Mists of Avalon - Marion Zimmer Bradley [188]
Gwenhwyfar said, “I hope we shall be friends, lady. I remember that you and the lord Lancelet set me on my way when I was lost in those dreadful mists—even now I shudder at the memory of that terrible place,” she said, and raised her eyes to Lancelet, where he stood behind Arthur. Morgaine, attuned to the mood around them, followed her eyes and wondered why Gwenhwyfar spoke to him now; then realized that the other woman could not help it, she was bound as if on a string by Lancelet’s eyes . . . and Lancelet was looking at Gwenhwyfar as a hungry dog looks at a dripping bone. If Morgaine had to meet this pink-and-white precious creature again in Lancelet’s presence, it was well for them both that it was just as Gwenhwyfar was about to be married to someone else. She sensed Arthur’s hand still in hers, and that troubled her too; that bond, too, would be broken, when he had taken Gwenhwyfar to bed. Gwenhwyfar would become the Goddess to Arthur and he would not look at Morgaine anymore in that way that troubled her so. She was Arthur’s sister, not his lover; she was the mother not of his son, but the son of the Horned One, and so it must be.
But I have not broken that bond, either. True, I was ill after my son was born, and I had no will to fall like a ripe apple into Lot’s bed, so I played Lady Chastity herself wherever Lot could see me. But she looked at Lancelet, hoping to intercept the glance between his eyes and Gwenhwyfar’s.
He smiled, but he looked past her. Gwenhwyfar took Morgaine’s hand in one of hers, reached to Igraine with the other. “Soon you will be as my own sister and my own mother,” she said, “for I have neither mother nor sister living. Come and stand beside me as we are joined in marriage, mother and sister.”
Stiffen her heart as she might against Gwenhwyfar’s charm, Morgaine was warmed by those spontaneous words, and she returned the pressure of the girl’s warm little fingers. Igraine reached past Gwenhwyfar to touch Morgaine’s hand, and Morgaine said, “I have not had time to greet you properly, my mother,” and let go of Gwenhwyfar’s hand for a moment to kiss Igraine. She thought, as for a moment the three of them stood in a brief embrace, All women, indeed, are sisters under the Goddess.
“Well, come then,” said the Merlin pleasantly. “Let us have the marriage signed and witnessed, and then for feasting and revelry.”
Morgaine thought the bishop looked sober, but he too said amiably enough, “Now that our spirits are all lifted up and in charity, indeed, let us make merry as is suitable for Christian folk on such a day of good omen.”
Standing beside Gwenhwyfar at the ceremony, Morgaine sensed that the girl was trembling. Her mind went back to the day of the deer hunting. At least she herself had been stimulated and exalted by ritual, but even so she had been frightened, she had clung to the old priestess. Suddenly, with an impulse of kindness, she wished she could give to Gwenhwyfar, who after all had been convent-reared and had none of the old wisdom, some of the instruction given to the younger priestesses. Then she would know how to let the life currents of sun and summer and earth and life flood through her. She could truly become the Goddess to Arthur and he the God to her, so that their marriage would not be an empty form, but a true inner binding on all the levels of life. . . . She almost found herself searching for the words, then remembered that Gwenhwyfar was a Christian, and would not thank Morgaine for such teaching. She sighed, frustrated, knowing she would not speak.
She raised her eyes and met Lancelet’s, and for a moment he held her glance; she found herself remembering that sun-flooded moment