She longed to take counsel with Viviane, or with the Merlin. They had wrought all this trouble-had they abandoned her now? Why did they not come to see how their plans lay all in wreck? Had they found some other woman of the correct lineage, to throw her into Uther's path, to bear this king who would one day heal all the land and all the warring peoples?
But no word or message came from Avalon, and Igraine was not allowed by the men-at-arms even to ride to the market town; Gorlois, so the men said respectfully, had forbidden it because of the state of the country. Once, looking from the high window, she saw a rider approaching, and on the inner causeway stop to parley with the head man of the guards. The rider looked angry, and seemed to Igraine to look up at the walls in frustration, but finally he turned his back and rode away, and Igraine wondered if this had been a messenger sent to her whom the guardsman would not allow access.
She was, then, a prisoner in her husband's castle. He might say, or even believe, that he had placed her there for her own protection, against the turmoil in the land, but the truth was otherwise: his jealousy had led him to imprison her here. She tested her theory a few days later, calling the head of the guards to her.
"I wish to send a message to my sister, asking her to come and visit," she said. "Will you send a man with a message to Avalon?"
It seemed to her that the man avoided her eyes. He said, "Well, now, lady, I can't do that. My lord of Cornwall said very explicitly that all of us were to stay right here and protect Tintagel in case of a siege."
"Can't you hire a rider in the village then, to make the journey, if I paid the man well?"
"My lord wouldn't like that, lady. I'm sorry."
"I see," she said, and sent him away. She had not yet come to the point of desperation at which she would try to bribe one of the men. But the more she pondered this, the angrier she grew. How dared Gorlois imprison her here, she who was sister to the Lady of Avalon? She was his wife, not his slave or servant! At last she resolved on a desperate step.
She had not been trained in the Sight; she had used it a little, spontaneously, as a girl, but except for her brief vision of Viviane, she had never used it at all as a grown woman, and since her vision of Gorlois as death-doomed she had closed herself firmly to further visions. That one, the Gods knew, had come to nothing, for Gorlois was still very much alive. Yet somehow, she supposed, she might now manage to see what was to happen. It was a dangerous step-she had been reared on tales of what befell those" who meddled in arts to which they were not trained, and at first she sought to compromise. As the first leaves began to turn yellow, she called the chief of the men-at-arms to her again.
"I cannot stay here forever, shut like a rat in a trap," she said. "I must go to the market fair. We must buy dyes and there is need of a new milk goat, and of needles and pins, and many things for the winter which comes."
"Lady, I have no orders to let you go abroad," he said, and turned his eyes from her. "I take my orders from my lord, and I have heard nothing from him."
"Then I will stay here and send one of my women," she said. "Ettarr or Isotta shall go, and the lady Morgause with her-will that suffice?"
He looked relieved, as she had hit upon a solution to save him from disobeying his lord; for indeed it was necessary that someone from the household should visit a fair before the winter, and he knew it as well as she did. It was outrageous to keep the lady of the house from what was, after all, one of her proper duties.
Morgause was wildly happy when Igraine told her she was to go. Small wonder, Igraine thought. None of us has been abroad all this summer. The very shepherds are freer than we, for they at least take the sheep to graze on the mainland! She watched, frankly envious, as Morgause put on the crimson cloak Gorlois had given her, and, with the chaperonage of two men-at-arms as well as both Ettarr and Isotta and two of the kitchen women to carry packages and goods, set forth on her pony. She watched from the causeway, holding Morgaine by the hand, until they were out of sight, and felt that she could not endure to reenter the castle which had become a prison to her.
"Mother," Morgaine asked at her side, "why can we not go to the market with Auntie?"
"Because your father does not wish us to go, my poppet."
"Why does not he want us to go? Does he think we will be naughty?"
Igraine laughed and said, "Indeed, I think that is what he believes, daughter."
Morgaine was silent-a small, quiet, self-possessed little creature, her dark hair now long enough to plait into a little braid halfway down her shoulder blades, but so fine and straight that it slipped out into loose elf locks around her shoulders. Her eyes were dark and serious, and her eyebrows straight and level, so heavy already that they were the most definite feature of her face. A little fairy woman, Igraine thought, not human at all; a pixie. She was no larger than the shepherd girl's babe who was not yet quite two, though Morgaine was nearing four, and spoke as clearly and thoughtfully' as a great girl of eight or nine. Igraine caught up the child in her arms and hugged her.
"My little changeling!"
Morgaine suffered the caress, and even kissed her mother in return, which surprised Igraine, for Morgaine was not a demonstrative child, but soon she began to stir fretfully-she was not the kind of child who wished to be held for long; she would do everything for herself. She had even begun to dress herself and buckle her own shoes on her feet. Igraine set her down and Morgaine walked sedately at her side back into the castle.
Igraine sat down at her loom, telling Morgaine to take her spindle and sit beside her. The little girl obeyed, and Igraine, setting her shuttle in motion, stopped for a moment to watch her. She was neat-handed and precise; her thread was clumsy, but she twirled the spindle deftly as if it were a toy, twisting it between her small fingers. If her hands were bigger, she would already spin as well as Morgause. After a time Morgaine said, "I do not remember my father, Mother. Where is he?"
"He is away with his soldiers in the Summer Country, daughter.'
"When will he come home?"
"I do not know, Morgaine. Do you want him to come home?"
She considered a moment. "No," she said, "because when he was here-I remember it just a little-I had to go sleep in Auntie's room and it was dark there and I was afraid at first. Of course I was very little then," she added solemnly, and Igraine concealed a smile. After a minute'; she went on, "And I do not want him to come home because he made you cry.
Well, Viviane had said it; women did not give babes enough credit for understanding what was going on around them.
"Why do you not have another baby, Mother? Other women have a. baby as soon as the older one is weaned, and I am already four. I heard Isotta say you should have given me a baby brother. I think I would like to have a little brother to play with, or even a little sister."
Igraine actually started to say, "Because your father Gorlois-" and then stopped herself. No matter how adult Morgaine might sound, she only four years old, and Igraine could not confide such things to h "Because the Mother Goddess did not see fit to send me a son, child.'
Father Columba came out on the terrace. He said austerely, "You should not talk to the child of Goddesses and superstition. Gorlois wishes her to be reared as a good Christian maiden. Morgaine, your mother did not have a son because your father was angry with her, and God withheld a son to punish her for her sinful will."
Not for the first time, Igraine felt that she would like to throw her shuttle at this black crow of ill omen. Had Gorlois confessed to this man, was he aware of all that had passed between them? She had often wondered that, in the moons that had passed, but she had never had any excuse to ask and knew he would not tell her if she did. Suddenly Morgaine stood up and made a face at the priest, "Go away, old man," she said clearly. "I don't like you. You have made my mother cry. My mother knows more than you do, and if she says that it is the Goddess who did not send her a child, I will believe what she says, and not what you say, because my mother does not tell lies!"