Viviane said softly, "You will bear no son to Gorlois, Igraine."
"Are you the Goddess, then, that you dispense childbearing to women in her name?" Igraine demanded rudely, knowing the words childish. "Gorlois has fathered sons by other women; why should I not give him one born in wedlock, as he desires?"
Viviane did not answer. She only looked directly at Igraine and said, her voice very soft, "Do you love Gorlois, Igraine?"
Igraine stared at the floor. "That has nothing to do with it. It is a matter of honor. He was kind to me-" She broke off, but her thoughts ran on unchecked: Kind to me when I had nowhere to turn, when I was alone and deserted, and even you had abandoned me to my fate. What is love to that?
"It is a matter of honor," she repeated. "I owe him this. He let me keep Morgaine, when she was all I had in my loneliness. He has been kind and patient, and for a man of his years it cannot be easy. He wants a son, he believes it all-important to his life and honor, and I will not deny him this. If I bear a son, it will be the son of Duke Gorlois, and of no other man living. And this I swear, by fire and-"
"Silence!" Viviane's voice, like the loud clang of a great bell, shocked Igraine's words silent. "I command you, Igraine, swear no oath lest you be forever forsworn!"
"And why should you think I would not keep my oath?" Igraine raged. "I was reared to truth! I too am a child of the Holy Isle, Viviane! You may be my elder sister and my priestess and the Lady of Avalon, but you shall not treat me as if I were a babbling child like Morgaine there, who cannot understand a word of what is said to her, nor knows the meaning of an oath-"
Morgaine, hearing her name spoken, sat bolt upright in the Lady's lap. The Lady of the Lake smiled and smoothed the dark hair. "Do not think that this little one cannot understand. Babes know more than we imagine; they cannot speak their minds, and so we believe they do not think. As for your babe-well, that is for the future, and I will not speak of it before her; but who knows, one day she too will be a great priestess-"
"Never! Not if I must become a Christian to prevent it," Igraine raged. "Do you think I will let you plot against my child's life as you have plotted against mine?"
"Peace, Igraine," said the Merlin. "You are free, as every child of the Gods is free. We came to entreat you, not to command. No, Viviane-" he said, holding up his hand when the Lady would have interrupted him. "Igraine is no helpless plaything of fate. Yet I think when she knows all, she will choose rightly."
Morgaine had begun to fret in the Lady's lap. Viviane crooned softly to her, stroking her hair, and she quieted, but Igraine rose and took her child, angry and jealous at Viviane's almost magical power to quiet the girl. In her arms Morgaine felt strange, alien, as if the time she had spent in Viviane's arms had changed her, tainted her, made her somehow less Igraine's own. Igraine felt tears burning her eyes. Morgaine was all she had, and now she, too, was being cut off from her; Morgaine was falling victim, like everyone else, to Viviane's charm, that charm which could make everyone into a helpless pawn of her will.
She said sharply to Morgause, who was still lying with her head in Viviane's lap, "Get up at once, Morgause, and go to your room; you are almost a woman, you must not behave like a spoilt child!"
Morgause raised her head, putting back her curtain of red hair from her pretty, sulky face. She said, "Why should you choose Igraine for your plans, Viviane? She wants no part in them. But I am a woman, and I too am a daughter of the Holy Isle. Why have you not chosen me for Uther the Pendragon? Why should I not be the mother of the High King?"
The Merlin smiled. "Will you fly so recklessly in the face of fate, Morgause?"
"Why should Igraine be chosen and not I? I have no husband-"
"There is a king in your future and many sons; but with that, Morgause, you must be content. No man or woman can live another's fate. Your fate, and that of your sons, depends on this great High King. More than that I cannot say," said the Merlin. "Enough, Morgause."
Igraine, standing, Morgaine in her arms, felt more in command. She said in a dead voice, "I am remiss in hospitality, my sister, my lord Merlin. Let my servants take you to the guest chambers prepared for you, bring you wine, and water for washing, and at sundown a meal will be prepared."
Viviane rose. Her voice was formal and correct, and Igraine, for a moment, was relieved; she was again mistress of her own hearth, not a passive child but the wife of Gorlois, Duke of Cornwall.
"At sunset, then, my sister."
But Igraine saw the glance Viviane exchanged with the Merlin, and she could read it as clearly as words: Leave it for now, I will manage her, as I have always done.
And Igraine felt her face harden into iron. That is what she has always done, indeed. But this time it shall not be so. I did her will once, when I was a child and knew no better. But now I am grown, I am a woman, not so easily led as the child she gave away to be Gorlois's bride. Now I will do my own will, and not that of the Lady of the Lake.
Servants took her guests away; Igraine, in her own chamber, laid Morgaine in her bed and fussed around her nervously, her mind full of what she had heard.
Uther Pendragon. She had never seen him, but Gorlois was full of the tales of his valor. He was a close kinsman, sister's son, of Ambrosius Aurelianus, High King of Britain, but, unlike Ambrosius, Uther was a Briton of Britons, with no taint of Roman blood, so that the Cymry and the Tribes did not hesitate to follow him. There was little doubt that one day Uther would be chosen High King. Ambrosius was not a young man; that day could not be so far.
And I would be queen.... What am I thinking of? Would I betray Gorlois and my own honor?
Behind her, as she took up the bronze mirror again, she saw her sister in the door. Viviane had taken off the breeches she wore for riding, and put on a loose gown of undyed wool; her hair hung down, soft and dark as the wool of a black sheep. She looked small and fragile and aging, and her eyes were the eyes of the priestess in the cave of initiation, years away and in another world ... . Igraine cut off the thought, impatiently.
Viviane came close to her, reaching up to touch her hair.
"Little Igraine. Not so little, now," she said, tenderly. "Do you know, little one, I gave you your name: Grainne, for the Goddess of the Beltane fires ... . How long has it been since you did service to the Goddess at Beltane, Igraine?"
Igraine's mouth only stretched a little; the smile went no deeper than her teeth. "Gorlois is a Roman, and a Christian. Do you truly believe his household keeps the rites of Beltane?"
"No, I suppose not," said Viviane, amused, "though, if I were you, I would not take oath that your servants do not slip out at Midsummer to burn fires and lie together under the full moon. But lord and lady of a Christian household cannot do so, not in the sight of their priests and their stern and unloving God ... ."
Igraine said sharply, "You will not speak so of the God of my husband, who is a God of love."
"You say so. And yet he has made war upon all other Gods, and slain those who will not worship him," Viviane said. "Such love we might well pray to be spared in a God. I could call upon you in the name of vows you once made, to do what I have asked of you in the name of the Goddess and the Holy Isle-"
"Oh, rare," Igraine said sarcastically. "Now my Goddess demands of me that I shall play the harlot, and the Merlin of Britain and the Lady of the Lake will act as panders for me!"
Viviane's eyes blazed; she stepped one step forward, and for a moment Igraine believed the priestess would strike her in the face. "How do you dare!" Viviane said, and though her voice was soft, it seemed to raise echoes through the entire room, so that Morgaine, half asleep beneath Igraine's woolen plaid, sat up and cried out in sudden fright.