Mists of Avalon - Marion Zimmer Bradley [342]
“Morgaine! What is it?” Elaine shook her bedfellow’s shoulder. “What is it! You were crying out in your sleep—”
“Kevin,” she muttered, and sat up, her unbound hair, raven-dark, moving about her like dark water. “No, no, it wasn’t you—but she had fair hair like yours, and a crucifix—”
“You were dreaming, Morgaine,” Elaine said. “Wake up!”
Morgaine blinked and shuddered, then drew a long breath and looked up at Elaine with her customary composure. “I am sorry—an evil dream,” she said, but her eyes still looked haunted. Elaine wondered what dreams pursued the King’s sister; for sure they must be evil, for she had come here from that evil island of witches and sorceresses . . . yet somehow Morgaine had never seemed to her an evil woman. How could any woman be so good when she worshipped devils and refused Christ?
She turned away from Morgaine and said, “We must get up, cousin. The King will return this day, so last night’s messenger said.”
Morgaine nodded and got out of bed, pulling off her shift; Elaine modestly averted her eyes. Morgaine seemed to be without shame—had she never heard that all sin came into this world through the body of a woman? Now she stood shamelessly naked, rummaging in her chest for a holiday shift, and Elaine turned away and began to dress.
“Make haste, Morgaine, we must go to the Queen—”
Morgaine smiled. “Not too much haste, kinswoman, we must give Lancelet time to be well away. Gwenhwyfar would not thank you for making a scandal.”
“Morgaine, how can you say such a thing? After what has happened, it is no more than reason that Gwenhwyfar should be afraid to be alone at night and should wish her champion to sleep at her very door . . . and indeed, it was fortunate Lancelet came in time to save her from worse—”
“Don’t be more of a fool than you must, Elaine,” said Morgaine with weary patience. “Do you believe that?”
“You, of course, know better by your magic,” flared Elaine, so loudly that the other women who slept in the room turned their heads to hear what the Queen’s cousin and the King’s sister were quarrelling about. Morgaine lowered her voice and said, “Believe me, I want no scandal, no more than you. Gwenhwyfar is my sister-in-law and Lancelet is my kinsman too. God knows, Arthur should not chide Gwenhwyfar for what befell with Meleagrant—poor wretch, it was none of her doing, and no doubt it must be given out that Lancelet came in time to rescue her. But I have no doubt Gwenhwyfar will tell Arthur, at least in secret, how Meleagrant used her—no, Elaine, I saw how she was when Lancelet brought her back from the island, and I heard what she said, her terror that that damned hellhound might have managed to get her with child!”
Elaine’s face went dead white. “But he is her brother,” she whispered. “Is there any man alive would do such sin as that?”
“Oh, Elaine, in God’s name, what a ninny you are!” Morgaine said. “Is that what you think the worst of it?”
“And you are saying—Lancelet has shared her bed while the King was away—”
“I am not surprised, nor do I think it the first time,” said Morgaine. “Have sense, Elaine—do you begrudge it? After what Meleagrant did to her, I would not be surprised if Gwenhwyfar would never again wish any man to touch her, and for her sake I am glad, if Lancelet can heal that hurt for her. And now, perhaps, Arthur will put her away, so that he may get him a son somewhere.”
Elaine said, staring at her, “Perhaps Gwenhwyfar will go into a convent—she told me once she was never happier than in her convent at Glastonbury. But would they have her, if she had been paramour to her husband’s captain of horse? Oh, Morgaine, I am so ashamed of her!”
“It has nothing to do with you,” Morgaine said. “Why should