Lady of Avalon (46 page)

On closer examination she could see portions of surrounding stones poking through the soil. Inside the ring was a smaller circle of pillars, and four taller trilithons in a semicircle around the altar stone. She wondered to what realities one might pass through those dark doorways. They dismounted and hobbled the horses-there were no trees to which to tether them on the plain. Curious, Viviane walked around the bank above the ditch.

“And what did you think of it?” asked Taliesin when she returned.

“It is odd, but I kept thinking of Avalon-or, rather, of Inis Witrin, where the monks dwell. Two places could hardly be more different, yet the circle of trilithons is almost the same size as the circle of huts that cluster around the church that is there.”

“That is so,” said Taliesin, speaking swiftly, almost anxiously. He had fasted since the night before to prepare for his own part in this magic. “According to our traditions, this place was built by the men of wisdom who came oversea from Atlantis in ancient times, and we believe also that the saint who founded the community in Inis Witrin was one of those adepts reborn. Certainly he was a master of the ancient wisdom, who knew the principles of proportion and number. And there is another reason you might feel the presence of Avalon.” He pointed westward across the plain. “One of the lines of power runs straight cross-country to the holy well.”

Viviane nodded and turned once more to survey the surrounding countryside. To the east a row of mounds marked the burial sites of ancient kings, but beyond that there was little sign of humanity, and only a few clusters of wind-sculptured trees broke the undulating expanse of grass. This was a lonely place, and though elsewhere the people of Britannia might be preparing to celebrate a joyous Beltane, there was something stark here that would be forever alien to the innocence of spring.

And none of us shall go from here unchanged…
She shivered again.

The sun was sinking, and the shadows of the stones rayed out in long bars of black across the grass. Instinctively Viviane moved away from them, but that brought her to the single pillar that stood sentry in the northeast, guarding the approach to the henge. Taliesin had passed over the ditch to a long stone that lay flat on the ground just within it. He knelt beside it, the red piglet they had brought with them bound and squirming in his hands, and as she watched, he drew his knife and stabbed precisely beneath the angle of its jaw. The pig jerked with a shrill squeal, then fell silent, gasping. The bard held it, his lips moving in prayer as the red blood spurted onto the pitted surface of the stone.

“We shall try the way of the Druids first.” Ana spoke in a low voice to Vortimer. “He feeds his spirits, and the spirits of this land.”

When the animal had bled out and its spirit fled, Taliesin pulled back a strip of skin and sliced off a little of the meat. He stood up, his gaze already distant, the morsel, reddened further by the light of the dying sun, in his hand.

“Come,” said Ana in a low voice as Taliesin, walking like a man in a dream, moved toward the ring of stones. Viviane twitched as she crossed over the ditch and passed the place where the pig had been sacrificed, for the sensation, though less intense, had been like the way she felt when she parted the mists to cross over to Avalon.

The Druid stopped again just outside the henge. His jaws were working, and after a moment he took the bit of meat from his mouth and laid it at the base of one of the stones, murmuring a prayer.

“My lord, we have come to the place of power,” Ana said to the Prince. “You must say once more why you have brought us here.”

Vortimer swallowed, but he spoke steadily. “Lady, I seek to know who shall rule over Britannia, and who shall lead her warriors to victory.”

“Druid, you have heard the question-can you now give answer?”

Taliesin’s face was turned toward them, but his eyes were unseeing. With the same dreamlike deliberation, he passed beneath the stone lintel and into the henge. The sun was almost at the horizon, and the black shapes of the stones were edged with flame. As Viviane followed, she experienced another moment of disorientation. When she could focus again, it seemed to her that dancing flickers of light pulsed in the air. The Druid held up his hands to the dying light, turned them, and murmured another incantation into his palms.

He let out a long sigh, then curled up against the flat stone in the center, his face hidden by his two hands.

“What happens now?” whispered Vortimer.

“We wait,” said the High Priestess. “This is the sleep of trance, from which the oracle shall come.”

They waited while the sky faded to dusk, but though darkness was falling, everything within the circle remained dimly visible, as if by some light that came from within. The shining stars began their march across the sky. Still, time had little meaning. Viviane could not tell how long it was before Taliesin muttered and stirred.

“Sleeper, awaken; in the name of She who gives birth to the stars I call you. Speak in the tongue of humankind and tell us what you have seen.” Ana knelt before him as he pushed himself upright, supported by the stone.

“Three kings there shall be, struggling for power: the Fox, who rules now, and after him the Eagle and the Red Dragon, who shall seek to hold the land.” Taliesin’s voice came slow and heavy, as if he were still in a dream.

“Shall they destroy the Saxons?” asked Vortimer.

“The Falcon shall set the White Dragon to flight, but the Red Dragon alone shall make a son to come after him; it is he who shall be called the White Dragon’s conqueror.”

“What of the Falcon-” Vortimer began, but Taliesin interrupted him.

“In life the Falcon will never rule; in death he may ward Britannia forever…” The Druid’s head sagged on his chest and his voice became a whisper. “Seek to know no more…”

“I don’t understand.” Vortimer sat back on his heels. “I am dedicated to the Goddess already. What does She want of me? This is too much to know, or not enough. Call the Goddess, and let me hear Her will.”

Viviane looked at him in alarm, wanting to warn him to be careful what he said, for words spoken in this place, on this night, had power.

Taliesin struggled to his feet, shaking his head and blinking as if emerging from deep water.

“Call the Goddess!” Vortimer spoke now as a prince, accustomed to command, and the Druid was still close enough to trance that without question he obeyed.

Viviane’s body jerked as the flickering energies in the circle responded to that call. But it was in her mother that they focused. Vortimer gasped as the small figure of the High Priestess seemed abruptly to expand to more than mortal size. Low laughter echoed from the stones. For a few moments She stood, stretching out Her arms and moving Her fingers as if to test them; then She stilled, looking from Viviane’s appalled face to that of Taliesin, whose consternation showed that he now realized just what, unprepared and without consultation, he had done.

But Vortimer, hope flaming in his eyes, had cast himself at Her feet. “Lady, help us!” he cried.

“What will you give Me?” Her voice was lazy, amused.

“My life-”

“You have offered that already, and indeed, I will require it of you. But not yet. What I ask on this night”-She looked around Her and then laughed once more-“is a virgin sacrifice…”

The appalled silence that followed seemed very long. Taliesin, his hand gripping the hilt of his knife as if he were afraid it would escape his grasp, shook his head.

“Let the blood of the sow suffice You, Lady. The girl You may not have.”

For a long moment the Goddess considered him. Watching her, Viviane seemed to see the shadow shapes of ravens flying, and understood that it was the Dark Mother of the cauldron who had come to them tonight.

“You have sworn-all of you-to serve Me,” She said severely, “and yet you will not give the one thing I ask.”

Viviane found herself speaking without intending it, her own voice tremulous in her ears. “If You had it, what would You gain?”

“
I
would gain nothing. I already have everything.” The amusement had crept back into Her tone. “It is you who would learn…that it is only through death that life can come, and sometimes defeat brings victory.”

It is a test,
thought Viviane, remembering the Voice in the mist. She unclasped her cloak and let it fall.

“Druid, as a sworn priestess of Avalon I command you, in the name of the powers we are sworn to serve. Bind me, lest the flesh flinch, and do as the Goddess commands.” She walked to the stone.

As Taliesin, shaking, took the belt she handed him and bound her arms to her sides, Vortimer found his voice at last.

“No! You cannot do this!”

“Prince, would you obey if I begged you to hold back from the battle? This is my choice, and my offering.” Viviane’s voice was clear, but it seemed to come from very far away.

I have gone mad,
she thought as Taliesin lifted her onto the slab.
The dark spirits of this place have seduced me.
At least she would die cleanly; she had seen him kill. The woman who was and was not her mother watched implacably from the foot of the stone.
Mother, if indeed this is your doing, I shall be revenged, for I shall be free, but when you return to yourself you will have to bear this memory.

For a moment the stone was cold; then it began to feel warm and welcoming. Taliesin was a dark shape against the stars. He had drawn his knife; light glittered on the edge as his trembling communicated itself to the blade.
Father, do not fail me…,
she thought, and closed her eyes.

And in that darkness, she heard once more the Goddess laughing.

“Druid, put the blade away. It is another kind of blood I demand, and it is the Prince who must take the sacrifice…”

For a moment Viviane could not imagine what She might mean. Then she heard the tinkle of a thrown knife striking stone. She opened her eyes and saw Taliesin crouched against one of the outer menhirs, weeping. Vortimer was standing as if he had been turned to stone.

“Take her…” the Goddess said more gently. “Did you think that even I would demand her life on Beltane Eve? Her embrace will make you a king.” Softly She came to the Prince, and kissed him on the brow. Then She walked out of the circle, and after a few moments Taliesin followed Her.

Viviane sat up. “You may unbind me,” she said when Vortimer still did not move. “I will not run from you.”

He laughed shakily and knelt before her, fumbling with the knot. Viviane looked down at his bent head with a sudden tenderness which she knew was the beginning of desire. When the cord fell away at last, he laid his head to rest in her lap, embracing her thighs. The pulsing warmth between them intensified; suddenly breathless, she ran her fingers through his dark hair.

“Come to me, my beloved, my king…” she whispered at last, and he rose up and stretched himself beside her on the stone.

Vortimer’s hands grew bold, until she felt herself dissolving. Then his weight pressed her into the rock of the altar, and consciousness diffused along all the lines of power that rayed from these stones.
This is death
… A flicker of thought fled away.
This is life
-His cry brought it back again.

That night they died many times, and were reborn in each other’s arms.

“After so many years, you still surprise me,” said the bard. “You did not even argue when she said she wanted to go.”

“I have lost the right,” the High Priestess said hoarsely. “Viviane is better away, where she will be safe from me.”

“It was the Goddess, not you…” Taliesin began, but his voice wavered.

“Are you so certain? I
remember
…”

“
What
do you remember?” He turned to her, and she saw lines in his face that had not been there before.

“I heard myself speaking those words, and I felt
glee,
seeing you standing over her with that knife, seeing you all so afraid. All these years I have been certain I was doing the Lady’s will, but what if I was deceived, and what spoke through me was only my own pride?”

“Do you think
I
was deceived?” Taliesin asked.

“How can I tell?” she exclaimed, shivering as if the sun had no power to warm her anymore.

“Well…” he said slowly, “I will give truth to you. That night my own judgment was clouded by fear. Of us all, I think that only Viviane could see clearly, and in the end, I honored her right to make the offering.”

“Had you no thought for me?” Ana cried. “Do you think I could have lived with the knowledge that my word had condemned my own child?”

“Or I,” he said very softly, “knowing she died by my hand?”

For a long moment they looked at each other, and Ana understood the question in his eyes. And once more, she refused to answer. Better that he should think the girl his daughter, even now.

Presently he sighed. “Whether it was your true self that willed to save her, or the Goddess who changed Her mind, let us give thanks that Viviane is safe and has a chance for happiness.” He managed to smile at her.

Ana bit her lip, wondering how she had deserved that this man should love her. She was no longer young, and she had never been beautiful. And now her woman’s courses had become so irregular, she did not even know if she was fertile any longer. “My daughter has become a woman, and I have become the Death Crone. Take me back to Avalon, Taliesin. Take me home…”

Durovernum was hot and crowded, as if half of Cantium had taken refuge within its stout walls. The Saxons had attacked it several times-but the city had never fallen. Today, pushing through the crowds on Vortimer’s arm, Viviane thought that if any more people were packed in, it might explode.

People nudged each other and pointed to Vortimer as they passed. From their comments, it was clear that they found the sight of him reassuring. Viviane squeezed his arm, and he smiled down at her. When they were alone, she could let down her defenses and
know
what he felt for her. But in such a crowd she had to set up mental shields as stout as Durovernum’s walls or the clamor would have driven her mad, and could only judge by the tone of his voice and the look in his eyes. No wonder people in the world outside had so many misunderstandings-she wondered if she would ever know the peace of Avalon again.

The house where they were going lay in the southern part of the city, near the theatre. It belonged to Ennius Claudianus, one of Vortimer’s commanders, who was hosting a party. Viviane had found it strange that Vortimer and his captains should waste time on entertainment practically on the eve of a battle, but as he explained, it was important to display to the people their confidence that the life they had known would go on.

Darkness was falling, and slaves ran ahead of them with torches. Above, the clouds blazed as if they had been set afire. Viviane suspected that they owed their brilliant color to the smoke from burning thatch, for the Saxons were marching on Londinium, but the effect was certainly spectacular. Remembering the many abandoned farmsteads in the countryside through which they had ridden to come here, she was surprised the people had anything left to burn.

Why had she come? Did she truly love Vortimer, or had she simply been seduced by her body’s response to him? Was it distrust of her mother that had driven her away? She did not know, but as they moved into the atrium and she looked at the elegantly dressed Roman women around her, Viviane felt like a child dressed up in her mother’s clothes. In blood these people might be British, but they were clinging desperately to the dream of Empire. Flute-players twittered in the garden, and in the atrium, acrobats leaped and tumbled to the beat of a drum. The refreshments, she was told, were scanty compared with what would have been served in better days, but what they had was exquisitely prepared. For all her efforts to deaden her inner senses, Viviane wanted to weep.

“What is it?” Vortimer’s hand on her shoulder brought her out of her reverie. “Are you unwell?”

Viviane looked up and shook her head, smiling. They had wondered if she would come from that first encounter in the stone circle pregnant, but in the two months since she and the Prince had been together her courses had been regular. Vortimer had no child; it was instinct, she supposed, for a man who faced death to want to leave something behind him. She had hoped for a child as well.

“Only tired. I am not used to such warm days.”

“We can go soon,” he said with a smile that made her pulse beat more quickly. He glanced around him with that watchful look that made her wonder.

All day, she thought, he had been waiting for something; when they were alone she would make him tell her what it was. That first time they made love, at the Giants’ Dance, they had known each other utterly. Since then, when she lay with him in places that were not protected, her instinctive defenses had kept her from so complete a union. Vortimer had not complained; perhaps he, with his greater experience, did not consider it a problem; perhaps, she thought ruefully, this was what relations between men and women were usually like, and her own initiation the anomaly.

Suddenly impatient, she set her hands on his arms and willed the barriers away. She sensed first the warmth of his feeling for her, a blend of passion and affection and more than a little awe. Then all the awareness she had blocked came upon her in a rush, and she
saw
…

Vortimer stood like a wraith before her. Her hands told her that his flesh was still solid, that this was an illusion, but to her Vision, he was fading away. With a gasp she made herself look away from him, but it did little good. Of the men in the room there was scarcely a one who had not become a ghost. She stared out toward the city, and images came to her of the streets deserted, buildings fallen, and gardens overgrown.

She could not bear it, she would not see it! With a last effort she closed her eyes and shut all sight away. When she could think again, they were outside and Vortimer was holding her.

“I told them you were feeling ill and I would take you home…”

Viviane nodded. That was as good an explanation as any. She must not allow him to suspect what she had seen.

That night, they lay in each other’s arms with the shutters thrown open so that they could watch the three-quarter moon climb the sky.

“Viviane, Viviane…” Vortimer’s fingers stroked down her thick hair. “The first time I saw you, you were a goddess, and again when you first gave yourself to me. When I asked you to come to Cantium, I was still dazzled, certain that you would be my talisman of victory. But now it is the mortal woman I care for.” He lifted a strand of hair to her lips. “Marry me-I want you to be protected.”

Viviane shivered. He was doomed, if not in the next battle, then another. “I am a priestess.” She fell back on her old answer, even though she no longer knew if it was true. “I may not marry any man except as we were joined, in the Great Rite, before the gods.”

“But in the eyes of the world-” he began, but she laid a finger across his lips.

“I am your mistress. I know what they say. And I am grateful for your care of me. For all to accept me, the Church would have to bless our union, and I belong to the Lady. No, my love, while you live, I need no protection but Hers, and yours…”

For a few moments he was silent. Then he sighed. “This morning word came that Hengest is moving on Londinium. I do not think he can take it, and if he does not, he will retreat back through Cantium and I will be waiting. The great fight for which I have been preparing is coming. I believe that we will be victorious, but a man puts his life at hazard every time he goes to war.”

Viviane’s breath caught. She had known that there must be another battle, but she had not expected it so soon! She forced her voice to remain even as she replied. “If you should fall, is there anywhere, do you think, that your name would protect me? If you were…gone, I would return to Avalon.”

“Avalon…” He let out his breath on a long sigh. “I remember it, but it seems to me a dream.” His hand moved from her hair to trace the curve of cheek and brow, caressed the smooth skin of her throat, and rested above her heart. “It is like you-your bones are a bird’s, I could break you with one hand, but inside you are strong. Ah, Viviane, do you love me at all?”

Wordless, she turned in his arms and kissed him, and only realized that she was weeping when he wiped away her tears. By then, it seemed, her lover was beyond speech as well, but their bodies communicated with an eloquence beyond words.

That night Viviane dreamed that she was back on Avalon, watching her mother weave. But the roof of the weaving shed had grown higher; the beams of the loom extended into its shadows, bearing the fabric of the tapestry. She peered upward, and glimpsed men marching, the lake and the Tor, her child-self riding with Taliesin through the rain; but as the weaver worked, the finished tapestry moved beyond her vision into the darkness of forgotten years. Lower down, the images were clearer. She saw the Giants’ Dance and herself and Vortimer, and armies, always more armies, marching across the land in blood and fire.

“Mother!” she cried. “What are you doing?” And the woman turned and Viviane saw that it was herself at the weaving, as it was she who was watching, separate, but the same.

“The gods have strung the loom, but it is we who make the figures,” said the Other. “Weave wisely, weave well…”

Then she heard thunder, and the loom began to pull apart into fragments. Viviane tried to catch them, but they slipped through her fingers. Someone was shaking her. She opened her eyes and saw Vortimer, and heard the hammering at the door.

“The Saxons-the Saxons have been thrown back from Londinium and are retreating! My lord, you must come-”

Viviane shut her eyes as he went to open it. It was the news he had waited for, she knew, and she wished desperately it had not come. In memory she saw her dream-weaver and heard her warning.
Weave well…

What did that mean? Vortimer was going to war and she could not stop him. What could she do?

Vortimer was already pulling on his clothing. She flung her arms around him, her head against his breast; she could feel his heartbeat quicken as he let his tunic fall and held her. There was more noise at the door. Vortimer stirred, and her arms tightened around him. He sighed, and she felt his lips brush her hair. Then, very gently, he freed himself from her embrace.

“Vortimer…” She reached for him again and he took her hands. She realized she was weeping when he reached out to wipe away her tears.

“So”-his voice shook-“you do love me…as I love you. My beloved, farewell!” He stepped away from her, took up his tunic and belt, and started for the door.

Viviane stared after him, waiting until she heard the latch click behind him. Then she collapsed back onto the bed that still bore the imprint of their twined bodies, weeping as if to spend a lifetimes worth of tears.

Eventually, even her weeping came to an end.

As Viviane lay listening to the silence, it occurred to her finally that she was still a priestess. Why had she spent all that time learning magic if she could not use it to protect the man she loved?

Before the sun was high, Viviane was on her way. She encountered no difficulty. The road behind an advancing army was as safe a route as you might find, so long as you brought food of your own. And she had taken the precaution of dressing in a boy’s tunic she got from one of the gardeners and hacking off her hair. After so many years, she had become accustomed to having it short, and if she needed to look respectable afterward, she could always cover it with a veil.

Even her mount was no temptation-an ugly and evil-tempered roan gelding that had been judged too slow to take to war. But once she persuaded it to move, its rough paces covered the ground. That night she slept within sight of Vortimer’s campfires, and the next day, unrecognized and unsuspected, she attached herself to the camp cooks as a kitchen lad.

On the third day, the British vanguard encountered a band of Saxons and engaged them briefly. Hengest was falling back on his old stronghold on Tanatus. Vortimer’s hope was to cut him off and destroy him before he could cross the channel to the isle. Now they turned east, moving with all their speed.

That night they made camp reluctantly, knowing the enemy might continue marching. But it is only men who will outrun strength and reason; the horses must be rested if the British were to preserve their advantage in cavalry. Viviane shivered in the dank sea air, for their road lay near the estuary of the Tamesis, and wished she were in Vortimer’s arms. But it was better he should think her safe in Durovernum. She made her bed on a little rise from which she could look down on the softly glowing leather of the field tent where he lay. And there, in the darkness, she called upon the old gods of Britannia to ward his body and strengthen his arm.