Mists of Avalon - Marion Zimmer Bradley [142]
And again bitter anger overcame her, like choking; why, why had Viviane done this to her? To set all this in motion, so that they two, Arthur and Morgaine, might play out some mummery of Gods and Goddesses . . . was it no more than that?
Igraine kissed and embraced them both, promising to see them again afterward. As they walked along the path toward the brilliant array of pavilions, Morgause said, “Igraine is so changed I would not have known her—who would ever have thought she would grow so pious? No doubt she will end her days as the terror of a whole sisterhood of nuns, and, although I grieve to say it, I must rejoice I am not one of them. I have no call to a nunnery.”
Morgaine forced herself to smile and say, “No, I suppose not; marriage and motherhood seem to have agreed with you. You blossom like the wild roses of the hedge, Aunt.”
Morgause smiled lazily. “My husband is good to me, and it suits me well to be a queen,” she said. “He is one of the Northmen, and so he does not think it wrong to take counsel of a woman, as these fools of Romans do. I hope Arthur has not been all spoilt by dwelling in a Roman household—it might have made him mighty in war, but if he despises the Tribes he will not rule. Even Uther was wise enough to know that and to have himself crowned on Dragon Island.”
“So was Arthur,” said Morgaine. It was all she could say.
“True. I have heard something of that, and I think he is wise. As for me, I am ambitious; Lot seeks my counsel, and all goes well in our land. The priests are very sour about me and say I do not keep my place as befits a woman—no doubt they think I am some kind of evil sorceress or witch, because I do not sit modestly at my spinning and weaving. But Lot thinks little of the priests though his people are Christian enough . . . to tell the truth, most of them care not whether the God of this land is the white Christ, or the Goddess, or the Horned One, or the Horse God of the Saxons, so long as their crops grow and their bellies are full. I think that is just as well—a land ruled by priests is a land filled with tyrants on Earth and in Heaven. Uther leaned a bit too far in that direction these last years, if you ask me. The Goddess grant that Arthur has more sense.”
“He swore to deal justly by the Gods of Avalon, before Viviane gave him the sword of the Druids.”
“Did she so?” Morgause said. “Now I wonder what brought that to her mind? But enough of Gods and kings and all of that—Morgaine, what ails you?” And, when Morgaine did not answer, “Do you think I can’t tell a breeding woman when I see one? Igraine did not see it, but she has eyes now only for her grief.”
Morgaine forced herself to say lightly, “Well, it might be so; I went to the rites at Beltane.”
Morgause chuckled. “If that was your first time, you might not know for a moon or so, but good fortune to you. You are already past your best childbearing years—at your age I had three. I would not advise telling Igraine—she is far too Christian to accept a child to the Goddess now. Ah well, I suppose all women grow old in time. Viviane too must be well on in years now. I have not seen her since Gawaine was born.”
“She seems much the same to me as always,” Morgaine said.
“And so she did not come to Arthur’s crowning. Well, we can manage without her. But I do not think she will be content to stay long in the background. One day, I doubt it not, she will put her will to seeing the cauldron of the Goddess rather than the sharing-cup of the Christian’s love feast on our altar at court, and I won’t weep when that day comes, either.”
Morgaine felt a prophetic shiver as she saw in her mind the robed priest raising the cup of the Mysteries before the altar of Christ; and clearly before her eyes then she saw Lancelet, kneeling, a light on his face such as she had never seen . . . she shook her head to clear it of the unwanted Sight.