Mists of Avalon - Marion Zimmer Bradley [406]
She flared, “I sought once to speak in Avalon’s name and you bade me hold my peace,” and bowed her head, not waiting for his reply. No, he is right. How dare I speak of treachery when I fled from Avalon, too young and too foolish to know what Viviane planned? Only now do I begin to know that she gave me a hold on the King’s conscience: And I cast it aside unused and let Gwenhwyfar lead him into the hands of the priests. “Speak, Merlin. Avalon’s daughter listens.”
For a moment he said nothing, but only looked at her, and she remembered, sorrowfully, the years when he had been her only friend and ally at this court. At last he said, “Your beauty, like Viviane’s, ripens with the years, Morgaine. Next to you every woman at this court, including that Irishwoman they call so beautiful, is a painted doll.”
She smiled faintly and said, “You did not stop me in my tracks with the thunders of Avalon to make me pretty compliments, Kevin.”
“Did I not? I spoke ill, Morgaine—you are needed in Avalon. She who sits there now is—” He broke off, troubled. “Are you so much in love with your elderly husband that you cannot tear yourself away?”
“No,” she said, “but I do the work of the Goddess there too.”
“This much I know,” he said, “and so I have told Niniane. And if Accolon can succeed his father, the worship of the Goddess will grow there . . . but Accolon is not his father’s heir, and the older son is a priest-ridden fool.”
“Accolon is not king, but Druid,” Morgaine said, “and Avalloch’s death would avail nothing—they follow Roman ways in Wales now, and Avalloch has a son.” Conn, she thought, who sat in my lap and called me Granny.
And Kevin said, as if he had heard her unspoken words: “The lives of children are uncertain, Morgaine. Many come not to manhood.”
“I will do no murder,” she said, “even for Avalon, and you may tell them so for me.”
“Tell them yourself,” said Kevin. “Niniane said to me that you would be coming there after Pentecost.” And now Morgaine felt the empty, cold sickness strike at her stomach and was glad she had eaten but little of the rich food of the feast.
Do they know all, then? Do they watch, judging me, as I betray my old and trusting husband with Accolon? She thought of Elaine, trembling and shamed in the light of the torches that had caught her naked in Lancelet’s arms. Do they know even what I plan before I am certain of it myself? But she had done only what the Goddess gave her to do.
“What is it that you came to tell me, Merlin?”
“Only that your place in Avalon is empty still, and Niniane knows it as well as I. I love you well, Morgaine, and I am no traitor—it pains me that you think me so, when you have given me so much.” He held out his twisted hands. “Peace, then, Morgaine, between us?”
She said, “In the Lady’s name, peace, then,” and kissed his scarred mouth.
For him too the Goddess wears my face . . . and pain struck through her. The Goddess is the giver of life and manhood . . . and of death. As her lips touched his, the Merlin recoiled, and on his face was naked fear.
“Do you recoil from me, Kevin? I swear it on my life, I will do no murder. You have nothing to fear—” she said, but he put out his twisted fingers to stop the words.
“Make no oath, Morgaine, lest you pay the penalty of the forsworn . . . none of us knows what the Goddess may demand of us. I too have made the Great Marriage, and my life was forfeit on that day. I live only at the will of the Goddess, and my life is not so sweet that I would begrudge to lay it down,” he said. Years later Morgaine would remember these words and feel them sweeten the bitterest task of her life. He bent to her, in the salute given only to the Lady of Avalon or to the High Druid, and then, swiftly, turned away. Morgaine stood trembling, watching him go. Why had he done that? And why did he fear her?
She moved on through the crowds; when she reached the dais, Gwenhwyfar gave her a chilly smile, but Morgause rose and took her into an ample, warm embrace.
“Dearest child, you look tired—I know you have little