Mists of Avalon - Marion Zimmer Bradley [82]
Morgaine said, hesitating, “He had the summer fever—but then, all the children had that last year. Uther said he should not have been allowed to play with the shepherd’s boys. He caught the fever from them, I think—four of them died. But there was the time when he was poisoned—”
“Poisoned?”
“Isotta—and I would trust her with my life, Lady—swears that she put only wholesome herbs into his soup. Yet he was as sick as if a deathcup mushroom had found its way into his porridge. And yet how could that be? She knows wholesome ones from the poisonous, and she is not yet old and her eyesight is good.” Again Morgaine’s eyes widened. “Lady Viviane, do you think there are people plotting against my brother’s life?”
Viviane drew the girl down to her side. “I came here because I had a warning of this. I have not yet inquired whence the danger comes, I had no time. Do you have the Sight still, Morgaine? When last I spoke with you, you said—”
The girl colored and looked down at her shoes. “You bade me not speak of it. And Igraine says I should turn my thoughts to real things and not daydreams, and so I have tried. . . .”
“Igraine is right thus far: that you should not speak idly of these things to the once-born,” Viviane said. “But to me, you may always speak freely, I promise you. My Sight can show me only such things as are relevant to the safety of the Holy Isle and the continuance of Avalon, but Uther’s son is your own mother’s son, and by that tie, your Sight will find him and be able to tell who is trying to compass his death. Uther has enemies enough, all the Gods know.”
“But I do not know how to use the Sight.”
“I will show you, if you wish it,” said Viviane.
The girl looked up at her, her face taut with fear. “Uther has forbidden sorceries in his court.”
“Uther is not my master,” Viviane said slowly, “and no one can rule over another’s conscience. Yet—do you think it an offense to God, to try to discover whether someone is plotting against your brother’s life, or whether it is only bad luck?”
Morgaine said unsteadily, “No, I don’t think it wicked.” She stopped and swallowed and finally said, “And I do not think you would lead me into anything that was wrong, Aunt.”
A sudden pain clutched at Viviane’s heart. What had she done to earn this trust? With all her heart she wished that this small solemn girl was her own daughter, the daughter she owed the Holy Isle and had never been able to bear. Even though she had risked a belated childbearing, of which she had nearly died, she had borne only sons. And here, it seemed, was the successor the Goddess had sent her, a kinswoman with the Sight, and the girl was looking up at her with complete trust. For a moment she could not speak.
Am I prepared to be ruthless with this girl too? Can I train her, never sparing, or will my love make me less harsh than I must be to train a High Priestess?
Can I use her love for me, which I have in no way deserved, to bring her to the feet of the Goddess?
But with the discipline of years, she waited until her voice was clear and perfectly steady. “Be it so, then. Bring me a silver or bronze basin, perfectly clean and scoured with sand, and fill it with fresh rainwater, not water drawn from the well. Be sure that you speak to no man or woman after you have filled the basin.”
She waited, composed, seated by her fire, until at last Morgaine returned.
“I had to scrub it myself,” she said, but the basin she held out was shining and brilliant, filled to the brim with clear water.
“Now, unbind your hair, Morgaine.”
The girl looked at her curiously, but Viviane said, low and stern, “No questions.”
Morgaine pulled out the bone hairpin, and her long locks, dark and coarse and perfectly straight, came tumbling down around her shoulders.
“Now, if you are wearing any jewelry, take it off, and set it over there, so that it will not be near the basin.”
Morgaine tugged off two little gilt rings she had on her finger, and unpinned the