I do know that the Mother Superior wanted to forbid one of them, because"—her eyes grew wide—"he is a wizard and sorcerer, so she said, and a Druid!”
Igraine rose. “It is the Merlin of Britain, for he is my father, and he is no wizard, child, but a scholar trained in the crafts of the wise. Even the church fathers say that the Druids are good and noble men, and worship with them in harmony, since they acknowledge God in all things, and Christ as one of many prophets of God.”
The little girl dropped a small curtsey, acknowledging correction, as Igraine put away the embroidery work and adjusted her veil smoothly around her face.
When she came into the outer room, she saw not only the Merlin and a strange, austere man in the dark dress which churchmen were beginning to adopt to set them off from seculars, but a third man she hardly recognized, even when he turned; for a moment it was as if she looked into Uther’s face.
“Gwydion!” she exclaimed, then, quickly amending, “Arthur. Forgive me; I forgot.” She would have knelt before the High King but he reached out quickly and prevented her.
“Mother, never kneel in my presence. I forbid it.”
Igraine bowed to the Merlin and to the dour, austere-looking Archbishop.
“This is my mother, Uther’s queen,” Arthur said, and the Archbishop responded, stretching his lips in what Igraine supposed was meant for a smile. “But now she has a higher honor than royalty, in that she is a bride of Christ.”
Hardly a bride, Igraine thought, simply a widow who has taken refuge in his house. But she did not say so, and bowed her head.
Arthur said, “Lady, this is Patricius, Archbishop of the Isle of the Priests, now called Glastonbury, who has newly come there.”
“Aye, by God’s will,” the Archbishop said, “having lately driven out all the evil magicians from Ireland, I am come to drive them forth from all Christian lands. I found in Glastonbury a corrupt lot of priests, tolerating among them even the common worship with the Druids, at which our Lord who died for us would have wept tears of blood!”
Taliesin the Merlin said in his soft voice, “Why, then, you would be harsher than Christ himself, brother? For he, I seem to remember, was greatly chided that he consorted with outcasts and sinners and even tax collectors, and such ladies as the Magdalen, when they would have had him a Nazarite like to John the Baptizer. And at last, even when he hung dying on his cross, he did promise the thief that that same night he would join him in Paradise—no?”
“I think too many people presume to read the divine Scriptures, and fall into just such errors as this,” said Patricius sternly. “Those who presume on their learning will learn, I trust, to listen to their priests for the true interpretations.”
The Merlin smiled gently. “I cannot join you in that wish, brother. I am dedicated to the belief that it is God’s will that all men should strive for wisdom in themselves, not look to it from some other. Babes, perhaps, must have their food chewed for them by a nurse, but men may drink and eat of wisdom for themselves.”
“Come, come!” Arthur interrupted with a smile. “I will have no controversies between my two dearest councillors. Lord Merlin’s wisdom is indispensable to me; he set me on my throne.”
“Sir,” said the Archbishop, “God set you there.”
“With the help of the Merlin,” said Arthur, “and I pledged to him I would listen to his counsel always. Would you have me forsworn, Father Patricius?” He spoke the name with the North country accent of the lands where he had been fostered. “Come, Mother, sit down and let us talk.”
“First let me send for wine to refresh you after your long ride here.”
“Thank you, Mother, and if you will, send some, too, to Cai and Gawaine, who rode hither with me. They would not have me come unguarded. They insist on doing for me the service of chamberlains and grooms, as if I could not lift a hand for myself. I can do for myself as well as any soldier, with only the help of an ordinary groom or two, but they will not have it—”
“Your Companions shall have the best,” Igraine said, and went to give orders for food and wine to be served the strangers and all their retinue. Wine was brought for the guests, and Igraine poured it.
“How is it with you, my son?” Looking him over, he seemed ten years older than the slightly built boy who had been crowned last summer. He had grown, it seemed, half a hand’s span, and his shoulders were broader. There was a red seam on his face; it was already drawing cleanly together, God be praised . . . well, no soldier could escape a wound or two.
“As you see, Mother, I have been fighting, but God has spared me,” he said. “And now I come here on a peaceful mission. But how is it with you here?”
She smiled. “Oh, nothing happens here,” she said. “But I had word from Avalon that Morgaine had left the Island. Is she at your court?”
He shook his head. “Why, no, Mother, I’ve hardly a court worth the name,” he said. “Cai keeps my castle—I had to force it on him, he’d rather ride with me to war, but I bade him stay and keep my house secure.
And two or three of Father’s old knights, too old to ride, are there with their wives and youngest sons. Morgaine’s at the court of Lot—Gawaine told me as much when his brother came south to fight in my armies, young Agravaine. He said Morgaine had come to attend on his mother; he’d only seen her a time or two, but she was well and seemed in good spirits; she plays on the harp for Morgause, and keeps the keys of her spice cupboard. I gather Agravaine was quite charmed with her.” A look of pain passed over his face, and Igraine wondered at it but said nothing.
“God be thanked that Morgaine is safe among kindred. I have been frightened for her.” This was not the time, certainly not with churchmen present, to inquire whether Morgaine had borne a child. “When did Agravaine come south?”
“It was early in the fall, was it not, Lord Merlin?”
“I believe it was.”
Then Agravaine would have known nothing; she herself had seen Morgaine and never guessed. If indeed it had been so with Morgaine, and not a fantasy born of her own imaginings.
“Well, Mother, I came to speak of women’s affairs, at that—it seems I should be married. I have no heir but Gawaine—”
“I like not that,” Igraine said. “Lot has been waiting for that all these many years. Don’t trust his son behind you.”
Arthur’s eyes blazed with anger. “Even you shall not speak so of my cousin Gawaine, Mother! He is my sworn Companion, and I love him as the brother I never had, even as I love Lancelet! If Gawaine wished for my throne, he need only have relaxed his vigilance for five minutes, and I would have a split neck, not this slash on my face, and Gawaine would be High King! I would trust him with life and honor!”
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 hi
m 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.
The Mists of Avalon Page 40