And there, somewhere between noon and sunset, she gave birth to Vortimer’s child. It was a daughter, seeming almost too fragile to live, but tiny and perfect, with hair as dark as her own, who mewed faintly as she felt the touch of the wind. Viviane tied off the cord with the lace from her gown and cut it with the little sickle knife of a priestess that never left her. She had enough strength to put the child to her breast, held snugly against her body within her gown, and to pull the cloak around them. Then she could do no more.
Viviane fell into an exhausted sleep, protected by the elder tree. It was there, as twilight began to veil the marshlands in shadow, that a hunter of Heron’s people found her and carried her to his home.
Chapter Twenty-four
Viviane sat on the Isle of St. Andrew beside the new-made grave beneath the hazel trees. The ground was moist but not sodden. After the festival of Midsummer, the storms came less frequently. That gave her some comfort. She did not like to think that little Eilantha would have to lie in the cold rain.
From here she could see across the Vale to Inis Witrin. She was sure she had located the spot correctly, the analogue in the world of men to the place where they had laid Vortimer on the Watch Hill of Avalon. The Goddess had said that the Great Rite would make Vortimer a king—but the kingship she had given him had been in the Otherworld. Perhaps Eilantha’s father could keep her safe there, since in this one her mother had failed. Three months only, Viviane’s little daughter had lived, and at the end was scarcely larger than Igraine had been the day she was born.
Viviane’s full breasts still ached fiercely, leaking milk as the tears slid from her eyes. She crossed her arms, hugging herself fruitlessly. She had not bothered to seek out the herbs that would dry up that flow. Time would do it for her all too soon; until then, she welcomed the pain. She wondered if in time her tears would cease to flow as well.
She heard a step on the path, and looked up, expecting to see the hermit monk who kept the chapel on this hill. He was no Father Fortunatus, but neither was he one of those who thought all women snares of the Devil, and according to his lights he had been kind to her. The sun was behind him, and for a moment she could see only a tall shape against the light. Something about it reminded her of the Horned One, and she stiffened. Then he moved, and she recognized Taliesin.
She let out her breath in a long sigh.
“I am sorry I never saw her,” he said in a low voice, and, looking into his worn face, Viviane knew that he spoke truth, and forebore to ask him why he should care.
“They said she was a changeling,” she said instead. “When Eilantha began to ail, the women of Heron’s village said it was because one of the fairy women had substituted her own sickly babe for mine while I lay sleeping after she was born.”
“Do you think that is true?” he asked gently.
“The fairy folk breed rarely. I do not think they have enough children, healthy or ailing, to account for all those who die in the lands of men. But it is possible. The Lady of Faerie knew about my child—she told that hunter who rescued me where to look. I was too weary to speak even the smallest spell of protection, and we were alone.”
Her own voice sounded flat in her ears, and he looked at her oddly. The marsh folk had been afraid to speak to her of the baby, but what did it matter? Really, she could hardly think of anything that mattered now that Eilantha was gone.
“Do not torture yourself with such thinking, Viviane. In such a year as this, many babes have died who were born safe and warm at home.”
“And what of my new brother, the Defender of Britannia?” she said bitterly. “Are they drinking his health now on Avalon? Or is it another daughter to supplant Igraine?”
Taliesin winced, but his expression did not change. “The baby is not yet born.”
Viviane frowned, counting back to Samhain. If her own babe had come early, then Ana’s was certainly overdue. “Surely you should be with her, holding her hand. There is nothing that you can do for me….”
He looked down. “I would have come to you, my daughter, but the word that Heron brought us was that you wanted to be left alone.”
She shrugged, for that was true, though there were times when she had needed him, and thought that if the Druids were as wise as they believed, he should have known.
“It is your mother who has sent for you, Viviane—”
“What, again?” She began to laugh. “I am a grown woman now. You may tell her that never again will I dance to her tune.”
He shook his head. “I phrased it badly. It is no order, but a request that I bring you. Viviane”—his composure broke suddenly—“she has been in labor now for two whole days!”
It serves her right! came her first thought, followed, in the next instant, by a rush of fear. Her mother couldn’t die. Ana was the Lady of Avalon, the most powerful woman in Britannia; like the Tor itself, loved or hated, she had been something to push against, the foundation upon which Viviane had built her own identity.
Thus spoke that part of herself that Viviane had thought buried in Eilantha’s small grave. But the part that had learned so painfully to think like a priestess told her it was only too possible. And it was clear that Taliesin was afraid.
“I could not even keep my own baby alive,” she said tightly. “What do you expect me to do?”
“Only to come to her. She needs you to be there. I need you, Viviane.” Something tormented in his voice reached her, and she looked at him again.
“You were the Horned One, weren’t you?” she said softly. “She is bearing your child.” Suddenly she remembered how He had touched her belly with His spear.
His face was hidden behind his hands. “I don’t remember…. I would never have agreed to it if I had known.”
“No man can claim to have fathered a child to the Lady…,” she quoted softly. “It was not your doing, Taliesin. I saw the God, and did not know the flesh He wore was yours. Get up now, and take me home.”
“Oh, Viviane, I am so glad you have come!” Rowan hurried out of the Lady’s dwelling and hugged her rather desperately. “Julia had not finished teaching me, and I don’t know what to do!”
Viviane shook her head and looked up at her friend. “My dear, I have had even less training than you—”
“But you were with her the last time, and you’re her daughter….” Rowan was looking at her with an almost avid intensity that reminded her of the way people sometimes looked at the Lady of Avalon. It made Viviane uneasy. “I heard about your baby. I’m so sorry, Viviane,” Rowan added, rather belatedly.
Viviane felt all expression leaving her face. She nodded stiffly and brushed past the other girl and through the door.
The scent of blood and sweat hung heavy in the shadows of the room. But not yet death—Viviane had learned too well the odor of mortality. Her breath caught as her eyes adjusted to the gloom and she saw her mother lying on the straw. Claudia, the only other one of the priestesses who had borne more than one child, was sitting beside her.
“She’s not walking?”
“She walked the first day, and much of the second,” Rowan replied in the same whisper, “but not now. The contractions have slowed, and the opening to her womb is smaller than it was before….”
“Viviane—” Weak as her mother’s voice was now, it still held that exasperating note of command.
“I am here.” Viviane managed to keep her voice steady, despite her shock at her mother’s ravaged face and misshapen form. “What do you want of me?”
Amazingly, the reply was a thread of laughter. Then Ana sighed. “Perhaps we could begin with forgiveness….”
How could her mother know she had sworn never to forgive her? There was a low bench by the bedside; suddenly aware of her own exhaustion, Viviane sat down.
“I am a proud woman, my daughter. I think you have inherited that from me…. All those things I most dislike in myself I have fought to eradicate in you. With little success.” Her lips twisted wryly. “If I had kept m
y temper, you might have kept yours. I did not mean to drive you away.”
Her gaze went inward as a contraction rippled across her belly, but Viviane could tell it was a weak one. When Ana relaxed again she bent forward.
“Mother, I will ask you once only. Did you work magic to take strength from me or my child?”
Ana’s eyes met hers, and Viviane was shocked to see them filling with tears. “Before the Goddess I will swear that I did not.”
Viviane nodded. Ana’s labor must have begun about the time her little Eilantha died, but if there was a connection, she did not believe it had been made by her mother’s will. And this was not the time or place for her to blame the Goddess. They might yet have some bargaining to do.
“Then I will forgive you. If I am like you, I may need forgiveness myself one day.” She wanted to weep, or to scream, but she could not afford to waste the energy. She thought her mother was too exhausted to feel much emotion now.
Ana’s lips twitched, but another contraction was coming. She rode it out, but when it was done she looked perceptibly more tired.
“Are you thinking on what you can do for me? You have not the knowledge; indeed, I doubt that even Julia could help me now.”
“Three days ago I watched my little daughter die, and there was nothing I could do…” Viviane said thinly. “I will not let you go without fighting, Lady of Avalon!”
There was a pause. “I am open to any suggestion,” Ana said with a faint smile. “I was never easy on you, and it is fitting you should rule me now. But more than my life is at stake here. If nothing else serves, then you must cut me and take the child.”
“I have heard of that among the Romans, but it kills the mother!” exclaimed Viviane.
Ana shrugged. “They say that a High Priestess knows her time, but perhaps that is a skill we have lost. Reason tells me that the child and I will die anyway if the babe is not born. It is still alive—I can still feel it move—but it won’t live if this lasts too long.”
Viviane shook her head helplessly. “This is what I feared when I begged you to be rid of it—”
“My daughter, don’t you yet understand? I knew what I risked, just as you did at the Giants’ Dance when you lay down upon the altar stone. If I had not understood this danger, it would have been no true offering.”
Viviane bowed her head, remembering how Vortimer had spoken before he rode to battle. For a moment, she glimpsed a meaning to all this pain. Then the sight of the woman before her brought her back to the present. But thinking of Vortimer had given her an idea. She took Ana’s face between her two hands and held her gaze.
“Very well. But if you die, you will die fighting, do you hear?”
“Yes…Lady—” Ana grimaced as her belly clenched once more.
Viviane got to her feet and went to the door. “I want this open, and the windows as well, so that she can get some air. As for you”—she gestured to Taliesin—“bring your harp, and tell the others to get their drums. I have seen music give men strength in battle. We will see what it can accomplish here.”
Throughout the afternoon they fought, riding the rhythms of the drums. A little before sunset, the laboring woman’s back arched and she strained, and for a moment Viviane saw the birth opening ridge around the curve of the baby’s head. Claudia supported her as again Ana pushed, her features contorting, and again.
“The head is too big!” Rowan looked up with scared eyes.
“I can’t do any more.” Ana sank back from her last effort with a defeated sigh.
“You can!” said Viviane grimly. “In Briga’s name, this baby will be born!” She laid her hand on the hard belly and felt the muscles begin to move. “Now!”
Ana sucked in breath, and as she began to strain Viviane drew upon her belly the ancient sigil, and then pressed down with all the force she had. Power shocked through her hands, and the laboring woman heaved beneath her. She felt something give way, and Ana screamed.
“The head is out!” cried Rowan.
“Hold on to it!” Ana’s belly contorted again, less strongly, and Viviane pressed again. From the corner of her eye she saw the rest of the child emerging, but her attention was on Ana, who had fallen back with a groan.
“It’s over! You’ve done it!” She glanced over her shoulder. “It’s a girl!” From the baby came an outraged yell.
“Not…the Defender,” Ana croaked. “But she will have apart…to play…all the same.” She drew breath with an expression of sudden surprise. A strangled sound from Rowan made Viviane turn. Still holding the baby, the other girl was staring down at the bright blood that gushed from Ana’s womb.
Viviane swore, grabbed a cloth, and jammed it between Ana’s thighs. In a moment it was soaked through. The baby continued to wail in furious protest as they strove to stop the bleeding, but from the woman on the bed there was no sound.
After a time, the blood slowed to a trickle. Viviane straightened and looked at her mother’s white face. Ana’s eyes were still open, but they saw nothing. Viviane caught her breath on a sob.
“Mother…” she whispered, and she knew not if she spoke to the Goddess or to the woman who lay so still before her. “Why? We had won!” But there was no answer, and after a few moments she leaned over and closed those staring eyes.
The baby was still screaming. Moving stiffly, Viviane tied off the cord and cut it. “Wash and swaddle the little one,” she said to Rowan. “Cover her.” She motioned toward the body, and abruptly sat down.
“Sweet Goddess,” said Rowan presently. “How will we feed her?”
Viviane realized that the front of her gown was wet and her breasts were throbbing in response to the baby’s cries. With a sigh she undid the lacing at her neck and held out her arms.
The baby butted frantically at her breast, mouth gaping, and Viviane yelped as it closed around her nipple and her milk let down. Even at three months, her own daughter had never sucked so hard. The child coughed, lost the breast, and drew breath to yell, and Viviane hastily guided the nipple back in again.
“Hush! It is not your fault, little one,” she whispered, although she had wondered what kind of soul would choose to incarnate at Samhain. The newborn had Igraine’s coloring, but she was much bigger, far too big a child for a woman of Ana’s size to bear, even if she had been young.
Why should this child live when her own had died? Her hands tightened involuntarily, and the baby whimpered, but did not let go. And that, she supposed, was the answer. Viviane forced her fingers to loosen. This one was greedy for life and always would be.
Other people came in. Without real awareness she answered questions and gave commands. Presently they wrapped Ana’s body and carried it away. But still Viviane sat, holding the now sleeping baby in her arms. She did not stir until Taliesin came in. He had aged since that morning, she thought dimly. He looked like an old man. But she let him lead her from the shadows of the chamber into the brightness of the day.
“But Viviane must agree,” said Claudia. “We might have chosen Julia as High Priestess, but she is dead too. Really, we’ve never discussed the succession. Ana was not even fifty years old!”
“Can we trust Viviane? She ran away…” said one of the younger Druids.
“She came back,” answered Taliesin heavily. He wondered why he was arguing, why he should try to force his daughter, if she was his child, into the role that had killed her mother. His ears still rang with that last, dreadful cry.
“Viviane is of the royal line of Avalon and a trained priestess,” said Talenos. “Of course we will choose her. She is very like Ana, and she is already twenty-six years old. She will serve Avalon well.”
Dear Goddess, it is true, thought Taliesin, remembering how beautiful Ana had been when she bore Igraine, and how much Viviane had looked like her with the little one, whom he had named Morgause, in her arms. At least she had been able to fight for her mother’s life, while he could only sit and wait. And Viviane was allowed to show her grief. He could
claim the dead woman as neither beloved or lover, but only as his High Priestess. Ana, his heart cried, why did you leave me so soon?
“Taliesin,” said Rowan, and he looked up and tried to smile. Shock and grief had marked all their faces; Ana’s daughters were not the only ones who wept because their mother was gone. “You must tell Viviane how much we need her. She will surely listen to you.”
Why? he wondered. So that the burden can kill her too?
He found Viviane in the orchard, nursing the baby. He supposed it did not take the Sight for her to guess what he had come to say.
“I will care for this little one,” she said tiredly, “but you must choose another High Priestess for Avalon.”
“Do you think yourself unworthy? That argument got me nowhere when the choice of the Druids fell on me….”
She looked at him and almost laughed. “Taliesin, you are the noblest man I know, and I am a green girl. I am not ready for such responsibility; I am not fit for it; I do not want it. Is that reason enough for you?” The baby, falling back into the swift sleep of infancy, let go the breast, and Viviane covered herself with her veil.
“No…and you know it. Your mother was training you for this, though she never expected to pass on the power so soon. You are very like your mother, Viviane….”
“But I am not Ana—Father. Think!” she added suddenly. “Even if there were no other reason, the rite by which the Arch-Druid consecrates the High Priestess is one we cannot do….”
Taliesin stared at her, for, indeed, he had forgotten. Ana had never told him if he had begotten Viviane, but in every way that counted, he had been her father since she was fourteen years old. At this moment, however, he did not feel that way. She was so much like her mother—why could she not be her mother, now, when he needed her so?
A groan he had not expected escaped his lips and he stood up, trembling. Abruptly he understood why Viviane had fled before.