Mists of Avalon - Marion Zimmer Bradley [412]
“Are you the lady Morgaine that they call Morgaine of the Fairies?”
Morgaine said, “I am. And I am your cousin, Galahad.”
“How do you know my name?” he asked suspiciously. “Are you a sorceress? Why do they call you Morgaine of the Fairies?”
She said, “Because I am of the old royal line of Avalon, and fostered there. And I know your name, not from sorcery, but because you look like your mother, who is also my kinswoman.”
“My father’s name is Galahad too,” said the child, “but the Saxons call him Elf-arrow.”
“I came here to bear your father’s greetings to you, and to your mother, and to your sisters too,” Morgaine said.
“Nimue is a silly girl,” said Galahad. “She is a big girl, five years old, but she cried when my father came and would not let him pick her up and kiss her, because she did not recognize him. Do you know my father?”
“Indeed I do,” said Morgaine. “His mother, the Lady of the Lake, was my foster-mother and my aunt.”
He looked skeptical and frowned. “My mother told me that the Lady of the Lake is an evil sorceress.”
“Your mother is—” Morgaine stopped and softened the words; he was, after all, only a child. “Your mother did not know the Lady as I did. She was a good and wise woman, and a great priestess.”
“Oh?” She could see Galahad struggling with this concept. “Father Griffin says that only men can be priests, because men are made in God’s image and women are not. Nimue said that she wanted to be a priest when she grew up, and learn to read and write and play upon the harp, and Father Griffin told her that no woman could do all these things, or any of them.”
“Then Father Griffin is mistaken,” said Morgaine, “for I can do them all and more.”
“I don’t believe you,” Galahad said, surveying her with a level stare of hostility. “You think everyone is wrong but you, don’t you? My mother says that little ones should not contradict grown-ups, and you look as if you were not so much older than I. You aren’t much bigger, are you?”
Morgaine laughed at the angry child and said, “But I am older than either your mother or your father, Galahad, even though I am not very big.”
There was a stir at the door and Elaine came in. She had grown softer, her body rounded, her breasts sagging—after all, Morgaine told herself, she had borne three children and one was still at the breast. But she was still lovely, her golden hair shining as bright as ever, and she embraced Morgaine as if they had met but yesterday.
“I see you have met my good son,” she said. “Nimue is in her room being punished—she was impertinent to Father Griffin—and Gwennie, thank Heaven, is asleep—she is a fussy baby and I was awake with her much of the night. Have you come from Camelot? Why did my lord not ride with you, Morgaine?”
“I have come to tell you about that,” Morgaine said. “Lancelet will not ride home for some while. There is war in Less Britain, and his brother Bors is besieged in his castle. All of Arthur’s Companions have gone to rescue him and put down the man who would be emperor.”
Elaine’s eyes filled with tears, but young Galahad’s face was eager with excitement. “If I were older,” he said, “I would be one of the Companions and my father would make me a knight and I would ride with them, and I would fight these old Saxons—and any old emperor too!”
Elaine heard the story and said, “This Lucius sounds to me like a madman!”
“Mad or sane, he has an army and claims it in the name of Rome,” Morgaine said. “Lancelet sent me to see you, and bade me kiss his children—though I doubt not this young man is too big to be kissed like a babe,” she said, smiling at Galahad. “My stepson, Uwaine, thought himself too big for that when he was about your size, and a few days ago he was made one of Arthur’s Companions.”
“How old is he?” asked Galahad, and when Morgaine said fifteen, he scowled furiously and began to reckon up on his fingers.
Elaine asked, “How looked my dear lord? Galahad, run away to your tutor, I want to speak with my cousin,” and when the child had gone, she said, “I had more