Mists of Avalon - Marion Zimmer Bradley [506]
She felt Raven’s touch, hands gripping hers, and it seemed to her that beyond Raven’s hands she felt other hands, she knew not whose . . . and in the hall it seemed as if the great wings flapped for a final time and a great rushing wind swept through the hall and was gone. White daylight broke into the room, and the altar was bare and empty, and the white cloth was crumpled and lying there untenanted. She could see the pale terrified face of Bishop Patricius.
“God has visited us,” he whispered, “and today we have drunk of the wine of life by the Holy Grail. . . .”
Gawaine leaped to his feet. “But who has stolen away the holy vessel?” he cried. “We have seen it veiled . . . I swear I shall go forth to find it and bring it again to this court! And on this quest I shall spend a twelvemonth and a day, till I see it more clearly than here. . . .”
Of course it would have to be Gawaine, thought Morgaine, always first to set himself face to face with the unknown! Yet he had played into her hands. Galahad stood up, pale and shining with excitement.
“A twelvemonth, sir Gawaine? I swear that I shall spend all my life, if need be, till I see the Grail clear before me. . . .”
Arthur held out his hand and tried to speak, but the fever had caught them all and they were crying out, pledging themselves, all talking at once.
There is now no other cause so dear to their hearts, Morgaine thought. The wars have been won, there is peace in the land. Between wars, even the Caesars had the sense to set their legions to the building of roads and the conquest of new lands. Now this quest, they think, will unite them again in the old fervor. Once again they are the Companions of the Round Table, but this will scatter them to the four winds . . . in the name of that God you would set above Avalon, Arthur! The Goddess works as she will. . . .
Mordred had risen and was speaking, but Morgaine had eyes now only for Raven, fallen to the floor. All round her the old peasant women were still chattering about the fine foods and drink they had tasted under the spell of the cauldron.
“White wine it was, rich and sweet as fresh honey and grapes . . . I never tasted it but once, years ago . . .”
“Plum cake I had, stuffed with raisins and plums and a sauce of rich red wine . . . I never had anything so good . . .”
But Raven lay silent, white as death, and when Morgaine bent to her, she knew what she had already known when she first saw her lying there. The weight of that Great Magic had been too much for the terrified woman; she had held firm, buoyed by the Great Magic, until the Grail had gone away to Avalon, all her own strength poured out selflessly to strengthen Morgaine in the work of the Goddess; and then, that strength withdrawn, her life had gone with it. Morgaine held her close, in wild grief and despair.
I have killed her too. Truly, truly, now have I killed the last one I had to love. . . . Mother, Goddess, why could it not have been me? I have nothing more to live for, no one to love, and Raven has never harmed a living soul, never, never. . . .
Morgaine saw Nimue come down from her high seat beside the Queen and speak with the Merlin, her look warm and sweet, and lay a confiding hand on his arm. Arthur was speaking with Lancelet, the tears streaming down both their faces; she saw them embrace and kiss as they had not done since they were boys. Arthur left him then, and walked down into the lower end of the hall, moving among his subjects.
“Is all well, my people?”
All were speaking to him about the magical feast, but as he came nearer someone called out, “Here’s an old deaf and dumb woman, my lord Arthur, dead—the excitement was just too much for her!”
Arthur walked to where Raven lay lifeless in Morgaine’s arms.