Marion Bradley - The Mists of Avalon

I would comfort her, but how can I, if she does not weep?

Morgaine was wearing an old gown of Morgause's own, a faded and threadbare kirtle of dark blue, grotesquely too long. She looked clumsy, almost slatternly, and it exasperated Morgause that her kinswoman had not even troubled to take needle and thread and shorten the dress somewhat. Her ankles, too, were swollen so that they bulged over her shoe tops; that was from having only salt fish and coarse vegetables to eat at this time of year. They all needed fresh food, which was not easy to come by in this weather. Well, perhaps the men would have some luck at hunting and she could induce Morgaine to eat some of the fresh meat; after four pregnancies of her own, Morgause knew the near-starvation of late pregnancy. Once, she remembered, when she was pregnant with Gawaine, she had gone into the dairy and eaten some of the clay they kept for whitening it. An old midwife had told her that when a pregnant woman cannot keep herself from eating such strange things, it is the child that hungers and she should feed him whatever he wishes for. Maybe tomorrow there would be fresh herbs by the mountain stream-that was something every pregnant woman craved, especially in late winter like this. Morgaine's beautiful dark hair was tangled, too, in a loose braid-it looked as if she hadn't combed or rebraided it for weeks. She turned from the fire now, took down a comb that was kept on the shelf, picked up one, of Morgause's little lapdogs and began combing it. Morgause thought, You would be better occupied at combing your own hair, but she held her peace; Morgaine had been so edgy lately that there was no speaking to her at all. It was natural enough, so near her time, she thought, watching the younger woman's bony hands pulling the comb through the matted hair; the little dog yelped and whined, and Morgaine hushed him in a softer voice than, she ever used to anything human these days.

"It cannot be long now, Morgaine," Morgause said gently. "By Candlemas, surely, you will be delivered."

"It cannot be too soon for me." Morgaine gave the dog a final pat and set him on the floor. "There, now you are decent to be among ladies, puppy ... how fine you are, with your hair all smooth!"

"I will make up the fire," said one of the women, whose name was Beth, putting aside her spindle and thrusting the distaff into a basket of loose; wool. "The men will be home, surely-it is already dark." She went over to the fire, tripped on a loose stick, and half fell on the hearth. "Gareth, you little wretch, will you clear away this rubbish?" She flung the stick into fire, and five-year-old Gareth, who had been pushing the sticks about prattling to them in an undertone, set up a howl of outrage-the sticks were his armies!

"Well, Gareth, it is night, and your armies must go to their tents," said Morgause briskly. Pouting, the little boy pushed the array of small sticks into a corner, but one or two he put carefully into a fold of his tunic-they were thicker ones, which Morgaine, earlier that year, had carved into the crude likeness of men in helmets and armor, dyed with berry juice for their crimson tunics.

"Will you make me another Roman knight, Morgaine?"

"Not now, Gareth," she said. "My hands ache with the cold. Tomorrow, perhaps."

He came and scowled, standing at her knee, demanding, "When will I be old enough to go hunting with Father and Agravaine?"

"It will be a few years still, I suppose," said Morgaine, smiling. "Not until you are tall enough not to be lost in a snowdrift!"

"I'm big!" he said, drawing himself up to his full height, "Look, when you're sitting down I'm taller than you are, Morgaine!" He kicked restlessly at the chair. "There's nothing to do in here!"

"Well," said Morgaine, "I could always teach you to spin, and then you need not be idle." She picked up Beth's abandoned distaff and held it out to him, but he made a face and started back.

"I'm going to be a knight! Knights don't have to spin!"

"That's a pity," Beth said sourly. "Perhaps they would not wear out so many cloaks and tunics if they knew what toil it is to spin them!"

"Yet there was a knight who did spin, so the tale says," Morgaine said, holding out her arms to the little boy. "Come here. No, sit on the bench, Gareth, you are all too heavy now for me to hold you on my lap like a sucking babe. There was in the old days, before the Romans came, a knight named Achilles, and he was under a curse; an old sorceress told his mother that he would die in battle, and so she put him into skirts and hid him among the women, where he learned to spin and to weave and do all that was fitting for a maiden."

"And did he die in battle?"

"He did indeed, for when the city of Troy was besieged, they called on all the knights and warriors to come and take it, and Achilles went with the rest, and he was the best of all the knights. It was told of him that he was offered a choice, he could live long in safety, then die an old man in his bed and be forgotten, or he could live a short life and die young with great glory, and he chose the glory; so men still tell of his story in the sagas. He fought with a knight in Troy called Hector-Ectorius, that is, in our tongue-"

"Was it that same sir Ectorius who fostered our king Arthur?" asked the little boy, wide-eyed.

"To be sure it was not, for it was many hundred years ago, but it might have been one of his forefathers."

"When I am at court, and one of Arthur's Companions," said Gareth, his eyes round as saucers, "I will be the best fighter in war, and I will win all the prizes when there are games. What happened to Achilles?"

"I remember it not-it was long ago, at Uther's court, I heard the tale," Morgaine said, pressing her hands against her back as if it hurt her.

"Tell me about Arthur's knights, Morgaine. You have really seen Lancelet, have you not? I saw him, that day at the King's crowning-has he killed any dragons? Tell me, Morgaine-"

"Don't plague her, Gareth, she's not well," said Morgause. "Run out to the kitchens and see if they can find you some bannock."

The child looked sulky, but he took his carved knight out of his tunic and went off, talking to it in an undertone. "So, sir Lancelet, we will go out and we will kill all the dragons in the Lake. ..."

"That one, he talks only of war and fighting," said Morgause impatiently, "and his precious Lancelet, as if it were not enough to have Gawaine away with Arthur at the wars! I hope that when Gareth is old enough, there will be peace in the land!"

"There will be peace," Morgaine said absently, "but it will not matter, for he will die at the hands of his dearest friend-"

"What?" cried Morgause staring, but the younger woman's eyes were vacant and unfocused; Morgause shook her gently and demanded, "Morgaine! Morgaine, are you ill?"

Morgaine blinked and shook her head. "I am sorry-what did you say to me?"

"What did I say to you? What, rather, did you say to me? " Morgause demanded, but at the look of distress in Morgaine's eyes, her skin prickled. She stroked the younger woman's hand, dismissing the grim words as delirium. "I think you must have been dreaming with your eyes wide open." She found that she did not want to think that Morgaine might have had' a moment of the Sight. "You must care for yourself better, Morgaine, you hardly eat, you don't sleep-"

"Food sickens me," Morgaine said, sighing. "Would it were summer, that I might have some fruit ... last night I dreamed I ate of the apples of Avalon-" Her voice trembled, and she lowered her head so that Morgause would not see the tears hanging from her lashes; but she clenched her hands and did not weep.

"We are all weary of salt fish and smoked bacon," said Morgause, "but if Lot has had good hunting, you must eat some of the fresh meat. Morgaine, she thought, had been trained in Avalon to ignore hunger and thirst and fatigue; now, pregnant, when she should relax her austerities somewhat, she took pride in enduring everything without complaint.