The Mists of Avalon Read online

  "And so it is with the Holy Isle," said Merlin. "The priests swore an oath to us, four hundreds of years ago, before even the Romans came here and tried to conquer, that they would never rise against us and drive us forth with weapons; for we were here before them, and then they were suppliants, and weak. And they have honored that oath-so much I must give to them. But in spirit, in their prayers, they have never ceased to strive with us for their God to drive away our Gods, their wisdom to rule over our wisdom. In our world, Igraine, there is room enough for many Gods and many Goddesses. But in the universe of the Christians-how can I say this?-there is no room for our vision or our wisdom. In their world there is one God alone; not only must he conquer over all Gods, he must make it as if there were no other Gods, had never been any Gods but only false idols, the work of their Devil. So that, believing in him, all men may be saved in this one life. This is what they believe. And as men believe, so their world goes. And so the worlds which once were one are drifting apart.

  "There are now two Britains, Igraine: their world under their One God and the Christ; and, beside it and behind it, the world where the Great Mother still rules, the world where the Old People have chosen to live and worship. This has happened before. There was the time when the fairy folk, the Shining Ones, withdrew from our world, going further and further into the mists, so that only an occasional wanderer now can spend a night within the elf-mounds, and if he should do so, time drifts on without him, and he may come out after a single night and find that his kinfolk are all dead and that a dozen years have gone by. And now, I tell you, Igraine, it is happening again. Our world-ruled by the Goddess and the Horned One, her consort, the world you know, the world of many truths-is being forced away from the mainstream course of time. Even now, Igraine, if a traveller sets out with no guide for the Isle of Avalon, unless he know the way very well, he cannot come there, but will find only the Isle of the Priests. To most men, our world is now lost in the mists of the Summer Sea. Even before the Romans left us, this was beginning to happen; now, as churches cover the whole of Britain, our world grows further and further away. That is why it took us so long to come here; fewer and fewer of the cities and roads of the Old People remain for our guide. The worlds still touch, still lie upon one another, close as lovers; but they are drifting apart, and if they are not stopped, one day there will be two worlds, and none can come and go between the two-"

  "Let them go!" interrupted Viviane angrily. "I still think we should let them go! I do not want to live in a world of Christians, who deny the Mother-"

  "But what of all the others, what of those who will live in despair?" The Merlin's voice was like a great soft bell again. "No, a pathway must remain, even if it is secret. Parts of the world are still one. The Saxons raid in both worlds, but more and more of our warriors are followers of Christ. The Saxons-"

  "The Saxons are barbarians, and cruel," said Viviane. "The Tribes alone cannot drive them from these shores, and the Merlin and I have seen that Ambrosius is not long for this world, and that his war duke, the Pendragon-is it Uther they call him?-will succeed him. But there are many in this country who will not rally to the Pendragon. Whatever may befall our world in the spirit, neither of our worlds can long survive the fire and sword of the Saxons. Before we can fight the spiritual battle which will keep the worlds from moving further apart, we must save the very heart of Britain from being ravaged by Saxon fires. Not only the Saxons assault us, but Jutes, Scots, all the wild folk who are moving down from the North. Every place, even Rome itself, is being overpowered; there are so many of them. Your husband has been fighting all his life. Ambrosius, Duke of Britain, is a good man, but he can command loyalty only from those who once followed Rome; his father wore the purple, and Ambrosius too was ambitious to be emperor. But we must have a leader who will appeal to all the folk of Britain."

  "But-Rome remains," Igraine protested. "Gorlois told me that when Rome had overcome her troubles in the Great City, the legions would return! Can we not look to Rome for help against the wild folk from the North? The Romans were the greatest fighters of the world, they built the great wall to the North to hold back the wild raiders-"

  Merlin's voice took on the empty sound that was like the tolling of a great bell. "I have seen it in the Holy Well," he said. "The Eagle has flown, and shall never return to Britain."

  "Rome can do nothing," Viviane said. "We must have our own leader, one who can command all of Britain. Otherwise, when they mass against us, all Britain will fall, and for hundreds and hundreds of years, we will lie in ruins beneath the Saxon barbarians. The worlds will drift irrevocably apart and the memory of Avalon will not remain even in legend, to give hope to mankind. No, we must have a leader who can command loyalty from all the people of both the Britains-the Britain of the priests, and the world of the mists, ruled from Avalon. Healed by this Great King"-her voice took on the clear, mystical ring of prophecy-"the worlds shall once again come together, a world with room for the Goddess and for the Christ, the cauldron and the cross. And this leader shall make us one."

  "But where shall we find such a king?" Igraine asked. "Who shall give us such a leader?"

  And then, suddenly, she was afraid, felt ice pouring down her back, as the Merlin and the priestess turned to look at her, their eyes seeming to hold her motionless as a small bird under the shadow of a great hawk, and she understood why the messenger-prophet of the Druids was called the Merlin.

  But when Viviane spoke her voice was very soft.

  She said, "You, Igraine. You shall bear this Great King."

  2

  There was silence in the room, except for the small crackle of the fire. At last Igraine heard herself draw a long breath, as if she had just wakened from sleep. "What is this that you are telling me? Do you mean that Gorlois is to be the father of this Great King?" She heard the words echoing in her mind and ringing there, and wondered why she had never suspected Gorlois of so great a destiny. She saw her sister and the Merlin exchange glances, and saw, too, the small gesture with which the priestess silenced the old man.

  "No, Lord Merlin, a woman must say this to a woman ... . Igraine, Gorlois is Roman. The Tribes will not follow any man born to a son of Rome. The High King they follow must be a child of the Holy Isle, a true son of the Goddess. Your son, Igraine, yes. But it is not the Tribes alone that will fight away the Saxons and the other wild folk from the North. We will need the support of Romans and Celts and Cymry, and they will follow only their own war duke, their Pendragon, son of a man they trust to lead them and rule. And the Old People, too, who seek the son of a royal mother. Your son, Igraine-but the father will be Uther Pendragon."

  Igraine stared at them, understanding, until rage slowly broke through against the numbness. Then she flared at them, "No! I have a husband, and I have borne him a child! I will not let you play again at skipping-stones with my life! I married as you bade me-and you will never know-" The words choked in her throat. There would never be any way to tell them of that first year; even Viviane would never know. She could say, I was afraid, or I was alone and terrified, or Rape would have been easier because I could have run away to die afterward, but any of those would have been only words, conveying only the smallest part of what she had felt.

  And even if Viviane had known the whole, touching her mind and knowing all that she could not say, Viviane would have looked on her with compassion and* even a little pity, but would not have changed her mind or demanded even a little less from Igraine. She had heard her sister say it often enough when Viviane still believed Igraine would become priestess of the Mysteries: If you seek to avoid your fate or to delay suffering, it only condemns you to suffer it redoubled in another life.

  So she did not say any of those things, only glared at Viviane with the stifled resentment of the last four years, when she had done her duty valiantly and alone, submitting to her fate with no more outcry than any woman was allowed to make. But again? Never, Igraine told herself silently, never. She shook her
head stubbornly.

  "Listen to me, Igraine," said the Merlin. "I fathered you, though that gives me no rights; it is the blood of the Lady which confers royalty, and you are of the oldest royal blood, descended from daughter to daughter of the Holy Isle. It is written in the stars, child, that only a king who comes of two royalties, one royalty of the Tribes who follow the Goddess, and one royalty of those who look to Rome, will heal our land of all this strife. A peace must come when these two lands can dwell side by side, a peace long enough for the cross and the cauldron, too, to come to such a peace. If there is such a reign as this, Igraine, even those who follow the cross will have the knowledge of the Mysteries to comfort them in their bleak lives of suffering and sin, and their belief in one brief life to choose forever between Hell or Heaven for all eternity. Otherwise, our world will fade into the mists, and there will be hundreds of years-thousands, perhaps- where the Goddess and the Holy Mysteries will be forgotten by all mankind except those few who can come and go between the worlds. Would you let the Goddess and her work fade from this world, Igraine, you who were born of the Lady of the Holy Isle, and the Merlin of Britain?"

  Igraine bent her head, barricading her mind against the tenderness in the old man's voice. She had always known, without being told, that Taliesin, Merlin of Britain, had shared with her mother the spark of life which had made her, but a daughter of the Holy Isle did not speak of such things. A daughter of the Lady belonged only to the Goddess, and to that man into whose hands the Lady chose to give its care-most often her brother, only very rarely the man who had begotten it. There was a reason for this: no pious man should claim fatherhood to a child of the Goddess, and all children born to the Lady were considered so. That Taliesin should use this argument now shocked her deeply, but it touched her, too.

  Yet she said stubbornly, refusing to look at him, "Gorlois might have been chosen Pendragon. Surely this Uther cannot be so much beyond all sons of mankind as that. If you must have such a one, could you not have used your spells so that Gorlois would be acclaimed war duke of Britain, and Great Dragon? Then, when our son was born, you would have had your High King-"

  The Merlin shook his head, but again it was Viviane who spoke, and this silent collusion further angered Igraine. Why should they act in concert this way against her?

  Viviane said softly, "You will bear no son to Gorlois, Igraine."

  "Are you the Goddess, then, that you dispense childbearing to women in her name?" Igraine demanded rudely, knowing the words childish. "Gorlois has fathered sons by other women; why should I not give him one born in wedlock, as he desires?"

  Viviane did not answer. She only looked directly at Igraine and said, her voice very soft, "Do you love Gorlois, Igraine?"

  Igraine stared at the floor. "That has nothing to do with it. It is a matter of honor. He was kind to me-" She broke off, but her thoughts ran on unchecked: Kind to me when I had nowhere to turn, when I was alone and deserted, and even you had abandoned me to my fate. What is love to that?

  "It is a matter of honor," she repeated. "I owe him this. He let me keep Morgaine, when she was all I had in my loneliness. He has been kind and patient, and for a man of his years it cannot be easy. He wants a son, he believes it all-important to his life and honor, and I will not deny him this. If I bear a son, it will be the son of Duke Gorlois, and of no other man living. And this I swear, by fire and-"

  "Silence!" Viviane's voice, like the loud clang of a great bell, shocked Igraine's words silent. "I command you, Igraine, swear no oath lest you be forever forsworn!"

  "And why should you think I would not keep my oath?" Igraine raged. "I was reared to truth! I too am a child of the Holy Isle, Viviane! You may be my elder sister and my priestess and the Lady of Avalon, but you shall not treat me as if I were a babbling child like Morgaine there, who cannot understand a word of what is said to her, nor knows the meaning of an oath-"

  Morgaine, hearing her name spoken, sat bolt upright in the Lady's lap. The Lady of the Lake smiled and smoothed the dark hair. "Do not think that this little one cannot understand. Babes know more than we imagine; they cannot speak their minds, and so we believe they do not think. As for your babe-well, that is for the future, and I will not speak of it before her; but who knows, one day she too will be a great priestess-"

  "Never! Not if I must become a Christian to prevent it," Igraine raged. "Do you think I will let you plot against my child's life as you have plotted against mine?"

  "Peace, Igraine," said the Merlin. "You are free, as every child of the Gods is free. We came to entreat you, not to command. No, Viviane-" he said, holding up his hand when the Lady would have interrupted him. "Igraine is no helpless plaything of fate. Yet I think when she knows all, she will choose rightly."

  Morgaine had begun to fret in the Lady's lap. Viviane crooned softly to her, stroking her hair, and she quieted, but Igraine rose and took her child, angry and jealous at Viviane's almost magical power to quiet the girl. In her arms Morgaine felt strange, alien, as if the time she had spent in Viviane's arms had changed her, tainted her, made her somehow less Igraine's own. Igraine felt tears burning her eyes. Morgaine was all she had, and now she, too, was being cut off from her; Morgaine was falling victim, like everyone else, to Viviane's charm, that charm which could make everyone into a helpless pawn of her will.

  She said sharply to Morgause, who was still lying with her head in Viviane's lap, "Get up at once, Morgause, and go to your room; you are almost a woman, you must not behave like a spoilt child!"

  Morgause raised her head, putting back her curtain of red hair from her pretty, sulky face. She said, "Why should you choose Igraine for your plans, Viviane? She wants no part in them. But I am a woman, and I too am a daughter of the Holy Isle. Why have you not chosen me for Uther the Pendragon? Why should I not be the mother of the High King?"

  The Merlin smiled. "Will you fly so recklessly in the face of fate, Morgause?"

  "Why should Igraine be chosen and not I? I have no husband-"

  "There is a king in your future and many sons; but with that, Morgause, you must be content. No man or woman can live another's fate. Your fate, and that of your sons, depends on this great High King. More than that I cannot say," said the Merlin. "Enough, Morgause."

  Igraine, standing, Morgaine in her arms, felt more in command. She said in a dead voice, "I am remiss in hospitality, my sister, my lord Merlin. Let my servants take you to the guest chambers prepared for you, bring you wine, and water for washing, and at sundown a meal will be prepared."

  Viviane rose. Her voice was formal and correct, and Igraine, for a moment, was relieved; she was again mistress of her own hearth, not a passive child but the wife of Gorlois, Duke of Cornwall.

  "At sunset, then, my sister."

  But Igraine saw the glance Viviane exchanged with the Merlin, and she could read it as clearly as words: Leave it for now, I will manage her, as I have always done.

  And Igraine felt her face harden into iron. That is what she has always done, indeed. But this time it shall not be so. I did her will once, when I was a child and knew no better. But now I am grown, I am a woman, not so easily led as the child she gave away to be Gorlois's bride. Now I will do my own will, and not that of the Lady of the Lake.

  Servants took her guests away; Igraine, in her own chamber, laid Morgaine in her bed and fussed around her nervously, her mind full of what she had heard.

  Uther Pendragon. She had never seen him, but Gorlois was full of the tales of his valor. He was a close kinsman, sister's son, of Ambrosius Aurelianus, High King of Britain, but, unlike Ambrosius, Uther was a Briton of Britons, with no taint of Roman blood, so that the Cymry and the Tribes did not hesitate to follow him. There was little doubt that one day Uther would be chosen High King. Ambrosius was not a young man; that day could not be so far.

  And I would be queen.... What am I thinking of? Would I betray Gorlois and my own honor?

  Behind her, as she took up the bronze mirror again, she saw her s
ister in the door. Viviane had taken off the breeches she wore for riding, and put on a loose gown of undyed wool; her hair hung down, soft and dark as the wool of a black sheep. She looked small and fragile and aging, and her eyes were the eyes of the priestess in the cave of initiation, years away and in another world ... . Igraine cut off the thought, impatiently.

  Viviane came close to her, reaching up to touch her hair.

  "Little Igraine. Not so little, now," she said, tenderly. "Do you know, little one, I gave you your name: Grainne, for the Goddess of the Beltane fires ... . How long has it been since you did service to the Goddess at Beltane, Igraine?"

  Igraine's mouth only stretched a little; the smile went no deeper than her teeth. "Gorlois is a Roman, and a Christian. Do you truly believe his household keeps the rites of Beltane?"

  "No, I suppose not," said Viviane, amused, "though, if I were you, I would not take oath that your servants do not slip out at Midsummer to burn fires and lie together under the full moon. But lord and lady of a Christian household cannot do so, not in the sight of their priests and their stern and unloving God ... ."

  Igraine said sharply, "You will not speak so of the God of my husband, who is a God of love."

  "You say so. And yet he has made war upon all other Gods, and slain those who will not worship him," Viviane said. "Such love we might well pray to be spared in a God. I could call upon you in the name of vows you once made, to do what I have asked of you in the name of the Goddess and the Holy Isle-"

  "Oh, rare," Igraine said sarcastically. "Now my Goddess demands of me that I shall play the harlot, and the Merlin of Britain and the Lady of the Lake will act as panders for me!"

  Viviane's eyes blazed; she stepped one step forward, and for a moment Igraine believed the priestess would strike her in the face. "How do you dare!" Viviane said, and though her voice was soft, it seemed to raise echoes through the entire room, so that Morgaine, half asleep beneath Igraine's woolen plaid, sat up and cried out in sudden fright.