Mists of Avalon - Marion Zimmer Bradley [164]
And then she thought, against her will, of Lot’s words. If I want to see Gawaine on the throne, this child stands in his way. She had not wanted to listen when Lot said it, but with the child actually in her hands, she could not help thinking it would not be so evil a thing if this child were overlaid by his nurse, or too weak to take suck. And if Morgaine had never held him or suckled him, she would not feel as much grief; if it was the will of the Goddess that he should not live . . .
I want only to spare her sorrow. . . .
Morgaine’s child, probably by Lancelet, both of the old royal line of Avalon . . . should harm come to Arthur, the people would accept this child for his throne.
But she was not even sure it was Lancelet’s child.
And although Morgause had borne four sons, Morgaine was the little girl she had petted and cared for like a doll, carried in her arms; she had brushed her hair and washed her and brought her gifts. Could she do this to Morgaine’s own child? Who was to say Arthur would not have a dozen sons by his queen, whoever she was?
But Lancelet’s son . . . yes, Lancelet’s son she could abandon to death without a qualm. Lancelet was no closer kin to Arthur than Gawaine, yet Arthur preferred him, turned to Lancelet in everything. Just as she herself had always stood in Viviane’s shadow, the unregarded sister, passed over for High Queen—she had never forgiven Viviane that she had chosen Igraine for Uther—just so, the loyal Gawaine would always stand in the shadow of the more flamboyant Lancelet. If Lancelet had played with Morgaine or dishonored her, all the more reason to hate him.
For there was no reason Morgaine should bear Lancelet’s bastard child in secrecy and sorrow. Did Viviane think her precious son too good for Morgaine, perhaps? Morgause had seen that the girl wept in secret all during these long months; was she sick with love and abandonment?
Viviane, damn her, uses lives like knucklebones to be cast in play! She flung Igraine into Uther’s arms without thought for Gorlois, she claimed Morgaine for Avalon; will she make wreck of Morgaine’s life too?
If she could only be sure it was Lancelet’s child!
As she had regretted, when Morgaine was in labor, that she had not enough magic to ease the birth, so now she regretted how little she knew of magic. She had not, when she dwelt in Avalon, had the interest nor the persistence to study the Druid lore. But still, as Viviane’s fosterling, she had learned one thing and another from the priestesses, who had petted and spoilt her; offhand and good-naturedly, as one indulges a child, they had shown her certain simple spells and magics.
Well, now she would use them. She shut the doors of the chamber and lighted a new fire; she clipped three hairs from the silky down on the child’s head, and bending over the sleeping Morgaine, cut a few of her hairs too. She pricked the child’s finger with her bodkin, rocking him after to hush the fitful squalling; then, casting secret herbs on the fire with the hairs and blood, she whispered a word she had been taught, and stared into the flames.
And caught her breath in silence as the flames swirled, died, and for a moment a face looked out at her—a young face, crowned with fair hair and shadowed by antlers casting a darkness over the blue eyes that were like Uther’s. . . .
Morgaine had spoken truth when she said he had come to her as the Horned God; yet she had lied. . . . Morgause should have known; they had made the Great Marriage for Arthur, then, before his crowning. Had Viviane planned this too, a child that should be born of the two royal lines?
There was a small sound behind her and she looked up, to see that Morgaine had struggled to her feet and was standing there, clinging to the bed frame, her face white as death.
Her lips hardly moved; only