Marion Bradley - The Mists of Avalon

"You are priestess-trained, Morgaine, hardened to fasting, but yout child cannot endure hunger and thirst, and you are far too thin-"

"Don't mock me!" Morgaine said angrily, gesturing at her enormously swollen belly.

"But your hands and face are like bare bone," said Morgause. "You must not starve yourself like this, you have a child and you must consider him!"

"I will consider his welfare when he considers mine!" Morgaine said, rising abruptly, but Morgause took her hands and drew her down again. "Dear child, I know what you are going through, I have borne four children, remember? These last few days are worse than all the long months combined!"

"I should have had the sense to be rid of it while there was time!"

Morgause opened her mouth for a sharp answer, then sighed and said, "It's too late to say you should have done so or so; ten days more will bring it to an end." She took her own comb from her tunic folds and began to unravel Morgaine's tangled braid.

"Let it be-" said Morgaine restlessly, pulling her head away from the comb. "I will do it myself tomorrow. I have been too weary to think of it. But if you are sick of looking at me all bedraggled like this-well, give me the comb!"

"Sit still, lennavan," said Morgause. "Don't you remember, when you were a little girl at Tintagel, you used to cry for me to comb your hair because your nurse-what was her name? ... Now I remember: Gwennis, that was it-she used to pull your hair so, and you would say, 'Let Aunt Morgause do it?' " She teased the comb through the tangles, smoothing out strand after strand, and stroked Morgaine's head affectionately. "You have lovely hair."

"Dark and coarse as a pony's mane in winter!"

"No, fine as the wool of a black sheep, and shining like silk," Morgause said, still stroking the dark strands. "Hold still, I will plait it for you ... . Always I have wished for a girl-child, so that I could dress her finely and plait her hair like this ... but the Goddess sent me only sons, and so you must just be my little daughter now when you need me ... ." She pulled the dark head against her breast, and Morgaine lay there, shaking with the tears she could not shed. "Ah, there, there, my little one, don't cry, it won't be long now, there, there ... you have not been taking good care of yourself, you need a mother's care, my little girl ... ."

"It is only ... it is so dark here ... I long so for the sun ... ."

"In the summer we have more than our share of sunlight, it is light even to midnight," said Morgause, "and so in winter we get so little." Morgaine was still shaking with uncontrollable sobs, and Morgause held her close, rocking her gently. "There, little one, lennavan, there, I know how you feel ...I bore Gawaine in the darkest time of winter. It was dark and stormy like this, and I was only sixteen years old then, and very frightened, I knew so little of bearing children. I wished then that I had stayed to be priestess at Avalon, or at Uther's court, or anywhere but here. Lot was away at the wars, I hated my big body, I was sick all the time and my back hurt, and I was all alone with only strange women. Would you believe, all that winter, I kept my old doll secretly in my bed, and held her, and cried myself every night to sleep? Such a baby I was! You at least are a woman grown, Morgaine."

Morgaine said, choking, "I know I am too old to be such a baby . .." but still she clung to Morgause, while the older woman petted and stroked her hair.

"And now that same babe I bore even before I was a grown woman is away fighting with the Saxons," she said, "and you, whom I held on my lap like a doll, you are to have a babe of your own. Ah, yes, I knew there was news I meant to tell you; the cook's wife Marged has borne her child-no doubt that was why the porridge was so full of husks this morning-so there will be a wet nurse ready at hand for yours. Though indeed, when you see him, I doubt not you will want to suckle him yourself."

Morgaine made a gesture of revulsion, and Morgause smiled. "So I felt myself, before each of my sons was born, but when I looked once on their faces, I felt I could never let them out of my arms." She felt the younger woman flinch. "What is it, Morgaine?"

"My back aches; I have been sitting too long, that is all," Morgaine said, rising restlessly and wandering around the room, her hands clasped at the small of her back. Morgause narrowed her eyes thoughtfully; yes, in the last few days the girl's bulging belly was carried lower, it could not be long now. She should have the women's hall filled with fresh straw and speak to the midwives to be at hand for the lying-in.

LOT'S MEN HAD FOUND a deer on the hills; skinned and cleaned, the smell roasting over the great fire filled the whole of the castle, and even Morgaine did not refuse a slice of the raw liver, dripping blood-by custom this food was saved for such of the women as were with child.

Morgause could see her grimace with revulsion, as she herself had done when such things were given to her in her own pregnancies, but Morgaine, as Morgause had done, sucked at ft with avidity, her body demanding the nourishment even as her mind revolted. Later, though, when the meat was cooked and carvers were slicing it and carrying it around, she gestured refusal. Morgause took a slice of meat and laid it on Morgaine's dish.

"Eat it," she commanded. "No, Morgaine, I will be obeyed, you cannot starve yourself and your child this way."

"I cannot," said Morgaine in a low voice. "I will be sick-put it by and I will try to eat it later."

"What is wrong?"

Morgaine lowered her head and muttered, "I cannot eat-the meat of deer-I ate it at Beltane when-and now the very smell sickens me-" And this child was gotten at Beltane at the ritual fires. What is it that troubles her so? That memory should be a pleasant one, Morgause thought, smiling at the memory of the Beltane license. She wondered if the girl had fallen into the hands of some particularly brutish man and had undergone something like rape-that would account for her rage and despair at this pregnancy. Still, done was done, and Morgaine was old enough to know that not all men were brutes, even if she had once fallen into the hands of one who was neither gentle nor skilled with women.

Morgause took a slice of oatcake and sopped it in the meat juice in the dish. "Eat this, then-you will get the good of the meat so," she said, "and I have made you some tea with the hips of roses; it is sour and will taste good to you. I remember how I craved sour things when I was breeding."

Morgaine ate obediently, and it seemed to Morgause that a little color came into her face. She made a face at the sourness of the drink, but drank it down thirstily nonetheless. "I do not like it," she said, "but how strange, I cannot stop drinking it."

"Your child craves it," said Morgause seriously. "Babes in the womb know what is good for them, and they demand it of us."

Lot, sitting at his ease between two of his huntsmen, smiled amiably at his sister-in-law. "An old skinny animal, but a good dinner for late winter," he said, "and I'm just as glad we didn't get a breeding doe. We saw two or three of them, but I told my men to let them be, and even called off the dogs-I want the deer to drop their fawns in peace, and I could see that time is near, so many of them were heavy." He yawned, taking up small Gareth, whose face was greasy and shining with the meat. "Soon you'll be big enough to go hunting with us," he said. "You and the little Duke of Cornwall, no doubt."

"Who is the Duke of Cornwall, Father?" Gareth asked.

"Why, the babe Morgaine carries," Lot replied, smiling, and Gareth stared at Morgaine. "I don t see any baby. Where is your baby, Morgaine?"

Morgaine chuckled uneasily. "Next month at this time I shall show him to you."