Marion Zimmer Bradley - Avalon 4 - Priestess of Avalon

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ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
This is the story of a legend.
The provable facts about Helena are few in comparison with the wealth of
stories that have attached themselves to her name. We know that she was the
consort of Constantius and the honoured mother of Constantine the Great, and
that she had some association with the town of Drepanum. We know that she
owned property in Rome and that she made a visit to Palestine, and that is all.
But wherever she went, myths sprang up behind her. She is honoured in
Germany and Israel and Rome, where she is hailed as a saint in the churches that
bear her name. Medieval hagiography makes her the great discoverer of relics,
who brought the heads of the three Wise Men to Cologne, the Robe Jesus wore
to Trier, and the True Cross to Rome.
But she holds a special place in the legends of Britian, where it is said that
she was a British princess who married an emperor. She is believed to have lived
in York and in London, and to have established roads in Wales. Some even
identify her with the goddess Nehalennia. Did these stories arise because
Constantius and Constantine both had such strong connections with Britain, or
could she have originally come from that isle?
If so, perhaps it is not so great a stretch to link her with the mythology of
Avalon, and add one more legend to the rest.
Marion Zimmer Bradley and I began this work together, as we have
worked together before, but it was left to me to complete it. At the end of her life
Marion attended a Christian church, and yet she was my first high priestess in
the ancient mysteries. In telling the story of Helena, who also walked between
the Christian and the pagan worlds, I have tried to remain faithful to Marion's
teachings.
In the creation of this book, Marion's was the inspiration and origin. The
historical legwork was mine.
Among the many sources which were useful I should list: Fry's Roman
Britain; Gibbon's classic Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire, which includes
all the gossip; The Later Roman Empire, by A.H.M. Jones; Robin Lane Fox's
fascinating Pagans and Christians; and The Aquarian Guide to Legendary
London, edited by John Matthews and Chesca Potter, particularly the chapter on
the Goddesses of London by Caroline Wise of the Atlantis Bookstore. More
specifically, I relied on Constantine the Great, by Michael Grant, and Jan Willem
Drijvers' classic, Helena Augusta; and for Helena's journey and the reinvention
of the Holy Land, Holy City, Holy Places?, by P.W.L. Walker. The hymn in
chapter thirteen was written by St Ambrose in the fourth century.
I would like to express my gratitude to Karen Anderson for working out
the astronomical configurations in the third century skies, and to Charline
Palmtag for helping me with their astrological interpretation. My thanks also to
Jennifer Tifft, for enabling me to make an extra trip to England and find the
chapel of St Helena in York, to Bernhard Hennen, for taking me to Trier, and to
Jack and Kira Gillespie for showing me Cumae and Pozzuoli. Diana L. Paxson
Feast of Brigid, 2000
PROLOGUE
249 AD
With sunset, a brisk wind had blown in from the sea. It was the
season when farmers burn the stubble from their fields, but wind had
swept away the haze that had veiled the heavens, and the Milky Way
blazed a white road across the sky. The Merlin of Britannia sat on the
Watcher's Stone at the top of the Tor, his eyes fixed on the stars. But
though the glory of the heavens commanded his vision, it did not hold
his entire attention. His ears strained to catch any sound that might
come from the dwelling of the High Priestess on the slopes below.
Since dawn she had been in labour. This would be Rian's fifth
child, and her earlier babes had come easily. The birthing should not be
taking so long. The midwives guarded their mysteries, but at sunset,
when he had prepared for this vigil, he had seen the worry in their eyes.
King Coelius of Camulodunum, who had called Rian to the Great Rite
for the sake of his flooded fields, was a big man, fair-haired and
massively built in the way of the Belgic tribes who had settled in the
eastern lands of Britannia, and Rian was a little dark woman with the
look of the faerie people who had been the first to dwell in these hills.
It should be no surprise that the child Coelius had begotten was
too large to come easily from the womb. When Rian found that he had
got her with child, some of the older priestesses had urged her to cast it
from her. But to do so would have negated the magic, and Rian told
them she had served the Goddess too long not to trust in Her purposes.
What purpose was there in this child's birth? The Merlin's old
eyes scanned the heavens, seeking to comprehend the secrets written in
the stars. The sun stood now in the sign of the Virgin, and the old
moon, passing him, had been visible in the sky that morning. Now she
hid her face, leaving the night to the glory of the stars.
The old man huddled into the thick folds of his grey cloak, feeling
the chill of the autumn night in his bones. As he watched the great wain
wheel ever further across the sky and no word came, he knew that he
was shivering not with cold, but with fear.
Slow as grazing sheep, the stars moved across the heavens.
Saturn gleamed in the south-west, in the Sign of Balance. As the hours
drew on, the resolution of the labouring woman was wearing away.
Now, at intervals, there would come a moan of pain from the hut. But it
was not until the still hour just as the stars were fading that a new sound
brought the Merlin upright, heart pounding-the thin, protesting wail of a
newborn child.
In the east the sky was already growing pale with the approach
of day, but overhead the stars still shone. Long habit brought the old
man's gaze upward. Mars, Jupiter and Venus stood in brilliant
conjunction. Trained in the disciplines of the Druids since boyhood, he
committed the positions of the stars to memory. Then, grimacing as
stiffened joints complained, he got to his feet, and leaning heavily on his
carven staff, made his way down the hill.
The infant had ceased its crying, but as the Merlin neared the
birthing hut, his gut tensed, for he could hear weeping from within.
Women stood aside as he pushed back the heavy curtain that hung
across the doorway, for he was the only male who by right could enter
there.
One of the younger priestesses, Cigfolla, sat in the corner,
crooning over the swaddled bundle in her arms. The Merlin's gaze
moved past her to the woman who lay on the bed, and stopped, for
Rian, whose beauty had always come from her grace in motion, was
utterly still. Her dark hair lay lank upon the pillow; her angular features
were already acquiring the unmistakable emptiness that distinguishes
death from sleep.
"How-" he made a little helpless gesture, striving to hold back his
tears. He did not know whether or not Rian had been his own child by
blood, but she had been a daughter to him.
"It was her heart," said Ganeda, her features in that moment
painfully like those of the woman who lay on the bed, although at most
times the sweetness of Rian's expression had always made it easy to
distinguish between the sisters. "She had laboured for too long. Her
heart broke in the final effort to push the child from the womb."
The Merlin stepped to the bedside and gazed down at Rian's
body, and after a moment, he bent to trace a sigil of blessing on the
cool brow.
I have lived too long, he thought numbly. Rian should have
been the one to say the rites for me.
He heard Ganeda draw breath behind him. "Say then, Druid,
what fate the stars foretell for the maid-child born in this hour?"
The old man turned. Ganeda faced him, her eyes bright with
anger and unshed tears. She has the right to ask this, he thought
grimly. Ganeda had been passed over in favour of her younger sister
when the previous High Priestess died. He supposed the election would
fall on her now.
Then the spirit within him rose in answer to her challenge. He
cleared his throat.
"Thus speak the stars-" His voice trembled only a little. "The child
that was born at the Turning of Autumn, just as the night gave way to
dawn, shall stand at the Turning of the Age, the gateway between two
worlds. The time of the Ram has passed, and now the Fish shall rule.
The moon hides her face-this maid shall hide the moon she bears upon
her brow, and only in old age will she come into her true power.
Behind her lies the road that leads to the darkness and its mysteries,
before her shines the harsh light of day.
"Mars is in the Sign of the Lion, but war shall not overcome her,
for it is ruled by the star of kingship. For this child, love shall walk with
sovereignty, for Jupiter yearns towards Venus. Together, their radiance
shall light the world. On this night, all of them move towards the Virgin
who shall be their true queen. Many will bow before her, but her true
sovereignty will be hidden. All shall praise her, yet few will know her
true name. Saturnus lies now in Libra -her hardest lessons will be in
maintaining a balance between the old wisdom and the new. But
Mercurius is hidden. For this child I foresee many wanderings, and
many misunderstandings, and yet in the end all roads lead to joy and to
her true home."
All around him the priestesses were murmuring: "He prophesies
greatness-she will be Lady of the Lake like her mother before her!"
The Merlin frowned. The stars had shown him a life of magic and
power, but he had read the stars for priestesses many times before, and
the patterns that foretold their lives were not those he saw now. It
seemed to him that this child was destined to walk a road unlike that
which had been trodden by any priestess of Avalon before.
"The babe is healthy and well-formed?"
"She is perfect, my lord." Cigfolla rose, cradling the swaddled
infant close to her breast.
"Where will you find a nurse for her?" He knew that none of the
women of Avalon were currently feeding a child.
"She can go to the Lake-dwellers' village," answered Ganeda.
"There is always some woman with a newborn there. But I will send
her to her father once she is weaned."
Cigfolla clutched at her burden protectively, but the aura of
power that surrounded the High Priestess was already descending upon
Ganeda, and if the younger woman had objections, she did not voice
them aloud.
"Are you sure that is wise?" By virtue of his office, the Merlin
could question her. "Will the child not need to be trained in Avalon to
prepare for her destiny?"
"What the gods have ordained they will bring to pass, whatever
we do," answered Ganeda. "But it will be long before I can look upon
her face and not see my sister lying dead before me."
The Merlin frowned, for it had always seemed to him that there
was little love lost between Ganeda and Rian. But perhaps it made
sense - if Ganeda felt guilt for having envied her sister, the babe would
be a painful reminder.
"If the girl shows talent, when she is older, perhaps she can
return," Ganeda continued.
If he had been a younger man, the Merlin might have sought to
sway her, but he had seen the hour of his own death in the stars, and he
knew that he would not be here to protect the little girl if Ganeda
resented her. Perhaps it was better that she should live with her father
while she was small.
"Show me the child."
Cigfolla rose, flipping back the corner of the blanket. The Merlin
stared down at the face of the infant, still closed in upon itself like the
bud of a rose. The child was large for a newborn, big-boned like her
father. No wonder her mother had fought such a grim battle to bear her.
"Who are you, little one?" he murmured. "Are you worth so great
a sacrifice?"
"Before she died… the Lady… said she should be called Eilan,"
Cigfolla answered him.
"Eilan-" the Merlin echoed her, and as if the infant had
understood, she opened her eyes. They were still the opaque grey of
infancy, but their expression, wide and grave, was far older. "Ah… this
is not the first time for you," he said then, saluting her like a traveller
who meets an old friend upon the road and pauses for a moment's
greeting before they continue on their separate ways. He was aware of
a pang of regret that he would not live to see this child grown.
"Welcome back, my dear one. Welcome to the world."
For a moment the baby's brows met. Then the tiny lips curved
upward in a smile.
Part I
THE WAY TO LOVE
CHAPTER ONE
AD 259
"Oh! I can see water gleaming in the sun! Is it the sea?" I dug my
heels into the pony's round side to bring it alongside Corinthius's big
horse. The beast broke into a rough trot and I clutched at its mane.
"Ah, Helena, your young eyes are better than mine," answered
the old man who had been tutor to my half-brothers before being given
the task of teaching the daughter Prince Coelius had inadvertently got
upon a priestess of Avalon. "A blaze of light is all I can see. But I think
that what lies before us must be the levels of the Summer Country,
flooded by the spring rains."
I brushed back a wisp of hair and peered out at the landscape.
The waters were broken up by hummocks of higher ground like islands
and divided by winding rows of trees. Beyond them I could make out a
line of hills where Corinthius said there were lead mines, ending in a
bright haze that must be the estuary of the Sabrina.
"Then we are almost there?" The pony tossed its head as I
squeezed its sides and then pulled back on the rein.
"We are if the rains have not washed out the causeway, and we
can locate the village of the Lake folk that my master told me to find."
I looked up at him with swift pity, for he sounded very tired. I
could see lines in the thin face beneath the broad straw hat, and he sat
slumped in the saddle. My father should not have made the old man
come all this way. But when the journey was over, Corinthius, a Greek
who had sold himself into slavery as a youth in order to dower his
sisters, would have his freedom. He had saved a nice little nest egg
over the years, and meant to set up a school in Londinium.
"We will come to the Lake village in the afternoon," said the
guide who had joined my escort in Lindinis.
"When we get there, we will rest," I said briskly.
"I thought you were eager to come to the Tor," Corinthius said
kindly. Perhaps he would be sorry to lose me, I thought, smiling up at
him. After my two brothers, who cared for nothing but hunting, he had
said he enjoyed teaching someone who actually wanted to learn.
"I will have the rest of my life to enjoy Avalon," I answered him.
"I can wait a day longer to arrive."
"And start your studies once more!" Corinthius laughed. "They
say that the priestesses of Avalon have preserved the old Druid
wisdom. It consoles me a little for losing you to know that you will not
spend your life running some fat magistrate's household and bearing his
children."
I smiled. My father's wife had tried to convince me that such a life
was a woman's highest hope, but I had always known that sooner or
later I would be going to Avalon. That it was sooner was due to the
rebellion of a general called Postumus, whose war had cut Britannia off
from the Empire. Unprotected, the south-eastern coasts were
vulnerable to raiders, and Prince Coelius had thought it best to send his
little daughter to the safety of Avalon while he and his sons prepared to
defend Camulodunum.
For a moment then my smile faltered, for I had been the apple of
my father's eye, and I hated the thought that he might be in danger. But
I knew well enough that while he was away from home my life there
would not have been a happy one. To the Romans I was my father's
love-child, without maternal relatives, for it was forbidden to speak of
Avalon. In truth it was Corinthius and old Huctia, who had been my
nurse, who had been my family, and Huctia had died the winter before.
It was time for me to return to my mother's world.
The road led downwards now, winding gently back and forth
across the slope of the hill. As we emerged from the shelter of the
trees, I shaded my eyes with my hand. Below, the waters lay upon the
land like a sheet of gold.
"If you were a faerie horse," I murmured to my pony, "we could
gallop along that shining path all the way to Avalon."
But the pony only shook its head and reached for a mouthful of
grass, and we continued to clop down the road one step at a time until
we came to the slippery logs of the causeway. Now I could see the
grey stalks of last summer's grass waving in the water and beyond them
the reedbeds that edged the permanent channels and pools. The deeper
water was dark, charged with mystery. What spirits ruled these
marshes, where the elements were so confused and mingled that one
could not tell where earth ended and the water began? I shivered a little
and turned my gaze to the bright day.
As the afternoon drew on towards evening, a mist began to rise
from the water. We moved more slowly now, letting our mounts
choose their own footing on the slippery logs. I had ridden horses since
I could walk, but until now, each day's journey had been a short one,
appropriate to the strength of a child. Today's ride, the last stage in our
journey, had been longer. I could feel the dull ache in my legs and back
and knew that I would be glad to get out of the saddle when the day
was over.
We came out from beneath the trees and the guide reined in,
pointing. Beyond the tangle of marsh and woodland rose a single
pointed hill. I had been taken from this place when I was barely a year
old, and yet, with a certainty beyond memory, I knew that I was
looking at the holy Tor. Touched by the last of the sunlight, it seemed to
glow from within.
"The Isle of Glass…" murmured Corinthius, eyes widening in
appreciation.
But not Avalon … I thought, remembering the stories I had
heard. The cluster of beehive huts at the foot of the Tor belonged to the
little community of Christians who lived there. Avalon of the Druids lay
in the mists between this world and Faerie.
"And there is the village of the Lake people-" said our guide,
摘要：

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTSThisisthestoryofalegend.TheprovablefactsaboutHelenaarefewincomparisonwiththewealthofstoriesthathaveattachedthemselvestohername.WeknowthatshewastheconsortofConstantiusandthehonouredmotherofConstantinetheGreat,andthatshehadsomeassociationwiththetownofDrepanum.Weknowthatsheownedproperty...

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