Marion Bradley - The Mists of Avalon

Uther had sworn he would come at Midwinter-night. How would he manage it, with Gorlois's army lying between? All day she was silent and abstracted; she even spoke sharply to Morgaine, running about like a wild thing with the joy of being free after the confinement and cold of the winter weather.

I should not be harsh with my child because my mind is with my lover! Igraine thought, and, angry with herself, called Morgaine to her and kissed her. A chill went through her as she laid her lips to the soft cheek; by her forbidden sorcery, warning her lover of Gorlois's ambush, she might have condemned the father of her child to death ...

... but no. Gorlois had betrayed his High King; whatever she, Igraine, had done or left undone, Gorlois was marked for death, and by his treason he had deserved it. Unless, indeed, he should compound his betrayal by killing that man whom his sworn king, Ambrosius, had marked for the defense of all Britain.

Father Columba came to her, insisting that she forbid her women and serving-men to light Midwinter fires. "And you yourself should set them a good example by coming tonight to mass," he insisted. "It has been long, my lady, since you received the sacraments."

"I have been ill," she said indifferently, "and as for the sacraments, I seem to remember that you gave me the last rites when I lay sick. Although I may have dreamed it-I dreamed many things."

"Many of them," said the priest, "such things as no Christian woman should dream. It was for my lord's sake, lady, that I gave you the sacraments when you had had no opportunity to confess yourself and receive them worthily."

"Aye-I know well it was not for my own sake," said Igraine, with a faint curl of her lip.

"I do not presume to set limits on God's mercy," the priest said, and Igraine knew the unspoken part of his thought: he would err if needed on the side of mercy, because Gorlois, for some reason, cared about this woman, and leave it to God to be harsh with her, as no doubt God would be ... .

But at last she said that she would come to mass. Little as she liked this new religion, Ambrosius had been a Christian, Christianity was the religion of the civilized people of Britain and would inevitably become more so; Uther would bow to the public observance, whatever his private views on religion. She did not really know-she had had no opportunity to know how he really felt about matters of conscience. Would she ever know? He swore he would come to me at Midwinter. But Igraine lowered her eyes and tried to pay strict attention to the mass.

Dusk had fallen, and Igraine was speaking in the kitchen house to her women, when she heard a commotion at the end of the causeway and the sound of riders, then a cry in the courtyard. She flung her hood over her shoulders and ran out, Morgause behind her. At the gateway were men in Roman cloaks such as Gorlois wore, but the guards were barring their way with the long spears they carried.

"My lord Gorlois left orders; no one but the Duke himself to go inside in his absence."

One of the men at the center of the group of newcomers drew himself up, immensely tall.

"I am the Merlin of Britain," he said, his resounding voice ringing through the dusk and fog. "Stand back, man, will you deny passage to me?"

The guardsman drew back in instinctive deference, but Father Columba stepped forward, with an imperative gesture of refusal.

"I will deny you. My lord the Duke of Cornwall has said particularly that you, old sorcerer, are to have no entrance here at any time." The soldiers gaped, and Igraine, despite her anger-stupid, meddlesome priest!-had to admire his courage. It was not an easy thing to defy the Merlin of all Britain.

Father Columba held up the big wooden cross at his belt. "In the name of the Christ, I bid you begone! In God's name, return to the realms of darkness whence you came!"

The Merlin's ringing laugh raised echoes from the looming walls. "Good brother in Christ," he said, "your God and my God are one and the same. Do you really think I will vanish away at your exorcism? Or do you think I am some foul fiend from the darkness? No, not unless you call the falling of God's night the coming of darkness! I come from a land no darker than the Summer Country, and look, these men with me bear the ring of his lordship the Duke of Cornwall himself. Look." The torchlight flashed as one of the cloaked men thrust out a bare hand. On the first finger glinted Gorlois's ring.

"Now let us in, Father, for we are not fiends, but mortal men who are cold and weary, and we have ridden for a long way. Or must we cross ourselves and repeat a prayer to prove that to you?"

Igraine came forward, wetting her lips with nervousness. What was happening here? How did they come to bear Gorlois's ring, unless they were his messengers? Certainly one of them would have appealed to her. She saw no one she recognized, nor would Gorlois have chosen the Merlin for his messenger. Was Gorlois dead then, and was it news of his death being brought to her in this fashion? She said abruptly, her voice sounding harsh, "Let me see the ring. Is this truly his token or a forgery?"

"It is truly his ring, lady Igraine," said a voice she knew, and Igraine, bending her eyes to see the ring in the torchlight, saw familiar hands, big, broad and callused; and above them, what she had seen only in vision. Around Uther's hairy arms, tattooed there in blue woad, writhed two serpents, one on either wrist. She thought that her knees would give way and that she would sink down on the stones of the courtyard.

He had sworn it: I will come to you at Midwinter. And he had come, wearing Gorlois's ring!

"My lord Duke!" said Father Columba impulsively, stepping forward, but the Merlin raised a hand to forbid the words.

"Hush! The messenger is secret," he said. "Speak no word." And the priest fell back, thinking the cloaked man was Gorlois, puzzled but obedient.

Igraine dropped a curtsey, still struggling against disbelief and dismay. She said, "My lord, come in," and Uther, still concealing his face beneath the cloak, reached out with the ringed hand and gripped her fingers. Her own felt like ice beneath them, but his hand was warm and firm and steadied her as they stepped into the hall.

She took refuge in banalities. "Shall I fetch some wine, my lord, or send for food?"

He murmured close to her ear, "In God's name, Igraine, find some way we can be alone. The priest has sharp eyes, even in the dark, and I want it thought it is Gorlois, indeed, who has come here."

She said to Isotta, "Bring food and some beer to the soldiers here in the hall, and to the Lord Merlin. Bring them water for washing, and all they desire. I will speak with my lord in our chambers. Have food and wine sent there at once."

The servants went scurrying in all directions to do her will. The Merlin let a man take his cloak, and set his harp carefully on one of the benches. Morgause came into the doorway, peering boldly at the soldiers. Her eyes fell on Uther's tall form, and she dropped a curtsey.

"My lord Gorlois! Welcome, dear brother!" she said, and started toward him. Uther made a slight forbidding movement and Igraine stepped quickly in front of him. She thought, frowning, This is ridiculous; even cloaked, Uther looks no more like Gorlois than do I!

She said sharply, "My lord is weary, Morgause, and in no mood for the chatter of children. Take Morgaine to your chamber and keep her; she will sleep there with you this night."

Frowning, sullen, Morgause picked up Morgaine and carried her away up the stairs. Keeping well behind them, Igraine reached for Uther's hand and held it as they climbed. What manner of trickery was this, and why? Her heart was pounding until she thought she would faint away as she led him into the chamber she had shared with Gorlois and shut the door.