The Mists of Avalon

by Marion Zimmer Bradley

  The woman drew herself up. “My lord and king, I came to ask for one or more of your great knights with a reputation in battle which would daunt this Red Knight—Gawaine, or Lancelet, or Balin, one of those who is known as a great fighter against the Saxons. Are you going to let your very kitchen boys mock me, sire?”

  Arthur said, “My Companion Gareth is no kitchen boy, madam. He is brother to sir Gawaine, and he promises to be as good a knight as his brother, or better. I did indeed promise him the first quest that I could honorably give him, and I will send him with you. Gareth,” he said gently, “I charge you to ride with this lady, to guard her against the dangers of the road, and when you come to her country, to help her lady to organize her country in defense against these villains. If you need help, you may send me a messenger, but no doubt she has fighting men enough—they need only someone with knowledge and skill at strategy, and this you have learned from Cai and Gawaine. Madam, I give you a good man to help you.”

  She did not quite dare to answer the King, but she scowled at Gareth fiercely. He said formally, “Thank you, my lord Arthur. I will put the fear of God into these rascals who are troubling the countryside there.” He bowed to Arthur and turned to the lady, but she had turned her back and stormed out of the hall.

  Lancelet said in a low voice, “He is young for all that, sir. Shouldn’t you send Balan, or Balin, or someone more experienced?”

  Arthur shook his head. “I truly think Gareth can do it, and I prefer that no one of my Companions is favored over another—it should be enough for the lady to know that one of them is coming to help her people.”

  Arthur leaned back and signalled to Cai to serve his plate. “Giving justice is hungry work. Are there no more petitioners?”

  “There is one, my lord Arthur,” said Viviane quietly, and rose from her place among the Queen’s ladies. Morgaine began to rise and attend her, but Viviane gestured her back. She looked taller than she was, because she held herself so straight. And part of it was glamour, the glamour of Avalon . . . her hair, all white, was braided high on her head; at her side hung the little sickle-shaped knife, the knife of a priestess, and on her brow blazed the mark of the Goddess, the shining crescent moon.

  Arthur looked at her for a moment, in surprise, then recognized her and gestured her to come forward.

  “Lady of Avalon, it is long since you honored this court with your presence. Come sit beside me, kinswoman, and tell me how I may best serve you.”

  “By showing honor to Avalon, as you are sworn to do,” said Viviane. Her voice was very clear and low, but, the trained voice of a priestess, it could be heard to the farthest corners of the hall. “My king, I bid you look now on that sword you bear, and think on those who laid it in your hand, and what you swore—”

  In later years when all that had befallen that day was talked of far and wide, no two of the hundreds in that hall could agree on what had happened first. Morgaine saw Balin rise in his place and rush forward, she saw a hand snatch up the great axe Meleagrant had left leaning against the throne, then there was a scuffle and a cry, and she heard her own scream as the great axe came whirling down. But she did not see the blow, only Viviane’s white hair suddenly red with blood as she crumpled and fell without even a cry.

  Then the hall was full of shouts and screams; Lancelet and Gawaine had Balin, struggling in their grasp; Morgaine had her own dagger in her hand and rushed forward, but Kevin gripped at her hard, his twisted fingers clutching at her wrist.

  “Morgaine. Morgaine, no, it is too late—” he said, and his voice was roughened with sobs. “Ceridwen! Mother Goddess—! No, no, look not on her now, Morgaine—”

  He tried to turn her away, but Morgaine stood frozen, as if turned to stone, listening to Balin howling obscenities at the top of his voice.

  Cai said abruptly, “Look to the lord Taliesin!” The old man had slithered down fainting in his seat. Cai bent and steadied him, then, murmuring a word of apology to Arthur, seized the King’s own cup and poured the wine down the old man’s throat. Kevin let Morgaine go and stumbled awkwardly to the side of the ancient Druid, bending over him. Morgaine thought, I should go to him, but it was as if her feet were frozen to the floor, she could not take a single step. She stared at the fainting old man so that she need not look back at that horrible red-stained pool on the floor, soaking through robes and hair and long cloak. In that last instant Viviane had seized her own small sickle knife. Her hand lay on it now, stained with her own blood—there was so much blood, so much. Her skull—her skull had been cloven in half, and there was blood, blood on the throne poured out like an animal for sacrifice, here at the foot of Arthur’s throne. . . .

  Arthur finally found his voice. “You wretched man,” he said hoarsely, “what have you done? This is murder, cold murder before the very throne of your king. . . .”

  “Murder, you say?” Balin said in his thick, harsh voice. “Yes, she was the most foul murderess in this kingdom, she deserved death twice over—I have rid your kingdom of a wicked and evil sorceress, my king!”

  Arthur looked more angry than grieved. “The Lady of the Lake was my friend and my benefactor! How dare you speak so of my kinswoman, she who helped to set me on my throne?”

  “I call the lord Lancelet himself to witness if she did not compass the death of my mother,” Balin said, “a good and pious Christian woman, Priscilla by name, and foster-mother to your own brother Balan! And she murdered my mother, I tell you she murdered her by her evil sorceries—” His face worked; the big man was weeping like a child. “She murdered my mother, I tell you, and I have avenged her as a knight should do!”

  Lancelet closed his eyes in horror, his face contorted, but he did not weep. “My lord Arthur, this man’s life belongs to me! Let me here take vengeance for my mother—”

  “And my mother’s sister,” said Gawaine.

  “And mine—” Gaheris added.

  Morgaine’s frozen trance broke. She cried, “No, Arthur! Let me have him! He has murdered the Lady before your throne, let a woman of Avalon avenge the blood of Avalon—look yonder how the lord Taliesin lies stricken, it is like that he has murdered our grandsire too—”

  “Sister, sister—” Arthur held out his hand to Morgaine. “No, no, sister—no, give me your dagger—”

  Morgaine stood shaking her head, her dagger still in her hand. Taliesin suddenly rose to take it from her with his own trembling old fingers. “No, Morgaine. No more bloodshed here—the Goddess knows, it is enough—her blood has been spilled as sacrifice to Avalon in this hall—”

  “Sacrificed! Yes, sacrificed to God, as God shall strike down all these evil sorceresses and their Gods!” cried Balin in a frenzy. “Let me have that one too, my lord Arthur, purge this court of all their evil wizard line—” He struggled so violently that Lancelet and Gawaine could hardly hold him and signalled to Cai, who came and helped them cast Balin down, struggling still, before the throne.

  “Quiet!” Lancelet said, jerking his head around. “I warn you, one hand laid on the Merlin or Morgaine, and I’ll have your head whatever Arthur may say—yes, my lord Arthur, and die at your hands for it afterward if you will have it so!” His face was drawn with anguish and despair.

  “My lord King,” Balin howled, “I beg you, let me strike down all these wizards and sorcerers in the name of the Christ who hates them all—”

  Lancelet struck Balin heavily across the mouth; the man gasped and was silent, blood streaming from a broken lip.

  “By your leave, my lord.” Lancelet unfastened his rich cloak and gently covered the ghastly, drained corpse of his mother.

  Arthur seemed to breathe easier now that the corpse was out of sight. Only Morgaine went on staring wide-eyed at the lifeless huddle now covered with the crimson cloak Lancelet had worn for the holiday.

  Blood. Blood on the foot of the King’s throne. Blood, poured out on the hearth . . . Somewhere it seemed to Morgaine that she could hear Raven shrieking.

  Arthur sa
id quietly, “Look to the lady Morgaine, she will faint,” and Morgaine felt hands gently helping her into a seat and someone holding a cup to her lips. She started to push it away, and then it seemed she heard Viviane’s voice saying, Drink it. A priestess must keep her strength and will. Obediently she drank, hearing Arthur’s voice, stern and solemn.

  “Balin, whatever your reasons—no, no more, I heard what you said—not a word—you are either a madman, or a cold-blooded murderer. Whatever you may say, you have slain my kinswoman and drawn steel before your High King at Pentecost. Still, I will not have you murdered where you stand—Lancelet, put up your sword.”

  Lancelet slid his sword back into its scabbard. “I will do your will, my lord. But if you do not punish this murder, then I beg leave to depart from your court.”

  “Oh, I will punish it.” Arthur’s face was grim. “Balin, are you sane enough to listen to me? Then this is your doom: I banish you forever from this court. Let this lady’s body be made ready and put on a horse bier, and I charge you to take it to Glastonbury, and tell all your tale to the Archbishop and do such penance as he shall lay on you. You spoke but now of God and Christ, but no Christian king allows private vengeance to be taken by the sword before his throne of justice. Do you hear what I say, Balin, once my knight and Companion?”

  Balin bent his head. His nose had been broken by Lancelet’s blow; his mouth was streaming blood, and he spoke thickly through a broken tooth. “I hear you, my lord King. I will go.” He sat with his head bowed.

  Arthur gestured to the servants. “I beg you, bring someone to remove her poor body—”

  Morgaine broke away from the hands that held her and knelt beside Viviane. “My lord, I beg you, allow me to ready her for burial—” and struggled to hold back the tears she dared not shed. This was not Viviane, this broken dead thing, the hand like a shrunken claw still clutching the sickle dagger of Avalon. She took up the dagger, kissed it, and slid it into her own belt. This, and only this, would she keep.

  Great merciful Mother, I knew we could never go together to Avalon. . . .

  She would not weep. She felt Lancelet close beside her. He muttered, “God’s mercy Balan is not here—to lose mother and foster-brother in one moment of madness—but if Balan had been here it might not have happened! Is there any God or any mercy?”

  Her heart ached for Lancelet’s anguish. He had feared and hated his mother, but he had worshipped her, too, as the very face of the Goddess. A part of her wanted to pull Lancelet into her arms, comfort him, let him weep; yet there was rage too. He had defied his mother, how dared he grieve for her now?

  Taliesin was kneeling beside them, and he said, in his broken old voice, “Let me help you, children. It is my right—” and they moved aside as he bowed his head to murmur an ancient prayer of passage.

  Arthur rose in his place. “There will be no more feasting this day. We have had too much tragedy for a feast. Those of you who are hungry, finish your meal and go quietly.” He came slowly down to where the body lay. His hand rested gently on Morgaine’s shoulder; she felt it there, through her numb misery. She could hear the other guests quietly leaving the hall, one after another, and through the rustle she heard, softly, the sound of a harp; only one pair of hands in Britain played such a harp. And at last she melted and tears streamed from her eyes as Kevin’s harp played the dirge for the Lady, and to that sound, Viviane, priestess of Avalon, was slowly borne from the great hall of Camelot. Morgaine, walking beside the bier, looked back only once at the great hall and the Round Table, and the solitary, bowed figure of Arthur, standing alone beside the harper. And through all her grief and despair, she thought, Viviane never gave to Arthur the message of Avalon. This is the hall of a Christian king, and now there is no one who will say otherwise. How Gwenhwyfar would rejoice if she knew.

  His hands were outstretched; she did not know, perhaps he was praying. She saw the serpents tattooed about his wrists and thought of the young stag and the new-made king who had come to her with the blood of the King Stag on his hands and face, and for a moment it seemed to her that she could hear the mocking voice of the fairy queen. And then there was no sound but the anguished lamenting of Kevin’s harp and Lancelet weeping at her side as they bore Viviane forth to rest.

  Morgaine speaks . . .

  I followed the body of Viviane from the great hall of the Round Table, weeping for only the second time that I could remember.

  And yet later that night I quarrelled with Kevin.

  Working with the Queen’s women, I prepared Viviane’s body for burial. Gwenhwyfar sent her women, and she sent linen and spices and a velvet pall, but she did not come herself. That was just as well. A priestess of Avalon should be laid to rest by attendant priestesses. I longed for my sisters from the House of Maidens; but at least no Christian hands should touch her. When I was done, Kevin came to watch by the body.

  “I have sent Taliesin to rest. I have that authority now, as the Merlin of Britain; he is very old and very feeble—it is a miracle that his heart did not fail this day. I fear he will not long outlive her. Balin is quiet now,” he added. “I think perhaps he knows what he did—but it is sure that it was done in a fit of madness. He is ready to ride with her body to Glastonbury, and serve such penance as the Archbishop shall decree.”

  I stared at him in outrage. “And you will have it so? That she shall fall into the hands of the church? I care not what happens to that murderer,” I said, “but Viviane must be taken to Avalon.” I swallowed hard so that I would not weep again. We should have ridden together to Avalon. . . .

  “Arthur has decreed,” said Kevin quietly, “that she shall be buried before the church at Glastonbury, where all can see.”

  I shook my head, unbelieving. Were all men mad this day? “Viviane must lie in Avalon,” I said, “where all the priestesses of the Mother have been buried since time began. And she was Lady of the Lake!”

  “She was also Arthur’s friend and benefactor,” said Kevin, “and he will have it that her tomb shall be made a place of pilgrimage.” He put out his hand that I should not speak. “No, hear me, Morgaine—there is reason in what he says. Never has there been so grave a crime in Arthur’s reign. He cannot hide away her burial place out of sight and out of mind. She must be buried where all men may know of the King’s justice, and the justice of the church.”

  “And you will allow this!”

  “Morgaine, my dearest,” he said gently, “it is not for me to allow or to refuse. Arthur is the High King, and it is his will that is done in this realm.”

  “And Taliesin holds his peace? Or is this why you have sent him to his rest, so that he might be out of the way while you do this blasphemy with the King’s connivance? Will you have Viviane buried with Christian burial and Christian rites, she who was Lady of the Lake—buried by these folk who imprison their God within stone walls? Viviane chose me after her to be Lady of the Lake, and I forbid it, I forbid it, do you hear me?”

  Kevin said quietly, “Morgaine. No, listen to me, my dear. Viviane died without naming her successor—”

  “You were there that day she said she had chosen me—”

  “But you were not in Avalon when she died, and you have renounced that place,” Kevin said, and his words fell on my head like cold rain, so that I shivered. He stared at the bier and Viviane’s body which lay covered there; nothing I could do could make that face fit to be seen in death. “Viviane died with no successor named to her place, and so it falls to me, as the Merlin of Britain, to declare what will be done. And if this is Arthur’s will, only the Lady of the Lake—and, forgive me, my dear, that I say it, but there is now no Lady in Avalon—could speak out against what I say. I can see that the King has reason for what he wishes. Viviane spent all her life to bring about a peaceful rule of law in this land. . . .”

  “She came to reprove Arthur that he had forsaken Avalon!” I cried in despair. “She died with her mission unfinished, and now you would have it that she should lie in C
hristian ground within the sound of church bells, so that they should triumph over her in death as in life?”

  “Morgaine, Morgaine, my poor girl!” Kevin held out his hands to me, the misshapen hands which had so often caressed me. “I loved her too, believe me! But she is dead. She was a great woman, she spent her life for this land—do you think it matters to her where her empty shell shall lie? She has gone to whatever awaits her beyond death, and, knowing her, I know that it can only be good that awaits her. Do you think she would grudge it, that her body should lie where it can best serve those purposes she spent her life to accomplish—that the King’s justice should triumph over all the evil in this land?”

  His rich, caressing, musical voice was so eloquent that I hesitated for a moment. Viviane was gone; it was only those same Christians who made much of consecrated or unconsecrated ground, as if all the earth which is the breast of the Mother was not holy. I wanted to fall into his arms and weep there for the only mother I had ever known, for the wreck of my own hopes that I might return to Avalon at her side, weep for all I had cast away and the breaking of my own life. . . .