"But-but what shall I say to Lancelet?" wavered Elaine.
"What you will," said Morgaine. "It would be best to tell him the truth, that you sent her to fosterage in Avalon, that she might fill the place left empty there. But I care not whether you perjure yourself to him-you may tell him that she was drowned in the lake or taken by the ghost of old Pellinore's dragon, for all care."
"And what of the priest? When Father Griffin hears that I have sent my daughter to become a sorceress in the heathen lands-"
"I care even less what you tell him," Morgaine said. "If you choose to tell him that you put your soul in pawn for my sorceries to win yourself a husband, and pledged your first daughter in return-no? I thought not."
"You are hard, Morgaine," said Elaine, tears falling from her eyes. "Cannot I have a few days to prepare her to go from me, to pack such things as she will need-"
"She needs not much," said Morgaine. "A change of shift if you will, and warm things for riding, a thick cloak and stout shoes, no more than that. In Avalon they will give her the dress of a novice priestess. Believe me," she added kindly, "she will be treated with love and reverence as the granddaughter of the greatest of priestesses. And they will-what is it your priests say-they will temper the wind to the shorn lamb. She will not be forced to austerities until she is of an age to endure them. I think she will be happy there."
"Happy? In that place of evil sorcery?"
Morgaine said, and the utter conviction of her words struck Elaine's heart, "I vow to you-I was happy in Avalon, and every day since I left, I have longed, early and late, to return thither. Have you ever heard me lie? Come-let me see the child."
"I bade her stay in her room and spin in solitude till sunset. She was rude to the priest and is being punished," said Elaine.
"But I remit the punishment," said Morgaine. "I am now her guardian and foster-mother, and there is no longer any reason to show courtesy to that priest. Take me to her."
THEY RODE FORTH the next day at dawn. Nimue had wept at parting with her mother, but even before they were gone an hour, she had begun to peer forth curiously at Morgaine from under the hood of her cloak. She was tall for her age, less like Lancelet's mother, Viviane, than like Morgause or Igraine; fair-haired, but with enough copper in the golden strands that Morgaine thought her hair would be red when she was older. And her eyes were almost the color of the small wood violets which grew by the brooks.
They had had only a little wine and water before setting out, so Morgaine asked, "Are you hungry, Nimue? We can stop and break our fast as soon as we find a clearing, if you wish."
"Yes, Aunt."
"Very well." And soon she dismounted and lifted the little girl from her pony.
"I have to-" The child cast down her eyes and squirmed.
"If you have to pass water, go behind that tree with the serving-woman," said Morgaine, "and never be ashamed again to speak of what God has made."
"Father Griffin says it is not modest-"
"And never speak to me again of anything Father Griffin said to you," Morgaine said gently, but with a hint of iron behind the mild words. "That is past, Nimue."
When the child came back she said, with a wide-eyed look of wonder, "I saw someone very small peering out at me from behind a tree. Galahad said you were called Morgaine of the Fairies-was it a fairy, Aunt?"
Morgaine shook her head and said, "No, it was one of the Old People of the hills-they are as real as you or I. It is better not to speak of them, Nimue, or take any notice. They are very shy, and afraid of men who live in villages and farms."
"Where do they live, then?"
"In the hills and forests," Morgaine said. "They cannot bear to see the earth, who is their mother, raped by the plow and forced to bear, and they do not live in villages."
"If they do not plow and reap, Aunt, what do they eat?"
"Only such things as the earth gives them of her free will," said Morgaine. "Root, berry and herb, fruit and seeds-meat they taste only at the great festivals. As I told you, it is better not to speak of them, but you may leave them some bread at the edge of the clearing, there is plenty for us all." She broke off a piece of a loaf and let Nimue take it to the edge of the woods. Elaine had, indeed, given them enough food for ten days' ride, instead of the brief journey to Avalon.
She ate little herself, but she let the child have all she wanted, and spread honey herself on Nimue's bread; time enough to train her, and after all, she was still growing very fast.
"You are eating no meat, Aunt," said Nimue. "Is it a fast day?"
Morgaine suddenly remembered how she had questioned Viviane. "No, I do not often eat it."
"Don't you like it? I do."
"Well, eat it then, if you wish. The priestesses do not have meat very often, but it is not forbidden, certainly not to a child your age."
"Are they like the nuns? Do they fast all the time? Father Griffin says-" She stopped, remembering she had been told not to quote what he said, and Morgaine was pleased; the child learned quickly.
She said, "I meant you are not to take what he says as a guide for your own conduct. But you may tell me what he says and one day you will learn to separate for yourself what is right in what he says, and what is folly or worse."
"He says that men and women must fast for their sins. Is that why?"
Morgaine shook her head. "The people of Avalon fast, sometimes, to teach their bodies to do what they are told without making demands it is inconvenient to satisfy-there are times when one must do without food, or water, or sleep, and the body must be the servant of the mind, not the master. The mind cannot be set on holy things, or wisdom, or stilled for the long meditation which opens the mind to other realms, when the body cries out 'Feed me!' or 'I thirst!' So we teach ourselves to still its clamoring. Do you understand?"
"N-not really," said the child doubtfully.
"You will understand when you are older, then. For now, eat your bread, and make ready to ride again."
Nimue finished her bread and honey and wiped her hands tidily on a clump of grass. "I never understood Father Griffin either, but he was angry when I did not. I was punished when I asked him why we must fast and pray for our sins when Christ had already forgiven them, and he said I had been taught heathendom and made Mother send me to my room. What is heathendom, Aunt?"
"It is anything a priest does not like," said Morgaine. "Father Griffin is a fool. Even the best of the Christian priests do not trouble little ones like you, who can do no sin, with much talk about it. Time enough to talk about sin, Nimue, when you are capable of doing it, or making choices between good and evil."
Nimue got on her pony obediently, but after a time she said, "Aunt Morgaine-I am not such a good girl, though. I sin all the time. I am always doing wicked things. I am not at all surprised that Mother wanted to send me away. That is why she is sending me to a wicked place, because I am a wicked girl."
Morgaine felt her throat close with something like agony. She had been about to mount her own horse, but she hurried to Nimue's pony and caught the girl in a great hug, holding her tight and kissing her again and again. She said, breathlessly, "Never say that again, Nimue! Never! It is not true, I vow to you it is not! Your mother did not want to send you away at all, and if she had thought Avalon a wicked place she would not have sent you no matter what I threatened!"