Lady of Avalon by Marion Zimmer Bradley, Diana L. Paxson Page A

unexpectedly awkward as she met his clear gaze. “You have gained great skill on the harp. Do you still study music with Father Joseph as well?”
    Gawen shook his head. “He fell sick shortly after Midwinter. I have been down there several times, but they will not let me inside to see him. They say he no longer leaves his bed at all.”
    “They will not deny me! ” she exclaimed. “I will go now, and you will attend me.
    “Why did you not tell me Father Joseph was ill?” she asked as they made their way down the hill.
    “You are so busy-” He stopped himself when he saw her face. “I thought you must know.”
    Caillean sighed. “Forgive me-it is not fair for me to take out my anxieties on you. Or to blame you for speaking the truth to me…” she went on. “Sometimes it seems there is someone wanting my attention every moment of the day, but I hope I will always find time for those who are truly in need. I know it is a long time since I have spoken with you, and now it is almost time for you to take your vows among the Druids. How quickly time goes by!”
    They passed the round hut that had been built for the priestesses who watched over the Blood Well and the orchard they had planted there, and continued along the path that followed the high ground. The chapel the Christians had built, thatched like the others but with a second cone-shaped tier above the first, so that it appeared to have two stories, sat like a mother hen among her chicks with the huts of the brothers surrounding it. One of the younger monks was sweeping away the leaves that last night’s wind had brought down across the path. He looked up as they approached and came to meet them.
    “I have brought some preserved fruit and sweet cakes for Father Joseph.” Caillean indicated her basket. “Will you take me to him?”
    “Brother Paulus might not like-” the man began, frowning, then shook his head. “Never mind. Perhaps your delicacies will tempt Father Joseph as our rough food can no longer do. If you can persuade him to eat you will have our gratitude, for I tell you that since the festival of Christ’s birth he has taken scarcely enough to keep a bird alive.”
    He led them to one of the round huts, no larger than the others, though the path was edged with whitewashed stones, and pulled the hide doorcover aside.
    “Father, here is the Lady of Avalon come to see you. Will you welcome her?”
    Caillean blinked, straining to adjust to the shadows after the brightness of the spring day. Father Joseph lay on a pallet on the floor, a rushlight flickering beside him. The other monk set some cushions behind the old man’s back to raise him, and brought a little three-legged stool for Caillean.
    He was like a bird indeed, thought the priestess as she reached out to take the old man’s hand. His thin chest scarcely stirred; all the life left to him glowed in his eyes.
    “My old friend!” she said in a low voice. “How is it with you?”
    Something that might have been a laugh whispered in the air. “Surely you, Lady, have the training to see!” Father Joseph read in her eyes the words she would not say, and smiled. “Is it not also given to those of your order to know their time? Mine comes soon, and I am content. I will see my Master once more…” For a little while he was silent, gazing inward and smiling at what he saw there.
    Then he sighed and his eyes focused on Caillean. “But I shall miss our conversations. Unless an old man on his deathbed can convince you to accept the Christos, only at the end of all things will we meet again.”
    “I will miss talking with you as well,” said Caillean, blinking back tears. “And perhaps in another lifetime I may follow your path. But for this one, my oaths are given elsewhere.”
    “It is true that no man knows his road until he reaches its ending…” Father Joseph whispered. “When my life changed I was not much younger than you… It would give me comfort to tell you the tale, if