Marion Bradley - The Mists of Avalon

"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 him 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.

4

Gwenhwyfar felt the familiar nausea gripping the pit of her stomach; she began to wonder if before they set forth she would have to run at once to the privy. What would she do if the need came on her after she had mounted and ridden out? She looked at Igraine, who stood tall and composed, rather like the Mother Superior of her old convent. Igraine had seemed kind and motherly on that first visit, a year ago, when the marriage had been arranged. Now, come to escort Gwenhwyfar to her bridal, she seemed stern and demanding, with no trace of the terror that gripped at Gwenhwyfar. How could she be so calm? Gwenhwyfar ventured, in a small voice, peering at the waiting horses and litter, "Aren't you afraid? It's so far-"

"Afraid? Why, no," said Igraine, "I have been to Caerleon many times, and it's not likely the Saxons are on the road to war this time. Travelling in winter is troublesome, with mud and rain, but better that than fall into the hands of the barbarians."

Gwenhwyfar felt the shock and shame gripping her, and clenched her fists, looking down at her sturdy, ugly travelling shoes.

Igraine reached out and took her hand, smoothing the small fingers. "I had forgotten, you have never been from home before, except to and from your convent. You were in Glastonbury, were you not?"

Gwenhwyfar nodded. "I wish I were going back there-"

She felt Igraine's sharp eyes on her for a moment, and quailed; perhaps the lady would know she was unhappy at marrying her son, and come to dislike her ... but Igraine only said, holding her hand firmly, "I was not happy when I went first to be wedded to the Duke of Cornwall, I was not happy until I held my daughter in my arms. But I had scarce completed my fifteenth year; you are almost eighteen, are you not?"

Clinging to Igraine's hand, Gwenhwyfar felt a little less panic; but even so, as she stepped outside the gate, it seemed that the sky overhead was a vast menace, threatening, low, filled with rainclouds. The path before the house was a sea of mud where the horses had been trampling. Now they were being drawn up into riding order with more men, it seemed to Gwenhwyfar, than she had ever seen together in her life, shouting and calling to each other, the horses neighing and the yard full of confusion. But Igraine held her hand tightly and Gwenhwyfar, shrinking, followed her.

"I am grateful that you came to escort me, lady-"

Igraine smiled. "I am all too worldly-I like a chance to travel beyond convent walls." She made a long step to avoid a pile of horse dung which steamed in the mud. "Mind your step, there, child-look, your father has set aside these two fine ponies for us. Do you like riding?"

Gwenhwyfar shook her head, and whispered, "I thought I could ride in a litter-"

"Why, so you can, if you wish," Igraine said, looking at her wonderingly, "but you will grow very weary of it, I should think. When my sister Viviane went on her travels, she used to wear men's breeches. I should have found you a pair, though at my age it would hardly be seemly."

Gwenhwyfar blushed scarlet. "I couldn't," she said, shaking, "it's forbidden for a woman to put on the clothes of a man, so it says in Holy Writ-"

Igraine chuckled. "The Apostle seemed to know little of the North country. It is hot where he lived," she said, "and I have heard that the men in that country where our Lord lived knew nothing of breeches, but wore long gowns as some Roman men did and do still. I think it meant only that women were not to wear the garb of some particular man, not that they were not to wear clothing fashioned in a man's style. And certainly my sister Viviane is the most modest of women; she is a priestess of Avalon." Gwenhwyfar's eyes were wide. "Is she a witch, madam?"