Mists of Avalon - Marion Zimmer Bradley [324]
Viviane put down the comb and caught Morgaine to her breast, holding her, rocking and soothing her like a child. “Darling, my own darling girl, do not cry, do not cry . . . if I had known, child, I would have come to you. Don’t cry now—I shall myself take you back, we will go together when I have given Arthur my message. I will take you with me and go, before he gets it into his head to marry you off to some braying Christian ass . . . yes, yes, child, you shall come back to Avalon . . . we will go together. . . .” She wiped Morgaine’s wet face on her own veil. “Come, now, help me to dress myself to stand before my kinsman the High King—”
Morgaine drew a deep breath. “Yes, let me braid your hair, Mother.” She tried to laugh. “This morning I did the Queen’s hair.”
Viviane held her away and said, in great anger, “Has Arthur put you, priestess of Avalon and princess in your own right, to waiting hand and foot on his queen?”
“No, no,” said Morgaine quickly, “I am honored as high as the Queen herself—I dressed Gwenhwyfar’s hair this day out of friendship; she is as likely to do mine, or to lace my gown, as sisters do.”
Viviane sighed with relief. “I would not have you dishonored. You are the mother of Arthur’s son. He must learn to honor you as such, and so must the daughter of Leodegranz—”
“No!” Morgaine cried. “No, I beg of you—Arthur must not know, not before the whole court—listen to me, Mother,” she pleaded, “all these folk are Christian. Would you have me shamed before them all?”
Viviane said implacably, “They must learn not to think shame of holy things!”
“But the Christians have power over all this land,” Morgaine said, “and you cannot change their thinking with a few words—” And in her heart she wondered, had advancing age driven Viviane out of her wits? There was no way simply to proclaim that the old laws of Avalon should be set up again and two hundred years of Christianity be overthrown. The priests would drive her out of the court as a madwoman and go on as before. Viviane must know enough of practical ruling to know this! And indeed, Viviane nodded and said, “You are right, we must work slowly. But Arthur at least must be reminded of his promise to protect Avalon, and I will speak to him in secret, one day, about the child. We cannot proclaim it aloud among the ignorant.”
Then Morgaine helped Viviane to arrange her hair and to dress herself in the stately robes of a priestess of Avalon, dressed for high ceremonial. And it was not long before they heard sounds telling them that the mock games were over. No doubt the prizes would be given indoors this time, at the feast; she wondered if Lancelet had won them all again in honor of his king. Or, she thought sourly, his queen? And could one call that honor?
They turned to leave the chamber, and as they left the room, Viviane touched her hand gently. “You will return to Avalon with me, will you not, dear child?”
“If Arthur will let me go . . .”
“Morgaine, you are a priestess of Avalon, and you need not ask leave, even of the High King, to come and go as it pleases you. A High King is a leader in battle—he does not own the lives of his subjects, or even of his subject kings, as if he were one of those Eastern tyrants who thinks the world is his and the life of every man and woman in it. I will tell him I have need of you in Avalon and we will see what he answers to that.”
Morgaine felt herself choking with unshed tears. Oh, to return to Avalon, to go home . . . but even as she held Viviane’s hand she could not believe she was truly to go there after this day. Later she was to say, I knew, I knew, and recognize the despair and foreboding that struck her at the words, but at the moment she was certain it was only her own fear, the sense that she was not worthy of what she had cast away.
Then they went down into Arthur’s great hall for the Pentecost feasting.
It was Camelot, Morgaine thought, as she had