Mists of Avalon - Marion Zimmer Bradley [161]
“She is our kinswoman and my guest,” Lot said, “and thus sacred. I would not invoke the curse of a kinslayer. I said only—the lives of newborn babes are frail, unless they are very carefully tended, and if Morgaine has a difficult time of it, it might be well that none has leisure to tend the babe.”
Morgause set her teeth and turned away from Lot. “I must go to my kinswoman.”
Behind her Lot smiled. “Think well on what I have said, my wife.”
Down in the little hall, a fire had been lighted for the women; a kettle of gruel was boiling on the hearth, for it would be a long night. Fresh straw had been spread. Morgause had forgotten, as women happy with their children do, the dread of birth, but the sight of the fresh straw made her teeth clench and a shudder go down her back. Morgaine had been put into a loose shift, and her hair, unbound, was hanging loose down her back; she was walking up and down in the room, leaning on Megan’s arm. It all had the air of a festival, and so indeed it was for the other women. Morgause went up to her kinswoman and took her arm.
“Come now, you can walk with me a bit, and Megan can go and prepare the swaddlings for your child,” she said. Morgaine looked at her, and Morgause thought the younger woman’s eyes were like those of a wild animal in a snare, awaiting the hunter’s hand which will cut its throat.
“Will it be long, Aunt?”
“Now, now, you must not think ahead,” said Morgause tenderly. “Think, if you must, that you have been in labor most of this day, so it will go all the faster now.” But to herself she thought, It will not be easy for her, she is so small, and she is reluctant to bear this child; no doubt there is a long, hard night ahead of her. . . .
And then she remembered that Morgaine had the Sight, and that it was useless to lie to her. She patted Morgaine’s pale cheek. “No matter, child, we will take good care of you. It is always long with a first child—they are loath to leave their snug nest—but we will do all we can. Did anyone bring a cat into the room?”
“A cat? Yes, she is there, but why, Aunt?” Morgaine asked.
“Because, little one, if you have seen a cat kittening, you know that the cat bears her children purring, not crying out in pain, and so perhaps her pleasure in bearing will help you to feel the pains less,” Morgause said, stroking the small furry creature. “It is a form of birth magic that perhaps you do not know in Avalon. Yes, you may sit down now, and rest for a little, and hold the cat in your lap.” She watched Morgaine stroking the cat in a moment of respite, but then she doubled over again with the sharp cramps, and Morgause urged her to get up again and keep walking. “As long as you can bear it—it goes quicker so,” she said.
“I am so tired, so tired . . .” Morgaine said, moaning a little.
You will be more tired before this is over, Morgause thought, but she only came and put her arms around the younger woman. “Here. Lean on me, child. . . .”
“You are so like my mother . . .” Morgaine said, clinging to Morgause, her face contorted as if she were about to cry. “I wish my mother were here . . .” and then she bit her lip as if she regretted her moment of weakness, and began slowly walking, walking up and down the crowded room.
The hours dragged slowly by. Some of the women slept, but there were plenty to take their turn in walking with Morgaine, who grew more and more frightened and pale as time wore on. The sun rose, and still the midwives had not said Morgaine might lie down in the straw, though she was so weary that she stumbled and could hardly put one foot before another. One moment she said she was cold and clutched her warm fur cloak about her; another time she thrust it from her, saying that she was burning up. Again and again she retched and vomited, at last bringing up nothing but green bile; but she could not seem to stop retching, though they forced her to drink hot