Mists of Avalon - Marion Zimmer Bradley [289]
“Morgaine! Greetings, kinswoman,” he said, and sat beside her, taking the cup she offered. She told him that Arthur was speaking with Kevin and the Merlin, but would see him at dinner, and asked him for the news.
“Only that a dragon has been sighted again in the North,” Balan said, “and no, this is no fantasy like old Pellinore’s—I saw the track where it had been, and talked with two of the people who had seen it. They were not lying, nor telling a tale to amuse or give themselves importance; they were in terror of their lives. They said it had come out of the lake and taken their serving-man—they showed me his shoe.”
“His—shoe, kinsman?”
“He lost it when he was taken, and I did not like touching the—slime—that besmeared it,” Balan said. “I am going to ask Arthur for half a dozen knights to ride with me and put an end to it.”
“You must ask Lancelet, if he returns,” Morgaine said, as lightly as she could. “He will need some practice with dragons. I think Arthur is trying to make a match between Lancelet and Pellinore’s daughter.”
Balan looked at her sharply. “I do not envy the girl who has my little brother for husband,” he said. “I have heard his heart is given—or should I not say—”
“You should not say it,” said Morgaine.
Balan shrugged. “So be it. Arthur then has no special reason for wishing to find Lancelet a bride well away from court,” he said. “I had not heard that you had come back to court, kinswoman. You look well.”
“And how is it with your foster-brother?”
“Balin is well enough, when last I saw him,” said Balan, “though he still has no love for Viviane. Still, there is no reason to believe he bears grudge for our mother’s death. He raved and swore revenge then, but he would have to be a madman indeed to think still of such things. In any case, if such was his thought, he spoke not of it when he was here at Pentecost a year ago. That is Arthur’s newest custom, you may not know—that wherever we may travel in all of Britain, every one of his old Companions should gather at Pentecost and dine at his table. At that time, too, he makes new Companions in the order of knighthood, and he will accept any petitioner, however humble—”
“Yes, I had heard of that,” said Morgaine, and a flicker of unease passed over her. Kevin had spoken of Viviane—she told herself it was only disquiet at the idea that a woman of the Lady’s years might come here as a common petitioner. As Balan said, it would take a madman to harbor thoughts of revenge after all this time.
That night there was music, Kevin’s fine playing and singing; and later still that night, Morgaine slipped from the chamber where she slept with Gwenhwyfar’s unwedded ladies, as noiselessly as a ghost—or as a priestess trained in Avalon—and made her way to the chamber where Kevin slept. She left there before daylight, well contented, but one thing Kevin had said—though they had had other things to speak of than Arthur—troubled her mind.
“Arthur would not listen to me,” he said. “He told me that the folk of England were a Christian people, and while he would not persecute any man for following what Gods he liked, still he would stand with the priests and the church, as they had stood by his throne. And he sent word to the Lady of Avalon that if she would have back the sword, she could come and take it.”
Even after she had crept back into her own bed, Morgaine lay wakeful. It was the legendary sword which had bound so many of the Tribesmen and Northmen to Arthur; and it was his allegiance to Avalon which had bound the dark pre-Roman people. Now, it seemed, Arthur was further from that allegiance than he had ever been.
She could speak with him—but no, he would not listen to her; she was a woman and his sister—and always, between them, lay the memory of that morning after the kingmaking, so that never could they speak freely as they might have done before. And she did not carry the authority of Avalon; with her own hands had she cast that away.