Mists of Avalon - Marion Zimmer Bradley [173]
Merlin said, with a sigh, “Oh, yes, with your life you may trust him, I am sure. . . . I am not sure he will not break in the final test, but certainly he loves you well and would guard your life beyond his own.”
Patricius said, “Certainly Gawaine is a good Christian, but I am not so sure about Lancelet. A time will come, I trust, when all these folk who call themselves Christian and are not may be revealed as the demon worshippers they are in truth. Whosoever will not accept the authority of Holy Church about the will of God are even as Christ says—‘Ye who are not for me are against me.’ Yet all over Britain there are those who are little better than pagans. In Tara I dealt with these, when I lighted the Paschal fires for Easter on one of their unholy hills, and the king’s Druids could not stand against me. Yet even in the hallowed Isle of Glastonbury, where the sainted Joseph of Arimathea walked, I find the very priests worshipping a sacred well! This is heathendom! I will close it if I must appeal to the Bishop of Rome himself!”
Arthur smiled and said, “I cannot imagine that the Bishop of Rome would have the slightest idea what is going on in Britain.”
Taliesin said gently, “Father Patricius, you would do a great disservice to the people of this land if you close their sacred well. It is a gift from God—”
“It is a part of pagan worship.” The eyes of the Archbishop glowed with the austere fire of the fanatic.
“It comes from God,” the old Druid insisted, “because there is nothing in this universe which does not come from God, and simple people need simple signs and symbols. If they worship God in the waters which flow from his bounty, how is that evil?”
“God cannot be worshipped in symbols which are made by man—”
“There you are in total agreement with me, my brother,” said the Merlin, “for a part of the Druid wisdom lies in the saying that God, who is beyond all, cannot be worshipped in any dwelling made by human hands, but only under his own sky. And yet you build churches and deck them richly with gold and silver. Wherefore, then, is the evil in drinking from the sacred springs which God has made and blessed with vision and healing?”
“The Devil gives you your knowledge of such things,” Patricius said sternly, and Taliesin laughed.
“Ah, but God makes doubts and the Devil too, and in the end of time they will all come to him and obey his will.”
Arthur interrupted, before Patricius could answer, “Good fathers, we came here not to argue theology!”
“True,” said Igraine, relieved. “We were speaking of Gawaine, and Morgause’s other son—Agravaine, is it? And of your marriage.”
“Pity,” Arthur said, “that since Lot’s sons love me well, and Lot—I doubt it not—is eager to have his household heir with me to the High Kingship, that Morgause has not a daughter, so that I could be his son-in-law and he would know that his daughter’s son was my heir.”
“That would suit well,” Taliesin said, “for you are both of the royal line of Avalon.”
Patricius frowned. “Is not Morgause your mother’s sister, my lord Arthur? To wed with her daughter would be little better than bedding your own sister!”
Arthur looked troubled. Igraine said, “I agree; even if Morgause had a daughter, it is not even to be thought of.”
Arthur said, plaintively, “I should find it easy to be fond of a sister of Gawaine. The idea of marrying a stranger doesn’t please me all that much, and I wouldn’t think the girl would be pleased either!”
“It happens to every woman,” Igraine said, and was surprised to hear herself—was she still bitter over what was so long past? “Marriages must be arranged by those with wiser heads than any young maiden could have.”
Arthur sighed. He said, “King Leodegranz has offered me his daughter—I forget her name—and has offered, too, that her dowry shall be a hundred of his best men, all armed and—hear this, Mother—each with the good horses he breeds, so that Lancelet may train them.