Lady of Avalon (37 page)

“But can you really say that Vortigern has done so badly?” asked Taliesin, setting down his wine cup. “Do you not remember how, when Bishop Germanus visited from Rome, we were so desperate that the bishop was called to lead troops against the Picts, for he had served in the Legions before he went into the Church? That was in the same year that this child was born.” He smiled at Viviane, then turned back to his host.

“The Saxons that Vortigern has settled in the north have kept the Painted People at bay; by moving the Votadini to Demetia, and the Cornovii down to Dumnonia, he has put strong tribes where they can protect us against the Irish; and that Anglic chieftain, Hengest, and his men are guarding the Saxon Shore. It is only when we are at peace that we can afford to quarrel among ourselves, but it seems hard that Vortigern should be punished for his success by civil war.”

“There are too many Saxons,” said Priscus. “Vortigern has given Hengest the whole of Cantium to support his people without a by-your-leave from its king. While the Council supported Vortigern, I accepted him, but Ambrosius Aurelianus is our rightful emperor, as his father was before him. I fought for him at Guollopum. If one or the other had won decisively, we would know where we were-as it is, poor Britannia is likely to fare like the child whom King Solomon offered to divide between two mothers, slaughtered to appease their pride.”

Taliesin shook his head. “Ah well, I seem to remember that the King’s threat brought the quarreling women to their senses, and perhaps our leaders will do the same.”

His host sighed. “My friend, that will take more than a threat. That will take a miracle.” For a moment longer he frowned; then he roused himself, smiling at his wife and the two girls. “But this is gloomy talk for such a chilly evening. Now that I have fed you, Taliesin, will you cheer us with a song?”

They stayed for two nights at the villa, and Viviane was sorry to go. But the Druids taught their priests to read the weather, and Taliesin said that if they did not leave now they would not reach Avalon before the snows. Little Priscilla clung to her when they parted, promising never to forget her, and Viviane, sensing the child’s good heart, wondered if she would find any companion she liked so well on Avalon.

They pushed hard that day and the next, catching a few hours’ sleep in a herdsman’s hut by the road. Viviane spoke little during the long ride, except for an occasional muttered curse aimed at the pony. Another night they spent at an inn at Aquae Sulis. Viviane retained an impression of splendid buildings beginning now to fall into decay, and an occasional whiff of sulfur-scented steam. There was no time for sightseeing, however, and the next morning they set off along the Lindinis road.

“Will we reach Avalon tonight?” Viviane called from behind him. Taliesin turned; the road was climbing into the Mendip Hills, and their beasts had slowed.

He frowned. “On a good horse I would be certain of doing so, but these beasts will go at their own pace or not at all. We will try.”

By midafternoon he felt a wet touch on his hand and, looking up, saw the sky had turned to solid cloud, which was flaking away into the first snow. Oddly, with the snowfall it seemed warmer, but the bard knew that was illusory. The girl had not complained, but when, soon after they crossed the road that served the lead mines, darkness began to fall, he turned down a path toward a cluster of buildings surrounded by trees.

“They make tiles here in the summer,” said Taliesin, “but at this season the works will be empty. As long as we bring more wood in to replace what we use, they will not mind if we sleep here; I have done it before.”

The place had the damp chill of disuse, which resisted the warmth of the fire. Viviane sat close to the flame, shivering, while the bard began to boil water for gruel.

“Thank you,” she said when it was ready. “It is true that I never asked to go on this journey, but I thank you for your care of me. My father-my foster-father, that is-could not have done more.”

Taliesin gave her a quick look, and then began to scoop gruel into his own bowl. Her olive skin had gone sallow with cold, but sparks of flame burned in her dark eyes.

“Are you my father?” Viviane asked then.

For a moment, shock held him still. But his mind was racing, for in truth during this long ride he himself had wondered. He had been newly made priest at the festival at which she had been begotten, come for the first time as a man to the Beltane fires. And Ana, though she was five years older than he and had already borne two daughters, had worn the beauty of the Goddess like a crown.

He remembered kissing her, and the taste of the mead she had drunk was honey on her lips. But, then, they had all been drunk that night, meeting and parting in the ecstasy of the dance. And from time to time a couple would touch, and cling, and stumble off into the shadows to join in the oldest dance of all. He remembered a woman crying out in his arms as he poured out his seed and his soul. But that first time, the ecstasy had overwhelmed him, and he could not remember her face or name.

The girl was still waiting, and she deserved an answer.

“You must not ask me that.” He managed a smile. “No pious man can claim to have fathered a child to the Lady. Even the beastly Saxons know better. You are born of the royal line of Avalon, and that is all that I, or any man, can tell you.”

“You are sworn to Truth,” she said, frowning. “Cannot you give truth to me?”

“Any man would be proud to claim you, Viviane. You have borne the pains of this journey well. When you have come to the Beltane fires yourself, perhaps you will understand why I cannot answer. The truth is this, my child-it is possible, but I do not know.”

Viviane lifted her head, and for a long moment held his gaze so that he, for all his training, could not look away.

“If one father has been torn from me,” she said finally, “I must find another, and I know no man I would rather call my father than you.”

Taliesin stared at her, huddled like a little brown bird beside the fire, and for the first time since he had been made bard could find no words. But his thoughts were tumultuous.
Ana may come to regret she sent me on this journey. This daughter is no Anara, to go meekly, whether to fetch water or to seek her death, at my Lady’s call. But I will not regret it-what a priestess this girl will make for Avalon!

Viviane was still waiting.

“Perhaps we had best say nothing of this to your mother,” he said finally, “but I promise you this-I will be as good a father to you as I may.”

They came to the lake just as dusk was falling. Viviane surveyed the scene without enthusiasm. Yesterday’s snow crusted the mud and edged the reeds, and more was falling. The puddles were frozen solid, and ice extended into the pewter-colored water in sheets that glistened faintly in the fading light. Farther along the shore she saw a few huts, raised on poles above the mud of the marsh. On the other side of the water she could make out a hill, its top swathed in clouds. As she looked, from that direction she heard the faint clangor of a bell.

“Is that where we are going?”

Taliesin’s face brightened momentarily in a grin. “I hope not-though, if we were not of the People of Avalon, Inis Witrin is the only holy island we would ever see.”

He plucked down a cowhorn, its surface carved in spirals, that was hanging from a branch of a willow tree, and blew. The sound rang hard and throaty in the still air. Viviane wondered what was supposed to happen. The bard was gazing toward the huts, and it was she who saw the first quiver when what she had taken for a pile of brush began to move.

It was an old woman, bundled in woolen wrappings topped with a tattered cape of some grey fur. To judge from her size and the dark eve that was all Viviane could see of her face, she must be one of the marsh folk. Viviane wondered why Taliesin was staring at the woman oddly, at once amused and wary, like a man who finds an adder in his path.

“Gracious lord and young lady, the boat cannot come in such cold. Will it please you to rest in my house until a better time?”

“No, it does
not
please,” said Taliesin decidedly. “I took oath to bring this child to Avalon as swiftly as could be, and we are weary and exhausted. Would you have me forsworn?”

The woman laughed softly, and Viviane’s skin prickled, though it might have been from the cold. “The lake is frozen. Maybe you can walk across.” She looked at Viviane. “If you are priestess-born, you must be foresighted, and will know where it is safe to go. Do you have the courage to try?”

The girl stared back silently. She had
seen
things, in fragments and flashes, as long as she could remember, and knew that, untrained, such Sight was not to be trusted. But she was aware enough to sense meanings in this conversation she did not understand.

“Ice is treacherous-it seems solid, and then it cracks and you go down,” said the bard. “It would be a pity, after bringing the child all this way, to see her drown…”

The words hung in the chill air, and Viviane thought she saw the old woman flinch, but that must have been an illusion, for in the next moment she was turning, clapping her hands, and trilling a call in a language the girl did not know.

Immediately, small dark men bundled in furs swarmed down the ladders, so swiftly that they must have been watching all the while. From the shelter of the reeds they dragged a barge, long and low enough to accommodate even their mounts, with some dark stuff draped around the prow. Ice cracked and shattered as they pulled it forward, and Viviane was glad she had not been tempted to show off. Would the old woman have allowed her to try? she wondered. Surely she had known the ice was thin.

There were more furs heaped inside the barge. Viviane snuggled into them gratefully, for as the boatmen pushed off with their poles and the craft began to slide away from the shore she could feel the chill fingers of the wind. She was surprised to see the old woman, whom she had thought one of the villagers, sitting in the prow-upright, as if she did not feel the cold. She looked different, almost familiar somehow.

They came to the center of the lake. The marsh men had switched to paddles now, and as the wind strengthened, the barge rocked on the swell. Viviane had just realized that through the falling snow she could now see the shadowed shore of the island, with its round church built of grim grey stone, quite clearly, when the boatmen lifted their paddles from the water.

“Lady, now you call the mists?” one of them asked in the British tongue.

For one horrified moment, Viviane thought he was talking to
her;
then, to her astonishment, the old woman got to her feet. She did not look so little now, nor so old. The girl’s face must have shown her feelings, for she glimpsed on the Lady’s face a mocking smile as she turned to face the island. Viviane had not seen her mother since she was five, and could not recall her features, but she knew her now. She glanced at Taliesin accusingly-he might have warned her!

But her father, if he
was
her father, was gazing at the Lady, who moment by moment gained in height and beauty as she lifted her arms. For a breath she stood, body arched in invocation; then a string of strange syllables left her lips in one clear call, and her arms curved down.

Viviane felt in her bones the tremor that moved them from one reality to the other. Even before the mists began to shimmer she knew what had happened, but her eyes still opened wide in wonder as they parted, and she saw the Isle of Avalon glimmering in the last light of a sun that had not been shining in the world she knew. There was no snow on the ringstones that crowned the Tor, but white sparkled on the shore and lay like blossom on the apple boughs, for Avalon was, even now, not completely apart from the human world. To her dazzled eyes, it was a vision of light, and in all the years she lived after, Viviane never beheld anything so beautiful.

The boatmen, laughing, dug in with their paddles and brought the barge swiftly to the landing. They had been seen-white-cloaked Druids and girls and women in shades of natural wool or priestess-blue were running down the hill. The Lady of Avalon, shedding the wrappings that had disguised her, stepped first onto the shore, and turned to reach for Viviane’s hand.

“My daughter-be welcome to Avalon.”

Viviane, about to take her hand, stopped short, all the frustration of her journey suddenly bursting free in words.

“If I am so welcome, I wonder it has taken you so long to send for me, and if I am your daughter, why did you tear me, without a word of warning, from the only home I have known?”

“I never give reasons for what I do.” The Lady’s voice abruptly chilled.

Suddenly Viviane remembered that tone from when she was very small; she would be ready for a caress and instead the cold would come, more shocking than a blow.

Then, more gently, the Lady added, “My daughter, a time will come when you may do the same. But for now, for your own sake, you must undergo the same discipline as any peasant-born novice on this isle. Do you understand?”

Viviane stood speechless as the Lady-she could not think of her as “mother”-gestured to one of the girls.

“Rowan, take her to the House of Maidens and give her the dress of a novice priestess. She shall be pledged before the evening meal in the hall.”

The girl was slender, with fair hair showing beneath the shawl she had wrapped around her head and shoulders. When they were out of sight of the Lady, she said, “Don’t be frightened-”