Mists of Avalon - Marion Zimmer Bradley [337]
Once, far into the night, when she had fallen into a brief, nightmare-ridden doze, she started up, thinking she heard Morgaine calling her name; she sat bolt upright on the dirty straw of the bed, staring into the thick darkness, but she was alone.
Morgaine, Morgaine. If you can see me with your sorcery, say to my lord when he comes home that Meleagrant is false, that it was a trap . . . and then she wondered, would God be angry with her for calling on Morgaine’s sorcery to deliver her? And she fell to praying softly until the monotony of her prayers put her to sleep again.
She slept heavily, this time, without dreams, and when she woke, her mouth dry, she realized it was full day and she was still prisoner in the empty and filthy apartment. She was hungry and thirsty, and sickened with the smell of the place, not only the stale straw and mould, but the smells from one corner she had had to use as a latrine. How long were they going to leave her here alone? The morning wore away and Gwenhwyfar no longer even had the strength or courage to pray.
Was she being punished, then, for her guilt, for not valuing enough what she had had? She had been a faithful wife to Arthur, yet she had hungered after another man. She had meddled with Morgaine’s sorcery. But, she thought in despair, if I am being punished for my adultery with Lancelet, for what was I being punished while I was yet a faithful wife to Arthur?
Even if Morgaine could see, with her magic, that she was imprisoned, would she trouble to help her? Morgaine had no reason to love her; indeed, Morgaine almost certainly despised her.
Was there anyone who really cared? Why should anyone care what happened to her?
It was past noon when at last she heard a step on the stairs. She sprang to her feet, wrapping herself tightly in her cloak, and backed away from the door. It was Meleagrant who came in, and at sight of him she drew back even farther.
“Why have you done this to me?” she demanded. “Where is my woman, my page, my chamberlain? What have you done with my escort? Do you think Arthur will allow you to rule this country when you have offered insult to his queen?”
“His queen no longer,” Meleagrant said quietly. “When I am done with you, he will not have you back. In the old days, lady, the consort of the queen was king of the land, and if I hold you and get sons on you, no man will gainsay my right to rule.”
“You will get no sons from me,” Gwenhwyfar said with a mirthless laugh. “I am barren.”
“Pah—you were married to a damned beardless boy,” he said, and added something more, which Gwenhwyfar did not completely understand, only that it was unimaginably foul.
“Arthur will kill you,” she said.
“Let him try. It is harder than you would think to attack an island,” said Meleagrant, “and by that time, perhaps, he will not care to try, since he would have to take you back—”
She said, “I cannot marry you, I have a husband.”
“No man in my kingdom will care one way or the other,” said Meleagrant. “There were many who chafed at the rule of the priests, and I have cast forth every damned priest of them! I rule by the old laws, and I will make myself king by that law, which says your man rules here—”
She whispered, “No,” and backed away, but he sprang at her and pulled her toward him.
“You’re not to my taste,” he said brutally. “Skinny, ugly, pale wenches—I like better a woman who’s some flesh to her bones! But you’re old Leodegranz’s daughter, unless your mother had more blood to her than I think she could have had! And so—” He pulled her to him. She struggled, got her arm loose, and struck him hard across the face.
He shouted as her elbow struck his nose, grabbed her arm and shook her, hard; then hit her with his clenched fist across the jaw. She felt something snap and tasted blood bursting