Mists of Avalon - Marion Zimmer Bradley [328]
Arthur finally found his voice. “You wretched man,” he said hoarsely, “what have you done? This is murder, cold murder before the very throne of your king. . . .”
“Murder, you say?” Balin said in his thick, harsh voice. “Yes, she was the most foul murderess in this kingdom, she deserved death twice over—I have rid your kingdom of a wicked and evil sorceress, my king!”
Arthur looked more angry than grieved. “The Lady of the Lake was my friend and my benefactor! How dare you speak so of my kinswoman, she who helped to set me on my throne?”
“I call the lord Lancelet himself to witness if she did not compass the death of my mother,” Balin said, “a good and pious Christian woman, Priscilla by name, and foster-mother to your own brother Balan! And she murdered my mother, I tell you she murdered her by her evil sorceries—” His face worked; the big man was weeping like a child. “She murdered my mother, I tell you, and I have avenged her as a knight should do!”
Lancelet closed his eyes in horror, his face contorted, but he did not weep. “My lord Arthur, this man’s life belongs to me! Let me here take vengeance for my mother—”
“And my mother’s sister,” said Gawaine.
“And mine—” Gaheris added.
Morgaine’s frozen trance broke. She cried, “No, Arthur! Let me have him! He has murdered the Lady before your throne, let a woman of Avalon avenge the blood of Avalon—look yonder how the lord Taliesin lies stricken, it is like that he has murdered our grandsire too—”
“Sister, sister—” Arthur held out his hand to Morgaine. “No, no, sister—no, give me your dagger—”
Morgaine stood shaking her head, her dagger still in her hand. Taliesin suddenly rose to take it from her with his own trembling old fingers. “No, Morgaine. No more bloodshed here—the Goddess knows, it is enough—her blood has been spilled as sacrifice to Avalon in this hall—”
“Sacrificed! Yes, sacrificed to God, as God shall strike down all these evil sorceresses and their Gods!” cried Balin in a frenzy. “Let me have that one too, my lord Arthur, purge this court of all their evil wizard line—” He struggled so violently that Lancelet and Gawaine could hardly hold him and signalled to Cai, who came and helped them cast Balin down, struggling still, before the throne.
“Quiet!” Lancelet said, jerking his head around. “I warn you, one hand laid on the Merlin or Morgaine, and I’ll have your head whatever Arthur may say—yes, my lord Arthur, and die at your hands for it afterward if you will have it so!” His face was drawn with anguish and despair.
“My lord King,” Balin howled, “I beg you, let me strike down all these wizards and sorcerers in the name of the Christ who hates them all—”
Lancelet struck Balin heavily across the mouth; the man gasped and was silent, blood streaming from a broken lip.
“By your leave, my lord.” Lancelet unfastened his rich cloak and gently covered the ghastly, drained corpse of his mother.
Arthur seemed to breathe easier now that the corpse was out of sight. Only Morgaine went on staring wide-eyed at the lifeless huddle now covered with the crimson cloak Lancelet had worn for the holiday.
Blood. Blood on the foot of the King’s throne. Blood, poured out on the hearth . . . Somewhere it seemed to Morgaine that she could hear Raven shrieking.
Arthur said quietly, “Look to the lady Morgaine, she will faint,” and Morgaine felt hands gently helping her into a seat and someone holding a cup to her lips. She started to push it away, and then it seemed she heard Viviane’s voice saying, Drink it. A priestess must keep her strength and will. Obediently she drank, hearing Arthur’s voice, stern and solemn.
“Balin, whatever your reasons—no, no more, I heard what you said—not a word—you are either a madman, or a cold-blooded murderer. Whatever you may say, you have slain my kinswoman and drawn steel before