Mists of Avalon - Marion Zimmer Bradley [304]
Avalon! Then Morgause saw Gwydion’s secret smile and knew that he had been ready for this. But he has never spoken of having the Sight! What child would not brag of it, if he did? And suddenly, the thought that he could conceal it, enjoy it yet more that his knowledge was secret, seemed uncanny to her, so that for a moment she shrank away, almost afraid of her foster-son. And she knew he saw it, and was not displeased.
All he said was, “Now isn’t it lucky that we have a honey cake, and baked fish, and that we have all dressed in our best clothing, so we may do honor to Avalon, Mother?”
“Yes,” Morgause said, staring at her foster-son. “Very lucky indeed, Gwydion.”
As she stood in the front yard to welcome the riders, she found herself remembering a day when Viviane and Taliesin had come to the faraway castle of Tintagel. Taliesin, she supposed, was long past such journeys, even if he was still alive. She would have heard if he had died. And Viviane rode no longer in boots and breeches like a man, travelling at speed, a law unto herself.
Gwydion stood quietly at her side. In his saffron tunic, his dark hair neatly combed from his face, he looked very like Lancelet.
“Who are these visitors, Mother?”
“I suppose it is the Lady of the Lake,” Morgause said, “and the Merlin of Britain, the Messenger of the Gods.”
“You told me my own mother was a priestess of Avalon,” said Gwydion. “Does their coming have anything to do with me?”
“Well, well, do not tell me there is anything you do not know!” said Morgause sharply, then relented. “I do not know why they have come, my dear; I have not the Sight. But it may well be. I want you to hand the wine about, and to listen and to learn, but not to speak unless you are spoken to.”
That, she thought, would have been hard for her own sons—Gawaine, Gaheris, and Gareth were noisy and inquisitive, and it had been difficult to school them to courtly manners. They were, she thought, great friendly dogs, while Gwydion was like a cat, silent, sleek, fastidious, and watchful. Morgaine as a child had been like that . . . Viviane did not well when she cast Morgaine aside, even if she was angry with her for bearing a child . . . and why should it matter to her? She herself bore children, including that damnable Lancelet, who has set Arthur’s kingdom so much at havoc that even here we have heard how the Queen favors him.
And then she wondered, why did she assume that Viviane had not wanted Morgaine to bear this child? Morgaine had quarrelled with Avalon, but perhaps that had been Morgaine’s doing and not the Lady’s.
She was deep in thought; and Gwydion touched her arm and murmured in an undertone, “Your guests, Mother.”
Morgause sank in a deep curtsey before Viviane, who seemed to have shrunk. Always before this, she had been ageless, but now she looked withered, her face lined, her eyes sunk into her face. But she had the same lovely smile, and her voice was low and sweet as ever.
“Ah, it is good to see you, little sister,” she said, drawing Morgause into an embrace. “How long has it been? I like not to think of the years! How young you look, Morgause! Such pretty teeth, and your hair as bright as ever. You met Kevin Harper at Arthur’s wedding, before he was the Merlin of Britain.”
It seemed that Kevin too had grown older, stooped and gnarled, like an ancient oak tree; well, that was fitting, she thought, for one of those who consorted with oaks, and felt her mouth move in a little ripple of secret mirth. “You are welcome, Master Harper—Lord Merlin, I should say. How is it with the noble Taliesin? Is he yet in the land of the living?”
“He lives,” said Viviane as another woman stepped from the sedan chair. “But he is old and fragile now, he will not make such a journey as this again.” And then she said, “This is a daughter of Taliesin, a child of the oak groves—Niniane. So she is your half-sister, Morgause.”
Morgause was a little dismayed as the younger woman stepped forward and embraced her, saying in a sweet voice, “I am glad to know my sister.” Niniane