Mists of Avalon - Marion Zimmer Bradley [557]
“And Arthur goes to war for their sakes?” Niniane was surprised. “I thought he had forsworn Avalon.”
“Avalon, perhaps, but not the harmless folk from the island.” Gwydion was silent, and Niniane knew he was remembering a day on Dragon Island. He slid his fingers along the tattooed serpents on his wrists, then pulled the sleeves of his Saxon tunic down over them. “I wonder, could I still pull down a King Stag with only my hands and a flint knife?”
“I doubt not that you could, if you were challenged,” said Niniane. “The question is, could Arthur? For if he cannot . . .”
She left the question hanging in the air, and he said somberly, watching the enclosing mist, “I do not think it will clear. Mist hangs here always, so thickly now that some of the Saxon kings who send messengers cannot find their way. . . . Niniane! Will Camelot too go into the mists?”
She began to fling him back some careless word of jest or reassurance, then stopped and said, “I know not. Dragon Island is defiled, the folk dying or dead, the sacred herd prey to the Saxon hunters. Northmen raid the coast. Will they one day sack Camelot as the Goths overthrew Rome?”
“If I had known in time,” Gwydion said with smothered violence, striking one fist against the other, “if the Saxons had brought word to Arthur, he could have sent me—or some other—to protect that holy ground where he was made King Stag and made the sacred marriage with the land! Now the shrine of the Goddess has been overthrown, since he did not die to protect it, his kingship is forfeit.”
Niniane heard what he did not say: And mine. She said, “You knew not that it was endangered.”
“And for that too I blame Arthur,” Gwydion said. “That the Saxons could think of doing this without consulting him—does it not say to you how little they think now of his High Kingship? And why do they think so little of him? I will tell you, Niniane—they think little of any king who is cuckold, who cannot rule his women—”
“You who were reared in Avalon,” she said angrily, “will you judge Arthur by the Saxon’s standards, which are worse than those of the Romans? Will you let a kingdom rise or fall because of some notion of how a man should keep his women in bonds? You are to be King, Gwydion, because you bear the royal blood of Avalon and because you are the child of the Goddess—”
“Pah!” Gwydion spat and followed it with an obscenity. “Did it never occur to you, Niniane—perhaps Avalon fell as later Rome fell, because there was corruption at the heart of the realm? By Avalon’s laws, Gwenhwyfar has done no more than is right—the lady shall choose who she will for her consort, and Arthur should be overthrown by Lancelet! Why, Lancelet is the son of the High Priestess herself—why not set him to be King in Arthur’s place? But is our king to be chosen because some woman wants him in her bed?” Again he spat. “No, Niniane, that day is done—first the Romans and now the Saxons know how the world’s to be. The world is no longer a great womb bearing men—now the movement of men and armies settles things. What people now would accept my rule because I was the son of this woman or that? Now it is the king’s son who takes the land, and shall we turn away a good thing because the Romans did so first? We have better ships now—we will discover lands beyond the old lands that have sunk in the sea. Will a Goddess who is tied to this one patch of earth and its crops follow us there? Look at the Northmen who are raiding our coasts—will they be stopped with the Mother’s curses? The few priestesses that are left in Avalon—no Saxons or wild Northmen will ever ravish them, because Avalon is no longer a part of the world in which these wild raiders live. Those women who live in the world that is coming will need men to guard them. The world