Marion Bradley - The Mists of Avalon

"No, no, she is a wise-woman, learned in herbs and medicines, and having the Sight, but she has sworn a vow never to hurt man nor beast. She does not even eat flesh food," Igraine said. "She lives as austerely as any abbess. Look," she said, and pointed, "there is Lancelet, Arthur's chief Companion. He has come to escort us, and to bring back the horses and men-" Gwenhwyfar smiled, feeling a blush spread to her cheeks. She said, "I know Lancelet, he came to show my father what he could do with the horses."

Igraine said, "Aye; he rides like one of those centaurs the ancients used to speak of, half horse and half man!"

Lancelet swung down from his horse. His cheeks were as crimson with the cold as the Roman cloak he wore; the collar was turned high around his face. He bowed to the ladies.

"Madam," he said to Igraine, "are you ready to ride?"

"I think so. The princess's luggage is already loaded on that cart, I think," Igraine said, looking at the bulky wagon loaded high and covered with skins: a bed frame and furnishings, a great carved chest, a large and a small loom, pots and kettles.

"Aye. I hope it does not get mired in all this mud," Lancelet said, looking at the yoke of oxen hauling it. "It is not that wagon I am worried about, but the other-the king's wedding gift to Arthur," he added, without enthusiasm, looking at the second, much larger cart. "I would have thought it better to have a table built for the King's house in Caerleon, if Uther had not left tables and furniture enough-not that I begrudge my lady her bride furniture," he added, with a quick smile at Gwenhwyfar that made her cheeks glow, "but a table, as if my Lord Arthur had not enough furniture for his hall?"

"Ah, but that table is one of my father's treasures," said Gwenhwyfar. "It was a prize of war from one of the kings of Tara, where my grandsire fought him and carried off his best mead-hall table ... it is round, you see, so a bard can sit at the center to sing to them, or the servants pass round to pour wine or beer. And when he entertained his fellow kings he need not set one higher than another ... so my father thought it fitting for a High King, who must also seat his well-born Companions without preferring one above the other."

"It is truly a king's gift," Lancelet said politely, "but it takes three yoke of oxen to haul it, lady, and God alone knows how many joiners and carpenters to put it together again when we have come there, so that instead of travelling at the pace of a company of horse we must plod along at the pace of the slowest ox. Ah well, the wedding cannot begin until you get there, my lady." He cocked up his head, listened and shouted, "I will come in a minute, man! I cannot be everywhere at once!" He bowed. "Ladies, I must get this army moving! Can I help you to your horses?"

"I think Gwenhwyfar wants to travel in the litter," said Igraine.

Lancelet said, with a smile, "Why, it is as if the sun went behind a cloud then-but you do as you will, lady. I hope you will shine out on us again another day perhaps."

Gwenhwyfar felt pleasantly embarrassed, as she always did when Lancelet made his pretty speeches. She never knew whether he was serious or whether he was teasing her. Suddenly, as he rode away, she felt afraid again. The horses towering around her, the hordes of men coming and going -it was as if they really were the army Lancelet had called them, and she no more than an unregarded piece of luggage, almost a prize of war. Silent, she let Igraine help her into the litter, which was covered with cushions and a fur rug, and she curled up in a corner of it.

"Shall I leave the curtains of the litter open so we can have some light and air?" Igraine asked, settling herself comfortably in the cushions.

"No!" said Gwenhwyfar in a choking voice. "I-I feel better with them closed."

With a shrug, Igraine closed the curtains. She looked out through a crack, watching the first of the horsemen ride out, the wagons swing into line. A kingly dowry, indeed, all these men. Armed horsemen, with weapons and gear, to be added to Arthur's armies-it was almost like what she had heard of a Roman legion.

Gwenhwyfar's head was on the pillows, her face white, her eyes shut.

"Are you sick?" Igraine asked in wonder.

Gwenhwyfar shook her head. "It's just-so big-" she said. "I'm- I m afraid," she whispered.

"Afraid? But my dear child-" Igraine broke off, and after a moment said, "Well, you'll feel better soon."

Gwenhwyfar, her arms crossed over her eyes, hardly knew it when the litter began moving; she had willed herself into a state of half-sleep in which she could hold the panic at bay. Where was she going, under that huge all-covering sky, over the wide moors and through so many hills? The knot of panic in her belly pulled tighter and tighter. All round her she heard the sounds of horses and men, an army on the march. She was merely part of the furniture of the horses and men and their gear and a mead table. She was only a bride with all that properly belonged to her, clothes and gowns and jewels and a loom and a kettle and some combs and hackles for spinning flax. She was not herself, there was nothing for herself, she was only some property of a High King who had not even bothered to come and see the woman they were sending along with all the horses and gear. She was another mare, a brood mare this time for the High King's stud service, hopefully to provide a royal son.

Gwenhwyfar thought she would smother with the rage that was choking her. But no, she must not be angry, it was not seemly to be angry; the Mother Superior had told her in the convent that it was a woman's proper business to be married and bear children. She had wanted to be a nun and stay in the convent and learn to read and make beautiful letters with 1 her clever pen and brush, but that was not suitable for a princess; she must obey her father's will as if it were the will of God. Women had to be' especially careful to do the will of God because it was through a woman I that mankind had fallen into Original Sin, and every woman must be aware 1 that it was her work to atone for that Original Sin in Eden. No woman could ever be really good except for Mary the Mother of Christ; all other women were evil, they had never had any chance to be anything but evil. This was her punishment for being like Eve, sinful, filled with rage and rebellion against the will of God. She whispered a prayer and willed herself into semiconsciousness again.

Igraine, resigning herself to riding behind closed curtains although| craving fresh air, wondered what in the world was wrong with the girl. She had not said a word against the marriage-well, she, Igraine, had not rebelled against her marriage to Gorlois, either; remembering the angry and terrified child she had been, she sympathized with Gwenhwyfar. But, why should the girl huddle behind curtains instead of going with her head up to meet her new life? What was she afraid of? Did Arthur seem such monster? It was not as if she were marrying an old man, three times her age; Arthur was young, quite ready to give her honor and respect.

They slept that night in a tent pitched on a carefully chosen dry spot listening to the winds and the rain moaning and pelting down. Igraine wok once in the night to hear Gwenhwyfar whimper.

"What is the matter, child? Are you sick?"

"No-lady, do you think Arthur will like me?"

"There is no reason he should not," Igraine said gently. "You certainly know you are beautiful."

"Am I?" In her soft voice, it sounded only naive, not the self-conscious or coy plea for compliment or reassurance that it would have been in another. "Lady Alienor said my nose was too big, and that I had freckles like a cowherd."

"Lady Alienor-" Igraine reminded herself to be charitable; Alienor was not much older than Gwenhwyfar, and had borne four children in six years. "I think perhaps she is a little shortsighted. You are lovely indeed. You have the most beautiful hair I have ever seen."