Mists of Avalon - Marion Zimmer Bradley [435]
I hate Avalloch! Morgaine was surprised that her rage was physical, a scalding pain beneath her breastbone, a shaking through her whole body. Once I was proud; a priestess of Avalon does not lie. And now there is something about which I must avoid the truth. Even Uriens would see me as a treacherous wife, creeping in secret to Accolon’s bed for her own lusts. . . . She was weeping with rage, feeling Avalloch’s hot hands again on her arm and her breast. Now, soon or late, she would be accused, and even if Uriens trusted her, she would be watched. Ah, I was happy for the first time in many years and now it is all spoilt. . . .
Well, the sun was rising, soon the housefolk would be waking, and she must make arrangements for the work of the day. Had he been only guessing? Uriens must keep his bed, certainly Avalloch would not disturb his father this day. She must brew some more of the herb medicine for Uwaine’s face wound, and the roots of one of his broken teeth must be dug out, too.
Uwaine loved her—surely he would not listen to any accusation Avalloch might make. And at that, she felt the flooding, surging fury again, remembering Avalloch’s words: Was it Accolon or Uwaine, or both at once . . . ? I am as much Uwaine’s mother as if I had borne him! What kind of woman does he think me? But was that rumor indeed in Arthur’s court, that she had committed incest with Arthur, himself? How, then, in the face of that, can I bring Arthur to acknowledge Gwydion his son? Galahad is Arthur’s heir, but my son must be acknowledged, and the royal line of Avalon. But there must be no further scandal about me, certainly not any hint that I have committed incest with my stepson. . . .
And she wondered a little at herself. She had flown into a desperate rage when she knew she was to bear Arthur’s son and now it seemed trivial to her; after all, she and Arthur had not even known themselves brother and sister. But Uwaine—no blood kin to her—was far more her son than Gwydion; she had mothered Uwaine. . . .
Well, there was nothing to be done about it now. Morgaine went to the kitchen and heard the cook complain that all the bacon was gone, and the storerooms were near enough empty to make it hard to feed all these homecomers.
“Well, we must send Avalloch to hunt today,” said Morgaine, and stopped Maline on the stairs as she carried up her husband’s morning drink of hot wine.
Maline said, “I saw you talking with Avalloch—what did he have to say to you?” She frowned a little, and Morgaine, reading her thoughts as it was easy to do with a woman as stupid as Maline, realized that her daughter-in-law feared and resented her; thought it unfair that Morgaine should still be slim-bodied and hard when she, Maline, was heavy and worn with childbearing, that Morgaine should have glossy dark hair when Maline herself, busied with babies, never had time to comb and plait her own, and make it shine.
Morgaine said truthfully, but also with a wish to spare her daughter-in-law’s feelings, “We spoke of Accolon, and of Uwaine. But the storerooms are nearly empty, and Avalloch must go hunting for boar.” And then what she must do flashed full-blown into her head, and for a moment she stood frozen, hearing Niniane say in mind and memory, Accolon must succeed his father, and her own voice replying. . . . Maline was staring at her, waiting for her to finish what she was saying, and Morgaine quickly collected herself. “Tell him that he must go out after boar, today if he can, tomorrow at the latest, or we shall be eating the last of the flour too soon.”
“Certainly I will tell him, Mother,” said Maline. “He will be glad to have an excuse to be away.” And through Maline’s complaining voice, Morgaine knew the younger woman was relieved that it had been nothing worse.
Poor woman, married to that pig. She remembered, troubled, exactly