Mists of Avalon - Marion Zimmer Bradley [224]
“I will make you as comfortable as I can,” Viviane said, and, telling the servants what she wanted, she dressed the sores that came from lying in the bed and washed out Priscilla’s mouth with a cooling lotion, so that even though she did not drink, her mouth would not torment her so with dryness. Then she sat near her, holding her hand, not troubling the sick woman with words. Some time after dark, there was a sound in the courtyard, and Priscilla, starting up again, her eyes feverish in the lamplight, cried out, “It is my sons!”
And indeed, after a little time, Balan and his foster-brother, Balin, Gawan’s son, came into the room, stooping under the low ceiling.
“Mother,” Balan said, and stooped to kiss Priscilla’s hand, only then turning to Viviane to bow before her. “My lady.”
Viviane reached out and touched her elder son’s cheek. He was not as handsome as Lancelet, this one; he was a huge burly man, but his eyes were dark and fine like her own, or Lancelet’s. Balin was smaller, a sturdy, grey-eyed man. He was, she knew, just ten days older than her own son. He looked as Priscilla had once looked, fair-haired and red-cheeked.
“My poor mother,” he murmured, stroking Priscilla’s hand, “but now the Lady Viviane has come to help you, then you will be well again very soon, will you not? But you are so thin, Mother, you must try to eat more and be strong and well again. . . .”
“No,” she whispered, “I shall never be strong more until I sup with Jesus in Heaven, dear son.”
“Oh, no, Mother, you must not say so—” Balin cried, and Balan, meeting Viviane’s eyes, sighed.
He said in so low a tone that neither Priscilla nor her son could hear, “He cannot see that she is dying, my lady—my mother. Always he insists that she can recover. I had truly hoped that she would go in the autumn, when we all took the fever, but she has always been so strong—” Balan shook his head, and his thick neck was flushed. Viviane saw that tears were standing in his eyes; he dashed them quickly away. And after a little, she said that they must all go out and let the sick woman rest again.
“Say farewell to your sons, Priscilla, and bless them,” she said, and Priscilla’s eyes brightened a little. “I would it should truly be farewell, before it grows worse—I would not have them see me as I was this morning,” she murmured, and Viviane saw the terror in her eyes. She bent over Priscilla and said gently, “I think I can promise you no more pain, my dear, if that is how you wish it to end.”
“Please,” whispered the dying woman, and Viviane felt the clawlike hand tighten on hers in entreaty.
“I will leave you here with your sons, then,” Viviane said gently, “for they are both your sons, my dear, even though you bore but one of them.” She went out into the other room and found Gawan there.
“Bring me my saddlebags,” she said; and when this had been done, she searched in a pocket for a moment. Then she turned to the man. “She is at ease for a moment now, but I can do little more, save to put an end to her suffering. I think this is what she wishes.”
“There is no hope then—none at all?”
“No. There is nothing left for her but suffering, and I cannot think that your God wills it that she should suffer more.”
Gawan said, shaken, “She has said often—that she wished she had had courage to throw herself into the river while she could still walk thither—”
“It is time, then, that she should go in peace,” Viviane said quietly, “but I wanted you to know that whatever I do, it is by her own will—”
“Lady,” Gawan replied, “I have trusted you always, and my wife loves you well and trusts you. I ask no more. If her sufferings end here, I know she will bless you.” But his face was drawn with grief. He followed Viviane into the inner room again.