16

A day or two before Beltane-eve, Kevin the Harper came again to Arthur's court. Morgaine was glad to see him; it had been a long and weary springtime. Lancelet had recovered from the fever and gone north to Lothian, and Morgaine had thought she should ride to Lothian too, to see how it was with her son; but she did not want to go in Lancelet's company, nor would he have wished for her as a travelling companion; she thought, My son is well where he is, another time I will go and see him.
Gwenhwyfar was sorrowful and silent; in the years Morgaine had been absent, the Queen had altered from a lighthearted, childish woman to a silent, thoughtful one, more pious than was reasonable. Morgaine suspected that she pined after Lancelet, and knowing Lancelet, Morgaine thought with a touch of contempt that he would neither leave the woman in peace nor lead her wholeheartedly into sin. And Gwenhwyfar was a good match for him-she would neither give in to him nor give him up. She wondered what Arthur thought, but it would have taken a braver woman than she to ask him.
Morgaine welcomed Kevin to court, and to herself she thought it not unlikely that they would keep Beltane together-the sun tides ran hot in her blood, and if she could not have the man she wanted (and she knew it was still Lancelet to whom she was drawn), it might be as well to take a lover who found delight in her; it was good to be cherished and sought after. And, as neither Arthur nor Lancelet would do, Kevin spoke with her freely of affairs of state. She thought, with a moment of bitter regret, had she stayed in Avalon, by now, she would be consulted in all the great affairs of her time.
Well, it was too late for that; done was done. So she greeted Kevin in the great hall and had him served food and wine, a task Gwenhwyfar gladly gave over to her-Gwenhwyfar liked well enough to hear Kevin play on the harp, but she could not bear the sight of him. So Morgaine served him, and spoke to him of Avalon.
"Is Viviane well?"
"Well, and still resolved to come to Camelot at Pentecost," said Kevin, "and it is well, for Arthur would scarce listen to me. Though he has promised not to forbid the Beltane fires this year, at least."
"It would do him little good to forbid them," said Morgaine. "But Arthur has trouble nearer home, too." She gestured. "Beyond that window, almost within sight from the heights of the castle, lies the island kingdom of Leodegranz-had you heard?"
"A chance-come traveller told me he was dead," Kevin said, "and he left no son. His lady Alienor died with her last child, a few days after his death. The fever was cruel in that country."
"Gwenhwyfar would not travel thither for the burying," Morgaine said. "She had little to weep for-hers was not a loving father. Arthur will have consulted her about setting a regent there-he says that now the kingdom is hers, and if they should have a second son, that son shall have it. But it seems not likely now that Gwenhwyfar will have even one."
Kevin nodded slowly. "Aye, she miscarried of a child before Mount Badon, and was very ill. Since then I have not heard even a rumor that she was pregnant," said Kevin. "How old is the High Queen?"
"I think she is at least five-and-twenty now," said Morgaine, but she was not certain, she had dwelt so long in the fairy country.
"That is old for a first child," said Kevin, "though, I doubt not, like all barren women, she prays for a miracle. What ails the Queen that she does not conceive?"
"I am no midwife," said Morgaine. "She seems healthy enough, but she has worn out her knees in prayer, and there is no sign."
"Well, the Gods will have it as they will," Kevin said, "but we will need their mercy on this land if the High King dies with no son! And now there are no threats from the Saxons outside to keep the rival kings of Britain from falling one upon the other and tearing this land to shreds. I never trusted Lot, but he is dead, and Gawaine is Arthur's staunchest man, so there is little to fear from Lothian, unless Morgause finds herself a lover with ambition to be High King on his own."
"Lancelet has gone there, but he should return quickly," said Morgaine, and Kevin added, "Viviane, too, would ride to Lothian for some reason, though we thought, all of us, that she was too old for such a journey." Why, then, she will see my son ...  . Morgaine's heart leapt, and there was a tightness like pain, or weeping, in her throat. Kevin seemed not to see.
"I met not with Lancelet on the road," he said. "No doubt he took another road, or stayed to greet his mother, or perhaps"-he grinned slyly -"to keep the Beltane feast. That would give joy to every woman in Lothian, if he tarried there. Morgause would not let such a tender morsel escape her clutches."
"She is his mother's sister," Morgaine said, "and I think Lance is too good a Christian for that. He has courage enough to face the Saxons in battle, but small courage for that battle."
Kevin raised his eyebrows. "Oh ho, is it so? I doubt not you speak from knowledge," he said, "but for politeness' sake we will say it is from the Sight! But Morgause would like well to see Arthur's best knight brought low by scandal-then would Gawaine stand nearer to the throne. And the lady is liked well by all men-she is not so old, either, but still beautiful, her hair still red as ever without a line of grey-"
"Oh," said Morgaine caustically, "they sell henna from Egypt in the markets of Lothian."
"And her waist is slim, and they say she practices magic arts to spellbind men to her," Kevin said, "but this is gossip and no more. I have heard she has ruled well enough in Lothian. Do you dislike her so much, Morgaine?"
"No. She is my kinswoman and has been good to me," Morgaine said, and started to say, She fostered my child, and that would open the way to ask if he had heard news of Gwydion  ...  then she stopped herself. Even to Kevin she could not confess that. She said, instead, "But I like it not that my kinswoman Morgause should be the common talk of Britain as a bawd."
"It is not so bad as that," Kevin said, laughing, and put away his wine cup. "If the lady has an eye to handsome men, she would not be the first or last. And now Morgause is widowed, no man can call her to account for who lies in her bed. But I must not keep the High King waiting. Wish me fortune, Morgaine, for I must bring ill news to my king, and you know the doom meted of old to him who brought the king news he had no mind to hear!"
"Arthur is not that sort," said Morgaine. "But if it is not secret, what ill news do you bring?"
"Not news at all," said Kevin, "for it has been said more than once that Avalon will not have it that he rule as a Christian king, whatever his private faith may be. He shall not allow the priests to put down the worship of the Goddess, nor touch the oak groves. And if he does so, then am I to say to him from the Lady: the hand which gave him the sacred sword of the Druids can turn it in his hand to smite him."
"That will not be pleasant hearing," said Morgaine, "but perhaps it will call his oath to mind."
"Aye, and Viviane has still one other weapon she can use," said Kevin, but when Morgaine asked what, he would tell her no more.
When he had gone from her, Morgaine sat thinking of the night to come. There would be music at dinner, and later-well, Kevin was a pleasant lover, gentle and eager to please her, and she was wearied of sleeping alone.
She was still sitting in the hall when Cai came to announce that another rider had come-"A kinsman of yours, lady Morgaine. Would you greet him and serve him wine?"
Morgaine agreed-had Lancelet returned so soon already?-but the rider was Balan.
She hardly knew him at first-he was heavier, so big now that she supposed it must take an oversized horse to carry his weight. But he recognized her at once.
"Morgaine! Greetings, kinswoman," he said, and sat beside her, taking the cup she offered. She told him that Arthur was speaking with Kevin and the Merlin, but would see him at dinner, and asked him for the news.
"Only that a dragon has been sighted again in the North," Balan said, "and no, this is no fantasy like old Pellinore's-I saw the track where it had been, and talked with two of the people who had seen it. They were not lying, nor telling a tale to amuse or give themselves importance; they were in terror of their lives. They said it had come out of the lake and taken their serving-man-they showed me his shoe."
"His-shoe, kinsman?"
"He lost it when he was taken, and I did not like touching the-slime -that besmeared it," Balan said. "I am going to ask Arthur for half a dozen knights to ride with me and put an end to it."
"You must ask Lancelet, if he returns," Morgaine said, as lightly as she could. "He will need some practice with dragons. I think Arthur is trying to make a match between Lancelet and Pellinore's daughter."
Balan looked at her sharply. "I do not envy the girl who has my little brother for husband," he said. "I have heard his heart is given-or should I not say-"
"You should not say it," said Morgaine.
Balan shrugged. "So be it. Arthur then has no special reason for wishing to find Lancelet a bride well away from court," he said. "I had not heard that you had come back to court, kinswoman. You look well."
"And how is it with your foster-brother?"
"Balin is well enough, when last I saw him," said Balan, "though he still has no love for Viviane. Still, there is no reason to believe he bears grudge for our mother's death. He raved and swore revenge then, but he would have to be a madman indeed to think still of such things. In any case, if such was his thought, he spoke not of it when he was here at Pentecost a year ago. That is Arthur's newest custom, you may not know-that wherever we may travel in all of Britain, every one of his old Companions should gather at Pentecost and dine at his table. At that time, too, he makes new Companions in the order of knighthood, and he will accept any petitioner, however humble-"
"Yes, I had heard of that," said Morgaine, and a flicker of unease passed over her. Kevin had spoken of Viviane-she told herself it was only disquiet at the idea that a woman of the Lady's years might come here as a common petitioner. As Balan said, it would take a madman to harbor thoughts of revenge after all this time.
That night there was music, Kevin's fine playing and singing; and later still that night, Morgaine slipped from the chamber where she slept with Gwenhwyfar's unwedded ladies, as noiselessly as a ghost-or as a priestess trained in Avalon-and made her way to the chamber where Kevin slept. She left there before daylight, well contented, but one thing Kevin had said -though they had had other things to speak of than Arthur-troubled her mind.
"Arthur would not listen to me," he said. "He told me that the folk of England were a Christian people, and while he would not persecute any man for following what Gods he liked, still he would stand with the priests and the church, as they had stood by his throne. And he sent word to the Lady of Avalon that if she would have back the sword, she could come and take it."
Even after she had crept back into her own bed, Morgaine lay wakeful. It was the legendary sword which had bound so many of the Tribesmen and Northmen to Arthur; and it was his allegiance to Avalon which had bound the dark pre-Roman people. Now, it seemed, Arthur was further from that allegiance than he had ever been.
She could speak with him-but no, he would not listen to her; she was a woman and his sister-and always, between them, lay the memory of that morning after the kingmaking, so that never could they speak freely as they might have done before. And she did not carry the authority of Avalon; with her own hands had she cast that away.
It might be that Viviane could make him see the importance of keeping to his oath. But tell herself this as she would, it was long before Morgaine could close her eyes and sleep.

17

Even before she rose from her bed, Gwenhwyfar could feel the bright sunlight through the bed-curtains-Summer is here. And then, Beltane. The very fullness of pagandom-she was sure that many of her serving-men and women would be slipping away from the court tonight, when the Beltane fires were lighted on Dragon Island in honor of their Goddess, there to lie in the fields  ...  some of them, no doubt, to come home again with their wombs quickened with the child of the God  ...  and I, a Christian wife, cannot bear a son to my own dear lord ...  .
She turned over in bed and lay watching Arthur's sleep. Oh, yes, he was her dear lord, and she loved him well. He had taken her as part of a dowry and sight unseen; yet he had loved her, cherished her, honored her -it was not her fault that she could not do the first duty of a queen and bear him a son for his kingdom.
Lancelet-no, she had sworn to herself, when last he went from court, she would think no more of him. She still hungered for him, heart and soul and body, but she had vowed that she would be a loyal and a faithful wife to Arthur; never again should Lancelet have from her even these games and toyings which made them both ache for more ... it was playing at sin, even if there was nothing worse.
Beltane. Well, perhaps, as a Christian woman and queen of a Christian court, it was her duty to make such feastings and play this day as all the people of the court should enjoy without harm to their souls. She knew that Arthur had sent out word of games and arms practice to be held for prizes, at Pentecost-as he had done each year since the court came here to Camelot; but there were enough of his people here that some sport could be had this day too-she would offer a silver cup. And there should be harping and dancing, too, and she would do for the women what sometimes they did in play, offer a ribbon for the woman who could spin the most yarn in an hour, or work the largest piece of tapestry-yes, there should be innocent sport so that none of her people should regret the forbidden play on Dragon Island. She sat up and began to dress herself; she must go and talk to Cai.
But, although she busied herself all the morning, and Arthur when she spoke of it was pleased, thinking it the best of devices, so that he and Cai spent the morning in talking of the prizes they would offer for the best sword play and horsemanship, yes, and there should be a prize, perhaps a cloak, for the best among the boys-still, inside her heart, the thought gnawed. It is the day on which the ancient Gods demand that we honor fertility, and I, I am still barren. And so, an hour before high noon, at which hour the trumpets would be blown to gather men before the arms field to begin their sport, Gwenhwyfar sought out Morgaine, yet not quite certain what she would say to her.
Morgaine had taken charge of the dyeing room for the wool they spun, and was also in charge of the Queen's brew-women-she knew how to keep ale from spoiling when it was brewed, and how to distill strong spirit for medicines, and make perfumes of flower petals which were finer than those brought from over the seas and more costly than gold. There were some women in the castle who believed this was magic art, but Morgaine said no, it was only that she had been taught about the properties of plants and grains and flowers. Any woman, Morgaine said, could do what she did, if she was neat-handed and willing to take the time and trouble to see to it.
Gwenhwyfar found her with her holiday gown tied up and her hair covered with a cloth, sniffing at a batch of beer which had spoilt in the vats. "Throw it away," she said. "The barm must have got cold, and it has soured. We can start with another batch tomorrow-there is plenty for this day, even with the Queen's feasting, whatever put it into her head."
Gwenhwyfar asked, "Have you no mind to feasting, sister?"
Morgaine turned. "Not truly," she said, "but I marvel that you have, Gwen-I thought on Beltane you would be all for pious fasting and prayer, if only to show you were not one of those who made merry in honor of the Goddess of the crops and fields."
Gwenhwyfar colored-she never knew if Morgaine was making fun of her. "Perhaps God has ordained it, that people shall make merry in honor of the coming of the summer, and there is no need to speak of the Goddess  ...  oh, I know not what I think-believe you that the Goddess gives life to crops and fields and the wombs of ewes and heifers and women?"
"I was so taught in Avalon, Gwen. Why do you ask this now?" Morgaine took off the headcloth with which she had covered her hair, and Gwenhwyfar thought suddenly that Morgaine was beautiful. Morgaine was older than Gwenhwyfar-she must be past thirty; but she looked no older than when Gwenhwyfar had first seen her ... it was no wonder all men thought her a sorceress! She wore a fine-spun gown of dark blue wool, very plain, but colored ribbons were braided into her dark hair, which was looped about her ears and fastened with a gold pin. Next to her, Gwenhwyfar felt dull as a hen, a simple homekeeping woman, even though she was High Queen of Britain and Morgaine only a heathen duchess.
Morgaine knew so much, and she herself was so unlearned-she could do no more than write her name and read a little in her Gospel book. While Morgaine was skilled in all the clerkly arts, she could read and write, and yes, she knew the housewifely arts too-she could spin and weave and do fine embroideries, and dyeing and brewing, yes, and herb lore and magic as well. At last Gwenhwyfar faltered, "My sister-they have said it as a jest, but is it-is it true, that you know-all manner of charms and spells for fertility? I-I cannot live with it any longer, that every lady at court watches every morsel I eat to see if I am breeding, or takes note of how tight I tie my girdle! Morgaine, if indeed you know these charms they say you know-my sister, I beg you-will you use those arts for me?"
Moved and troubled, Morgaine laid a hand on Gwenhwyfar's arm. "In Avalon, it is true, it is said that such and such things can help if a woman does not bear when she should-but Gwenhwyfar-" She hesitated, and Gwenhwyfar felt her face flooding with shame. At last Morgaine went on. "I am not the Goddess. It may be that it is her will that you and Arthur should have no children. Would you really try to turn the will of God with spells and charms?"
Gwenhwyfar said violently, "Even Christ in the garden prayed, 'If it be thy will, let this cup pass from me-' "
"But he said also, Gwen-'Not my will, Lord, be done, but thine,' " Morgaine reminded her.
"I wonder that you know such things-"
"I dwelt in Igraine's household for eleven years, Gwenhwyfar, and I heard the gospel preached as often as you."
"Yet I cannot see how it should be God's will that the kingdom be torn again by chaos if Arthur should die," Gwenhwyfar said and heard her own voice rise, sharp and angry. "All these years I have been faithful-yes, I know you do not believe it, I suppose you think what all the women in the court think, that I have betrayed my lord for the love of Lancelet- but it is not so, Morgaine, I swear it is not so-"
"Gwenhwyfar, Gwenhwyfar! I am not your confessor! I have not accused you!"
"But you would if you could, and I think you are jealous," Gwenhwyfar retorted at white heat, and then cried out in contrition, "Oh, no! No, I do not want to quarrel with you, Morgaine, my sister-oh, no, I came to beg you for your help-" She felt the tears break from her eyes. "I have done no wrong, I have been a good and loyal wife, I have kept my lord's house and strove to bring honor to his court, I have prayed for him and tried to do the will of God, I have failed no whit of my duty, and yet- and yet-for all of my loyalty and duty-I have not even had my part of the bargain. Every whore in the streets, every soldier's camp follower, they go about flaunting their big bellies and their fruitfulness, and I-I have had nothing, nothing-" She was sobbing wildly, her hands over her face.
Morgaine's voice sounded puzzled but tender, and she put out her arms and drew Gwenhwyfar to her. "Don't cry, don't cry-Gwenhwyfar, look at me, is it so much a sorrow to you that you have no child?"
Gwenhwyfar struggled to control her weeping. She said, "I can think of nothing else, day and night-"
After a long time, Morgaine said, "Aye, I can see it is hard for you." It seemed she could actually hear Gwenhwyfar's thoughts:
If I had a child, I would not think night and day of this love which tempts my honor, for all my thoughts would be given to Arthur's son.
"I would that I could help you, sister-but I am unwilling to have doings with charms and magic. We are taught in Avalon that simple folk may need such things, but the wise meddle not with them, but bear the lot the Gods have sent them." And as she spoke she felt herself a hypocrite; she was remembering the morning when she had gone out to find roots and herbs for a potion which would keep her from bearing Arthur's child. That had not been surrendering herself to the will of the Goddess! But in the end she had not done it, either-
And then Morgaine wondered, in sudden weariness: I who did not want a child, and who came near to death in bearing it, I bore my child; Gwenhwyfar, who longs night and day for one, goes with empty womb and empty arms. Is this the goodness of the will of the Gods?
Yet she felt compelled to say, "Gwenhwyfar, I would have you bear this in mind-charms often work as you would not that they would do. What makes you believe the Goddess I serve can send you a son when your God, who is supposed to be greater than all the other Gods, cannot?"
It sounded like blasphemy, and Gwenhwyfar was ashamed of herself. Yet she found herself thinking, and saying aloud in a voice that choked as she spoke, "I think perhaps God cares nothing for women-all his priests are men, and again and again the Scriptures tell us that women are the temptress and evil-it may be that is why he does not hear me. And for this I would go to the Goddess-God does not care-" And then she was weeping stormily again. "Morgaine," she cried, "if you cannot help me, I swear I will go tonight to Dragon Island in the boat, I shall bribe my serving-man to take me there, and when the fires are lighted I too shall entreat the Goddess to give me the gift of a child ... I swear it, Morgaine, that I will do this.. .." And she saw herself in the light of the fires, circling the flames, going apart in the grip of a strange and faceless man, lying in his arms-the thought made her whole body cramp tight with pain and a half-shamed pleasure.
Morgaine listened in growing horror. She would never do it, she would lose her courage at the last moment. .. I was frightened, even I, and I had always known my maidenhead was for the God. But then, hearing the utter despair in her sister-in-law's voice, she thought, Aye, but she might; and if she did, she would hate herself all her life long.
There was no sound in the room but Gwenhwyfar's sobbing. Morgaine waited until it quieted a little, then said, "Sister, I will do for you what I can. Arthur can give you a child, you need not go to the Beltane fire, or seek one elsewhere. You must never say aloud that I have told you this, promise me that, and ask me no questions. But Arthur has indeed sired a ' child."
Gwenhwyfar stared at her. "He told me he had no children-"
"It may be that he does not know. But I have seen the child myself. He is being fostered at Morgause's court."
"Why, then, he has already a son and if I do not bear him one-"
"No!" said Morgaine quickly, and her voice was harsh. "I have told you-you must never speak of this, the child is not such a one as he could acknowledge. If you give him no child, then must the kingdom go to Gawaine. Gwenhwyfar, ask me no more, for I will not tell you more than this-if you do not bear, it is not Arthur's fault."
"I have not even conceived since last harvesttime-and only three times in all these years-" Gwenhwyfar swallowed, wiping her face on her veil. "If I offer myself to the Goddess-she will be merciful to me-"
Morgaine sighed. "It might be so. You must not go to Dragon Island. You can conceive, I know-perhaps a charm could help you to carry a child to birth. But I warn you again, Gwenhwyfar: charms do not their magic as men and women would have it, but by their own laws, and those laws are as strange as the running of time in the fairy country. Do not seek to blame me, Gwenhwyfar, if the charm acts other than you think it should."
"If it gives me even a slight chance of a child by my lord-" "That it should do," Morgaine said, and turned, Gwenhwyfar following after her like a child being led by her mother. What would the charm be, Gwenhwyfar wondered and what would it do, and why did Morgaine look so strange and solemn-as if she were that Great Goddess herself? But, she told herself, taking a deep breath, she would accept whatever came, if it might give her what she desired most.
An hour later, when the trumpets were blown and Morgaine and Gwenhwyfar were sitting side by side at the edge of the field, Elaine leaned over to them and said, "Look! Who is that riding into the field at Gawaine's side?"
"It is Lancelet," said Gwenhwyfar breathlessly. "He has come home." He was handsomer than ever. Somewhere he had gotten a red slash on his cheek, which should have been ugly, but it gave him the fierce beauty of a wild cat. He rode as if he were part of the horse's self, and Gwenhwyfar listened to Elaine's chatter, not really hearing, her eyes fixed on the man. Bitter, bitter, the irony of this. Why now, when I am resolved and pledged to think no more of him but to do my sworn duty by my lord and king ... Round her neck, beneath the golden torque Arthur had given her when they had been wedded a full five years, she could feel the weight of Morgaine's charm, sewn into a little bag between her breasts. She did not know, had not wanted to know, what Morgaine had put into it.
Why now? I had hoped that when he came home for Pentecost, I should be already bearing my lord's child, and he would look no more on me, since it was so clear I was resolved to honor my marriage.
Yet against her will, she remembered Arthur's words: Should you bear me a child, I would not question  ...  do you know what I am saying to you? Gwenhwyfar had known what he meant all too well. Lancelet's son could be heir to the kingdom. Was this new temptation offered her, now, because she had already fallen into grievous sin by meddling with Morgaine's sorcery, and making wild and unchaste threats, hoping to force Morgaine into helping her  ... ?
I do not care, if so be it I can bear my king a son  ...  if a God would damn me for that, what have I to do with him? She was frightened at her own blasphemy, yet it had been blasphemy, too, to think of going to the lighted Beltane fires ...  .
"Look, Gawaine is down, even he could not stand against Lancelet's riding," Elaine said eagerly. "And Cai, too! How could Lancelet strike down a lame man?"
"Don't be more of a fool than you must, Elaine," said Morgaine. "Do you think Cai would thank Lancelet for sparing him? If Cai went into these games, surely he is able to risk whatever hurt he could take! No one bade him compete."
It had been foreordained from the moment Lancelet took the field who would win the prize. There was some good-natured grumbling among the Companions when they saw it. "There is no use in any of us entering the lists at all, while Lancelet is here," Gawaine said, laughing, his arm around his cousin. "Couldn't you have stayed away another day or so, Lance?"
Lancelet was laughing too, a high color in his face. He took the golden cup and tossed it in the air. "Your mother, too, besought me to stay in her court for Beltane. I came not here to defraud you of the prize-I have no need of prizes. Gwenhwyfar, my lady," he cried, "take this, and give me instead the ribbon you wear about your neck. The cup may go to the altar or to the Queen's high table!"
Embarrassed, Gwenhwyfar's hand flew to her throat and the ribbon on which she had tied Morgaine's charm. "This I may not give you, my friend-" But she fumbled at the sleeve which she had embroidered with small pearls. "Take this for a kindness to my champion. As for the prize- well, I will give prizes to all of you-" She gestured to Gawaine and Gareth, who had come in after Lancelet in the riding.
"Graciously done," Arthur said, rising in his place, while Lancelet took the embroidered silk and kissed it, then fastened it around his helm. "But my most valiant fighter must still be honored. You will sit with us at the high table, Lancelet, and tell us all that has befallen you since you left my court."
Gwenhwyfar excused herself with her ladies, the better to prepare for the feast. Elaine and Meleas were chattering about Lancelet's valor, his riding, his generosity in giving up all claim to the prize. Gwenhwyfar could think only of the look he had given her when he begged her for the ribbon about her throat. She looked up and met Morgaine's dark, enigmatic smile. I cannot even pray for peace of mind. I have forfeited the right to pray.
For the first hour of the feast she was moving about, making sure that all of the guests were properly seated and served. By the time she took her seat at the high table they were drunk, most of them, and it was very dark outside. The servants brought lamps and torches, fastening them into the wall, and Arthur said jovially, "See, my lady, we are lighting our own Beltane fire within walls."
Morgaine had come to sit close to Lancelet. Gwenhwyfar's face throbbed with heat and with the wine she had drunk; she turned away so that she might not see them. Lancelet said, with a great yawn, "Why, it is Beltane indeed-I had forgotten."
"And Gwenhwyfar had it that we must have a feast so that none of our folk would be tempted to slip away into the old rites," Arthur said. "There are more ways to skin a wolf than chasing him out of his fur-if I forbade the fires, then would I be a tyrant-"
"And," Morgaine said, in her low voice, "faithless to Avalon, my brother."
"But if my lady makes it more pleasant for my people here to sit at our feast instead of going out into the fields to dance by the fires, then is our purpose achieved more simply!"
Morgaine shrugged. To Gwenhwyfar it seemed that she was secretly amused. She had drunk but little-perhaps she was the only wholly sober person at the King's table. "You have been travelling in Lothian, Lancelet -do they keep the Beltane rites there?"
"So says the Queen," Lancelet said, "but for all I know, she may have been jesting with me-I saw nothing to suggest that Queen Morgause is not the most Christian of ladies." But it seemed to Gwenhwyfar that he glanced uneasily at Gawaine as he spoke. "Mark what I say, Gawaine, I said nothing against the lady of Lothian, I have no quarrel with you or yours ...  ."
But only a soft snore answered him, and Morgaine's laughter was brittle. "Look, yonder lies Gawaine asleep with his head on the table! I too would ask news of Lothian, Lancelet... I do not think anyone reared there could so quickly forget the Beltane fires. The sun tides run in the blood of anyone reared on Avalon, like me, like Queen Morgause-is it not so, Lancelet? Arthur, do you remember the kingmaking on Dragon Island? How many years ago-nine, ten-"
Arthur looked displeased, though he spoke gently enough. "That is many years past and gone, as you say, sister, and the world changes with every season. I think the time for such things is past, save, perhaps, for those who live with fields and crops and must call on the Goddess for their blessing
-Taliesin would say so, and I will not gainsay it. But I think those old rites have little to do with such as we who dwell in castles and cities and have heard the word of Christ." He raised his wine cup, emptied it, and spoke with drunken emphasis. "God will give us all we desire-all that is right for us to have-without need to call upon the old Gods, is it not so, Lance?"
Gwenhwyfar felt Lancelet's eyes on her for a moment before he said, "Which of us has all things he may desire, my king? No king, and no God, can grant that."
"But I want my-my subjects to have all they need," repeated Arthur thickly. "And so does my queen, giving us our own Bel-Beltane fires here-"
"Arthur," said Morgaine gently, "you are drunk."
"Well, and why not?" he asked her belligerently. "At my own feast and my own-own fire, and what else did I fight the Saxons for, all those years? Sit here at my own Round Table and enjoy the-the peace-good ale and wine, and good music-where is Kevin the Harper? Am I to have no music at my feast?"
Lancelet said, laughing, "I have no doubt he has gone to worship the Goddess at her fires, and to play his harp there, on Dragon Island."
"Why, this is treason," said Arthur thickly. "And another reason to forbid the Beltane fires, so I may have music-"
Morgaine laughed and said lightheartedly, "You cannot command the conscience of another, my brother. Kevin is a Druid and has the right to offer his music to his own Gods if he will." She leaned her chin on her hands, and Gwenhwyfar thought she looked like a cat licking cream from her whiskers. "But I think he has already kept Beltane in his own way-no doubt he has gone to his bed, for all the company here is too drunken to tell the difference between his harping and mine and Gawaine's howling pipes! Even as he sleeps he plays the music of Lothian," she added, as a particularly raucous snore from the sleeping Gawaine cut the silence, and she gestured to one of the chamberlains, who went and persuaded Gawaine to his feet. He bowed groggily to Arthur and staggered from the hall.
Lancelet raised the cup in his hand and drained it. "I too have had enough of music and feasting, I think-I have ridden since before daylight, since I would come to your games this day, and soon, I think, I will beg leave to be away to my bed, Arthur." Gwenhwyfar gauged his drunkenness by that offhanded Arthur; in public he was always very careful to speak formally to Arthur as "my lord," or "my king," and only when they were alone did he say "cousin" or "Arthur."
But indeed, so late in the feast, there were few sober enough to notice-they might as well have been alone together. Arthur did not even answer Lancelet; he had slipped down a little in his high seat, and his eyes were half closed. Well, Gwenhwyfar thought, he had said it himself-it was his own feast and his own fireside, and if a man could not be drunken in his own house, why had he fought so many years to make their feasts safe and secure?
And if Arthur should be too drunk tonight to welcome her to his bed, after all... she could feel the ribbon about her neck, where the charm hung, and its weight heavy and hot between her breasts. 'Tis Beltane; could he not keep sober for that? Had he been bidden to one of those old pagan feasts, he would have remembered, she thought, and her cheeks burned with the immodesty of the thought. I must be drunk too! She looked angrily at Morgaine, cool and sober, toying with the ribbons of her harp. Why should Morgaine smile like that?
Lancelet leaned toward her and said, "I think our lord and king has had enough of feasting and wine, my queen. Will you dismiss the servants and Companions, madam, and I'll find Arthur's chamberlain to help him to his bed."
Lancelet rose. Gwenhwyfar could tell he was drunk, too, but he carried it well, moving with only a little more carefulness than usual. As she began to pass among the guests to bid them good night, she felt her own head swim and her steps unsteady. Seeing Morgaine's enigmatic smile, she could still hear the words of the damnable sorceress: Do not seek to blame me, Gwenhwyfar, if the charm acts other than you think it should ...  .
Lancelet came back through the guests streaming out of the hall. "I can't find my lord's body servant-someone in the kitchens said they were all away to Dragon Island for the fires ... is Gawaine still here, or Balan? They are the only ones big and strong enough to carry our lord and king to his bed ...  ."
"Gawaine was too drunk to carry himself," Gwenhwyfar said, "and I saw not Balan at all. And for sure you cannot carry him, for he is taller and heavier than you-"
"Still, I'll have at it," said Lancelet, laughing, and bent beside Arthur.
"Come, cousin-Gwydion! There's none to carry you to bed-I'll give you my arm. Here, come up, there's my brave fellow," he said, as if he spoke to a child, and Arthur opened his eyes and staggered to his feet. Lancelet's steps were none too steady, either, thought Gwenhwyfar as she followed the men, nor for that matter were her own ... a fine sight they must look, if any servants were sober enough to notice, High King and High Queen and the King's captain of horse all staggering to bed on Beltane-eve too drunk for their feet to carry them ...  .
But Arthur sobered a little when Lancelet hauled him over the threshold of their room; he went to a ewer of water in the corner, splashed some on his face, and drank more.
"Thank you, cousin," he said, his voice still slow and drunken. "My lady and I have much for which to thank you, that is certain, and I know you love us both well-"
"God is my witness to that," said Lancelet, but he looked at Gwenhwyfar with something like despair. "Shall I go and find one of your servants, cousin?"
"No, stay a moment," Arthur said. "There is something I would say to you, and if I find not the courage for it now in drink, I shall never say it sober. Gwen, can you manage without your women? I have no mind that this should be carried beyond this chamber by idle tongues. Lancelet, come here and sit by me," and sitting on the edge of the bed, he stretched out his hand to his friend. "You too, sweeting-now listen to me, both. Gwenhwyfar has no child-and do you think I have not seen how you two look at each other? I spoke of this once to Gwen, but she is so modest and pious, she would not hear me. Yet now at Beltane, when all life on this earth seems to cry out with breeding and fertility  ...  how can I say this? There is an old saying among the Saxons, a friend is one to whom you will lend your favorite wife and your favorite sword ...  ."
Gwenhwyfar's face was burning; she could not look at either of the men. Arthur went on, slowly, "A son of yours, Lance, would be heir to my kingdom, and better that than it should go to Lot's sons.... Oh, yes, Bishop Patricius would call it grievous sin, no doubt, as if his God were some elderly chaperone who went about at night looking to see who slept in whose bed ... I think it greater sin to make no provision for a son to inherit my kingdom. Then should we fall into such chaos as threatened before Uther came to the throne-my friend, my cousin-what do you say?"
Gwenhwyfar saw Lancelet moisten his lips with his tongue, and she felt the dryness of her own mouth. At last he said, "I know not what to say, my king-my friend-my cousin. God knows-there is no other woman on this earth-" and his voice broke; he looked at Gwenhwyfar and it seemed she could not endure the naked longing in his eyes. For a moment she thought she would swoon away, and put out a hand to steady herself on the bed frame.
I am still drunk, she thought, I am dreaming this, I cannot have heard him say what I thought I heard ...  . and she felt an agonizing burst of shame. It seemed she could not live and let them speak of her like this.
Lancelot's eyes had not moved from hers.
"It is for my-for my lady to say."
Arthur held out his arms to her. He had drawn off his boots and the rich robe he had worn at the feast; in his undertunic he looked very like the boy she had wedded years ago. He said, "Come here, Gwen," and drew her down on his knee. "You know I love you well-you and Lance, I think, are the two I love best in the world, save for-" He swallowed and stopped, and Gwenhwyfar thought suddenly, I have thought only of my own love, I have had no thought for Arthur. He took me unseen, unwanted, and he has shown me love and honored me as his queen. But I never thought that as I love Lancelet, there may well be one whom Arthur loves and cannot have  ...  not without sin and betrayal. I wonder if that is why Morgaine mocks me, she knows Arthur's secret loves ... or his sins  ...
But Arthur went on deliberately, "I think I would never have had the courage to say this, were it not Beltane ...  . For many hundreds of years, our forefathers have done these things without shame, in the very faces of our Gods and by their will. And-listen to this, my dearest-if I am here with you, my Gwenhwyfar, then should a child come of this, then you may swear without any untruth that this child was conceived in your marriage bed, and none of us need ever know for certain-dear love, will you not consent to this?"
Gwenhwyfar could not breathe. Slowly, slowly, she reached out her hand and laid it in Lancelet's. She felt Arthur's touch on her hair as Lancelet leaned forward and kissed her on the mouth.
I have been married many years and I am as frightened now as any virgin, she thought, and then she remembered Morgaine's words when she laid the charm about her neck. Beware what you ask for, Gwenhwyfar, for the Goddess may grant it to you ...  .
At the time, she had thought Morgaine meant only that if she prayed for a child, then she might well die in childbirth. Now she knew it was more subtle than that, for it had come about that she should have Lancelet, and without guilt, with her husband's own will and permission ... and in a flash of awareness, she thought, It was this I wanted, after all; after all these years it is certain that I am barren, I will bear no child, but I will have had this at least ...  .
With shaking hands she undid her gown. It seemed that the whole world had dwindled down to this, this perfect awareness of herself, of her own body aching with desire, a hunger she had never believed she could feel. Lancelet's skin was so soft-she had thought all men were like Arthur, sunburnt and hairy, but his body was smooth as a child's. Ah, but she loved them both, loved Arthur all the more that he could be generous enough to give her this  ...  they were both holding her now, and she closed her eyes and put up her face to be kissed, not knowing for certain which man's lips closed over hers. But it was Lancelet's hand that stroked her cheek, moved down to her naked throat where the ribbon clung.
"Why, what's this, Gwen?" he asked, his mouth against hers. "Nothing," she said, "nothing. Some rubbish Morgaine gave me." She pulled it free and flung it into a corner, sinking back into her husband's arms and her lover's.

Book Three

The King Stag

1


At this season in Lothian, it seemed the sun hardly went to rest; queen Morgause wakened as the light began to steal through the hangings, yet it was so early the gulls were hardly astir. But there was already light enough to make out the hairy, well-muscled body of the young man who slept at her side ... a privilege he had enjoyed most of the winter. He had been one of Lot's esquires, and had cast longing eyes on the queen even before Lot's death. And in the deathly darkness of this winter past, it was too much to ask that she should sleep alone in the king's cold chamber.
It was not that Lot had been so good a king, she thought, slotting her eyes against the growing light. But his reign had been long-he had reigned since before Uther Pendragon took the throne, and his people were used to him; there were people well into their middle years who had known no other king. He had been on the throne, she thought, when young Lochlann was born ... for that matter, so had she. But that thought was less comfortable, and she flinched away from it.
Gawaine would have succeeded his father, but Gawaine had hardly visited his native land since Arthur's crowning, and the people did not know him. Here in Lothian, the Tribes were quite content, since there was peace in the land, to be ruled by their queen, with her son Agravaine at hand should they need a leader in war. From time out of mind, a queen had ruled over the people, as a Goddess had ruled over the Gods, and they were content to have it so.
But Gawaine had not left Arthur's side  ...  not even when Lancelet had come north before Beltane-he said, to see that the lighthouses had been put in order on the coast so that ships would not be driven on to the rocks. But Morgause supposed, rather, that he came so that Arthur's eyes could see what went on in Lothian, whether there was anyone there at odds with the rule of the High King.
She had heard, then, of Igraine's death-before that, word had not come north to Lothian. She and Igraine had not been friends when she was younger; she had always envied her older sister her beauty, and had never forgiven her that Viviane had chosen her for Other Pendragon; she would have made a better High Queen than that ninny, so pliant and pious and loving. And when all was said and done, when the lamp was out, one man was not so different from any other, and all of them were ridiculously easy to manage, foolishly dependent on that thing a woman could offer to them. She had ruled well behind Lot's throne; she would have done better yet with Uther, for she would not have become so stupidly entangled with the priests.
Yet when she heard of Igraine's death she had mourned her sincerely and wished she had made the time to ride to Tintagel before she died. She had so few woman friends now ...  .
Her waiting-women had mostly been chosen by Lot for their beauty or their availability to the king, and he cared most for such women as did not think very much or talk very intelligently; she was, he said once, quite enough in that line. He took her counsel in all things and respected her wit, but when she had borne him four royal sons, he went back to what he naturally preferred for his bed-pretty women with little of sense. Morgause had never begrudged him his pleasures and was just as well pleased to be spared further childbearing. And if she craved babes to play with, there was her fosterling Gwydion, and Lot's women had always been breeding -Gwydion had playmates enough of royal blood!
Lochlann stirred at her side, muttered, and sleepily drew her into his arms, and she gave over thinking for the moment. She had missed him- while Lancelet was at court she had sent Lochlann to sleep among the young men. Though for all the difference it had made to Lancelet, she might have kept Lochlann in her bed, or slept with the house dog! Well, he was here again; Lot had never begrudged her amusement, any more than she had begrudged him his women.
But when the excitement had subsided, and Lochlann had trundled down the stairs to the privy outside, Morgause thought suddenly that she missed Lot. Not that he had ever been particularly good at this kind of sport ... he had been old when she married him. But when that was done, he could talk with her intelligently, and she found that she missed the years when they would wake together, and lie in bed and talk of all that was to be done or what befell in the kingdom, or all of Britain.
By the time Lochlann came back, the sun was already strengthening and the air was alive with the crying of gulls. She could hear small sounds down the stairs, and somewhere there was a smell of bannock baking. She pulled him to her for a quick kiss and said, "You must be off, my dear. I want you out of here before Gwydion comes-he is a big boy now, he is beginning to notice things."
Lochlann chuckled. "That one, he has been noticing everything since he was out of his nurse's arms. While Lancelet was here he noticed every move he made-even at Beltane. But I do not think you have to worry -he's not old enough to think of that."
"I'm not so certain," Morgause said, and patted his cheek. Gwydion's way was to do nothing until he was sure he would not be laughed at as too young. Self-possessed as he was, he could never bear to be told he was too young for anything-even when he was four years old he had flown into a rage at being told he could not go birds-nesting on the cliffs, and had nearly fallen to his death trying to keep up with the older boys. She remembered that occasion, and other similar ones, when she had told him never to do so or so again, and he had set his small dark face and told her, "Aye, but I shall, and you cannot stop me." Her only reply to that had had to be, "You shall not, or I will myself beat you." Not that it mattered whether she beat him or not-it only made him more defiant, unless she was prepared to beat him insensible; and once, losing her temper, she had frightened herself with how hard she had struck the harmless child. None of her own sons, even the strong-willed Gareth, had ever been so defiant. Gwydion took his own way and did what he would, and so as he got older she had taken to subtler methods: "You shall not, or I shall have your nurse take off your breeks and beat you with a heather switch before all the house folk as if you were a babe of four or five." That had been effective, for a time-very conscious of his dignity was young Gwydion. But now he did as he would and there was no stopping him; it would have taken a harsh man to thrash him as hard as was needful, and he had a way of making anyone who offended him sorry for it, soon or late.
She supposed that he would be more vulnerable when he began to care what the maidens thought of him. Fairy-born he was and dark, like Morgaine, but handsome enough, even as Lancelet was handsome. And it might be that his outward indifference to the maidens would be the same as Lancelet's. She thought about that for a moment, knowing the sting of humiliation. Lancelet  ...  there was the handsomest man she had seen in many a long year, and she had made it clear to him that even the queen was not beyond his reach  ...  but Lancelet had professed not to understand, had meticulously called her "Aunt" early and late-one would have thought from Lancelet's manner that she was elderly indeed, Viviane's twin, not young enough to be Viviane's daughter!
She had begun taking her breakfast in bed while she talked with her women about what must be done that day. While she lingered, propped up on the cushions-they had brought her some of the fresh hot bannock, and there was, at this time of year, plenty of butter from the dairy-Gwydion came into the room.
"Good morning, foster-mother," he said. "I have been out and brought you some berries. And there is cream in the pantry. If you want it, I will run down and fetch it for you."
She looked at the berries, dew-fresh in a wooden bowl. "That was thoughtful of you, foster-son," she said, and sat up in bed to take him close in a great hug. When he was only a little younger he had crawled in beside her into the blankets at such occasions, while she fed him hot bannock and honey, and in winter snuggled him into her furs, like any pampered youngest; she missed the feel of the small warm body burrowing against her, but she supposed he was really too old now.
He straightened himself, smoothing his hair into place-he hated to be mussed. Like Morgaine, who had always been a tidy little thing.
"You are out early, my love," she said, "and you did all this just for your old foster-mother? No, I do not want any cream. You do not want me fat as the old sow, do you?"
He tilted his head to one side like a small precise bird and looked, considering, at Morgause. "It wouldn't matter," he said. "You would still be beautiful even if you were fat. There are women at this court-Mara, for instance-she is no bigger than you, but all the other women, and the men, call her Fat Mara. But somehow you do not look as big as you are, because when anyone looks at you, all they see is that you are beautiful. So have the cream if you want it, foster-mother."
So precise an answer for a child! But after all he was beginning to grow into a man. Though he would be like Agravaine, never very tall-one of the Old People, a throwback. And of course, next to the giant Gareth he would always look like a child, even when he was twenty! He had washed his face and brushed his hair very carefully; yes, and it had been trimmed freshly too.
"How nice you look, my love," she said, as his small fingers swooped precisely to appropriate a berry from the dish. "Did you cut your hair yourself?"
"No," he said, "I made the steward do it; I said I was tired of looking like the house dog. Lot was always clean-trimmed and clean-shaven, and so was Lancelet all the time he stayed here. I like to look like a gentleman."
"And so you always do, my dear," she said, looking at the small dark hand holding the berry. It was bramble-scratched and the knuckles grimed and grubby like any active boy's hand, but she noted, too, that he had scrubbed it long and hard and that the nails were not dirty and broken but carefully pared short. "But why have you put on your holiday tunic this morning?"
"Did I put on my holiday tunic?" he asked, his small dark face innocent. "Yes, I suppose I did. Well-" He paused, and she knew that whatever his reason, and of course he would have a good one, she would never know it. At last he said calmly, "I soaked my other one in the dew picking your berries, madam." Then, suddenly, he said, "I thought I should hate sir Lancelet, Mother. Gareth talked of him early and late as if he were a God," and Morgause remembered that, though he would not weep before her, Gwydion had been heartbroken when Gareth had gone south to King Arthur's court. Morgause had missed him too-Gareth had been the only person alive who had real influence with Gwydion and could make him do as he would with only a light word. Since Gareth had gone there was no one alive to whose counsel Gwydion would listen.
"I thought he would be a fool full of his own importance," Gwydion said, "but he is nothing of the sort. He told me more about lighthouses than even Lot knew, I think. And he said when I was older I should come to Arthur's court and be made a knight, if I was good and honorable." His deep-set dark eyes considered that. "All the women said I look like him- and they asked, and I was angry that I did not know how to answer them. Foster-mother"-he leaned forward, his dark, soft hair falling loose over his forehead, lending the composed small face an unusual vulnerability- "tell me true-is Lancelet my father? I thought that might be why Gareth was so fond of him ...  ."
And you are not the first to ask that question, my love, she thought, stroking the boy's soft hair. The unusual childishness in his face as he asked made her voice gentler than usual.
"No, my little one. Of all the men in the kingdom, Lancelet could not be your father-I made it my business to ask. All that year you were begotten, Lancelet was in Less Britain, fighting at the side of his father, King Ban. I thought so too, but you look like him because Lancelet is your mother's nephew, as he is mine."
Gwydion surveyed her skeptically, and Morgause could almost read his thoughts; that she had told him exactly what she would have told him if she had known Lancelet was his father. He said at last, "Perhaps one day I shall go to Avalon, rather than to Arthur's court. Does my mother dwell now in Avalon, foster-mother?"
"I know not." Morgause frowned  ...  once again, this oddly adult foster-son of hers had led her on to speak to him as if he were a grown man; he did that so often. It came to her that now Lot was gone, Gwydion was the only person in this household with whom she spoke from time to time as one adult to another! Oh, yes, Lochlann was man enough in bed at night, but he never had much more to say than one of the shepherds or even the housemaids!
"Go out now, Gwydion my love, I am going to be dressed-"
"Why should I go?" he asked. "I have known well enough what you look like, ever since I was five years old."
"But you are older now," she said, with that old sense of helplessness. "It is not fitting you should be here while I dress,"
"Do you care that much what is fitting, foster-mother?" he said ingenuously, his eyes resting on the depression in the cushion where Lochlann had lain, and Morgause felt the sudden upward rush of frustration and wrath-he could entangle her in these arguments as if he were a grown man and a Druid! She said sharply, "I need not account to you for my doings, Gwydion!"
"Did I say you must?" His eyes were all injured innocence. "But if I am older, then I will need to know more about women than I did when I was a baby, will I not? I want to stay and talk."
"Oh, stay, stay if you want to," she said, "but turn your back, I'll not have you staring at me, sir Impudence!" Obediently he turned away, but as she rose and signalled her woman to bring her gown, he said, "No, put on your blue gown, foster-mother, the new one from the looms, and your saffron cloak."
"And now you will be giving me advice on what I should wear? What's this, what's this?"
"I like to see you dressed like a fine lady and a queen," he said, persuasively. "And tell them to dress your hair high with your gold coil, will you not, foster-mother? To please me?"
"Why, you would have me fine as a Midsummer feast, so that I should sit and card wool in all my best gear-my women would laugh, child!"
"Let them laugh," Gwydion coaxed. "Will you not dress in your finest to please me? And who knows what may happen before the day is done? You might be glad of it."
Morgause, laughing, gave way. "Oh, as you wish-if you will have it that I dress myself for a festival, let it be so ... we will have our own festival here, then! And now I suppose the kitchen must bake honey cakes for this imaginary festival-"
A child, after all, she thought, he thinks in this way to tease for sweets. But then, he brought me berries, why not? "Well, Gwydion, shall I have them bake a honey cake for supper?"
He turned around. Her gown was still unlaced, and she saw his eyes linger for a moment on her white breasts. Not such a child, then. But he said, "I am always happy to have a honey cake, but perhaps there will be some fish to bake, too, for dinner."
"If we are to have fish," she said, "you will have to change your tunic again and go fishing for it yourself. The men are busy with the sowing."
He answered quickly, "I will ask Lochlann to go-it will be like a holiday for him. He deserves one, doesn't he, foster-mother, you are pleased with him, aren't you?"
Idiotic! Morgause thought. I will not blush before a boy his age! "If you would like to send Lochlann fishing, love, do so. He can be spared today, I suppose."
And she thought, she would like well to know what was really in Gwydion's mind, with his holiday tunic and his insistence that she should wear her finest gown and provide a good dinner. She called her housekeeper and said, "Master Gwydion would like a honey cake. See to it."
"He shall have his cake," said the housekeeper, with an indulgent look at the boy. "Look at his sweet face, like one of those angels, he is."
Angel. That is the last thing I would call him, thought Morgause; but she directed her woman to do her hair up with the gold coil. She would probably never learn what was on Gwydion's mind.
The day wore slowly along in its accustomed way. Morgause had wondered at times whether Gwydion had the Sight, but he had never shown any of the signs, and when once she asked him point-blank he had acted as if he did not know what she was talking about. And if he had, she thought, at least once she would have caught him bragging of it.
Ah, well. For some obscure child's reason, Gwydion had wanted a festival and had coaxed her into it. No doubt, with Gareth gone, he was lonely all the time-he had little in common with Lot's other sons. Nor did he have Gareth's passion for arms and knightly things, nor so far as she could tell, Morgaine's gift for music, though his voice was clear, and sometimes he would bring out a little set of pipes like those the shepherd lads played and make strange, mournful-sounding music. But it was not a passion as it had been with Morgaine, who would have sat happy all day at her harp if she could.
Still, he had a quick and retentive mind. For three years, Lot had sent for a learned priest from Iona to dwell in their house and teach the boy to read; he had said the priest was to teach Gareth too while he was about it, but Gareth had no mind to his book. He struggled obediently with letters and Latin, but no more than Gawaine-nor Morgause herself, for that matter-could he keep his mind fixed on written symbols or the mysterious tongue of those old Romans. Agravaine was quick enough-he kept all the tallies and accounts of the estate, he had a gift for numbering things; but Gwydion soaked up every bit of learning, it seemed, as quickly as it was put before him. Within a year he could read as well as the priest himself and speak in Latin as if he were one of those old Caesars reborn, so that for the first time Morgause wondered might there not be something, after all, in what the Druids said-that we were reborn again and again, learning more and more in each life.
He is such a son as should make his father proud, Morgause thought. And Arthur has no son at all by his queen. One day-yes, one day, I shall have a secret to tell Arthur, and then I can hold the King's conscience in my hand. The thought amused her vastly. She was surprised Morgaine had never used that hold she had on Arthur-she could have forced him to negotiate a marriage for her with the richest of his subject kings, could have had jewels, or power  ...  but Morgaine cared nothing for such things, only for her harp and for the nonsense the Druids talked. At least she, Morgause, would make better use of this unexpected power thrust into her hand.
She sat in her hall, dressed in her unaccustomed finery, carding the wool from the spring shearing, and making decisions: Gwydion must have a new cloak-he grew so fast, his old one was about his knees already and no good to him in the winter cold, and no doubt he would grow faster yet this year. Should she, perhaps, give him Agravaine's cloak, cut down a little, and make a new one for Agravaine? Gwydion, in his saffron holiday tunic, came and sniffed appreciatively as the scent of the honey cake, rich with spices, began to drift through the room, but he did not hang about to tease that it should be cut and that he should have a slice early, as he would have done only a few months ago. At midday he said, "Mother, I will have a piece of bread and cheese in my hand and I will be off to walk the boundaries -Agravaine said I should go and see if all the fences are in good order."
"Not in your holiday shoes," said Morgause.
"Certainly not. I will go barefoot," Gwydion said, unfastening his sandals and leaving them beside her near the hearth; he tucked up his tunic through his belt so that it was well above his knees, took up a stout stick, and was off, while Morgause frowned after him-this was not a task Gwydion ever took upon himself, no matter what Agravaine wanted! What was with the lad this day?
Lochlann came back after midday with a fine large fish, so heavy Morgause could not lift if, she surveyed it with pleasure-it would feed everyone who ate at the high table and there would be cold baked fish for three days. Cleaned, scented with herbs, it lay ready for the baking oven when Gwydion came in, his feet and hands scrubbed clean, his hair combed, and slipped his feet into his sandals again. He looked at the fish and smiled.
"Yes, indeed, it will be like a festival," he said with satisfaction.
"Have you done walking all the fences, foster-brother?" Agravaine asked, coming in from one of the barns where he had been doctoring a sick pony.
"I have, and they are mostly in good order," said Gwydion, "but at the very top of the north fells where we had the ewes last fall, there is a great hole in the fences where all the stones have fallen down. You must send men to fix it before you put any sheep to pasture there, and as for goats, they'd be away before you could speak to them!"
"You went all the way up there alone?" Morgause frowned at him in dismay. "You are not a goat-you could have fallen and broken a leg in the ravine and no one would have known for days! I have told you and told you, if you go up on the fells, take one of the shepherd lads with you!"
"I had my reasons for going alone," retorted Gwydion, with that stubborn set of his mouth, "and I saw what I wanted to see."
"What could you possibly see that would be worth risking some injury and lying there all alone for days?" demanded Agravaine crossly.
"I have never fallen yet," Gwydion said, "and if I did, it is I who would suffer for it. What is it to you, if I take my own risks?"
"I am your elder brother and ruler in this house," said Agravaine, "and you will show me some respect or I will knock it into you!"
"Perhaps if you knocked your head open, you could shove some sense inside it," Gwydion said pertly, "for sure, it will never grow there on its own-"
"You wretched little-"
"Aye, say it," Gwydion shouted, "mock me with my birth, you-I do not know my father's name, but I know who fathered you, and between the two I would rather be in my situation!"
Agravaine took a heavy step toward him, but Morgause quickly rose and thrust Gwydion behind her. "Don't tease the boy, Agravaine."
"If he always runs to hide behind your skirts, Mother, is it any wonder I cannot teach him to obey?" demanded Agravaine.
"It would take a better man than you to teach me that," Gwydion said, and Morgause drew back at the bitterness in his voice.
"Hush, hush, child-don't speak so to your brother," she admonished, and Gwydion said, "I am sorry, Agravaine-I should not have been rude to you."
He smiled up, his eyes big and lovely under dark lashes, the picture of a contrite child. Agravaine grumbled, "I am only thinking of your welfare, you young rascal-do you think I want you to break every bone in your body? And why would you take it into your head to climb the fells alone?"
"Well," said Gwydion, "otherwise you would not have known of the hole in the fences, and you might have pastured sheep there or even goats, and lost all of them. And I never tear my clothes-do I, Mother?"
Morgause chuckled, for it was true-Gwydion was easy on his clothes. There were some boys like that. Gareth had only to put on a tunic and it was crumpled, stained, and dirty before he had worn it an hour, while Gwydion had climbed the high fells in his saffron holiday tunic and it looked as if he had that moment taken it from the washing-woman. Gwydion looked at Agravaine in his working smock and said, "But you are not fit to sit at table with Mother in her fine clothes. Go and put on your fine tunic, brother. Would you sit down to dinner in your old smock like a farmer?"
"I won't be ruled by a young knave like you," Agravaine growled, but he did go off toward his chamber, and Gwydion smiled with secret satisfaction. He said, "Agravaine should have a wife, Mother. He is bad-tempered as a bull in spring, and besides, you should not have to weave his clothes and mend them."
Morgause was amused. "No doubt you are right. But I want no other queen beneath this roof. No house is big enough for the rule of two women."
"Then you should find him a wife who is not too well-born and very stupid," said Gwydion, "so that she will be glad you can tell her what to do, because she will be afraid of making a mistake among gentlefolk. The daughter of Niall would be about right-she is very pretty, and Niall's folk are rich but not too rich, because so many of their cattle and sheep died in the bad winter six years ago. She would have a good dowry, because Niall is afraid she will not marry. The girl had the measles when she was six years old, and her eyesight is not good, and she is not too broad in the wit, either. She can spin and weave well enough, but she has neither the eyesight nor the cleverness for much more, so she will not mind much if Agravaine keeps her always breeding."
"Well, well, well, what a statesman you are already," said Morgause caustically. "Agravaine should appoint you one of his councillors, you are so wise." But she thought, aye, he is right, I will speak to Niall tomorrow.
"He could do worse," said Gwydion seriously, "but I shall not be here for that, Mother. I meant to tell you, when I went up on the fells, I saw -no, but here is Donil the hunter, he can tell you." And indeed, the big hunter was already coming into the hall, bending low before Morgause.
"My lady," he said, "there are riders on the road, nearing the great house-a sedan chair draped like the Avalon barge, and with them a hunchbacked man with a harp, and servants in the garb of Avalon. They will be here in half an hour."
Avalon! Then Morgause saw Gwydion's secret smile and knew that he had been ready for this. But he has never spoken of having the Sight! What child would not brag of it, if he did? And suddenly, the thought that he could conceal it, enjoy it yet more that his knowledge was secret, seemed uncanny to her, so that for a moment she shrank away, almost afraid of her foster-son. And she knew he saw it, and was not displeased.
All he said was, "Now isn't it lucky that we have a honey cake, and baked fish, and that we have all dressed in our best clothing, so we may do honor to Avalon, Mother?"
"Yes," Morgause said, staring at her foster-son. "Very lucky indeed, Gwydion."


AS SHE stood in the front yard to welcome the riders, she found herself remembering a day when Viviane and Taliesin had come to the faraway castle of Tintagel. Taliesin, she supposed, was long past such journeys, even if he was still alive. She would have heard if he had died. And Viviane rode no longer in boots and breeches like a man, travelling at speed, a law unto herself.
Gwydion stood quietly at her side. In his saffron tunic, his dark hair neatly combed from his face, he looked very like Lancelet.
"Who are these visitors, Mother?"
"I suppose it is the Lady of the Lake," Morgause said, "and the Merlin of Britain, the Messenger of the Gods."
"You told me my own mother was a priestess of Avalon," said Gwydion. "Does their coming have anything to do with me?"
"Well, well, do not tell me there is anything you do not know!" said Morgause sharply, then relented. "I do not know why they have come, my dear; I have not the Sight. But it may well be. I want you to hand the wine about, and to listen and to learn, but not to speak unless you are spoken to."
That, she thought, would have been hard for her own sons-Gawaine, Gaheris, and Gareth were noisy and inquisitive, and it had been difficult to school them to courtly manners. They were, she thought, great friendly dogs, while Gwydion was like a cat, silent, sleek, fastidious, and watchful. Morgaine as a child had been like that. .. Viviane did not well when she cast Morgaine aside, even if she was angry with her for bearing a child  ...  and why should it matter to her? She herself bore children, including that damnable Lancelet, who has set Arthur's kingdom so much at havoc that even here we have heard how the Queen favors him.
And then she wondered, why did she assume that Viviane had not wanted Morgaine to bear this child? Morgaine had quarrelled with Avalon, but perhaps that had been Morgaine's doing and not the Lady's.
She was deep in thought; and Gwydion touched her arm and murmured in an undertone, "Your guests, Mother."
Morgause sank in a deep curtsey before Viviane, who seemed to have shrunk. Always before this, she had been ageless, but now she looked withered, her face lined, her eyes sunk into her face. But she had the same lovely smile, and her voice was low and sweet as ever.
"Ah, it is good to see you, little sister," she said, drawing Morgause into an embrace. "How long has it been? I like not to think of the years! How young you look, Morgause! Such pretty teeth, and your hair as bright as ever. You met Kevin Harper at Arthur's wedding, before he was the Merlin of Britain."
It seemed that Kevin too had grown older, stooped and gnarled, like an ancient oak tree; well, that was fitting, she thought, for one of those who consorted with oaks, and felt her mouth move in a little ripple of secret mirth. "You are welcome, Master Harper-Lord Merlin, I should say. How is it with the noble Taliesin? Is he yet in the land of the living?"
"He lives," said Viviane as another woman stepped from the sedan chair. "But he is old and fragile now, he will not make such a journey as this again." And then she said, "This is a daughter of Taliesin, a child of the oak groves-Niniane. So she is your half-sister, Morgause."
Morgause was a little dismayed as the younger woman stepped forward and embraced her, saying in a sweet voice, "I am glad to know my sister." Niniane seemed so young! She had fair reddish-gold hair and blue eyes beneath silky long lashes. Viviane said, "Niniane travels with me, now I am old. She is the only one except myself dwelling upon Avalon who is of the old royal blood." Niniane was dressed as a priestess; her fair hair was braided low across her forehead, but the blue crescent mark of a priestess, freshly painted with blue dye, could be clearly seen. She spoke with the trained voice of a priestess, filled with power; but she herself seemed young and powerless as she stood next to Viviane.
Morgause sought to recapture her sense that she was hostess and these were her guests; she felt like a kitchen girl before the two priestesses and the Druid. Then she reminded herself angrily that both these women were her own half-sisters, and as for the Merlin, he was only an old hunchback! "Be welcome to Lothian and to my hall. This is my son Agravaine, who reigns here while Gawaine is away at Arthur's court. And this is my foster-son, Gwydion."
The boy bowed gracefully to the distinguished guests, but made only a polite murmur of acknowledgment.
"He is a handsome lad and well grown," said Kevin. "This, then, is Morgaine's son?"
Morgause lifted her eyebrows. "Would it avail anything to deny it to one who has the Sight, sir?"
"Morgaine herself told me, when she heard that I rode north to Lothian," Kevin said, and a shadow crossed his face.
"Then Morgaine dwells again in Avalon?" asked Morgause, and Kevin shook his head. Morgause saw that Viviane too looked distressed.
"Morgaine is at Arthur's court," said Kevin. Viviane said, pressing her lips together, "She has work to do in the world outside. But she will return to Avalon at the appointed time. There is a place awaiting her which she must take."
Gwydion asked softly, "Is it of my mother that you speak, Lady?"
Viviane looked straight at Gwydion and suddenly she seemed tall and imposing-the old priestess-trick, thought Morgause, but Gwydion had never seen it before. And the Lady said, her voice suddenly filling the courtyard, "Why do you ask me, child, when you already know the answer perfectly well? Would you mock at the Sight, Gwydion? Take care. I know you better than you think, and there are still a few things in this world that you do not know!"
Gwydion backed away, his mouth open, suddenly only a precocious child again. Morgause raised her eyebrows; so there was still someone and something which could frighten him! For once he did not try to excuse or explain himself in his usual glib manner.
She took the initiative again, saying, "Come in. All things are prepared to welcome you, my sisters, Lord Merlin." And as she looked at the red cloth she had set upon the high table, the goblets and fine ware standing there, she thought, Even here at the end of the world, our court is no pigsty! She conducted Viviane to her own high seat and set Kevin Harper next to her. As Niniane was stepping up on the dais she stumbled, and Gwydion was swiftly there, with a ready hand and a polite word.
Well, well, at last our Gwydion is beginning to take notice of a pretty woman. Or is it just good manners or a wish to ingratiate himself because Viviane chided him? She was perfectly well aware that she would never know the answer.
The fish was baked to perfection, the red fish flaking lightly away from the bones, and there was enough of the honey cake for most of the house people to have some; and she had sent for extra barley beer so that each of the people in the lower hall might have something extra to their meal as well. There was plenty of fresh-baked bread and an abundance of milk and butter, as well as cheese made with ewe's milk. Viviane ate as sparingly as ever, but she was ready in praise of the food.
"You set a queenly table indeed. I would not be better guested in Camelot. I had not looked for such welcome, coming without warning as I did," she said.
"Have you been to Camelot? Have you seen my sons?" Morgause asked, but Viviane shook her head and her forehead ridged in a scowl.
"No, not yet. Though I shall go thither at what Arthur now calls Pentecost, like to the church fathers themselves," she said, and for some reason Morgause felt a slight icing of her back; but with her guests she had no leisure to think of it.
Kevin said, "I saw your sons at court, lady. Gawaine had a small wound at Mount Badon, but it healed clean and is hidden by his beard ... he has begun wearing a small beard like to the Saxons, not because he wishes to be like them, but he cannot shave daily without slicing the top from the scar. He may start a new fashion at court! I saw not Gaheris-he is away to the south, fortifying the coast. Gareth is to be made a Companion at Arthur's high feast at Pentecost. He is one of the biggest, and one of the trustiest men at court, though sir Cai still bullies him and calls him 'Handsome' for his pretty face."
"He should have been made one of Arthur's Companions already!" said Gwydion jealously, and Kevin looked more kindly on the boy. "So, you are jealous for your kinsman's honor, my lad? Indeed he well deserves to be a Companion, and he is treated as one now his rank is known. But Arthur wished to show him honor at his first high feast in Camelot, so he will be made Companion with all the ceremony the King can manage. Rest you content, Gwydion, Arthur well knows his worth, even as he knows Gawaine's. And he is one of Arthur's youngest Companions."
Then, even more shyly, Gwydion asked, "Know you my mother, Master Harper? The lady M-Morgaine?"
"Aye, lad, I know her well," said Kevin gently, and Morgause thought that the ugly little man had at least a speaking voice that was rich and beautiful. "She is one of the fairest ladies at Arthur's court, and one of the most gracious, and she plays the harp as well as a bard."
"Come, come," said Morgause, her lips crinkling up in a smile, and amused at the obvious devotion in the harper's voice. "It is well to tell a tale to amuse a child, but truth must be served too. Morgaine, fair? She is plain as a raven! Igraine was beautiful when she was young, all men knew that, but Morgaine resembles her not at all."
Kevin's voice was respectful but also amused. "There is an old saying in the wisdom of the Druids  ...  beauty is not all in a fair face, but lies within. Morgaine is indeed very beautiful, Queen Morgause, though her beauty resembles yours no more than a willow tree resembles a daffodil. And she is the only person at court to whose hands I will ever trust My Lady." He gestured to his harp which had been unwrapped and set at his side, and picking up her cue, Morgause asked Kevin if he would favor them with a song.
He took up the harp and sang, and for a time the hall was perfectly still except for the harp notes and the bard's voice, and as he sang, the people in the lower hall crept as close as they could to listen to the music. But when he had done, and Morgause had dismissed the house-folk-although she allowed Lochlann to stay, sitting quietly near the fire-she said, "I too love music well, Master Harper, and you have given us a pleasure I shall long remember. But you did not travel all this long journey from Avalon to the Northlands so that I might have feasting with a harper. I beg of you, tell me why you come here so unexpectedly."
"Not so unexpected," said Viviane, with a little smile, "for I found you all dressed in your best and ready to greet us with wine and baked fish and honey cakes. You had warning of my coming, and since you had never more than a glimmering of the Sight, I can only imagine it was another not far from here who warned you." She cast an ironic glance at Gwydion, and Morgause nodded.
"But he told me not why, only bade me prepare all things for a festival, and I thought it was a child's whim, no more."
Gwydion was hanging over Kevin's seat as he began to wrap his harp, and he asked, putting his hand out hesitantly, "May I touch the strings?"
"You may," said Kevin mildly, and Gwydion plucked a string or two, saying, "I have never seen so fine a harp."
"Nor will you ever. I think there is no finer one here, nor even in Wales, where there is a whole college of bards," said Kevin. "My Lady was a king's gift to me, and she never leaves my side. And like many women," he added, with a courtly bow to Viviane, "she grows but more beautiful with the years."
"Would that my voice had grown sweeter as I grew old," said Viviane good-humoredly, "but the Dark Mother has not willed it so. Only her immortal children sing more sweetly as the years grow longer. May My Lady never sing less beautifully than now."
"Are you fond of music, master Gwydion? Have you learned anything of the harp?"
"I have not a harp to play," said Gwydion. "Coll, who is the only harper at court, has now such stiff fingers that he seldom touches the strings. We have had no music for two years now. I play a little upon the small pipe, though, and Aran-he that was Lot's piper at war-taught me to play a little upon the pipe of elk-horn ... it hangs yonder. He went with King Lot to Mount Badon, and like Lot, he came not back."
"Bring me the pipe," said Kevin, and when Gwydion brought it from where it hung on the wall, he rubbed it clean with a cloth, blew the dust from inside it, then put it to his lips and set his twisted fingers to the neat row of holes bored in the horn. He played a little dancing tune, then set it aside, saying, "I have small skill for this-my fingers are not quick enough. Well, Gwydion, if you love music, they will teach you at Avalon -let me hear you play a little upon this horn."
Gwydion's mouth was dry-Morgause saw him wet his lips with his tongue-but he took the wood-and-horn thing in his hands and blew carefully into it. Then he began to play a slow melody, and Kevin, after a moment, nodded.
"That will do," he said. "You are Morgaine's son, after all-it would be strange if you had no gift at all. We may be able to teach you much. You may have the makings of a bard, but more likely of a priest and Druid."
Gwydion blinked and almost let the pipe fall from his hand; he caught it in the skirt of his tunic.
"Of a bard-what do you mean? Tell me clear!"
Viviane looked straight at him, "It is the appointed time, Gwydion. You are Druid-born, and of two royal lines. You are to be given the ancient teachings and the secret wisdom in Avalon, that one day you may bear the dragon."
He swallowed-Morgause could see him absorbing this. She could well imagine that the thought of secret wisdom would attract Gwydion more than anything else they might have offered. He stammered, "You said -two royal lines-"
Viviane shook her head faintly when Niniane would have answered, so Niniane said only, "All things will be made clear to you when the proper time comes, Gwydion. If you are to be a Druid, the first thing you must learn is when to be silent and ask no questions."
He looked up at her mutely, and Morgause thought, It was worth all the trouble of this day to see Gwydion for once impressed even to speechlessness! Well, she was not surprised; Niniane was beautiful-she looked very much as Igraine had looked as a young girl, or she herself, only with fair hair rather than red.
Viviane said quietly, "This much I can tell you at once-the mother of your mother's mother was the Lady of the Lake, and from a long line of priestesses. Igraine and Morgause also bear the blood of the noble Taliesin, and so do you. Many of the royal lines of these islands, among the Druids, have been preserved in you, and if you are worthy, a great destiny awaits you. But you must be worthy-royal blood alone makes not a king, but courage, and wisdom, and farsightedness. I tell you, Gwydion, that he who wears the dragon may be more of a king than he who sits on a throne, for the throne may be won by force of arms, or by craft, or as Lot won it, by being born in the right bed and begot by the right king. But the Great Dragon can be won only by one's own efforts, not in this life alone, but those which have gone before. I tell you a mystery."
Gwydion said, "I-I do not understand!"
"Of course you do not!" Viviane's voice was sharp. "Even as I said
-it is a mystery, and wise Druids have sometimes studied for many lifetimes to understand less than that. I did not mean that you should understand, but that you should listen and hear, and learn to obey."
Gwydion swallowed and lowered his head. Morgause saw Niniane smile at him, and he drew a long breath, as if reprieved, and sat down at her feet, listening quietly, for once without trying to make any pert answer or explanation. Morgause thought, Perhaps the training of the Druids is what he needs!
"So you have come to tell me I have fostered Morgaine's son long enough, and the time is come when he shall be taken to Avalon and schooled in the learning of the Druids. But you would not have travelled yourself by this long road to tell me that-you could have sent any lesser Druid to take the boy into his custody. I have known for years that it would not befit Morgaine's son to end his days among shepherds and fisherfolk. And where else than Avalon would his destiny be laid? I beg you, tell me the rest- oh, yes, there is more, I see in your faces that there is more."
Kevin opened his mouth to speak, but Viviane said sharply, "Why should I tell you all my thoughts, Morgause, when you seek to turn all things to your advantage and that of your own sons? Even now, Gawaine is nearest the High King's throne not only because of blood, but also in Arthur's love. And I foresaw when Arthur was wedded to Gwenhwyfar that she would bear no child. I thought it only likely that she might die in breeding, so I wished not to meddle with what happiness Arthur might have -then could we have found him, afterward, a more suitable wife. But I let it go on too long, and now he will not put her away, even though she is barren-and you see in that no more than an opportunity for your own son's advancement."
"You should not assume she is barren, Viviane." Kevin's face was set in bitter lines. "She was pregnant before Mount Badon, and she carried this child a full five months-she might well have brought it to birth. I think she miscarried because of the heat, and the close confinement in the castle, and her own fear of the Saxons  ...  and it was pity for her, I think, which caused Arthur to betray Avalon and put aside the dragon banner."
Niniane said, "So it was not only her childlessness, Queen Morgause, by which Gwenhwyfar did Arthur such great harm. She is a creature of the priests, and already she has influenced him too well. If some day it should happen that she bear a child that might live to grow up ... that would be the worst of all."
Morgause felt as if she would stifle. "Gawaine-"
Viviane said harshly, "Gawaine is Christian as Arthur. He longs only to please Arthur in all things!"
Kevin said, "I know not whether Arthur has any great commitment to the Christian God or whether it is all Gwenhwyfar's doing, to please her and pity her-"
Morgause said scornfully, "Is that man fit to rule who would forswear his oath for a woman's sake? Is Arthur forsworn, then?"
Kevin said, "I heard him say that since Christ and Mary the Virgin gave him the victory at Mount Badon, he will not put them aside now. And I heard him say more, when he spoke with Taliesin-that Mary the Virgin was even as the Great Goddess, and it was she had given him the victory to save this land  ...  and that the banner of the Pendragon was that of his father Uther, and not his own ...  ."
"Still," said Niniane, "he had no right to cast it all aside. We in Avalon set Arthur on his throne, and he owes it to us-"
Morgause said impatiently, "What matters it what banner flies over a king's troops? The soldiers need something to inspire their imagination-"
"As usual, you ignore the point," said Viviane. "It is what lives in their dreams and imagination that we must control from Avalon, or this struggle with Christ will be lost and their souls lie in slavery to a false faith! The symbol of the dragon should be always before them, that mankind seek to accomplish, not to think of sin and do penance!"
Kevin said slowly, "I know not-perhaps it would be as well that there should be these lesser mysteries for the fools, and then could the wise be shown the inner teaching. Perhaps it has been made all too easy for mankind to come to Avalon, and so they value it not."
Viviane said, "Would you have it that I should sit by and see Avalon go further into the mists, even as the fairy country?"
"I am saying, Lady," said Kevin, deferentially, but firmly, "that it may even now be too late to prevent it-Avalon will always be there for all men to find if they can seek the way thither, throughout all the ages past the ages. If they cannot find the way to Avalon, it is a sign, perhaps, that they are not ready."
"Still," said Viviane, in that hard voice, "I shall keep Avalon within the world, or die in attempting it!"
There was a silence in the hall, and Morgause realized that she was icy cold. She said, "Build up the fire, Gwydion-" and passed the wine. "Drink, will you not, sister? And you, Master Harper?"
Niniane poured the wine, but Gwydion sat still, as if dreaming or entranced. Morgause said, "Gwydion, do as I bade you-" but Kevin put out a hand and bade her be still. He said, in a whisper, "The boy's in trance. Gwydion, speak-"
"It is all blood-" he whispered, "blood, poured out like the blood of sacrifice on the ancient altars, blood spilt on the throne-"
Niniane stumbled and tripped, and the rest of the wine, blood red, went cascading over Gwydion where he sat, and across Viviane's lap. She rose, startled, and Gwydion blinked and shook himself like a puppy. He said, confused, "What-I am sorry-let me help you," and took the wineskin from Niniane's hand. "Ugh, it looks like spilt blood, let me fetch a cloth from the kitchens," and streaked away like any active lad.
"Well, there's your blood," said Morgause with disgust. "Is my Gwydion, too, to be lost in dreams and sickly visions?"
Mopping the sticky wine from her gown, Viviane said, "Disparage not another's gift because you have not the Sight, Morgause!"
Gwydion came back with the cloth, but as he bent to mop it away, he faltered, and Morgause took the cloth from his hand and beckoned one of the serving-women to come and dry the table and the hearth. He looked ill, but where normally he would have tried to make more of it for her attention, she saw that he turned quickly away as if ashamed. She ached to take him in her arms and rock him, this child who had been her last baby when the others were grown and gone, but she knew he would not thank her for it and held her peace, staring down at her linked hands. Niniane put out a hand to him, too, but it was Viviane who beckoned him, her eyes stern and unflinching.
"Speak the truth to me: how long have you had the Sight?"
He lowered his eyes and said, "I know not-I did not know what to call it." He fidgeted, refusing to look at her.
She said quietly, "And you concealed it for pride and love of power, did you not? Now it has mastered you, and you must master it in turn. We came none too soon here-I hope we have not come too late. Are you unsteady on your feet? Sit here, then, and be still."
To Morgause's astonishment, Gwydion sank down quietly at the feet of the two priestesses. After a moment Niniane put her hand on his head and he leaned against her.
Viviane turned again to Morgause and said, "As I told you before, Gwenhwyfar will bear Arthur no son, but he will not put her aside. All the more because she is a Christian, and their religion forbids a man to put his wife away-"
Morgause shrugged and said, "What of that? She has miscarried once, or it may be, more than once. And she is not so young a woman, not now. Life is uncertain for women."
"Aye, Morgause," said Viviane, "once before you sought to trade on that uncertainty of life, so that your son might stand near to the throne- did you not? I warn you, my sister-meddle not in what the Gods have decreed!"
Morgause smiled. "I thought, Viviane, that you lectured me long- or was it Taliesin?-that nothing comes about save by the will of the Gods. If Arthur had died ere he came to Uther's throne, why then, I doubt not the Gods would have found another to serve their turn."
"I came not here to argue theology, you miserable girl," said Viviane angrily. "Do you think, if I had my will, that I would have entrusted you with life or death for the royal line of Avalon?"
Morgause said with silky wrath, "But the Goddess willed it not that you should do your own will, so it seems to me, Viviane. I am weary of this talk of old prophecy ... if there be any Gods at all, of which I am not even certain, I cannot believe they would stoop to meddle in the affairs of men. Nor will I wait upon the Gods to do what I see clearly must be done-who's to say that the Goddess cannot work through my hand as well as another." She saw that Niniane was shocked-aye, she was another such ninny as Igraine, believing all this talk of Gods. "As for the royal line of Avalon, you see I have fostered it well."
"He seems strong and well, a healthy boy," said Viviane, "but can you swear you have not flawed him within, Morgause?"
Gwydion raised his head and said sharply, "My foster-mother has been good to me. The lady Morgaine cared not much for the fostering of her son-not once has she come hither to ask whether I lived or died!"
Kevin said severely, "You were bade speak only when spoken to, Gwydion. And you know nothing of Morgaine's reasons or purposes."
Morgause looked sharply at the crippled little bard. Has Morgaine confided in this wretched abortion, when I had to force her secret from her by spells and the Sight? She felt a surge of wrath, but Viviane said, "Enough. You fostered him well while it suited you, Morgause, but I mark you have not forgotten he stands one step nearer the throne than did Arthur at his age, and two steps nearer than your own son Gawaine! As for Gwenhwyfar, I have seen that she is to play some part in the fate of Avalon-she cannot be wholly without the Sight or the vision, for once she broke through the mists and stood upon the shores of Avalon. Perhaps if she were given a son, and it was made clear that it was by Avalon's arts and will-" She glanced at Niniane. "She is capable of conception-with a strong sorceress at her side to keep her from casting forth the child."
"It is too late for that," Kevin said. "It was all her doing that Arthur betrayed Avalon and set aside the dragon banner. The truth is, I suppose, that her wits are not in the right place."
"The truth is," said Niniane, "that you bear her a grudge, Kevin. Why?"
The harper cast his eyes down and stared at his scarred and twisted hands. He said at last, "True. I cannot even in my thoughts deal fair with Gwenhwyfar-I am no more than human. But even if I loved her well, I would say she is no queen for a king who must rule from Avalon. I would not grieve, should she suffer some accident or mischance. For if she gave Arthur a son, she would think it only the goodness of Christ, though the Lady of the Lake herself stood by her bed. I cannot help but pray she has no such good fortune."
Morgause smiled her cat smile. "Gwenhwyfar may seek to be more Christian than Christ's self," she said, "but I know something of their Scriptures, for Lot had a priest here from Iona to teach the lads. The Holy Writ runs thus, that he is damned who shall put his wife away save for adultery. And even here in Lothian we have heard-the Queen is hardly so chaste as all that. Arthur is away often at the wars, and all men know how she looks with favor upon your son, Viviane."
"You do not know Gwenhwyfar," Kevin said. "She is pious more than reason, and Lancelet is so much Arthur's friend that I think Arthur would not move against them unless he took the two of them together in his bed before all of the court."
"Even that might be arranged," said Morgause. "Gwenhwyfar is too beautiful to think that other women would love her much. Surely someone around her could make an open scandal, to force Arthur's hand-"
Viviane made a grimace of distaste. "What woman would betray a fellow woman like that?"
Morgause said, "I would, if I were convinced it was for the good of the kingdom."
"I would not so," said Niniane, "and Lancelet is honorable, and Arthur's closest friend. I doubt he would betray Arthur for Gwenhwyfar. If we wish Gwenhwyfar set aside, we must look elsewhere."
"And there is this," said Viviane, and she sounded tired. "Gwenhwyfar has done nothing wrong that we know-we cannot set her down from Arthur's side while she keeps the bargain she has made, to be a dutiful wife to Arthur. If a scandal is made, there must be truth in it. Avalon is sworn to uphold the truth."
"But if there were a true scandal?" Kevin said.
"Then she must take her chances," Viviane said, "but I will not be party to any false accusations."
"Yet she has at least one other enemy," said Kevin thoughtfully. "Leodegranz of the Summer Country has just died, and his young wife and her last child with her, Gwenhwyfar is queen there now; but Leodegranz had a kinsman-he claims to be a son, but I believe it not-and I think he would like it well if he could claim to be king in the old manner of the Tribes, by bedding with the queen."
Gwydion said, "It is well they have no such custom at Lot's most Christian court, is it not?" But he spoke softly, so that they could affect not to hear him. And Morgause thought: He is angry because he is being ignored, that is all. Am I to be angry because a puppy bites me with his little teeth?
"By the old custom," said Niniane, her pretty brow ridging into little lines, "Gwenhwyfar is not wedded to any unless she has borne him a son, and if another man can take her from Arthur-"
"Aye, there's the question," said Viviane, laughing. "Arthur can keep his wife by force of arms. And he would do it, too, I doubt not." Then she sobered. "The one thing we can be certain of is that Gwenhwyfar shall remain barren. Should she conceive again, there are spells to make certain she carries not the child to birth, or past the first few weeks. As for Arthur's heir ..." She paused, and looked at Gwydion, still sitting like a sleepy child, his head resting on Niniane's lap. "There sits a son of the royal line of Avalon-and son to the Great Dragon."
Morgause caught her breath. Never once, in all these years, had it occurred to her that it was anything other than the gravest mischance that Morgaine had gotten herself with child by her half-brother. Now she saw the complexity of Viviane's plan and was awe-stricken by the audacity of it-to set a child of Avalon and of Arthur on the throne after his father.
What of the King Stag when the young stag is grown... ? For a moment Morgause did not know whether the thought had been her own or had come into her head as an echo from one of the two Avalon priestesses before her; always she had had these disturbing, incomplete moments of the Sight, though she could never control when they would come or go, and, truth to tell, had not cared to do so.
Gwydion's eyes were wide; he leaned forward, his mouth open. "Lady-" he said breathlessly, "is it true-that I, I am the son of the-of the High King?"
"Aye," said Viviane, her mouth tight, "though the priests will never acknowledge it. To them it would be sin of all sins, that a son should get a son on his mother's daughter. They have set themselves up holier than the Goddess herself, who is mother to us all. But it is so."
Kevin turned; slowly, painfully, with his crippled body, he knelt down before Gwydion.
"My prince and my lord," he said, "child of the royal line of Avalon, and son to the son of the Great Dragon, we have come to take you to Avalon, where you may be prepared for your destiny. On the morrow you must be ready to depart."

2

"On the morrow you must be ready to depart. ..."
It was like to the terror of a dream that they should speak thus openly of what I had kept secret all these years, even during that time when none thought I could live after his birth ...  . I could have gone to my death with none knowing I had borne a child to my own brother. But Morgause had got the secret from me, and Viviane knew  ...  it was an old saying, three could keep a secret if but two of them lay in their graves ...  . Viviane had planned this, she had used me as she had used Igraine!
But the dream was beginning to break up now and shift and ripple as if it were all underwater. I fought to keep it, to hear, but it seemed that Arthur was there and he drew a sword and advanced on Gwydion, and the child caught Excalibur from its scabbard ...  .
Morgaine sat bolt upright in her room at Camelot, catching at the blanket. No, she told herself, no, it was a dream, only a dream. I do not even know who sits next to Viviane in Avalon, no doubt it is Raven, not this fair-haired woman so like to my mother that I have seen again and again in my dreams. And who knows if such a woman walks the face of this earth or Avalon, or whether she is a confused dream of my mother? I do not remember anyone even a little like her in the House of Maidens ...  .
I should be there. It is I should be at Viviane's side, and I cast it away of my free will ...  .
"Look," Elaine called from the window. "Already there are riders coming in, and it is three full days till Arthur's great feast!"
The other women in the chamber crowded around Elaine, looking down at the field before Camelot; already there were tents and pavilions pitched there. Elaine said, "I see my father's banner. There he rides, with my brother, Lamorak, at his side-he is old enough to be one of Arthur's Companions now. I wonder if Arthur will choose him as one."
"He was not old enough to fight at Mount Badon, was he?" Morgaine asked.
"He was not old enough, but he fought nevertheless, as did every man old enough to hold a sword, and every young boy too," said Elaine proudly.
"Then I doubt not that Arthur will make him one of his Companions, if only to please Pellinore," said Morgaine. The great battle of Mount Badon had been fought a year ago on the day of Pentecost, and Arthur had vowed always to keep this day as a time of high feasting and to greet all his old Companions; on Pentecost, too, he would welcome all petitioners and give out justice. And all the subject kings from the outlying kingdoms would come before the High King to renew their allegiance.
"You must go to the Queen and help her dress," Morgaine said to Elaine, "and I must be off as well. I have much to do if there is to be a great feast in only three days!"
"Sir Cai will see to all that," Elaine remonstrated.
"Aye, he will see to the feeding and housing of the multitudes," said Morgaine cheerfully, "but it is I must provide flowers for the hall, and see to the polishing of the silver cups, and it is likely I must make the almond cakes and sweets too-Gwenhwyfar will have other things on her mind."
And indeed, Morgaine was glad to have so much to do for the three days of feasting; it took her mind away from the dread and terror of her dream. In these days, whenever Avalon came into her mind in a dream, she shut it out with desperation  ...  she had not known that Kevin rode north to Lothian. No, she told herself, and I do not know it now, it was only a dream. But once during that day, when she encountered the elderly Taliesin in the courtyard, she bowed to him, and when he put out a hand to bless her, she said shyly, "Father-"
"Yes, dear child?"
Ten years ago, Morgaine thought, I would have been angry that Taliesin speaks to me always as if I were still a child of seven who might crawl into his lap and tug at his beard. Now, obscurely, it comforted her. "Is Kevin the Merlin bound here for Pentecost?"
"Why, I know not, child," said Taliesin, with a kindly smile. "He has ridden north to Lothian. But I know that he loves you well and that he will return to you when he can. I think nothing would keep him from this court while you were here, little Morgaine."
Does everyone at this court know that we have been lovers? Surely I have been more discreet than that. Morgaine said waspishly, "Is it common gossip at this court that Kevin the Harper comes and goes at my bidding-when it is not even true?"
Taliesin smiled again and said, "Dear child, never be ashamed to love. And it has meant everything to Kevin, that one so kindly and gracious and beautiful as you-"
"Do you mock me, Grandsire?"
"Why should I so, little one? You are the daughter of my dear daughter, and I love you well, and you know I think you the most beautiful and gifted of women. And Kevin, I have no doubt, thinks you so even more, and you are the only one at this court save myself, and the only woman ever, who can speak to him of music in his own language. If you know not that for Kevin the sun rises and sets where you come and go, then you are the only one at this court who knows it not. You deserve it well that he should turn to you as the starshine of his days and nights. It is not even forbidden to the Merlin of Britain that he should marry, if he chooses. Royal he is not, but he is noble in heart, and will one day be High Druid if his courage fails him not. And on the day when he seeks your hand, I do not think either Arthur or myself would say him no."
Morgaine lowered her face and stared at the ground. Ah, she thought, how fitting it would be if I could care so for Kevin as he for me. I value him, I love him well, I take pleasure even in sharing his bed, but marriage? No, she thought, no, no, not for all his devotion. "I have no mind to be married, Grandsire."
"Well, you must do your own will, child," Taliesin said gently. "You are lady and priestess. But you are not so young, either, and since you have forsaken Avalon-no, I do not reproach you, but I thought it might well be that you wished to marry and have a home of your own. I would not see you spend all your days as Gwenhwyfar's waiting-woman. As for Kevin the Harper, no doubt he will be here if he can, but he cannot ride as swiftly as other men. It is good that you do not despise him for his body's infirmity, dear child."
When Taliesin had gone, Morgaine went on toward the brew house, thinking deeply. She wished she could indeed love Kevin as Taliesin thought she did.
Why am I cursed with this feeling for Lancelet? All the time she prepared scented rose water for washing guests' hands and flavoring confections, she thought about that. Well, when Kevin was here, at least she had no reason to desire Lancelet-not that it would do her any good, she thought wryly, to desire him. Desire must go two ways or it is worthless. She resolved that when Kevin came back again to court, she would give him such a welcome as he could wish.
No doubt, I could do worse than wed with him  ...  Avalon is lost to me ... I will think of it. And indeed my dream saw true so far, that he was in Lothian  ...  and I thought the Sight had forsaken me ...  .


KEVIN RETURNED to Camelot on the eve of Pentecost; all that day folk had been streaming into Camelot and the surrounding country, as if it were twice over harvest fair and spring-trading fair. It was the greatest festival ever to be held in this countryside. Morgaine welcomed Kevin with a kiss and embrace which made the harper's eyes glow, and led him to a guest chamber, where she took his cloak and travelling shoes and sent them with one of the boys to be cleaned, and brought him ribbons to make his harp fine.
"Why, My Lady will be brave as the Queen," said Kevin, laughing at her. "Do you not bear grudge to your only rival, Morgaine, love?"
He had never called her so before, and she came and stood close to him, her arm around his waist. He said softly, "I have missed you," and laid his face for a moment against her breast.
"And I you, my dear," she said, "and when all have gone to rest this night, I shall prove it to you ... why, do you think, have I arranged that you shall have a guest chamber to yourself, when even Arthur's dearest Companions have had to be housed four to a room and sometimes two to a bed?"
He said, "I thought it was so that none other need share quarters with me."
"And so it shall be for the dignity of Avalon," said Morgaine, "though even Taliesin shares his chamber with the bishop-"
"I do not admire his taste," said Kevin. "I would sooner be housed in the stable with the other donkeys!"
"I would have it that the Merlin of Britain should be lodged in a chamber to himself, even if it is no bigger than a stall for one of those donkeys," said Morgaine. "But it is large enough for you and for My Lady, and"-she smiled and looked pointedly at the bed-"and for me, I dare say."
"You will always be welcome, and if My Lady is jealous I will turn her face to the wall." He kissed her, holding her tight for a moment with all the strength in his wiry arms. Then, letting her go, he said, "I thought you would like to hear-I rode with your son to Avalon. He is a well-grown lad, and a clever one, and has some of your gift for music."
"I dreamed of him the other night," she said. "In my dream, I think he played on a pipe-like Gawaine's."
"Then you dreamed truly," said Kevin. "I like him well, and he has the Sight. He will be schooled in Avalon for a Druid."
"And then?"
"Then? Ah, my dear," said Kevin, "things must go as they will. But I doubt not he will make a bard and a notable wise man-you need have no fear for him upon Avalon." He touched her shoulder gently. "He has your eyes."
She would have liked to ask more, but turned to something else. "The feast will not be till tomorrow," she said, "but tonight the closest of Arthur's friends and Companions have been bidden to dine. Gareth is to be made a knight upon the morrow, and Arthur, who loves Gawaine like a brother, has chosen to honor him at a family party."
"Gareth is a good man and a good knight," said Kevin, "and I will gladly do him honor. I like not Queen Morgause greatly, but her sons are fine men and good friends to Arthur."
Even though it was a family party, there were many close kinsmen to sit at Arthur's table here on the eve of Pentecost: Gwenhwyfar and her kinswoman Elaine, and Elaine's father, King Pellinore, and her brother, Lamorak; Taliesin and Lancelet, and three of Lancelet's half-brothers- Balan, son of the Lady of the Lake, and Bors and Lionel, both of whom were sons of Ban of Less Britain. Gareth was there, and as always, Gawaine stood behind Arthur at table. Arthur had protested, as they came into the hall. "Sit here beside us tonight, Gawaine-you are my kinsman, and king in your own right in Orkney, and I like it not that you should stand like a serving-man behind my place!"
Gawaine said roughly, "I am proud to stand and serve my lord and king, sir," and Arthur bent his head.
"You make me feel like those old Caesars," he complained. "Need I be guarded night and day even in my own hall?"
"For the dignity of your throne, sir, you are even as those Caesars, and more," insisted Gawaine, and Arthur laughed helplessly.
"I can deny nothing to those of you who were my Companions."
"So," Kevin said in an undertone to Morgaine, where they sat side by side, "it is not hubris then or arrogance, but he wishes only to please his Companions-"
"I think, truly, it is so," Morgaine said in an undertone. "This he loves best, I think, to sit in his own hall and look upon the peace he has wrought; whatever his faults, Arthur truly loves the rule of order and the kingdom of law."
Later, Arthur gestured them all to silence, calling young Gareth to him. "Tonight you will watch in the church by your arms," he said, "and in the morning before mass, whichever knight you choose shall make you one of my Companions. You have served me well and honorably, young as you are. If you wish for it, I will myself make you knight, but I will understand if you wish that your brother should give you this honor."
Gareth wore a white tunic; his hair was like a golden halo curling around his face. He looked almost like a child, a tall child towering to a good six feet high, with shoulders like a young bull. His face was fuzzy with soft golden down too fine to be shaven. He said, stammering a little in his eagerness, "Sir, I beg you-I mean no offense to you nor to my brother, but I-if he will-could I be made knight by Lancelot, my lord and my king?"
Arthur smiled. "Why, if Lancelet will have it so, I have no objection."
Morgaine remembered a little child prattling of Lancelet to a painted wooden knight she had carved for him. How many people, she wondered, saw such a childhood dream come true? Lancelet said gravely, "I should be honored, cousin," and Gareth's face lighted as if a torch had been set to it. Then Lancelet turned to Gawaine and said, with punctilious courtesy, "But it is for you to give me leave, cousin-you stand in a father's place to this lad, and I would not usurp your right-"
Gawaine looked awkwardly from one to the other of them, and Morgaine saw Gareth bite his lip-only now, perhaps, did he understand that this might be seen as an offense to his brother, and that the King had done him the honor of offering to make him a knight-an honor he had refused. What a child he was, despite his great strength and height and precocious skill at arms!
Gawaine said gruffly, "Who would be made knight by me when Lancelet would consent to do it?"
Lancelet flung an exuberant arm around each of them. "You do me too much honor, both of you. Well, go, lad," he said, releasing Gareth, "go to your arms, I will come and watch with you after midnight."
Gawaine watched as the boy loped away, with his long awkward stride, and then said, "You should be one of those old Greeks, as it was told in that saga we read when we were boys. How was he called-Achilles- whose true love was the young knight Patroclus, and neither cared anything for all the fine dames of the court of Troy-God knows every lad in this court worships you as their hero. Pity you have no mind to the Greek fashion in love!"
Lancelet's face turned dusky red. "You are my cousin, Gawaine, and can say such things to me-I would not hear such things from any other, even in jest."
Gawaine laughed loudly again. "Aye, a jest-for one who professes devotion only to our most chaste Queen-"
"You dare!" Lancelet began, turning on him, and gripped his arm with strength enough to break his wrist. Gawaine struggled, but Lancelet, though he was the smaller man, bent his arm backward, growling with rage like an angry wolf.
"Here! No brawling in the King's hall!" Cai thrust himself awkwardly between them, and Morgaine said quickly, "Why, Gawaine, what then will you say to all those priests who profess devotion to Mary the Virgin beyond all things on earth? Would you have it they all have a scandalous carnal devotion to their Christ? And indeed, we hear of the Lord Jesus that he never married, and that even among his chosen twelve there was one who leaned on his bosom at supper-"
Gwenhwyfar gave a shocked cry. "Morgaine, hush! Such a blasphemous jest!" Lancelet let go of Gawaine's arm; Gawaine stood rubbing the bruise, and Arthur turned and frowned at them.
"You are like children, cousins, squabbling and bickering-shall I send you to be beaten by Cai in the kitchens? Come now, be friends again! I heard not the jest, but whatever it was, Lance, it cannot have been so serious as all that!"
Gawaine laughed roughly and said, "I jested, Lance-all too many women pursue you, I know, for what I said to have anything at all of truth," and Lancelet shrugged and smiled, like a bird with ruffled feathers.
Cai chuckled. "Every man at court envies you your handsome face, Lance." He rubbed the scar that pulled his mouth up tight into a sneer, and said, "But it may not be all that much of a blessing, eh, cousin?"
It dissolved into good-natured laughter, but later Morgaine, crossing the court, saw Lancelet still pacing, troubled, feathers still ruffled.
"What is it, kinsman, what ails you?"
He sighed. "I would that I might leave this court."
"But my lady will not let you go."
"Even to you, Morgaine, I will not talk of the Queen," he said stiffly, and it was Morgaine's turn to sigh.
"I am not the keeper of your conscience, Lancelet. If Arthur does not chide you, who am I to speak a word of reproach?"
"You don't understand!" he said fiercely. "She was given to Arthur like something bought at market, part of a purchase in horses because her father would have kinship with the High King as part of the price! Yet she is too loyal to murmur-"
"I spoke no word against her, Lancelet," Morgaine reminded him. "You hear accusations from yourself, not from my lips."
She thought, I could make him desire me, but the knowledge was like a mouthful of dust. Once she had played that game, and beneath the desire he had feared her, as he feared Viviane herself; feared her to the edge of hatred because of that desire. If his king commanded he would have her, but would soon come to hate.
He managed to look directly at her. "You cursed me, and-and believe me, I am cursed."
And suddenly the old anger and contempt melted. He was as he was. She clasped his hand between her own. "Cousin, don't trouble yourself about that. It was many, many years ago, and I don't think there is any God or Goddess who would listen to the words of an angry young girl who thought herself scorned. And I was no more than that."
He drew a long breath and began to pace again. At last he said, "I could have killed Gawaine tonight. I am glad you stopped us, even with that blasphemous jesting. I-I have had to deal with that, all my life. When I was a boy at Ban's court, I was prettier than Gareth is now, and in the court of Less Britain, and like enough in other places, such a boy must guard himself more carefully than any maiden. But no man sees or believes any such thing unless it touches him, and thinks it only a slightly vulgar joke made about other people. There was a time when I thought it so too, and then a time when I thought I could never be otherwise ...  ."
There was a long silence, while he stared grimly at the flagstones of the courtyard.
"And so I flung myself into experiment with women, any woman- God help me, even with you who were my own mother's fosterling and pledged maiden to the Goddess-but there were few women who could rouse me even a little, till I saw-her." Morgaine was glad he did not speak Gwenhwyfar's name. "And since that moment there has been no other. With her, I know myself all man."
Morgaine said, "But she is Arthur's wife-"
"God! God!" Lancelet turned and struck his hand against the wall. "Do you think that does not torment me? He is my friend; if Gwenhwyfar were wedded to any other man who dwells this earth, I would have had her away with me and to my own place-" Morgaine saw the muscles of his throat move as he tried to swallow. "I do not know what will become of us. And Arthur must have an heir to his kingdom. The fate of all Britain is more important than our love. I love them both-and I am tormented, Morgaine, tormented!"
His eyes were wild; for a moment it seemed to Morgaine that she saw some hint of madness. Ever after, she wondered, Was there anything, anything I could have said or done that night?
"Tomorrow," Lancelet said, "I shall beg Arthur to send me out on some difficult quests-to go and make an end forever of Pellinore's dragon, to conquer the wild Northmen beyond the Roman wall-I care not what, Morgaine, anything, anything to take me away from here-" and for a moment, hearing in his voice a sadness beyond tears, Morgaine wanted to hold him in her arms and rock him at her breast like a babe.
I think I came near to killing Gawaine tonight, had you not stopped us," Lancelet said. "Yet he was only jesting, he would have died with horror if he knew-" Lancelet turned his eyes away and at last said in a whisper, "I know not if what he said is true. I should take Gwenhwyfar and be gone from here, before it becomes a scandal to all the courts of the world, that I love the wife of my king, and yet  ...  yet it is Arthur I cannot leave ... I know not but what I love her only because I come close, thus, to him."
Morgaine put out her hand to stop him. There were things she could not bear to know. But Lancelet did not even see.
"No, no, I must tell someone or I shall die of it-Morgaine, know you how first I came to lie with the Queen? I had loved her long, since first I saw her on Avalon, but I thought I would live and die with that passion unspent-Arthur was my friend and I would not betray him," he said. "And she, she-you must never think that she tempted me! But-but it was Arthur's will," he said. "It came about at Beltane-" and then he told her, while Morgaine stood frozen, thinking only, So this is how the charm worked  ...  I would that the Goddess had stricken me with leprosy before ever I gave it to Gwenhwyfar!
"But you do not know all," he whispered. "As we lay together- never, never had anything so-so-" He swallowed and fumbled to put into words what Morgaine could not bear to hear. "I-I touched Arthur -I touched him. I love her, oh, God, I love her, mistake me not, but had she not been Arthur's wife, had it not been for-I doubt even she-" He choked and could not finish his sentence, while Morgaine stood utterly still, appalled beyond speech. Was this then the revenge of the Goddess-that she who loved this man without hope, should become the confidante of both him and the woman he loved, that she should be the repository of all the secret fears he could speak to no one else, the incomprehensible passions within his soul?
"Lancelet, you should not say these things to me, not to me. Some man -Taliesin-a priest-"
"What can a priest know of this?" he demanded in despair. "No man, I think, has ever felt such-God knows I hear enough of what men desire, they talk of nothing else, and now and then some man reveals something strange he may desire, but never, never, nothing so strange and evil as this! I am damned," he cried out. "This is my punishment for desiring the wife of my king, that I should be held in this terrible bondage -even Arthur, if he knew, would hate and despise me. He knows I love Gwenhwyfar, but this not even he could forgive, and Gwenhwyfar-who knows if she, even she, would not hate and despise me-" His voice choked into silence.
Morgaine could only say the words she had been taught in Avalon. "The Goddess knows what is in the hearts of men, Lancelet. She will comfort you."
"But this is to spurn the Goddess," Lancelet whispered, in frozen horror. "And what of the man who sees that same Goddess in the face of the mother who bore him ... I cannot turn to her.... Almost I am tempted to go and throw myself at the feet of the Christ. His priests say he can forgive any sin, however damnable, as he spoke words of forgiveness to those who crucified him ...  ."
Morgaine said sharply that she had never seen any sign that his priests were so tender and forgiving with sinners.
"Aye, no doubt you are right," said Lancelet, staring bleakly at the flagstones. "There is no help anywhere, till I am slain in battle or ride forth from here to throw myself in the path of a dragon ...  ." He poked with his shoe at a little clump of grass that was growing up through the stones in the courtyard. "And no doubt sin and good and evil are all lies told by priests and men, and the truth is only that we grow and die and wither even as this grass here." He turned on his heel. "Well, I will go and share Gareth's vigil, as I promised him ... he at least loves me in all innocence, like a younger brother or my son. I should fear to kneel before that altar, if I believed one word of what their priests say, damned as I am. And yet- how I wish there were such a God as could forgive me and let me know myself forgiven ...  ."
He turned to go, but Morgaine caught at the embroidered sleeve of the festival gown he had put on. "Wait. What is this of a vigil in the church? I knew not that Arthur's Companions had grown so pious."
 "Arthur thinks often of his kingmaking on Dragon Island," said Lancelet, "and he said once that the Romans with their many Gods, and the old pagan folk, had something which was needed in life, that when men took on some great obligation, they should do it prayerfully, and be in mind of its great meaning and dedication. And so he spoke with the priests, and they have made it so in ritual, that when any new Companion, not seasoned by battle-where he is tried by the very confrontation with death-when an unblooded man joins with the Companions, there is this special testing, that he shall watch and pray all night by his arms, and in the morning confess all his sins and be shriven, and then be made knight."
"Why, then, it is a kind of initiation into the Mysteries that he would give them. But he is no maker of Mysteries, he has no right to confer the Mysteries on another or give initiation, and all garbled in the name of their Christ God. In the name of the Mother, will they even take over the Mysteries?"
Lancelet answered defensively, "He consulted with Taliesin, who gave countenance to it," and Morgaine was startled that one of the highest Druids would so compromise the Mysteries. Yet there had been a time, so Taliesin said, when Christian and Druid worshipped in common.
"It is what happens in the soul of the man," said Lancelet, "not whether it is Christian or pagan or Druid. If Gareth faces the mystery in his heart, and it makes him a better man in his soul, does it matter whence it comes, from the Goddess or from Christ or from that Name the Druids may not speak-or from the very goodness within himself?"
"Why, you argue like Taliesin's very self!" said Morgaine sourly.
"Aye, I know the words." His mouth twisted with terrible bitterness. "Would to God-any God-I could find something in my heart which believed them, or some such comfort as that!"
Morgaine could only say, "I would that you might, cousin. I will pray for you."
"But to whom?" Lancelet asked and went away, leaving Morgaine sorely troubled.
It was not yet midnight. In the church she could see the lights where Gareth and now Lancelet kept vigil. She bent her head, remembering the night when she herself had kept watch, her hand automatically going to her side for the touch of a little crescent knife that had not hung there for many years.
And I cast it away. Who am I to speak of profaning the Mysteries?
Then the air suddenly stirred and swirled like a whirlpool before her, and she felt she would sink down where she stood, for Viviane stood before her in the moonlight.
She was older and thinner. Her eyes were like great burning coals set beneath her level brows, her hair almost all white now. She looked on Morgaine, it seemed, with sorrow and tenderness.
"Mother-" she stammered, not knowing whether she spoke to Viviane or to the Goddess. And then the image wavered and Morgaine knew that Viviane was not there; a Sending, no more.
"Why have you come? What do you want of me?" Morgaine whispered, kneeling, feeling the stir of Viviane's robes in the night wind. About her brow was a crown of wicker-withes like to the crown of the queen of the fairy country. The apparition stretched forth her hand, and Morgaine could feel the faded crescent burning on her brow.
The night watchman strode through the court, the light of his lantern flaring; Morgaine knelt alone, staring at nothing. Hastily she scrambled to her feet before the man could see.
She had lost, suddenly, all desire to go to Kevin's bed. He would be waiting for her, but if she did not come, he would never think of reproaching her. She stole quietly through the hallways to the room she shared with Gwenhwyfar's unmarried maidens, and into the bed she shared with young Elaine.
I thought the Sight forever gone from me. Yet Viviane came to me and stretched out her hand. Is it that Avalon has need of me? Or does it mean that I, like Lancelet, am going mad?

3

When Morgaine woke, all around her the castle was already waking to the noise and confusion of a holiday. Pentecost. In the courtyard there were banners flying, and people were streaming in and out of the gates, servants were setting up lists for the games, pavilions were sprouting all over Camelot and on the slopes of the hill like strange and beautiful flowers. There was no time for dreams and visions. Gwenhwyfar sent for her to dress her hair-no woman in all Camelot was so deft with her hands as Morgaine, and Morgaine had promised her that this morning she would braid the Queen's hair in the special plaits with four strands which she herself used on high festivals. While she was combing out and separating Gwenhwyfar's fine silky hair for braiding, Morgaine glanced sidewise at the bed from which her sister-in-law had risen. Arthur had already been dressed by his servants and gone out. The pages and chamberlains were spreading the covers, taking away soiled clothes to be cleaned and washed, laying out fresh gowns for Gwenhwyfar's approval.
Morgaine thought: They shared that bed, all three of them, Lancelet, Gwenhwyfar, Arthur-no, such a thing was not wholly unknown; she remembered something in the fairy country that would not come clear in her mind. Lancelet was tormented, and she could have no idea how Arthur regarded all this. As her small quick hands moved on Gwenhwyfar's hair, she wondered what her sister-in-law felt. Suddenly her own mind was flooded with erotic images, memory of that day on Dragon Island when Arthur, waking, had drawn her into his arms, of the night she had lain in Lancelet's arms in the field. She lowered her eyes and went on twisting the fine hair.
"You are pulling it too tight," Gwenhwyfar complained, and Morgaine said stiffly, "I am sorry," and forced her hands to relax. Arthur had been only a boy then, and she a maiden. Lancelet-did he give to Gwenhwyfar what he had withheld from her, or was the Queen content with those childish caresses? Try as Morgaine would, she could not turn her mind from the hateful pictures that haunted it, but she went on calmly braiding, her face a mask.
"There, that will hold-hand me the silver pin," she said, fastening up the braids. Gwenhwyfar surveyed herself, delighted, in the copper mirror which was one of her treasures. "It is beautiful, dear sister-thank you so much," she said, turning and impulsively embracing Morgaine, who stiffened in her arms.
"You owe me no thanks-it is easier to do on another's head than my own," Morgaine said. "Wait, that pin is slipping-" and she refastened it. Gwenhwyfar was glowing, beautiful-and Morgaine put her arms around her, laying her cheek for a moment against Gwenhwyfar's. It seemed enough, for a moment, to touch that beauty, as if something of it could penetrate her and give her some of that glow and loveliness. Then she remembered again what Lancelet had told her, and thought, I am no better than he. I too nurse all manner of strange and perverse desires, and who am I to mock at any?
She envied the Queen, laughing happily as she directed Elaine to go to her chests and seek out cups for prizes for the winners of the games. Gwenhwyfar was simple and open, she was never tortured by these dark thoughts; Gwenhwyfar's griefs were simple, the griefs and troubles of any woman, fear for her husband's safety, grief over her childlessness-for all the charm's working, there had been no sign of pregnancy. If one man could not get her with child, it is likely that two could not, Morgaine thought wickedly.
Gwenhwyfar was smiling. "Shall we go down? I have not greeted the guests-King Uriens is here from North Wales, with his grown son. How would you like to be Queen of Wales, Morgaine? I have heard that Uriens will ask the King for a wife among his wards-"
Morgaine laughed. "You think I would make him a good queen because I am not likely to give him a son to challenge Avalloch's claim to the throne?"
"It is true you would be old to bear a first child," Gwenhwyfar said, "yet I still have hope that I may give my lord and king an heir." Gwenhwyfar did not know that Morgaine had a child, and she should never know.
Yet it nagged at her.
Arthur should know that he has a son. He blames himself that he can give Gwenhwyfar no child-for his own peace of mind he should know. And if it should come to pass that Gwenhwyfar never bears a child, then at least the King has a son. None need know that it is his own sister's. And Gwydion bears the royal line of Avalon. And now he is old enough to be sent to Avalon and be made a Druid. Truly I should have gone to look upon his face, long before this day ...  .
"Listen," said Elaine, "the trumpets are blowing in the courtyard- someone important is here, and we must make haste-they will serve mass in the church this morning."
"And Gareth is to be knighted," said Gwenhwyfar. "It is a pity Lot did not live to see his youngest son made knight-"
Morgaine shrugged. "He took no great joy in Arthur's company, nor Arthur in his." So, she thought, Lancelet's protege would be made one of the Companions; and then she remembered what Lancelet had told her about the ritual watch and vigil of knighthood-the mockery of the Mysteries. Is it my task to speak to Arthur about his duty to Avalon? He bore the image of the Virgin into battle at Mount Badon; he laid aside the dragon banner; and now he has turned one of the greater Mysteries over to the Christian priests. I will seek counsel of Taliesin ...  .
"We must go down," said Gwenhwyfar, and tied on her pockets at her waist, fastening her keys to her girdle. She looked fine and stately with the braided headdress, in her gown of saffron color; Elaine wore a dress dyed green, and Morgaine her red gown. They went down the stair, gathering before the church. Gawaine saluted Morgaine, saying, "Kinswoman," and bowed to the Queen. Beyond him she saw a familiar face, and frowned a little, trying to remember where she had seen that knight before: tall, burly, bearded, almost as blond as a Saxon or a Northman, then she remembered, Balan's foster-brother Balin. She bowed to him coldly. He was a stupid, narrow-minded fool, yet even so he was bound by the sacred ties of foster-kin to Viviane, who was her nearest and dearest kinswoman.
"I greet you, sir Balin."
He scowled a little but remembered his manners. He was wearing a frayed and ragged surcoat; clearly he had been travelling long and had not yet had time to dress and refresh himself. "Are you going to mass, lady Morgaine? Have you renounced the fiends of Avalon and left that evil place, and accepted our Lord and Saviour Christ, lady?"
Morgaine found the question an offense, but did not say so. With a careful smile, she said, "I am going to mass to see our kinsman Gareth knighted." As she hoped, it changed Balin's direction.
"Gawaine's little brother. Balan and I knew him less well than the others," he said. "It is hard to think of him as a man-in my mind he is always the little lad who frightened the horses at Arthur's wedding, and came near to having Galahad killed." Morgaine recalled that was Lancelet's real name-no doubt the pious Balin was too proud to use any other. Balin bowed to her and went on into the church; Morgaine, following with Gwenhwyfar, watched him, frowning. There was the light of fanaticism about his face, and she was just as well pleased that Viviane was not here, although both the Lady's sons were here-Lancelet and Balan-and they could certainly prevent any real trouble.
The church had been decorated with flowers, and the people too, in their brilliant holiday dress, looked like massed flowers. Gareth had been dressed in a white linen robe, and Lancelet, in crimson, knelt beside him, beautiful and grave, Morgaine thought, the fair and the dark, the white and the crimson-and then another comparison occurred to her: Gareth happy and innocent, joyous at this initiation, and Lancelet sorrowful and tormented. Yet as he knelt, listening to the priest reading the Pentecost story, he looked calm and altogether unlike the tortured man who had poured out his soul to her.
"... and when the day of Pentecost was done, they were all gathered together in one place; and suddenly out of the sky came the sound of a violent wind, which filled the whole house where they were staying. And there appeared tongues as of fire, which divided and sat on them, one to each. And they all were filled with the Holy Breath, and they began to speak in other languages, as the Spirit gave them to utter. Now there were living in Jerusalem Jews of the strict observance, from every race under the sky; and when this sound happened, the whole multitude came together and were confused, because every one of them heard these men speaking in his own language. And they were as men driven out of their minds, saying to one another, 'Look! Are all these preachers not Galileans? And how are we hearing them, each one of us, in our own native languages? Parthians and Medes and Elamites and men out of Mesopotamia, both Judea and Cappadocia, Asia, both Phrygia and Pamphylia, and visitors from Rome, Jews and Cretans and Arabs; but we all hear them talking in our own languages.' And they were all astounded, asking one another, 'What does this mean?' But others said, mockingly, 'These men have drunk too much of sweet new wine, so early in the day.' Then Peter the Apostle raised his voice and said to them, 'Men of Judea, and all of you, listen to my words; these men are not drunk as you imagine, since it is only the third hour; but it is as the prophet Joel has written; God says, in the last days of the world, I will send out my Spirit into all flesh, and your daughters shall prophesy, and your young men shall see visions and your old men shall dream dreams.' "
Morgaine, kneeling quietly in her place, thought, Why, it was the Sight that came upon them and they did not understand it. Nor had they cared to understand; to them it only proved that their God was greater than other Gods. Now the priest was talking of the last days of the world, how God would pour out his gifts of vision and prophecy, but she wondered if any of these Christians knew how commonplace all these gifts were, after all? Anyone could master these powers when he had demonstrated that he could use them suitably. But that did not include trying to astonish the common people with silly miracles! The Druids used their powers to do good privately, not to collect crowds!
When the faithful approached the rail for their shared bread and wine in commemoration, Morgaine shook her head and stepped back, though Gwenhwyfar tried to draw her forward; she was not a Christian and she would not pretend.
Afterward, outside the church, she watched the ceremony where Lancelet drew his sword and touched Gareth with it, his strong and musical voice clear and solemn. "Arise now, Gareth, Companion of Arthur, and brother now to all of us here, and to every knight of this company. Forget not to defend your king, and to live at peace with all knights of Arthur and all peaceful people everywhere, but remember always to make war against evil and to defend those who are in need of protection."
Morgaine recalled Arthur receiving Excalibur at the hands of the Lady. She glanced at him and wondered if he remembered too, and if this was why he had instituted this solemn pledge and ceremonial, so that the young men made knights in his company might have some such rite to remember. Perhaps this was not, after all, a mockery of the holy Mysteries, but an attempt to preserve them as best he could  ...  but why must it take place in the church? Would a day come when he would refuse it to any who were not pledged Christian? During the service, Gareth and his cousin and sponsor Lancelet had been first to receive holy communion, even before the King. Was this not putting this order of knighthood into the church as a Christian rite, one of their sacraments? Lancelet had no right to do this; he was not himself qualified to confer the Mysteries on any other. Was this a profanation or an honest attempt to bring the Mysteries into the hearts and souls of all the court? Morgaine did not know.
After the service, there was an interval before the games. Morgaine greeted Gareth and gave him her gift, a fine dyed-leather belt on which he could carry sword and dagger. He bent down to kiss her.
"Ah, you have grown, little one-I doubt if your mother would know you!"
"It happens to all of us, dear cousin," Gareth said, smiling. "I doubt you would know your own son!" Then he was surrounded by the other knights, jostling and crowding to welcome and congratulate him; Arthur clasped his hands and spoke to him in a way that made Gareth's fair skin glow.
Morgaine saw that Gwenhwyfar was watching her sharply. "Morgaine -what was it Gareth said-your son?"
Morgaine said sharply, "If I have never told you, sister-in-law, it is because I respected your religion. I bore a son to the Goddess, from the Beltane rites. He is being fostered at Lot's court; I have not seen him since he was weaned. Are you content, or will you spread my secret everywhere?"
"No," said Gwenhwyfar, turning pale. "What sorrow for you, to be parted from your babe! I am sorry, Morgaine; and I will not tell even Arthur -he is Christian too and he would be shocked."
You do not know how shocked he would be, Morgaine thought grimly. Her heart was pounding. Could Gwenhwyfar be trusted with her secret? There were too many now who knew it!
The trumpet had been blown for the beginning of the games; Arthur had agreed not to take the lists, for no one wanted to attack his king, but one side of the mock battle was to be led by Lancelet as the King's champion and the other fell by lot to Uriens of North Wales, a hearty man well past middle age, but still strong and muscular. At his side was his second son, Accolon. Morgaine noted that as Accolon drew on his gloves his wrists were revealed; around them coiled blue tattooed serpents. He was an initiate of Dragon Island!
Gwenhwyfar had been jesting, no doubt, about marrying her to old Uriens. But Accolon-there was a proper man; perhaps, except for Lancelet, the handsomest young man on the field. Morgaine found herself admiring his skill at arms. Agile and well built, he moved with the natural ease of a man to whom such exercises come readily and who has been handling weapons since boyhood. Sooner or later, Arthur would wish to give her in marriage; if he should offer her to Accolon, would she say no?
After a time her attention began to wander. Most of the other women had long since lost interest and were gossiping about feats of prowess they had heard of; some were playing at dice in their sheltered seats; a few were watching with animation, having wagered ribbons or pins or small coins on their husbands or brothers or sweethearts.
"It is hardly worth wagering," said one discontentedly, "for we all know that Lancelet will win the day-he always does."
"Are you saying he does so unfairly?" Elaine asked with a flare of resentment, and the strange woman said, "By no means. But he should, at these games, stay on the sidelines, since no one can stand against him."
Morgaine laughed. "I have seen young Gareth there, Gawaine's brother, throw him ass-over-head in the dirt," she said, "and he took that in good part, too. But if you want sport, I will wager you a crimson silk ribbon that Accolon wins a prize, even over Lancelet."
"Done," said the woman, and Morgaine rose in her seat. She said, "I have no taste for watching men batter each other for sport-there has been enough of fighting that I am weary even of the sound of it." She nodded to Gwenhwyfar. "Sister, may I go back to the hall and see that all is in order for the feasting?"
Gwenhwyfar nodded permission, and Morgaine slid down at the back of the seats and made her way toward the main courtyard. The great gates were open and guarded only by a few who had no wish to attend the mock battles. Morgaine started toward the castle and never knew what intuition it was that sent her back toward the gates, or why she stood watching a pair of approaching riders who were arriving late for the first festivities. But as they came nearer, her skin began to prickle with foreboding, and then she began to run, as they rode through the gates, and now she was weeping. "Viviane," she cried out, and then stopped, afraid to throw herself into her kinswoman's arms; instead she knelt on the dusty ground and bent her head.
The soft, familiar voice, unchanged, just as she had heard it in dreams, said gently, "Morgaine, my darling child, it is you! How I have longed to meet with you all these years. Come, come, darling, you need not ever kneel to me."
Morgaine raised her face, but she was trembling too hard to rise. Viviane, her face shrouded in grey veils, was bending over her; she put out a hand, and Morgaine kissed it, and then Viviane pulled her close into an embrace. "Darling, it has been so long-" she said, and Morgaine struggled helplessly not to cry.
"I have been so troubled about you," Viviane said, holding tight to Morgaine's hand as they walked toward the entrance. "From time to time I would see you, a little, in the pool-but I am old, I can use the Sight but seldom. Yet I knew you lived, you were not dead in childbirth, nor far over the seas ... I longed to look on your face, little one." Her voice was as tender as if there had never been any quarrel between them, and Morgaine was flooded by the old affection.
"All the people of the court are at the games. Morgause's youngest son was made knight and Companion this morning," she said. "I think I must have known that you were coming-" and then she recalled the moment of the Sight, last night; indeed, she had known. "Why have you come here, Mother?"
"I thought you had heard how Arthur betrayed Avalon," Viviane said. "Kevin has spoken to him in my name, but without avail. So I have come to stand here before his throne and demand justice. In Arthur's name the lesser kings are forbidding the old worship, sacred groves have been despoiled, even on the land where Arthur's queen rules by inheritance, and Arthur has done nothing-"
"Gwenhwyfar is overpious," Morgaine murmured, and felt her lip cruel in disdain; so pious, yet taking her husband's cousin and champion to her bed, with the sanction of that too-pious King! But a priestess of Avalon did not babble the secrets of the bedchamber if they came into her keeping. It seemed that Viviane read her thoughts, for she said, "Nay, Morgaine, but a time might come when some secret knowledge might give me a weapon to force Arthur to his sworn duty. One hold, indeed, I have over him, though for your sake, child, I would not use it before his court. Tell me-" She glanced around. "No, not here. Take me where we may talk together in secret, and let me refresh myself and make myself seemly to stand before Arthur at his great feast."
Morgaine took her to the room she shared with Gwenhwyfar's ladies, who were all at the games; the servants were gone too, so she herself fetched Viviane water for washing, and wine to drink, and helped her to change her dusty, travel-worn clothing.
"I met with your son in Lothian," Viviane said. "Kevin told me." The old pain clutched at her heart-so Viviane had gotten what she wanted of her, after all: a son of the doubled royal lines, for Avalon. "Will you make him a Druid, then, for Avalon?"
"It is too soon to know what stuff he has in him," said Viviane. "Too long, I fear, was he left in Morgause's keeping. But whether or no, he must be reared in Avalon, and loyal to the old Gods, so that if Arthur is false to his oath, we may remind him that there is a son of the Pendragon's blood to take his place-we will have no king turned apostate and tyrant, forcing that god of slaves and sin and shame down the throats of our people! We set him on Uther's throne, we can bring him down if we must, and all the more readily if there is one of the old royal line of Avalon, a son of the Goddess, to take his place. Arthur is a good king, I would be reluctant to make such threats; but if I must, I will-the Goddess orders my actions." Morgaine shuddered; would her child be the instrument of his father's death? She turned her face resolutely from the Sight. "I do not think Arthur will be this false to Avalon."
"The Goddess grant he may not," Viviane said, "but even so, the Christians would not accept a son gotten in that rite. We must keep a place near the throne for Gwydion, so that he may be his father's heir, and one day we will have a king born of Avalon again. The Christians, mark you, Morgaine, would think your son born out of sin; but before the Goddess he is of the purest royalty of all, mother and father born of her lineage- sacred, not evil. And he must come to think himself so, not be contaminated by priests who would tell him his begetting and birth were shameful." She looked Morgaine straight in the eye. "You still think it shameful?"
Morgaine lowered her head. "Always you could read my heart, kinswoman."
"Igraine's is the fault," said Viviane, "and mine, that I left you at Uther's court seven years. The day I knew you priestess-born, I should have had you from there. You are priestess of Avalon, darling child, why came you never back?" She turned, the comb in her hand, her long faded hair falling along her face.
Morgaine whispered, tears forcing themselves through the barrier of her tight eyes, "I cannot. I cannot, Viviane. I tried-I could not find the way." And all the humiliation and shame of that washed over her, and she wept.
Viviane put down the comb and caught Morgaine to her breast, holding her, rocking and soothing her like a child. "Darling, my own darling girl, do not cry, do not cry ... if I had known, child, I would have come to you. Don't cry now-I shall myself take you back, we will go together when I have given Arthur my message. I will take you with me and go, before he gets it into his head to marry you off to some braying Christian ass ... yes, yes, child, you shall come back to Avalon ... we will go together ...  ." She wiped Morgaine's wet face on her own veil. "Come, now, help me to dress myself to stand before my kinsman the High King-"
Morgaine drew a deep breath. "Yes, let me braid your hair, Mother." She tried to laugh. "This morning I did the Queen's hair."
Viviane held her away and said, in great anger, "Has Arthur put you, priestess of Avalon and princess in your own right, to waiting hand and foot on his queen?"
"No, no," said Morgaine quickly, "I am honored as high as the Queen herself-I dressed Gwenhwyfar's hair this day out of friendship; she is as likely to do mine, or to lace my gown, as sisters do."
Viviane sighed with relief. "I would not have you dishonored. You are the mother of Arthur's son. He must learn to honor you as such, and so must the daughter of Leodegranz-"
"No!" Morgaine cried. "No, I beg of you-Arthur must not know, not before the whole court-listen to me, Mother," she pleaded, "all these folk are Christian. Would you have me shamed before them all?"
Viviane said implacably, "They must learn not to think shame of holy things!"
"But the Christians have power over all this land," Morgaine said, "and you cannot change their thinking with a few words-" And in her heart she wondered, had advancing age driven Viviane out of her wits? There was no way simply to proclaim that the old laws of Avalon should be set up again and two hundred years of Christianity be overthrown. The priests would drive her out of the court as a madwoman and go on as before. Viviane must know enough of practical ruling to know this! And indeed, Viviane nodded and said, "You are right, we must work slowly. But Arthur at least must be reminded of his promise to protect Avalon, and I will speak to him in secret, one day, about the child. We cannot proclaim it aloud among the ignorant."
Then Morgaine helped Viviane to arrange her hair and to dress herself in the stately robes of a priestess of Avalon, dressed for high ceremonial. And it was not long before they heard sounds telling them that the mock games were over. No doubt the prizes would be given indoors this time, at the feast; she wondered if Lancelet had won them all again in honor of his king. Or, she thought sourly, his queen? And could one call that honor?
They turned to leave the chamber, and as they left the room, Viviane touched her hand gently. "You will return to Avalon with me, will you not, dear child?"
"If Arthur will let me go  ... "
"Morgaine, you are a priestess of Avalon, and you need not ask leave, even of the High King, to come and go as it pleases you. A High King is a leader in battle-he does not own the lives of his subjects, or even of his subject kings, as if he were one of those Eastern tyrants who thinks the world is his and the life of every man and woman in it. I will tell him I have need of you in Avalon and we will see what he answers to that."
Morgaine felt herself choking with unshed tears. Oh, to return to Avalon, to go home  ...  but even as she held Viviane's hand she could not believe she was truly to go there after this day. Later she was to say, I knew, I knew, and recognize the despair and foreboding that struck her at the words, but at the moment she was certain it was only her own fear, the sense that she was not worthy of what she had cast away.
Then they went down into Arthur's great hall for the Pentecost feasting.
It was Camelot, Morgaine thought, as she had never seen it before, and perhaps would never see it again. The great Round Table, Leodegranz's wedding gift, was now set in a hall worthy of its majesty; the halls had been hung with silks and banners, and a trick of the arrangement made it so that all eyes were drawn to where Arthur sat, at the high seat at the far end of the hall. For this day he had brought Gareth to sit beside him and his queen, and all the knights and Companions were ringed together, the Companions in fine clothing, their weapons gleaming, the ladies garbed brightly as flowers. One after another, the petty kings came, knelt before Arthur and brought him gifts; Morgaine watched Arthur's face, grave, solemn, gentle. She looked sidewise at Viviane-surely she must see that Arthur had grown into a good king, not one to be lightly judged, even by Avalon or the Druids. But who was she to weigh causes between Arthur and Avalon? She felt the old tremor of disquiet, as in the old days at Avalon when she was being taught to open her mind to the Sight that would use her as its instrument, and found herself wishing, without understanding why, Would that Viviane were a hundred leagues from here!
She looked around the Companions-Gawaine, sandy and bulldog-strong, smiling at his newly knighted brother; Gareth, shining somehow like new-minted gold. Lancelet looked dark and beautiful, and as if his thoughts were somewhere at the other end of the world. Pellinore, greying and gentle, his daughter, Elaine, waiting on him.
And now one came to Arthur's throne who was not one of the Companions. Morgaine had not seen him before, but she saw that Gwenhwyfar recognized him and shrank away.
"I am the only living son of King Leodegranz," he said, "and brother to your queen, Arthur. I demand that you recognize my claim to the Summer Country."
Arthur said mildly, "You do not make demands in this court, Meleagrant. I will consider your request and take counsel of my queen, and it may be that I will consent to name you her regent. But I cannot deliver you judgment now."
"Then it may be I shall not wait for your judgment!" shouted Meleagrant. He was a big man, who had come to the feast wearing not only sword and dagger, but a great bronze battle-axe; he was dressed in ill-tanned furs and skins, and looked savage and grim as any Saxon bandit. His two men-at-arms looked even more ruffianly than he did himself. "I am the only surviving son of Leodegranz."
Gwenhwyfar leaned forward and whispered to Arthur. The King said, "My lady tells me that her father always denied he had begotten you. Rest assured, we shall have this matter looked into, and if your claim is good we will allow it. For the moment, sir Meleagrant, I ask you to trust to my justice, and join me in feasting. We will take this up with our councillors and do you such justice as we can."
"Feasting be damned!" said Meleagrant angrily. "I came not here to eat comfits and look at ladies and watch grown men making sport like boys! I tell you, Arthur, I am king of that country, and if you dare dispute my claim it will be the worse for you-and for your lady!"
He laid his hand on the hilt of his great battle-axe, but Cai and Gareth were immediately there, pinioning his arms behind him.
"No steel's to be drawn in die King's hall," said Cai roughly, while Gareth twisted the axe out of his hand and set it at the foot of Arthur's chair. "Go to your seat, man, and eat your meat. We'll have order at the Round Table, and when our king has said he'll do you justice, you'll wait on his good pleasure!"
They spun him roughly round, but Meleagrant struggled free of their hands and said, "To hell with your feast and to hell with your justice, then! And to hell with your Round Table and all your Companions!" He left the axe and turned his back, stamping down all the length of the hall. Cai took a step after him, and Gawaine half rose, but Arthur motioned him to sit down again.
"Let him go," he said. "We will deal with him at the proper time. Lancelet, as my lady's champion, it may well fall to you to deal with that usurping churl."
"It will be my pleasure, my king," said Lancelet, starting up as if he had been half asleep, but Morgaine suspected he had not the slightest idea what he had agreed to. The heralds at the door were still proclaiming that all men should draw near for the King's justice; there was a brief, comical interlude, when a farmer came in and told how he and his neighbor had quarreled over a small windmill on the borders of their property.
"And we couldn't agree, sir," he said, twisting his rough woolen hat between his hands, "so him and me, we made it out that the King had made all this country safe to have a windmill in, and so I said I'd come here, sir, and see what you say and we'd listen to it."
Amid good-natured laughter, the matter was settled; but Morgaine noticed that Arthur alone did not laugh, but listened seriously, gave judgment, and when the man had thanked him and gone away, with many bows and thanks, only then did he let his face break into a smile. "Cai, see that they give the fellow something to eat in the kitchens before he goes home, he had a long walk here." He sighed. "Who is next to ask justice? God grant it be something fitter my solving-will they come next to ask my advice in horse breeding, or something of that sort?"
"It shows what they think of their king, Arthur," said Taliesin. "But you should make it known that they should go to their local lord, and see that your subjects are also responsible for justice in your name." He raised his head to see the next petitioner. "But this may be more worthy of the King's attention after all, for it is a woman, and, I doubt not, in some trouble."
Arthur motioned her forward: a young woman, self-assured, haughty, reared to courtly ways. She had no attendant except for a small and ugly dwarf, no taller than three feet, but with broad shoulders and well muscled, carrying a short and powerful axe.
She bowed to the King and told her story. She served a lady who had been left, as had so many others after the years of war, alone in the world; her estate was northward, near to the old Roman wall which stretched mile after mile, with ruined forts and mile-castles, mostly now decrepit and falling down. But a gang of five brothers, ruffians all, had refortified five of the castles and were laying the whole countryside to waste. And now one of them, who had a fancy to call himself the Red Knight of Red Lands, was laying siege to her lady; and his brothers were worse than he was.
"Red Knight, hah!" said Gawaine. "I know that gentleman. I fought with him when I came southward from my last visit to Lot's country, and I barely got away with my life. Arthur, it might be well to send an army to clean out those fellows-there's no law in that part of the world."
Arthur frowned and nodded, but young Gareth rose from his seat.
"My lord Arthur, that is on the fringes of my father's country. You promised me a quest-keep the promise, my king, and send me to help this lady defend her countryside against these evil fellows!"
The young woman looked at Gareth, his shining beardless face and the white silk robe he had put on for his knighting, and she broke into laughter. "You? Why, you're a child. I didn't know the great High King was taking overgrown children to serve at his table!" Gareth blushed like a child. He had indeed handed Arthur's cup to the King-it was a service young well-born boys, fostered at court, all performed at high feasts. Gareth had not yet remembered it was no longer his duty, and Arthur, who liked the boy, had not reproved him.
The woman drew herself up. "My lord and king, I came to ask for one or more of your great knights with a reputation in battle which would daunt this Red Knight-Gawaine, or Lancelet, or Balin, one of those who is known as a great fighter against the Saxons. Are you going to let your very kitchen boys mock me, sire?"
Arthur said, "My Companion Gareth is no kitchen boy, madam. He is brother to sir Gawaine, and he promises to be as good a knight as his brother, or better. I did indeed promise him the first quest that I could honorably give him, and I will send him with you. Gareth," he said gently, "I charge you to ride with this lady, to guard her against the dangers of the road, and when you come to her country, to help her lady to organize her country in defense against these villains. If you need help, you may send me a messenger, but no doubt she has fighting men enough-they need only someone with knowledge and skill at strategy, and this you have learned from Cai and Gawaine. Madam, I give you a good man to help you." She did not quite dare to answer the King, but she scowled at Gareth fiercely. He said formally, "Thank you, my lord Arthur. I will put the fear of God into these rascals who are troubling the countryside there." He bowed to Arthur and turned to the lady, but she had turned her back and stormed out of the hall.
Lancelet said in a low voice, "He is young for all that, sir. Shouldn't you send Balan, or Balin, or someone more experienced?"
Arthur shook his head. "I truly think Gareth can do it, and I prefer that no one of my Companions is favored over another-it should be enough for the lady to know that one of them is coming to help her people."
Arthur leaned back and signalled to Cai to serve his plate. "Giving justice is hungry work. Are there no more petitioners?"
"There is one, my lord Arthur," said Viviane quietly, and rose from her place among the Queen's ladies. Morgaine began to rise and attend her, but Viviane gestured her back. She looked taller than she was, because she held herself so straight. And part of it was glamour, the glamour of Avalon  ...  her hair, all white, was braided high on her head; at her side hung the little sickle-shaped knife, the knife of a priestess, and on her brow blazed the mark of the Goddess, the shining crescent moon.
Arthur looked at her for a moment, in surprise, then recognized her and gestured her to come forward.
"Lady of Avalon, it is long since you honored this court with your presence. Come sit beside me, kinswoman, and tell me how I may best serve you."
"By showing honor to Avalon, as you are sworn to do," said Viviane. Her voice was very clear and low, but, the trained voice of a priestess, it could be heard to the farthest comers of the hall. "My king, I bid you look now on that sword you bear, and think on those who laid it in your hand, and what you swore-"
In later years when all that had befallen that day was talked of far and wide, no two of the hundreds in that hall could agree on what had happened first. Morgaine saw Balin rise in his place and rush forward, she saw a hand snatch up the great axe Meleagrant had left leaning against the throne, then there was a scuffle and a cry, and she heard her own scream as the great axe came whirling down. But she did not see the blow, only Viviane's white hair suddenly red with blood as she crumpled and fell without even a cry.
Then the hall was full of shouts and screams; Lancelet and Gawaine had Balin, struggling in their grasp; Morgaine had her own dagger in her hand and rushed forward, but Kevin gripped at her hard, his twisted fingers clutching at her wrist.
"Morgaine. Morgaine, no, it is too late-" he said, and his voice was roughened with sobs. "Ceridwen! Mother Goddess-! No, no, look not on her now, Morgaine-"
He tried to turn her away, but Morgaine stood frozen, as if turned to stone, listening to Balin howling obscenities at the top of his voice.
Cai said abruptly, "Look to the lord Taliesin!" The old man had slithered down fainting in his seat. Cai bent and steadied him, then, murmuring a word of apology to Arthur, seized the King's own cup and poured the wine down the old man's throat. Kevin let Morgaine go and stumbled awkwardly to the side of the ancient Druid, bending over him. Morgaine thought, I should go to him, but it was as if her feet were frozen to the floor, she could not take a single step. She stared at the fainting old man so that she need not look back at that horrible red-stained pool on the floor, soaking through robes and hair and long cloak. In that last instant Viviane had seized her own small sickle knife. Her hand lay on it now, stained with her own blood-there was so much blood, so much. Her skull-her skull had been cloven in half, and there was blood, blood on the throne poured out like an animal for sacrifice, here at the foot of Arthur's throne ...  .
Arthur finally found his voice. "You wretched man," he said hoarsely, "what have you done? This is murder, cold murder before the very throne of your king ...  ."
"Murder, you say?" Balin said in his thick, harsh voice. "Yes, she was the most foul murderess in this kingdom, she deserved death twice over- I have rid your kingdom of a wicked and evil sorceress, my king!"
Arthur looked more angry than grieved. "The Lady of the Lake was my friend and my benefactor! How dare you speak so of my kinswoman, she who helped to set me on my throne?"
"I call the lord Lancelet himself to witness if she did not compass the death of my mother," Balin said, "a good and pious Christian woman, Priscilla by name, and foster-mother to your own brother Balan! And she murdered my mother, I tell you she murdered her by her evil sorceries-" His face worked; the big man was weeping like a child. "She murdered my mother, I tell you, and I have avenged her as a knight should do!"
Lancelet closed his eyes in horror, his face contorted, but he did not weep. "My lord Arthur, this man's life belongs to me! Let me here take vengeance for my mother-"
"And my mother's sister," said Gawaine.
"And mine-" Gaheris added.
Morgaine's frozen trance broke. She cried, "No, Arthur! Let me have him! He has murdered the Lady before your throne, let a woman of Avalon avenge the blood of Avalon-look yonder how the lord Taliesin lies stricken, it is like that he has murdered our grandsire too-"
"Sister, sister-" Arthur held out his hand to Morgaine. "No, no, sister -no, give me your dagger-"
Morgaine stood shaking her head, her dagger still in her hand. Taliesin suddenly rose to take it from her with his own trembling old fingers. "No, Morgaine. No more bloodshed here-the Goddess knows, it is enough- her blood has been spilled as sacrifice to Avalon in this hall-"
"Sacrificed! Yes, sacrificed to God, as God shall strike down all these evil sorceresses and their Gods!" cried Balin in a frenzy. "Let me have that one too, my lord Arthur, purge this court of all their evil wizard line-" He struggled so violently that Lancelet and Gawaine could hardly hold him and signalled to Cai, who came and helped them cast Balin down, struggling still, before the throne.
"Quiet!" Lancelet said, jerking his head around. "I warn you, one hand laid on the Merlin or Morgaine, and I'll have your head whatever Arthur may say-yes, my lord Arthur, and die at your hands for it afterward if you will have it so!" His face was drawn with anguish and despair.
"My lord King," Balin howled, "I beg you, let me strike down all these wizards and sorcerers in the name of the Christ who hates them all-"
Lancelet struck Balin heavily across the mouth; the man gasped and was silent, blood streaming from a broken lip.
"By your leave, my lord." Lancelet unfastened his rich cloak and gently covered the ghastly, drained corpse of his mother.
Arthur seemed to breathe easier now that the corpse was out of sight. Only Morgaine went on staring wide-eyed at the lifeless huddle now covered with the crimson cloak Lancelet had worn for the holiday.
Blood. Blood on the foot of the King's throne. Blood, poured out on the hearth  ...  Somewhere it seemed to Morgaine that she could hear Raven shrieking.
Arthur said quietly, "Look to the lady Morgaine, she will faint," and Morgaine felt hands gently helping her into a seat and someone holding a cup to her lips. She started to push it away, and then it seemed she heard Viviane's voice saying, Drink it. A priestess must keep her strength and will. Obediently she drank, hearing Arthur's voice, stern and solemn.
"Balin, whatever your reasons-no, no more, I heard what you said -not a word-you are either a madman, or a cold-blooded murderer. Whatever you may say, you have slain my kinswoman and drawn steel before your High King at Pentecost. Still, I will not have you murdered where you stand-Lancelet, put up your sword."
Lancelet slid his sword back into its scabbard. "I will do your will, my lord. But if you do not punish this murder, then I beg leave to depart from your court."
"Oh, I will punish it." Arthur's face was grim. "Balin, are you sane enough to listen to me? Then this is your doom: I banish you forever from this court. Let this lady's body be made ready and put on a horse bier, and I charge you to take it to Glastonbury, and tell all your tale to the Archbishop and do such penance as he shall lay on you. You spoke but now of God and Christ, but no Christian king allows private vengeance to be taken by the sword before his throne of justice. Do you hear what I say, Balin, once my knight and Companion?"
Balin bent his head. His nose had been broken by Lancelet's blow; his mouth was streaming blood, and he spoke thickly through a broken tooth. "I hear you, my lord King. I will go." He sat with his head bowed.
Arthur gestured to the servants. "I beg you, bring someone to remove her poor body-"
Morgaine broke away from the hands that held her and knelt beside Viviane. "My lord, I beg you, allow me to ready her for burial-" and struggled to hold back the tears she dared not shed. This was not Viviane, this broken dead thing, the hand like a shrunken claw still clutching the sickle dagger of Avalon. She took up the dagger, kissed it, and slid it into her own belt. This, and only this, would she keep.
Great merciful Mother, I knew we could never go together to Avalon ...  .
She would not weep. She felt Lancelet close beside her. He muttered, "God's mercy Balan is not here-to lose mother and foster-brother in one moment of madness-but if Balan had been here it might not have happened! Is there any God or any mercy?"
Her heart ached for Lancelet's anguish. He had feared and hated his mother, but he had worshipped her, too, as the very face of the Goddess. A part of her wanted to pull Lancelet into her arms, comfort him, let him weep; yet there was rage too. He had defied his mother, how dared he grieve for her now?
Taliesin was kneeling beside them, and he said, in his broken old voice, "Let me help you, children. It is my right-" and they moved aside as he bowed his head to murmur an ancient prayer of passage.
Arthur rose in his place. "There will be no more feasting this day. We have had too much tragedy for a feast. Those of you who are hungry, finish your meal and go quietly." He came slowly down to where the body lay. His hand rested gently on Morgaine's shoulder; she felt it there, through her numb misery. She could hear the other guests quietly leaving the hall, one after another, and through the rustle she heard, softly, the sound of a harp; only one pair of hands in Britain played such a harp. And at last she melted and tears streamed from her eyes as Kevin's harp played the dirge for the Lady, and to that sound, Viviane, priestess of Avalon, was slowly borne from the great hall of Camelot. Morgaine, walking beside the bier, looked back only once at the great hall and the Round Table, and the solitary, bowed figure of Arthur, standing alone beside the harper. And through all her grief and despair, she thought, Viviane never gave to Arthur the message of Avalon. This is the hall of a Christian king, and now there is no one who will say otherwise. How Gwenhwyfar would rejoice if she knew.
His hands were outstretched; she did not know, perhaps he was praying. She saw the serpents tattooed about his wrists and thought of the young stag and the new-made king who had come to her with the blood of the King Stag on his hands and face, and for a moment it seemed to her that she could hear the mocking voice of the fairy queen. And then there was no sound but the anguished lamenting of Kevin's harp and Lancelet weeping at her side as they bore Viviane forth to rest.


MORGAINE SPEAKS  ...

I followed the body of Viviane from the great hall of the Round Table, weeping for only the second time that I could remember.
And yet later that night I quarrelled with Kevin.
Working with the Queen's women, I prepared Viviane 3 body for burial. Gwenhwyfar sent her women, and she sent linen and spices and a velvet pall, but she did not come herself. That was just as well. A priestess of Avalon should be laid to rest by attendant priestesses. I longed for my sisters from the House of Maidens; but at least no Christian hands should touch her. When I was done, Kevin came to watch by the body.
"I have sent Taliesin to rest. I have that authority now, as the Merlin of Britain; he is very old and very feeble-it is a miracle that his heart did not fail this day. I fear he will not long outlive her. Balin is quiet now," he added. "I think perhaps he knows what he did-but it is sure that it was done in a fit of madness. He is ready to ride with her body to Glastonbury, and serve such penance as the Archbishop shall decree."
I stared at him in outrage. "And you will have it so? That she shall fall into the hands of the church? I care not what happens to that murderer," I said, "but Viviane must be taken to Avalon." I swallowed hard so that I would not weep again. We should have ridden together to Avalon ...  .
"Arthur has decreed," said Kevin quietly, "that she shall be buried before the church at Glastonbury, where all can see."
I shook my head, unbelieving. Were all men mad this day? "Viviane must lie in Avalon," I said, "where all the priestesses of the Mother have been buried since time began. And she was Lady of the Lake!"
"She was also Arthur's friend and benefactor," said Kevin, "and he will have it that her tomb shall be made a place of pilgrimage." He put out his hand that I should not speak. "No, hear me, Morgaine-there is reason in what he says. Never has there been so grave a crime in Arthur's reign. He cannot hide away her burial place out of sight and out of mind. She must be buried where all men may know of the King's justice, and the justice of the church."
"And you will allow this!"
"Morgaine, my dearest," he said gently, "it is not for me to allow or to refuse. Arthur is the High King, and it is his will that is done in this realm."
"And Taliesin holds his peace? Or is this why you have sent him to his rest, so that he might be out of the way while you do this blasphemy with the King's connivance? Will you have Viviane buried with Christian burial and Christian rites, she who was Lady of the Lake-buried by these folk who imprison their God within stone walls? Viviane chose me after her to be Lady of the Lake, and I forbid it, I forbid it, do you hear me?"
Kevin said quietly, "Morgaine. No, listen to me, my dear. Viviane died without naming her successor-"
"You were there that day she said she had chosen me-"
"But you were not in Avalon when she died, and you have renounced that place," Kevin said, and his words fell on my head like cold rain, so that I shivered. He stared at the bier and Viviane's body which lay covered there; nothing I could do could make that face fit to be seen in death. "Viviane died with no successor named to her place, and so it falls to me, as the Merlin of Britain, to declare what will be done. And if this is Arthur's will, only the Lady of the Lake-and, forgive me, my dear, that I say it, but there is now no Lady in Avalon-could speak out against what I say. I can see that the King has reason for what he wishes. Viviane spent all her life to bring about a peaceful rule of law in this land. ..."
"She came to reprove Arthur that he had forsaken Avalon!" I cried in despair. "She died with her mission unfinished, and now you would have it that she should lie in Christian ground within the sound of church bells, so that they should triumph over her in death as in life?"
"Morgaine, Morgaine, my poor girl!" Kevin held out his hands to me, the misshapen hands which had so often caressed me. "I loved her too, believe me! But she is dead. She was a great woman, she spent her life for this land-do you think it matters to her where her empty shell shall lie? She has gone to whatever awaits her beyond death, and, knowing her, I know that it can only be good that awaits her. Do you think she would grudge it, that her body should lie where it can best serve those purposes she spent her life to accomplish-that the King's justice should triumph over all the evil in this land?"
His rich, caressing, musical voice was so eloquent that I hesitated for a moment. Viviane was gone; it was only those same Christians who made much of consecrated or unconsecrated ground, as if all the earth which is the breast of the Mother was not holy. I wanted to fall into his arms and weep there for the only mother I had ever known, for the wreck of my own hopes that I might return to Avalon at her side, weep for all I had cast away and the breaking of my own life ...  .
But what he said then made me start away in horror.
"Viviane was old," he said, "and she had dwelt in Avalon, sheltered from the real world. I have had to live, with Arthur, in the world where battles are won and real decisions made. Morgaine, my dearest, listen to me. It is too late to demand that Arthur keep his pledge to Avalon in that same form he gave it. Time passes, the sound of church bells covers this land, and the people are content to have it so. Who are we to say that this is not the will of the Gods that lie behind the Gods? Whether we wish it or no, my dearest love, this is a Christian land, and we who honor Viviane's memory will do her no good by making it known to all men that she came hither to make impossible demands of the King."
"Impossible demands?" I wrenched my hands away. "How dare you?"
"Morgaine, listen to reason-"
"Not reason but treason! If Taliesin heard this-"
"I speak as I have heard Taliesin himself speak," he said gently. "Viviane did not live in order to undo what she has done, to create a land at peace-whether it is called Christian or Druid does not matter; the will of the Goddess will be done over all, whatever name men may call her. Who are you to say that it was not the will of the Goddess that Viviane was struck down before she could spread strife again in a land that has come to peace and successful compromise? I tell you, it shall not be torn again by strife, and if Viviane had not been struck down by Balin, I would myself have spoken against what she asked--and I think Taliesin would have said as much."
"How dare you speak for Taliesin?"
"Taliesin himself named me the Merlin of Britain," said Kevin, "and he must therefore have trusted me to act for him when he could not speak for himself."
"Next you will say you have become a Christian! Why wear you not beads and a crucifix?"
He said, in such a gentle voice that I could have wept, "Do you truly think it would make such a great difference, Morgaine, if I did so?"
I knelt before him, as I had done a year ago, pressed his broken hand to my breast. "Kevin, I have loved you. For that I beg you-be faithful now to Avalon and to Viviane's memory! Come with me now, tonight. Do not this travesty, but accompany me to Avalon, where the Lady of the Lake shall lie with the other priestesses of the Goddess. ..."
He bent over me; I could feel the anguished tenderness in his misshapen hands. "Morgaine, I cannot. My dearest, will you not be calm and listen to the voice of reason in what I am saying?"
I stood up, flinging off his weak grip, and raising my arms, summoned the power of the Goddess. I heard my voice thrumming with the power of a priestess. "Kevin! In her name who came to you, in the name of the manhood she has given you, I lay obedience on you! Your allegiance is not to Arthur nor to Britain, but only to the Goddess and to your vows! Come now, leave this place! Come with me to Avalon, bearing her body!"
I could see in the shadows the very glow of the Goddess around me; for a moment Kevin knelt shuddering, and I know that in another moment he would have obeyed. And then, I know not what happened-perhaps it crossed my mind, No, I am not worthy, I have no right ...  I have forsaken Avalon, I cast it away, by what right then do I command the Merlin of Britain? The spell broke; Kevin made a harsh, abrupt gesture, awkwardly rising to his feet.
"Woman, you do not command me! You who have renounced Avalon, by what right do you presume to give orders to the Merlin? Rather should you kneel before me!" He thrust me away with both hands. "Tempt me no more!"
He turned his back and limped away, the shadows making wavering misshapen movements on the wall as he moved from the room; I watched him go, too stricken even to weep.
And four days later Viviane was buried, with all the rites of the church, on the Holy Isle in Glastonbury. But I did not go thither.
Never, I swore, should I step foot upon that Isle of the Priests.


Arthur mourned her sincerely, and built for her a great tomb and a cairn, swearing that one day he and Gwenhwyfar should lie there at her side.
As for Balin, the Archbishop Patricius laid it upon him that he should make a pilgrimage to Rome and the Holy Lands; but before he could go into exile, Balan heard the tale from Lancelet and hunted him down, and the foster-brothers fought, one with another, and Balin was killed at once with a single stroke; but Balan took cold in his wounds and did not survive him a whole day. So Viviane-so they said when a song was made of it-was avenged; but what of that, when she lay in a Christian tomb?
And I... I did not even know whom they had chosen as Lady of the Lake in her place, for I could not return to Avalon.
 ...  I was not worthy of Lancelet, I was not worthy even of Kevin  ...  I could not tempt him to do his true duty to Avalon ...  .
... I should have gone to Taliesin and begged him, even on my knees, to take me back to Avalon, that I might atone for all my faults and return again to the shrine of the Goddess ...  .
But before the summer was ended, Taliesin was gone too; I think he never knew for certain that Viviane was dead, because even after she was buried, he spoke as if she would come soon and return with him to Avalon; and he spoke of my mother, too, as if she lived and was a little girl in the House of Maidens. And at summer's end he died peacefully and was buried at Camelot, and even the bishop mourned him as a wise and learned man.
And in the winter after that, we heard that Meleagrant had set himself up to rule as king in the Summer Country. But when spring came, Arthur was away on a mission to the South, and Lancelet too had ridden out to see to the King's castle at Caerleon, when Meleagrant sent a messenger under a flag of truce, begging that his sister Gwenhwyfar should come and speak with him about the rule of that country over which they both had a claim.

4

"I would feel safer, and I think my lord the king would like it better, if Lancelet were here to ride with you," Cai said soberly. "At Pentecost yonder fellow would have drawn steel in this hall before his king, and he would not await the King's justice. Brother of yours or no, I like it not that you ride alone with only your lady and your chamberlain."
"He is not my brother," Gwenhwyfar said. "His mother was the king's mistress for a time, but he put her away because he found her with another man. She claimed, and perhaps told her son, that Leodegranz was his father. The king never acknowledged it. If he were an honorable man, and such as my lord would trust, perhaps he could be regent for me as well as any other. But I will not allow him to profit by such a lie."
"Will you trust yourself then in his hands, Gwenhwyfar?" asked Morgaine quietly.
Gwenhwyfar looked at Cai and Morgaine, shaking her head. Why did Morgaine look so calm and unafraid? Was Morgaine never afraid of anything, never touched by any emotion behind that cool, unreadable face? Rationally she knew that Morgaine, like all mortal flesh, must sometimes suffer from pain, fear, grief, anger-yet only twice had she actually seen emotion in Morgaine, and that long ago; once when Morgaine had fallen into trance and dreamed of blood on the hearth-then she had cried out in fear-and once when Viviane was slain here before her eyes and she had sunk down fainting.
Gwenhwyfar said, "I trust him not at all, except to be the greedy impostor he is. But think, Morgaine. All his claim is based upon the fact that he is my brother. Should he offer me the slightest insult, or treat me as anything less than his honored sister, his claim is proved a lie. So he dares do nothing else than welcome me as his honored sister and queen, do you see?"
Morgaine shrugged. "I would not trust him even so far as that."
"No doubt, like the Merlin, you have sorcery to give you knowledge of what may come if I do."
Morgaine said indifferently, "It needs no sorcery to know that a villain is a villain, and no supernatural wisdom that bids me not let the nearest rogue hold my wallet for me."
Whatever Morgaine said, Gwenhwyfar always felt compelled to do precisely other; always she felt that Morgaine thought her a fool without the wit to lace her own shoes. Did Morgaine think that she, Gwenhwyfar, could not settle a matter of state when Arthur was absent? Yet she had hardly been able to face Morgaine since that ill-starred Beltane a year ago when she had begged her sister-in-law for a charm against her barrenness. Morgaine had told her that charms often work as you would not have them work ... now whenever she looked on Morgaine, she thought her sister-in-law must be remembering it, too.
God punishes me; perhaps for meddling with sorcery, perhaps for that wicked night. And as always when she allowed the faintest memory of that time to come into her mind, she felt her whole body flushing with mingled delight and shame. Ah, it was easy to say they had all three been drunken, or to excuse herself that what was done that night was done with Arthur's consent, indeed, at his urging. Still it was grievous sin, adultery.
And since that night she had hungered for Lancelet, night and day; yet they had hardly been able to face each other. She could not look him in the eyes. Did he hate her as a shameful, adulterous woman? He must despise her. Yet she longed for him with terrible despair.
After that Pentecost, Lancelet had hardly been at court. She had never thought he had cared so much for his mother, nor yet for his brother Balan, yet he had mourned them both deeply. He had been away from court all this time.
"I wish," said Cai, "that Lancelet were here. Who should accompany the Queen on a mission of this sort, except that knight Arthur has named as his queen's champion and protector?"
"If Lancelet were here," said Morgaine, "many of our troubles would be over, for he would settle Meleagrant with a few words. But there is no good talking of what cannot be. Gwenhwyfar, shall I ride with you and protect you?"
"In God's name," said Gwenhwyfar, "I am not a child who cannot stir forth without a nurse! I will take my chamberlain, sir Lucan, and I will take Bracca to dress my hair and lace my gown if I am there for more than a night, and to sleep at the foot of my bed; what do I need more than that?"
"Still, Gwenhwyfar, you must have an escort fitting your rank. There are still some of Arthur's Companions here at court."
"I will take Ectorius," said Gwenhwyfar. "He is Arthur's foster-father, and nobly born, and a veteran of many of Arthur's wars."
Morgaine shook her head impatiently. "Old Ectorius, and Lucan who lost an arm at Mount Badon-why do you not take Cai and the Merlin with you as well, so that you may have all the old and the lame? You should have an escort of good fighting men who can protect you, Gwenhwyfar, in case it is in this man's mind to hold the Queen to ransom, or worse."
Gwenhwyfar repeated patiently, "If he does not treat me as his sister, then his claim is worthless. And what man would offer any threat to his sister?"
"I do not know if Meleagrant is so good a Christian as all that," Morgaine said, "but if you are not afraid of him, Gwenhwyfar, you know him better than I do. No doubt you can find an escort of old bumbling veterans to ride with you-so be it. You might offer to wed him to your kinswoman Elaine, to make his claim of kinship even more valid, and set him as regent in your place-"
Gwenhwyfar shuddered, remembering the great coarse man dressed in ill-tanned skins and furs. "Elaine is a gently reared lady; I would not give her to such a one," she said. "I will talk with him-if he seems to me an honest fighting man and such a one as will keep the peace in this kingdom, then if he will swear loyalty to my lord Arthur, he may reign upon the island-I like not all of Arthur's Companions either, but a man may be an honest king without being a good one to sit with ladies and talk in hall."
"I marvel to hear you say so," said Morgaine. "To hear you sing my kinsman Lancelet's praises, I thought you believed no man could be a good knight unless he were handsome and full of this kind of courtly matters."
Gwenhwyfar would not quarrel again with Morgaine. "Come, sister, I love Gawaine well, yet he is a rough Northman who trips over his own feet and has hardly a word to say to any woman. For all I know, Meleagrant too may be such a jewel in the wrappings of a knucklebone, and that is why I go thither-to judge for myself."
So the next morning Gwenhwyfar set forth, with her escort of six knights, Ectorius, the veteran Lucan, her waiting-woman, and a nine-year-old page boy. She had not visited her childhood home since that day she left it with Igraine, to be married to Arthur. It was not far: a few leagues down the hill, and to the shores of the lake, which at this season was drying up into boggy marshes, with cattle grazing in the summer fields and lush grasses filled with buttercup and dandelion and primrose. At the shore two boats were waiting, hung with her father's banners. This was arrogance, that Meleagrant should bear these unpermitted, but after all, it was possible that the man genuinely believed himself Leodegranz's heir. It might even be true; perhaps her father had lied about it.
She had landed at these very shores, bound for Caerleon, so many years ago  ...  how young she had been, and how innocent! Lancelet had been at her side, but fate had given her to Arthur-God knows, she had tried to be a good wife to him, though God had denied her children. And then despair washed over her again as she looked at the waiting boats. She might give her husband three or five or seven sons, and a year might come of plague, or smallpox, or the throat fever, and all her sons would be gone  ...  such things had happened. Her own mother had borne four sons, yet none of them had lived to be as much as five years old, and Alienor's son had died with her. Morgaine  ...  Morgaine had borne a son to their evil God of witches, and for all she knew, that son lived and thrived, while she, a faithful Christian wife, could not bear any child, and now she might soon be too old.
Meleagrant himself was at the landing, bowing, welcoming her as his honored sister, gesturing her toward his own boat, the smaller of the two. Gwenhwyfar never knew even afterward how it had happened that she was separated from all of her escort except for the little page. "My lady's servants may go in the other boat, I myself will be your escort here," said Meleagrant, taking her arm with an overfamiliarity she did not like; but after all, she must bear herself with diplomacy and not anger him. At the last moment, with a momentary sense of panic, she gestured to sir Ec-torius.
"I will have my chamberlain with me, as well," she insisted, and Meleagrant smiled, his great coarse face reddening.
"As my sister and queen desires," he said, and let Ectorius and Lucan step on to the smaller boat with her. He fussed about spreading a rug for her to sit on, and the oarsmen pulled out into the lake. It was shallow, grown heavily with weeds; in some seasons it was dry here. And suddenly, as Meleagrant seated himself beside her, Gwenhwyfar was seized with an attack of the old terror; her stomach heaved, and for a moment she thought she would vomit. She clung to the seat with both hands. Meleagrant was too near her; she moved as far away as the dimensions of the seat would allow. She would have felt more comfortable if Ectorius had been near; his presence was serene and fatherly. She noted the great axe Meleagrant wore through his belt-it was like the one he had left near the throne, the one Balin had seized to murder Viviane ...  . Meleagrant said, leaning so close that his heavy breath sickened her, "Is my sister faint? Surely the motion of the boat does not trouble you, it is so calm-"
She edged away from him, struggling for self-control. She was alone here except for two old men, and she was out in the middle of the lake, with nothing around her but weed and water and the reedy horizon ... why had she come? Why was she not in her own walled garden at home, in Camelot? There was no safety here, she was out under the wide-open sky, so that she felt sick and naked and exposed ...  .
"We will be on shore soon," Meleagrant said, "and if you wish to rest before we conduct our business, sister, I have had the queen's apartments prepared for you-"
The boat scraped on shore. The old path was still there, she noted, the narrow winding way up to the castle, and the old wall, where she had sat that afternoon watching Lancelet run among the horses. She felt confused, as if it might have been only the day before and she was that shy young girl. She reached out surreptitiously and touched the wall, feeling it firm and solid, and stepped through the gate with relief.
The old hall seemed smaller than when she had lived there; she had grown used to great spaces in Caerleon and later at Camelot. Her father's old high seat was spread with skins like those Meleagrant wore, and a great black bearskin lay at the foot of the seat. The whole looked uncared-for, the skins ragged and greasy, the hall unswept, with a sour, sweaty smell; she wrinkled her nose, but it was so much a relief to be within walls that she did not care. She wondered where her escort had gone.
"Will you rest and refresh yourself, sister? Shall I show you to your apartments?"
She smiled and said, "I shall hardly be here long enough to call them mine, though it is true I would like to wash the dust off my hands and take off my cloak. Will you send someone to find my serving-woman? You should have a wife if you are to think of being regent here, Meleagrant."
"There is time enough for that," he said, "but I will show you to the apartments I have prepared for my queen." He led the way up the old stairs. They were also ill-kept and neglected; Gwenhwyfar, frowning, thought less well of choosing him as regent. If he had moved into the castle and restored it, had installed a wife and good servants to keep it well, with fresh hangings and good cleaning, and smart men-at-arms, well-but his soldiers looked more villainous than he did himself, and she had not yet seen any woman about the place. A faint qualm was beginning to steal over her; maybe she had not been too wise to come here alone, not to insist on her escort accompanying her every step of the way-
She turned on the stairs and said, "I will have my chamberlain accompany me, if you please, and I want my woman sent for at once!"
"As my lady wishes." He grinned. His teeth seemed very long, yellow and stained. She thought, He is like a wild beast  ...  and edged against the wall in terror. Yet it was from some inner reserve of strength she drew to say firmly, "Now, please. Call sir Ectorius, or I will go right down into the hall again until my serving-woman is here. It is not seemly for Arthur's queen to go alone with a strange man-"
"Not even with her brother?" asked Meleagrant, but Gwenhwyfar, ducking beneath his outstretched arm, saw that Ectorius had come into the hall after her and called, "Foster-father! Accompany me, if you will! And send sir Lucan to find my servant!"
The old man came slowly up the stairs after them, passing Meleagrant, and Gwenhwyfar put out her arm to lean on him. Meleagrant looked but ill pleased at this. They came to the head of the stairs, to the chamber where Alienor had once dwelt; Gwenhwyfar had been in a little room behind hers. Meleagrant opened the door. It smelled stale and dank inside, and Gwenhwyfar hesitated. Perhaps she should insist on going at once downstairs and to business; she could hardly refresh herself or rest well in a room as dirty and neglected as this-
"Not you, old man," said Meleagrant, turning suddenly and pushing Ectorius down the stairs hard. "My lady does not need your service now." Ectorius stumbled, off balance, and at that moment Meleagrant pushed her into the room and slammed the door hard behind her. She heard the bar thrown down and stumbled to her knees; by the time she got up she was alone in the room, and no amount of hammering on the door brought any sound at all.
So Morgaine's warning had been right. Had they murdered her escort? Had they killed Ectorius and Lucan? The room where Alienor had borne her children and lived and later died was cold and dank; there were only some old rags of linen sheets across the great bed, and the straw smelled foul. Alinor's old carved chest was there, but the wood carving was greasy and smeared with dirt, and it was empty. The hearth was clogged with ash as if there had been no fresh fire lighted there for years. Gwenhwyfar beat on the door and shouted until her hands and her throat were sore; she was hungry and exhausted, and sickened by the smell and the dirt of this place. But she could not budge the door, and the window was too small to climb out-and there was a twelve-foot drop outside. She was imprisoned. Through the window she could see only a neglected barnyard with a single mouldy-looking cow wandering and bellowing at intervals.
The hours dragged by. Gwenhwyfar had to accept two things, that she could not get out of the room by her own efforts, and that she could not attract the attention of any person who would be likely to come and let her out. Her escort was gone-dead or imprisoned, in any case unable to come to her aid. Her waiting-woman and page were probably dead, certainly well out of reach. She was here, and alone, at the mercy of a man who would probably use her as a hostage to exact some kind of concession from Arthur.
Her own person was probably safe from him. As she had pointed out to Morgaine, all his claim rested on the fact that he was the only surviving son of her father; bastard, but still of the royal blood. However, when she thought of his rapacious grin and huge presence, she was terrified; he might easily abuse her or try to force her to acknowledge him as regent of this country.
The day dragged on; the sun moved slowly from the small crack of window, across the room, and away again, and at last it began to grow dark. Gwenhwyfar went through into the little chamber behind Alienor's that had been her own when she was a child; once her mother had dwelt in Alienor's chamber. The dark confined space, no more than a closet, felt comfortingly secure; who could hurt her in here? No matter that it was dirty and stale, the bedstraw mildewed; she crept into the bed and wrapped herself in her cloak. Then she went back into the outer room and tried to shove Alienor's heavy carved chest against the door. She had discovered that she was very much afraid of Meleagrant, and even more afraid of his ruffianly men-at-arms.
Certainly he would not let them hurt her-the only bargaining power he had was her safety. Arthur would kill him, she told herself, Arthur would kill him if he offered her the slightest insult or harm.
But, she asked herself in her misery, would Arthur really care? Although he had been kind and loving to her all these years and treated her with all honor, still he might not be sorry to be quit of a wife who could not bear him a child-a wife who was, furthermore, in love with another man and could not conceal it from him.
If I were Arthur I would make no move against Meleagrant; I would tell him that now he had me, he might keep me, for all the good it would do him.
What did Meleagrant want? If she, Gwenhwyfar, were dead, there would be no one else with the shadow of a claim on the Summer Country's throne; there were some young nephews and nieces by her sisters, but they dwelt far away and probably did not know or care about this land. Perhaps he simply meant to murder her or leave her here to starve. The night dragged on. Once she heard some men and horses moving about in the barnyard below; she went to the small window and peered out, but she saw only a dim torch or two, and although she yelled and shouted through her sore throat, no one raised his eyes or took the slightest notice.
Once, far into the night, when she had fallen into a brief, nightmare-ridden doze, she started up, thinking she heard Morgaine calling her name; she sat bolt upright on the dirty straw of the bed, staring into the thick darkness, but she was alone.
Morgaine, Morgaine. If you can see me with your sorcery, say to my lord when he comes home that Meleagrant is false, that it was a trap  ...  and then she wondered, would God be angry with her for calling on Morgaine's sorcery to deliver her? And she fell to praying softly until the monotony of her prayers put her to sleep again.
She slept heavily, this time, without dreams, and when she woke, her mouth dry, she realized it was full day and she was still prisoner in the empty and filthy apartment. She was hungry and thirsty, and sickened with the smell of the place, not only the stale straw and mould, but the smells from one corner she had had to use as a latrine. How long were they going to leave her here alone. The morning wore away and Gwenhwyfar no longer even had the strength or courage to pray.
Was she being punished, then, for her guilt, for not valuing enough what she had had? She had been a faithful wife to Arthur, yet she had hungered after another man. She had meddled with Morgaine's sorcery. But, she thought in despair, if I am being punished for my adultery with Lancelet, for what was I being punished while I was yet a faithful wife to Arthur?
Even if Morgaine could see, with her magic, that she was imprisoned, would she trouble to help her? Morgaine had no reason to love her; indeed, Morgaine almost certainly despised her.
Was there anyone who really cared? Why should anyone care what happened to her?
It was past noon when at last she heard a step on the stairs. She sprang to her feet, wrapping herself tightly in her cloak, and backed away from the door. It was Meleagrant who came in, and at sight of him she drew back even farther.
"Why have you done this to me?" she demanded. "Where is my woman, my page, my chamberlain? What have you done with my escort? Do you think Arthur will allow you to rule this country when you have offered insult to his queen?"
"His queen no longer," Meleagrant said quietly. "When I am done with you, he will not have you back. In the old days, lady, the consort of the queen was king of the land, and if I hold you and get sons on you, no man will gainsay my right to rule."
"You will get no sons from me," Gwenhwyfar said with a mirthless laugh. "I am barren."
"Pah-you were married to a damned beardless boy," he said, and added something more, which Gwenhwyfar did not completely understand, only that it was unimaginably foul.
"Arthur will kill you," she said.
"Let him try. It is harder than you would think to attack an island," said Meleagrant, "and by that time, perhaps, he will not care to try, since he would have to take you back-"
She said, "I cannot marry you, I have a husband."
"No man in my kingdom will care one way or the other," said Meleagrant. "There were many who chafed at the rule of the priests, and I have cast forth every damned priest of them! I rule by the old laws, and I will make myself king by that law, which says your man rules here-'
She whispered, "No," and backed away, but he sprang at her and pulled her toward him.
"You're not to my taste," he said brutally. "Skinny, ugly, pale wenches -I like better a woman who's some flesh to her bones! But you're old Leodegranz's daughter, unless your mother had more blood to her than I think she could have had! And so-" He pulled her to him. She struggled, got her arm loose, and struck him hard across the face.
He shouted as her elbow struck his nose, grabbed her arm and shook her, hard; then hit her with his clenched fist across the jaw. She felt something snap and tasted blood bursting in her mouth. He hit her again and again with his fists; she put her arms up, terrified, to ward off his blows, but he went on beating her. "Now," he yelled, "there'll be no more of that, you'll find out who's your master-" He seized her wrist and wrenched at it.
"Oh, no-no-please, please, don't hurt me-Arthur, Arthur will kill you-"
He answered her only with an obscenity, wrenched at her wrist, flung her down on the dirty straw of the bed, knelt beside her, hauling at his clothing. She writhed, shrieking; he hit her again and she lay still, crouched on a corner of the bed.
"Take off your gown!" he ordered.
"No!" she cried, huddling her clothes about her. He reached out, twisting her wrist, and held her while he ripped her gown deliberately down to the waist.
"Now will you take it off, or shall I tear off every rag of it?"
Shaking, sobbing, with trembling fingers, Gwenhwyfar pulled her gown over her head, knowing that she should fight, but too terrified of his fists and blows to resist. When she had done he pulled her down, held her down on the dirty straw, pushing her legs open with a rough hand. She struggled only a little, frightened of his hands, sickened by his foul breath, his huge hairy body, the big meaty phallus that thrust painfully into her, pushing and pushing till she felt she would break in two.
"Don't pull away from me like that, damn you!" he shouted, thrusting violently; she cried out with pain and he hit her again. She lay still, sobbing, and let him do what he would. It seemed to go on forever, his big body straining and pumping on and on, till finally she felt him convulse, thrust agonizingly hard; then he was gone from her, rolled a little away, and she gasped for breath, struggling to pull her clothes around her. He stood up, wrenching at his belt, and gestured to her.
"Won't you let me go?," she begged. "I promise you-I promise you-"
He grinned fiercely. "Why should I?" he asked. "No, here you are and here you'll stay. Is there anything you need? A gown to put in the place of that one?"
She stood weeping, exhausted, shamed, sickened. At last she said shakily, "I-can I have some water, and-and something to eat? And"- She began to cry harder than ever, with shame-"and a chamber pot?"
"Whatever my lady desires," said Meleagrant sarcastically, and went away, locking her in again.
Later in the day a crook-backed old crone brought her some greasy roast meat and a hunk of barley bread, and jugs of water and beer. She also brought some blankets and a chamber pot.
Gwenhwyfar said, "If you will bear a message to my lord Arthur, I will give you this-" and she took the gold comb from her hair. The old woman's face brightened at the look of the gold, but then she looked away, scared, and sidled out of the room. Gwenhwyfar burst into tears again.
At last she regained some calm, ate and drank, and tried to wash herself a little. She felt sick and sore, but worse than that was the sense of being used, shamed, ineradicably dirtied.
Was it true what Meleagrant had said-that Arthur would not have her back now, that she had been spoilt beyond redemption? It might be so ... if she were a man she would not want anything Meleagrant had used either ...  .
No, but it was not fair; this was not anything she had done wrong, she had been trapped and tricked, used against her will.
Oh, but it is no more than I deserve  ...  I who am not a faithful wife, but love another ...  . She felt sick with guilt and shame. But after a time she began to recover her composure and to consider her predicament.
She was here in Meleagrant's castle-her father's old castle. She had been raped and was held captive, and Meleagrant had proclaimed his intention of holding this island kingdom by right of being her consort. It was not to be considered that Arthur would let him do so; no matter what he thought of her personally, for his own honor as High King he would have to make war on Meleagrant. It would not be easy, but it should not be impossible to recapture an island. She knew nothing of Meleagrant as a fighter-except, she thought with a rare flash of grim humor, against a helpless woman, whom he had beaten into submission. But it was not to be considered, either, that he could stand against the High King who had driven the Saxons into utter rout at Mount Badon.
And then she must face him and tell him what had happened to her. It might be simpler to kill herself. Come what might, she could not imagine herself facing Arthur, telling him how Meleagrant had treated her  ...  I should have fought against him harder; Arthur, in battle, has faced very death, once he took a great wound which kept him abed half a year, and I-I stopped fighting after a few slaps and blows ...  . She wished she had some of Morgaine's sorcery; she would turn him into a pig! But Morgaine would never have fallen into his hands, she would have guessed it was a trap; and she would have used that little dagger of hers, too-she might not have killed him, but he would have lost his desire, and perhaps his ability, to ravish any woman!
She had eaten and drunk what she could, washed herself, and brushed her filthy dress clean.
Again the day had begun to wane. It could not be hoped for-that she would be missed, that anyone would come for her until Meleagrant began to boast of what he had done, proclaim himself the consort of King Leodegranz's daughter. She had gone of her own free will, and properly attended by two of Arthur's Companions. Not until Arthur returned from the Southern Shores, and perhaps not for a week or ten days after that, when she did not return at the appointed time, would he begin to suspect that all was not well.
Morgaine, why did I not listen to you? You warned me he was a villain ...  . For a moment it seemed that she could see her sister-in-law's pale, passionless face-calm, slightly mocking-so clearly that she rubbed her eyes; Morgaine, laughing at her? No, it was a trick of the light, it was gone.
Would that she could see me through her magic  ...  perhaps she could send someone ... MO, she would not, she hates me, she would laugh at my ill fortune  ...  and then she remembered: Morgaine laughed and mocked, but when it was a real trouble, no one could be kinder. Morgaine had tended her when she miscarried; she had, against her own protest, been willing to try and help her with a charm. Perhaps Morgaine did not hate her after all. Perhaps all Morgaine's mockery was a defense against Gwenhwyfar's own pride, her scorn of the sorceresses of Avalon.
Twilight was beginning to blur the furniture in the room. She should have thought to ask for some sort of light. Now it seemed she would spend a second night as prisoner here, and it might be that Meleagrant would return  ...  and at the thought she felt sick again with terror; she was still sore from his brutal treatment, her mouth swollen, bruises darkening on her shoulders and, she supposed, on her face. And although, when she was alone here, she could think quite calmly about ways to fight him and perhaps drive him away, she knew, with a sick sinking of terror in her body, that when he touched her, she would shrink away in dread and let him do whatever he would, to avoid more blows ... she was so afraid, so afraid that he would hurt her again ...  .
And how could Arthur forgive her for this, that she had not been beaten entirely into submission, but had given way like a coward, after the threat of a few blows and slaps ... how could he take her back as his queen and continue to love and honor her, when she had allowed another man to have her  ...  ?
He had not minded when she and Lancelet ... he had been a part of that ... if there was sin it was not all hers, she had done as her husband wished ...  .
Oh, yes, but Lancelet was his kinsman and dearest friend ...  .
There was a commotion in the courtyard; Gwenhwyfar went to the window, peering out, but she could see only that same corner of the barnyard, and that same bellowing cow. Somewhere there was noise, shouting and yelling and the clash of weapons, but she could not see and the sound was muffled by the walls and stairs; it might be no more than those villains of Meleagrant's, fighting or brawling in the courts, or even-oh, no! God forbid it!-murdering her escort. She tried to crane her neck so she could see further from the slit of window, but there was nothing to see.
There was a sound outside. The door flew open and Gwenhwyfar, turning apprehensively, saw Meleagrant, a naked sword in hand. He gestured with it. "Get within-into that inner chamber," he ordered. "In with you, and not a sound from you, madam, or it will be the worse for you."
Does this mean someone has come to rescue me? He looked desperate, and Gwenhwyfar knew that she could get no information from him. She backed away, slowly, into the little inner room. He followed her, his hand on the sword, and Gwenhwyfar flinched, her whole body cringing in anticipation of the stroke . .. would he kill her now, or hold her as hostage for his own escape?
She never knew his plan. Meleagrant's head suddenly exploded in a spray of blood and brains; he crumpled with a weird slowness, and Gwenhwyfar sank down, too, half fainting, but before she reached the floor, she was in Lancelet's arms.
"My lady, my queen-ah, my beloved-" He caught her against him, holding her, and then, half senseless, Gwenhwyfar knew he was covering her face with kisses. She made no protest; it was like a dream. Meleagrant lay in his blood on the floor, the sword lay where it had fallen. Lancelet had to lift her over the body before he could set her on her feet.
"How-how did you know?" she stammered.
"Morgaine," he said tersely. "When I came to Camelot, Morgaine said she had tried to bid you delay till I was there. She felt it was a trap-I took horse and came after you, with half a dozen men. I found your escort imprisoned in the woods near here, tied and gagged-once I had freed them, it was not hard-no doubt he thought himself secure." Now Lancelet let her go long enough to see the bruises on her face and body, her torn gown, the cut lip where it was swollen. He touched them with shaking fingers.
"Now do I regret he died so quickly," he said. "It would give me delight to make him suffer as you have suffered-ah, my poor love, my darling, you have been so cruelly used-"
"You don't know," she whispered, "you don't know-" and she was sobbing again, clinging to him. "You came, you came, I thought no one would come, that no one would want me now, that no one would ever touch me again-now when I am so shamed ...  ."
He held her, kissing her again and again in a frenzy of tenderness. "Shamed? You? No, the shame is his, his, oh, and he has paid for it  ... " he muttered through his kisses. "I thought I had lost you forever, he might have killed you, but Morgaine said no, you lived-"
Even then, Gwenhwyfar spared a moment of fear and resentment- did Morgaine know how she had been humiliated, violated? Ah, God, if only Morgaine need not have known! She could not bear it, that Morgaine should know of this!
"Sir Ectorius? Sir Lucan-"
"Lucan is well enough; Ectorius is not young, and he has suffered grave shock, but there is no reason to think he will not live," Lancelet said. "You must go down, my beloved, and show yourself to them; they must know that their queen lives."
Gwenhwyfar looked at her torn gown, touched her bruised face with hesitant hands. She said, her voice catching in her throat, "Can I not have a little time to make myself proper? I do not want them to see-" and she could not go on.
Lancelet hesitated, then nodded. He said, "Yes; let them think he dared offer you no insult. It is better that way. I came alone, knowing I could match Meleagrant; the others are downstairs. Let me look in the other chambers-a man of his kind would not dwell here without some woman or other." He left her for a moment, and she could barely endure to see him out of her sight. She edged away from the body of Meleagrant on the floor, looking down at the man as if he were a wolfs carcass killed by some shepherd, without even distate for the blood.
After a moment Lancelet returned. "There is a room yonder which is clean, and chests there with some garments laid away-I think it was the old king's room. There is even a mirror." He led her down the hall. This room had been swept, and the bed straw on the big bed was fresh arid clean, and there were sheets and blankets, and fur comforters-not too clean, but not disgusting, either. There was a carved chest she recognized, and inside it she found three gowns, one of which she had seen Alinor wear, and the others made for someone taller. Handling them, through a mist of tears, she thought, These must have been my own mother's. I wonder that my father never gave them to Alienor. And then she thought, I never knew my father well. I have no idea what manner of man he was, he was only my father. And that seemed so sad to her that she wanted to weep again.
"I will put this on," she said, and then she broke into a weak laugh. "If I can manage without a woman to dress me-"
Lancelet touched her face gently. "I will dress you, my lady." He began to help her off with her gown. And then his face twisted, and he lifted her up in his arms, half-dressed as she was.
"When I think of that-that animal, touching you-" he said, with his face muffled against her breast, "and I who love you barely dare to lay a hand on you-"
And for all her faithfulness, she had only come to this; God had rewarded her for her virtue and self-restraint by betraying her into Meleagrant's hands for rape and brutality! And Lancelet, who had offered her love and tenderness, who had scrupulously stepped aside that he might not betray his kinsman-he had to witness it! She turned in his arms, embracing him.
"Lancelet," she whispered, "my love, my dearest-take away from me the memory of what was done to me-let us not go from here yet for a little while-"
His eyes overflowed with tears; he laid her down gently on the bed, caressing her with shaking hands.
God did not reward me for virtue. What makes me think he could punish me? And then a thought which frightened her, perhaps there is no God at all, nor any of the Gods people believe in. Perhaps it is all a great lie of the priests, so that they may tell mankind what to do, what not to do, what to believe, give orders even to the King. She raised herself, pulling Lancelet down to her, her bruised mouth searching for his, her hands wandering all over the beloved body, this time without fear and without shame. She no longer cared, nor felt restraint. Arthur? Arthur had not protected her from ravishment. She had suffered what she had had to suffer, and now, at least, she would have this much. It had been by Arthur's doing that she had first lain with Lancelet, and now she would do what she would.


THEY RODE out of Meleagrant's castle two hours later, side by side, their hands reaching out between their horses to touch as they rode, and Gwenhwyfar no longer cared; she looked straight at Lancelet, her head held high with joy and gladness. This was her true love, and never again would she trouble herself to hide it from any man.

5

On the shores of Avalon the priestesses wound slowly along the reedy shore, torches in hand.. .. I should have been among them, but there was some reason I could not go ...  . Viviane would have been angry with me that I was not there, yet I seemed to stand on afar shore, unable to speak the word that would have brought me to them ...  .
Raven paced slowly, her paleface lined as I had never seen it, a long streak of white at the side of her temple... her hair was unbound; could it be that she was still maiden, untouched save by the God? Her white draperies moved in the same wind that made the torches flare. Where was Viviane, where was the Lady? The sacred boat stood at the shore of the eternal lands, but she would come no more to the place of the Goddess... and who was this in the veil and wreath of the Lady? I had never seen her before, save in dreams ...  .
Thick, colorless hair, the color of ripe wheat, was braided in a low coronal over her brow; but hanging at her waist where the sickle knife of a priestess should have hung . .. ah, Goddess! Blasphemy! For at the side of her pale gown a silver crucifix hung; I struggled against invisible bonds to rush forward and tear away the blasphemous thing, but Kevin stepped between us and held my hands in his own, which twisted and writhed like misshapen serpents  ...  and then he was writhing between my hands  ...  and the serpents were tearing at me with their teeth  ...
"Morgaine! What is it?" Elaine shook her bedfellow's shoulder. "What is it! You were crying out in your sleep-"
"Kevin," she muttered, and sat up, her unbound hair, raven-dark, moving about her like dark water. "No, no, it wasn't you-but she had fair hair like yours, and a crucifix-"
"You were dreaming, Morgaine," Elaine said. "Wake up!" Morgaine blinked and shuddered, then drew a long breath and looked up at Elaine with her customary composure. "I am sorry-an evil dream," she said, but her eyes still looked haunted. Elaine wondered what dreams pursued the King's sister; for sure they must be evil, for she had come here from that evil island of witches and sorceresses .. . yet somehow Morgaine had never seemed to her an evil woman. How could any woman be so good when she worshipped devils and refused Christ?
She turned away from Morgaine and said, "We must get up, cousin. The King will return this day, so last night's messenger said."
Morgaine nodded and got out of bed, pulling off her shift; Elaine modestly averted her eyes. Morgaine seemed to be without shame-had she never heard that all sin came into this world through the body of a woman? Now she stood shamelessly naked, rummaging in her chest for a holiday shift, and Elaine turned away and began to dress.
"Make haste, Morgaine, we must go to the Queen-"
Morgaine smiled. "Not too much haste, kinswoman, we must give Lancelet time to be well away. Gwenhwyfar would not thank you for making a scandal."
"Morgaine, how can you say such a thing? After what has happened, it is no more than reason that Gwenhwyfar should be afraid to be alone at night and should wish her champion to sleep at her very door... and indeed, it was fortunate Lancelet came in time to save her from worse-"
"Don't be more of a fool than you must, Elaine," said Morgaine with weary patience. "Do you believe that?"
"You, of course, know better by your magic," flared Elaine, so loudly that the other women who slept in the room turned their heads to hear what the Queen's cousin and the King's sister were quarrelling about. Morgaine lowered her voice and said, "Believe me, I want no scandal, no more than you. Gwenhwyfar is my sister-in-law and Lancelet is my kinsman too. God knows, Arthur should not chide Gwenhwyfar for what befell with Meleagrant-poor wretch, it was none of her doing, and no doubt it must be given out that Lancelet came in time to rescue her. But I have no doubt Gwenhwyfar will tell Arthur, at least in secret, how Meleagrant used her -no, Elaine, I saw how she was when Lancelet brought her back from the island, and I heard what she said, her terror that that damned hellhound might have managed to get her with child!"
Elaine's face went dead white. "But he is her brother," she whispered. "Is there any man alive would do such sin as that?"
"Oh, Elaine, in God's name, what a ninny you are!" Morgaine said. "Is that what you think the worst of it?"
"And you are saying-Lancelet has shared her bed while the King was away-"
"I am not surprised, nor do I think it the first time," said Morgaine. "Have sense, Elaine-do you begrudge it? After what Meleagrant did to her, I would not be surprised if Gwenhwyfar would never again wish any man to touch her, and for her sake I am glad, if Lancelet can heal that hurt for her. And now, perhaps, Arthur will put her away, so that he may get him a son somewhere."
Elaine said, staring at her, "Perhaps Gwenhwyfar will go into a convent-she told me once she was never happier than in her convent at Glastonbury. But would they have her, if she had been paramour to her husband's captain of horse? Oh, Morgaine, I am so ashamed of her!"
"It has nothing to do with you," Morgaine said. "Why should you care?"
Elaine said, surprising herself with her outburst, "Gwenhwyfar has a husband, she is wife to the High King, and her husband is the most honorable and kindly king ever to rule these lands! She has no need to look elsewhere for love! Yet how can Lancelet turn away to seek any other lady, if the Queen stretches out her hand?"
"Well," said Morgaine, "perhaps now she and Lancelet will go forth from this court. Lancelet has lands in Less Britain, and they have loved one another long, though I think that till this mishap, they had lived as Christian man and woman." Silently she absolved herself for the lie; what Lancelet had told her in his agony was to be held forever in the depths of her heart.
"But then would Arthur be the laughingstock of every Christian king in these islands," said Elaine shrewdly. "If his queen should flee out of his lands with his best friend and his captain of horse, they would call him cuckold or worse."
"I do not think Arthur will care what they say of him," Morgaine began, but Elaine shook her head.
"No, Morgaine, but he must care. The lesser kings must respect him so that they will rally to his standard when there is need. How can they do so when he allows his wife to live in open sin with Lancelet? Yes, I know you speak of these few days. But can we be certain it will stop at that? My father is Arthur's friend and vassal, but I think even he would mock at a king who could not rule his wife, and wonder how such a one could rule a kingdom."
Morgaine shrugged and said, "What can we do, short of murdering the guilty pair?"
"What talk!" said Elaine with a shudder. "No, but Lancelet must leave the court. You are his kinswoman, cannot you make him see that?"
"Alas," said Morgaine, "I fear I have but little influence with my kinsman in that way." And inside it was as if some cold thing seized her with its teeth.
"If Lancelet were married," said Elaine, and suddenly it seemed as if she wrenched at her own courage. "If he were married to me! Morgaine, you are wise in charms and spells, cannot you give me a charm which will turn Lancelet's eyes from Gwenhwyfar to me? I am a king's daughter too, and I am certainly as beautiful as Gwenhwyfar-and I at least have no husband!"
Morgaine laughed bitterly. "My spells, Elaine, can be worse than useless-ask Gwenhwyfar one day how such a spell rebounded upon her! But Elaine," she said, suddenly serious, "would you truly travel that road?"
"I think that if he married me," Elaine said, "he would come to see that I am no less worthy of love than Gwenhwyfar."
Morgaine put her hand under the young woman's chin and turned up her face. "Listen, my child," she began, and Elaine felt that the dark eyes of the sorceress were searching into her very soul. "Elaine, this would not be easy. You have said you love him, but love when a maiden speaks so is no more than a fancy. Do you truly know what kind of a man he is? Is this a fancy which could endure for all the years of a marriage? If you wanted only to lie with him-that I could arrange easily enough. But when the glamour of the spell had worn off, he might well hate you because you had tricked him. And what then?"
Elaine said, stammering, "Even that... even that I will risk. Morgaine, my father has offered me to other men, but he has promised me that he will never force my will. I tell you, if I cannot marry Lancelet, I shall go behind convent walls for all of my life, I swear it ...  ." The girl's whole body trembled, but she did not weep. "But why should I turn to you, Morgaine? Like all of us, like Gwenhwyfar herself, you would have Lancelet, whether as husband or paramour, and the King's sister may choose for herself ...  ."
Then, for a moment, Elaine thought her eyes tricked her, for in the cold eyes of the sorceress it seemed that tears gathered. Something in her voice made Elaine's eyes sting too. "Ah, no, child, Lancelet would not have me, even if Arthur bade him. Believe me, Elaine, you would have small happiness with Lancelet."
Elaine said, "I do not think women have ever much happiness in marriage-only young girls think so, and I am not so young. But a woman must marry some time or other, and I would rather have Lancelet." Then she burst out, "I do not think you can do anything of the sort! Why do you mock me? Are your charms and spells all moonlight rubbish, then?"
She had expected Morgaine to flare up at her, to defend her own craft, but Morgaine sighed and shook her head and said, "I put not much faith in love charms and spells, I told you that when first we spoke. They are for concentrating the will of the ignorant. The craft of Avalon is a very different thing, and not lightly to be invoked because a maiden would rather lie with one man than another."
"Oh, it is ever so with the craft of the wise," Elaine burst out scornfully. "I could do thus or thus, but I will not because it would not be right to meddle in the work of the Gods, or the stars are not right, or what have you ...  ."
Morgaine sighed, a heavy sound. "Kinswoman, I can give you Lancelet for husband, if that is truly what you desire. I do not think it will make you happy, but you are so far wise, you have said that you expect not happiness in marriage  ...  believe me, Elaine, I want nothing more than to see Lancelet well wedded and away from this court and from the Queen. Arthur is my brother, and I would not see shame brought upon him, as soon or late it must be. But you are to remember that you asked me for this. See that you do not whimper when it turns to bitterness."
"I swear I will abide whatever comes, if I can have him for husband," Elaine said. "But why would you do this, Morgaine? Is it simply out of spite for Gwenhwyfar?"
"Believe that if you will, or believe I love Arthur too well to see scandal destroy what he has wrought here," Morgaine said steadily, "and bear in mind, Elaine, charms seldom work as you expect they will ...  ." When the Gods had set their will, what did it matter what any mortal did, even with charms and spells? Viviane had set Arthur on the throne  ...  yet the Goddess had done her own will and not Viviane's, for she had denied Arthur any son by his queen. And when she, Morgaine, had sought to remedy what the Goddess had left undone, the rebound of that charm had thrown Gwenhwyfar and Lancelet together into this scandalous love. Well, that at least she could remedy, by making it sure that Lancelet made an honorable marriage. And Gwenhwyfar too was trapped; she would be glad, perhaps, of something to break this deadlock.
Her mouth twitched a little in something that was not quite a smile. "Beware, Elaine, there is a wise saying: Have a care what you pray for, it might be given you. I can give you Lancelet for husband, but I will ask a gift in return."
"What can I give you that you would value, Morgaine? You care not for jewels, that I have seen. , . ."
"I want neither jewels nor riches," Morgaine said, "only this. You will bear Lancelet children, for I have seen his son . .." and she stopped, feeling her skin prickle all the way up her spine, as when the Sight came upon her. Elaine's blue eyes were wide with wonder. She could almost hear Elaine's thought, So it is true then, and I will have Lancelet for husband and give him children ...  .
Yes, it is true, though I did not know it until I spoke  ...  if I work within the Sight, then I am not meddling with what should be left to the Goddess, and so the way will be made clear for me.
"I will say nothing of your son," Morgaine said steadily. "He must do his own fate ...  ." She shook her head to clear it of the strange darkness of the Sight. "I ask only that you give me your first daughter to be schooled at Avalon."
Elaine's eyes were wide. "In sorcery?"
"Lancelet's own mother was High Priestess of Avalon," Morgaine said. "I will bear no daughter for the Goddess. If through my doing you give Lancelet the son which every man craves, you must swear to me-swear by your own God-that you will send me your daughter for fostering."
The room seemed full of a ringing silence. At last Elaine said, "If all this comes to pass, and if I have Lancelet's son, then I swear you shall have his daughter for Avalon. I swear it by the name of Christ," she said, and made the sign of the cross.
Morgaine nodded. "And in turn I swear," she said, "that she shall be as the daughter I shall never bear to the Goddess, and that she shall avenge a great wrong ...  ."
Elaine blinked. "A great wrong-Morgaine, what are you speaking of?"
Morgaine swayed a little; the ringing silence in the room was broken. She was aware of the sound of rain outside the windows, and of a chill in the chamber. She frowned and said, "I do not know-my mind wandered. Elaine, this thing cannot be done here. You must beg leave to go and see your father, and you must make certain that I am invited to go and bear you company. I will see to it that Lancelet is there." She drew a long breath, and turned to take up her gown. "And as for Lancelet, we must by now have given him time to be gone from the Queen's chamber. Come, Gwenhwyfar will be awaiting us."
And indeed when Elaine and Morgaine reached the Queen, there was no sign of the presence there of Lancelet, or any other man. But once, when Elaine was for a moment beyond earshot, Gwenhwyfar met Morgaine's eyes, and Morgaine thought she had never seen such awful bitterness.
"You despise me, do you not, Morgaine?"
For once, Morgaine thought, Gwenhwyfar has voiced the question that has been in her thoughts all these weeks. She felt like hurling back a sharp answer -If I do so, is it not because you have first despised me? But she said as gently as she could, "I am not your confessor, Gwenhwyfar, and you, not I, are the one who professes belief in a God who will damn you because you share your bed with a man who is not your husband. My Goddess is gentler with women."
"He should have been," Gwenhwyfar burst out, then stopped herself and said, "Arthur is your brother, in your eyes he can do no wrong-"
"I said not that." Morgaine could not bear the wretchedness in the younger woman's face. "Gwenhwyfar, my sister, none has accused you-"
But Gwenhwyfar turned away. She said between clenched teeth, "No, and I want not your pity either, Morgaine."
Want it, or want it not, it is yours, Morgaine thought, but she did not put the thought into words; she was not a healer, to probe old wounds and make them bleed. "Are you ready to break your fast, Gwenhwyfar? What will you choose to eat?"
More and more, in this court, since there is no war, it is as if I were her servant, and she nobler than I. It was, Morgaine thought dispassionately, a game they all played, and she did not begrudge it to Gwenhwyfar. But there were in this kingdom noblewomen who might; and she liked it not, either, that Arthur accepted this, that now there were no wars to be fought, Arthur assumed that his old Companions should now be his personal attendants, even though they might be kings or lords in their own right. At Avalon she had willingly served Viviane because the old woman was the living representative of the Goddess, and her wisdom and magical powers put her almost beyond the human. But she had known, too, that the same powers were available to her, if she would work seriously to attain them; and a day could come when she would have the reverence, too, if she took on the power of the Goddess.
But for a war leader of the land, or for his consort-no, such powers were not suitable except in war itself, and it angered her that Arthur should keep his court in such state, assuming a power which should belong only to the greatest Druids and priestesses. Arthur bears the sword of Avalon still, and if he keeps not his oath to Avalon, they will require it at his hands.
And then it seemed to Morgaine that the room grew still all around her and seemed to open itself out as if everything were very far away; she could still see Gwenhwyfar, her mouth half opened to speak, but at the same time it seemed she could see through the woman's body, as if she were in the fairy kingdom. Everything seemed, all at once, distant and small and looming over her, and there was a deep silence within her head. In that silence she saw the walls of a pavilion, and Arthur sleeping with Excalibur naked in his hand. And she bent over him-she could not take the sword, but with Viviane's little sickle knife she cut the strings that bound the scabbard to his waist; it was old now, the velvet frayed and the precious metal of the embroideries dulled and tarnished. Morgaine took the scabbard in her hand, and then she was on the shores of a great lake, with the sound of reeds washing around over her ...  .
"I said, no, I do not want any wine, I am weary of wine for breakfast," Gwenhwyfar remarked. "Perhaps Elaine could find some new milk in the kitchens-Morgaine? Have you gone into a swoon?"
Morgaine blinked and stared at Gwenhwyfar. Slowly she came back, trying to focus her eyes. None of it was true, she was not riding madly along the shores of a lake with the scabbard in her hand ... yet all this place had the look of the fairy world, as if she saw everything through rippling water, and it was somehow like a dream she had had once, if she could only remember  ...  and even while she assured the other women that she was quite all right, promising to go herself to the dairy for fresh milk if there was none in the kitchen, still her mind led her through the labyrinths of the dream ... if she could only remember what it was that she had dreamed, all would be well ...  .
But as she went down into the fresh air, cool even in summer, she felt no longer as if this world might melt at any moment into the world of fairy. Her head ached as if it had been split asunder, and all that day she was held captive by the strange spell of her waking dream. If only she could remember  ...  she had flung Excalibur into the Lake, that was it, so that the fairy queen might not have it ... no, that was not it, either  ...  and her mind would begin again to try and unreel the strange obsessive path of her dream.
But past noon, when the sun was falling toward evening, she heard the horns announcing Arthur's arrival, and felt the stir which ran all through Camelot. With the other women she ran out to the earthworks at the edge of the heights and watched the royal party riding toward them, banners flying. Gwenhwyfar was trembling at her side. She was taller than Morgaine, but somehow, with her slender pale hands and the fragility of her narrow shoulders, it seemed to Morgaine that Gwenhwyfar was only a child, a tall, lanky child, nervous at some imaginary mischief which must be punished. She touched Morgaine's sleeve with her trembling hand.
"Sister-must my lord know? It is done and Meleagrant is dead. There is no reason for Arthur to make war on anyone. Why should he not think that my lord Lancelet reached me in time-in time to prevent-" Her voice was only a thin treble, like a little girl's, and she could not speak the words. "Sister," said Morgaine, "it is for you to tell or not."
"But-if he heard it elsewhere-"
Morgaine sighed; could not Gwenhwyfar have said for once what she meant? "If Arthur hears aught to distress him, he will not hear it from me, and there is no other has the right to speak. But he cannot lay it to your charge that you were trapped and beaten into submission."
And then she knew, as if she had heard it, the voice of a priest speaking to the trembling Gwenhwyfar-was it now or when Gwenhwyfar was a child?-saying that no woman was ever ravished save she had tempted some man to it, as Eve led our first father Adam into sin; that the Holy Virgin martyrs of Rome had willingly died rather than lay down their chastity ... it was this made Gwenhwyfar tremble. Somewhere in her mind, dismiss it how she might or try to smother the knowledge in Lancelet's arms, she truly believed it was her fault, that she merited death for the sin of having lived to be ravaged. And since she had not died first, Arthur had the right to kill her for it ... no reassurances would ever quiet that voice in Gwenhwyfar's mind.
She feels this guilt over Meleagrant so that she need feel none for what she has done with Lancelet ...  .
Gwenhwyfar was shivering at her side, despite the warm sun. "I would he were here, that we might go indoors. Look, there are hawks flying in the sky. I am afraid of hawks, always I am afraid they will swoop down on me ...  ."
"They would find you too big and tough a mouthful, I am afraid, sister," Morgaine said amiably.
Servants were heaving at the great gates, opening them for the royal party to ride through. Sir Ectorius still limped heavily from the night he had spent imprisoned in the cold, but he came forward at Cai's side, and Cai, as keeper of his castle, bowed before Arthur.
"Welcome home, my lord and king."
Arthur dismounted and came to embrace Cai.
"This is an overly formal welcome to my home, Cai, you rascal-is all well here?"
"All is well here now, my lord," said Ectorius, "but once again you have cause to be grateful to your captain."
"True," said Gwenhwyfar, coming forward, her hand laid lightly in Lancelet's. "My lord and king, Lancelet saved me from a trap laid by a traitor, saved me from such a fate as no Christian woman should suffer."
Arthur laid one hand in his queen's and the other in that of his captain of horse. "I am, as always, grateful to you, my dear friend, and so is my wife. Come, we shall speak about this in private." And, moving between the two of them, he went up the steps into the castle.
"I wonder what manner of lies they will hurry to pour into his ears, that chaste queen and her finest of knights?" Morgaine heard the words, spoken low and very clear, from somewhere in the crowd; but she could not tell from where they came. She thought, Perhaps peace is not an unmixed blessing: without a war, there is nothing for them to do at court, with their usual occupation gone, but pass on every rumor and bit of scandal.
But if Lancelet were gone from the court, then would the scandal be quieted. And she resolved that whatever she could do to accomplish that end, would be done at once.


THAT NIGHT at supper Arthur asked Morgaine to bring her harp and sing to them. "It seems long since I heard your music, sister," he said, and drew her close and kissed her. He had not done this in a long time.
"I will sing gladly," she said, "but when will Kevin return to court?" She thought with bitterness of their quarrel; never, never should she forgive him his treason to Avalon! Yet, against her will, she missed him and thought regretfully of the time when they had been lovers.
I am weary of lying alone, that is all ...  .
But this made her think of Arthur, and her son at Avalon ... if Gwenhwyfar should leave this court, then surely Arthur would marry again; but it looked not like that at this moment. And should Gwenhwyfar never bear a son, then should not their son be acknowledged as his father's heir? He was doubly of royal blood, the blood of the Pendragon and of Avalon  ...  Igraine was dead and the scandal could not harm her.
She sat on a carven and gilded stool near the throne, her harp on the floor at her feet; Arthur and Gwenhwyfar sat close together, hand in hand. Lancelet sprawled on the floor at Morgaine's side, watching the harp, but now and again she saw his eyes move to Gwenhwyfar and she quailed at the terrible longing there; how could he show his heart like this to any onlooker? And then Morgaine knew that only she could see his heart-to all other eyes he was only a courtier looking respectfully at his queen, laughing and jesting with her as a privileged friend of her husband.
And as her hands moved on the strings, the world again seemed to fall into the distance, very small and far and at the same time huge and strange, things losing their shapes so that her harp seemed at once a child's toy and something monstrous, a huge formless thing smothering her, and she was high on a throne somewhere peering through wandering shadows, looking down at a young man with dark hair, a narrow coronet around his brow, and as she looked on him, the sharp pain of desire ran down her body, she met his eyes and it was as if a hand touched her in her most private part, rousing her to hunger and longing ...  . She felt her fingers falter on the strings, she had dreamed something ... a face wavering, a young man's smile at her, no, it was not Lancelet but some other  ...  no, it was all like shadows-
Gwenhwyfar's clear voice broke through. "See to the lady Morgaine," she said, "my sister is faint-!"
She felt Lancelet's arms supporting her and looked up into his dark eyes -it was like her dream, desire running through her, melting her  ...  no, but she had dreamed that. It was not real. She put her hand confusedly to her brows. "It was the smoke, the smoke from the hearth-"
"Here, sip this." Lancelet held a cup to her lips. What madness was this? He had barely touched her and she felt sick with desire for him; she thought she had long forgotten that, had had it burned out of her over the years  ...  and yet his touch, gentle and impersonal, roused her to fierce longing again. Had she dreamed about him, then?
He does not want me, he does not want any woman save the Queen, she thought, and stared past him at the hearth, where no fire burned in this summer season, and a wreath of green bay leaves twined to keep the empty fireplace from gaping too black and ugly. She sipped at the wine Lancelet held for her.
"I am sorry-I have been a little faint all the day," she said, remembering the morning. "Let some other take the harp, I cannot. ..."
Lancelet said, "By your leave, my lords, I will sing!" He took the harp and said, "This is a tale of Avalon, which I heard in my childhood. I think it was written by Taliesin himself, though he may have made it from an older song."
He began to sing an old ballad, of Arianrhod the queen, who had stepped over a stream and come away with child; and she had cursed her son when he was born, and said he should never have a name till she gave him one, and how he tricked her into giving him a name, and later how she cursed him and said he should never have a wife, whether of flesh and blood, nor yet of the fairy folk, and so he made him a woman of flowers ...  .
Morgaine sat listening, still twined in her dream, and it seemed to her that Lancelet's dark face was filled with terrible suffering, and as he sang of the flower woman, Blodeuwedd, his eyes lingered for a moment on the queen. But then he turned to Elaine, and sang courteously of how the blossom woman's hair was made of fine golden lilies, and how her cheeks were like the petals of the apple blossom, and she was clad in all the colors of the flowers that bloom, blue and crimson and yellow, in the fields of summer ...  .
Morgaine sat quietly in her place, cushioning her aching head in her hand. Later Gawaine brought out a pipe from his own northern country, and began to play a wild lament, filled with the cries of sea birds and sorrow. Lancelet came and sat near to Morgaine, taking her hand gently.
"Are you better now, kinswoman?"
"Oh, yes-it has happened before," Morgaine said. "It is as if I had fallen into a dream and saw all things through shadows-" And yet, she thought, it was not quite like that either.
"My mother said something like that to me once," said Lancelet, and Morgaine gauged his sorrow and weariness by that; never before had he spoken to her, nor to any other as far as she knew, of his mother or of his years at Avalon. "She seemed to think it was a thing which came of itself with the Sight. Once she said it was as if she were drawn into the fairy country and looking out from there as its prisoner, but I know not if she had ever been within the fairy country or if this was but a way of speaking. ..."
But I have, Morgaine thought, and it is not like that, not quite  ...  it is like trying to remember a dream that has faded ...  .
"I myself have known it a little," Lancelet said. "It comes at a time when I cannot see clearly, but only as if all things were very far away and not real  ...  and I could not quite touch them but must first cross a weary distance ... perhaps it is something in the fairy blood we bear-" He sighed and rubbed his eyes. "I used to taunt you with that, when you were only a little maiden, do you recall, I called you Morgaine of the Fairies and it made you angry?"
She nodded. "I remember well, kinsman," she said, thinking that for all the weariness in his face, the new lines there, the touch of grey in the crisp curls of his hair, he was still more beautiful to her, more beloved, than any other man she had ever known. She blinked her eyes fiercely; so it was and so it must be: he loved her as kinswoman, no more.
Again it seemed to her that the world moved behind a barrier of shadows; it mattered nothing what she did. This world was no more real than the fairy kingdom. Even the music sounded faraway and distant- Gawaine had taken up the harp and was singing some tale he had heard among the Saxons, of a monster who dwelled in a lake and how one of their heroes had gone down into the lake and ripped off the monster's arm, then faced the monster's mother in her evil den ...  .
"A grim and grisly tale," she said under her breath to Lancelet, and he smiled and said, "Most Saxon tales are so. War and bloodshed and heroes with skill in battle and not much else in their thick noddles. ..."
"And now we are to live at peace with them, it seems," Morgaine said.
"Aye. So it shall be. I can live with the Saxons, but not with what they call music  ...  though their tales are entertaining enough, I suppose, for a long evening by the hearth." He sighed, and said, almost inaudibly, "I think perhaps I was not born for sitting by a hearth, either-"
"You would like to be out in battle again?"
He shook his head. "No, but I am weary of the court." Morgaine saw his eyes go to where Gwenhwyfar sat beside Arthur, smiling as she listened to Gawaine's tale. Again he sighed, a sound that seemed ripped up from the very deeps of his soul.
"Lancelet," she said, quietly and urgently, "you must be gone from here or you will be destroyed."
"Aye, destroyed body and soul," he said, staring at the floor.
"About your soul I know nothing-you must ask a priest about that-"
"Would that I could!" said Lancelet with suppressed violence; he struck his fist softly on the floor beside her harp, so that the strings jangled a little. "Would that I could believe there is just such a God as the Christians claim ...  ."
"You must go, cousin. Go on some quest like Gareth's, to kill ruffians who are holding the land to ransom, or to kill dragons, or what you will, but you must go!"
She saw his throat move as he swallowed. "And what of her?"
Morgaine said quietly, "Believe this or no, I am her friend too. Think you not, she has a soul to be saved as well?"
"Why, you give me counsel as good as any priest." His smile was bitter.
"It takes no priesthood to know when two men-and a woman as well -are trapped, and cannot escape from what has been," said Morgaine. "It would be easy to blame her for all. But I, too, know what it is to love where I cannot-" She stopped and looked away from him, feeling scalding heat rise in her face; she had not meant to say so much. The song had ended, and Gawaine yielded up the harp, saying, "After this grim tale we need something light-a song of love, perhaps, and I leave that to the gallant Lancelet-"
"I have sat too long at court singing songs of love," said Lancelet, rising and turning toward Arthur. "Now that you are here again, my lord, and can see to all things yourself, I beg you to send me forth from this court on some quest."
Arthur smiled at his friend. "Will you be gone so soon? I cannot keep you if you are longing to be away, but where would you go?"
Pellinore and his dragon. Morgaine, her eyes cast down, staring and seeing the flicker of the fire past her lids, formed the words in her mind with all the force she could manage, trying to thrust them into Arthur's mind. Lancelet said, "I had it in mind to go after a dragon-"
Arthur's eyes glinted with mischief. "It might be well, at that, to make an end of Pellinore's dragon. The tales grow daily greater, so that men are afraid to travel into that country! Gwenhwyfar tells me Elaine has asked for leave to visit her home. You may escort the lady thither, and I bid you not return until Pellinore's dragon is dead."
"Alas," protested Lancelet, laughing, "would you exile me from your court for all time? How can I kill a dragon who is but a dream?"
Arthur chuckled. "May you never meet a dragon worse than that, my friend! Well, I charge you to make an end for all time of that dragon, even if you must laugh it out of existence by making a ballad of it!"
Elaine rose and curtseyed to the King. "By your leave, my lord, may I ask that the lady Morgaine visit me for a time as well?"
Morgaine said, not looking at Lancelet, "I would like to go with Elaine, my brother, if your lady can spare me. There are herbs and simples in that country about which I know little, and I would learn of them from the country wives. I need them for medicines and charms."
"Well," said Arthur, "you may go if you will. But it will be lonely here without you all." He smiled his rare, gentle smile at Lancelet. "My court is not my court without my best of knights. But I would not hold you here against your will, and neither would my queen."
I am not so sure of that, Morgaine thought, watching Gwenhwyfar struggling to compose her face. Arthur had been long away; he was eager to be reunited with his wife. Would Gwenhwyfar tell him honestly that she loved another, or would she go meekly to his bed and pretend again?
And for a bizarre moment Morgaine saw herself as the Queen's shadow  ...  somehow her fate and mine have gotten all entangled  ...  she, Morgaine, had had Arthur and borne him a son, which Gwenhwyfar longed to do; Gwenhwyfar had had Lancelet's love for which Morgaine would willingly have given her soul  ...  it is just like the God of the Christians to make such blunders-he does not like lovers. Or is it the Goddess who jests cruelly with us?
Gwenhwyfar beckoned to Morgaine. "You look ill, sister. Are you still faint?"
Morgaine nodded. I must not hate her. She is as much victim as I. ... "I am still a little weary. I will go to rest soon."
"And tomorrow," Gwenhwyfar said, "you and Elaine are to take Lancelet from us." The words were spoken lightly, as a jest, but Morgaine seemed to see very deep into Gwenhwyfar, where the woman was fighting rage and despair like her own. Ah, our fates are entangled by the Goddess, and who can fight her will  ...  but she hardened her heart against the other woman's despair and said, "What is the good of a queen's champion, if he is not away fighting for what seems good to him? Would you hold him at court and away from the winning of honor, my sister?"
"Neither of us would want that," Arthur said, coming up behind Gwenhwyfar and laying his arm around her waist. "Since by the goodwill of my friend and champion, my queen is here and safe when I return. Good night to you, my sister."
Morgaine stood and watched them move away from her, and after a moment she felt Lancelet's hand on her shoulder. He did not speak, but stood silent, watching Arthur and Gwenhwyfar. And as she stood there, silent, she knew that if she made a single move, she could have Lancelet this night. In his despair, now when he saw the woman he loved returning to her husband, and that husband so dear to him that he could not lift a hand to take her, he would turn to Morgaine if she would have him.
And he is too honorable not to marry me afterward ...  .
No. Elaine would have him, perhaps, on those terms, but not I. She is guileless; he will not come to hate her, as he would certainly come to hate me.
Gently she removed Lancelet's hand from her shoulder. "I am weary, my kinsman. I am also for my bed. Good night, my dear. Bless you." And, knowing the irony of it, said, "Sleep well," knowing he would not. Well, so much the better for the plan she had made.
But much of that night she too lay unsleeping, bitterly regretting her own foreknowledge. Pride, she thought drearily, was a cold bedfellow.

6

In Avalon the Tor rose, crowned with the ring stones, and on the night of the darkened moon, the procession wound slowly upward, with torches. At their head walked a woman, pale hair braided in a crown over a broad, low forehead; she was robed in white, the sickle knife hanging at her girdle. By the light of the flaring torches, it seemed that she sought out Morgaine where she stood in the shadows outside the circle, and her eyes demanded. Where are you, you who should stand here in my place? Why do you linger? Your place is here ...  .
Arthur's kingdom is slipping from the Lady's grasp, and you are letting it go. Already he turns for all things to the priests, while you, who should stand in the place of the Goddess to him, will not move. He holds the sword of the Holy Regalia; is it you who will force him to live by it, or you who will take it from his hand and bring him down? Remember, Arthur has a son, and his son must grow to maturity in Avalon, that he may hand the kingdom of the Goddess down to his son ...  .
And then it seemed that Avalon faded away and she saw Arthur in desperate battle, Excalibur in his hand, and he fell, run through by another sword, and he flung Excalibur into the Lake that it might not fall into the hands of his son...
Where is Morgaine, whom the Lady prepared for this day? Where is she who should stand in the place of the Goddess for this hour?
Where is the Great Raven? And suddenly it seemed to me that a flight of ravens wheeled overhead, diving and pecking at my eyes, circling down at me, crying aloud in Raven's own voice, "Morgaine! Morgaine, why have you deserted us, why did you betray me?"
"I cannot," I cried, "I do not know the way ..." but Raven's face melted into the accusing face of Viviane, and then into the shadow of the Old Deathcrone.
And Morgaine woke, knowing she lay in a sunlit room in Pellinore's house; the walls were white with plaster, painted in the old Roman fashion. Only outside the windows, far off and distant, she could hear the cry of a raven somewhere, and shivered.
Viviane had never scrupled to meddle with the lives of others, when it meant the good of Avalon or of the kingdom. Nor should she. Yet she herself had delayed as the sunny days sped by. Lancelet spent the days on the hills by the Lake, searching for the dragon-as if there actually were a dragon, Morgaine thought scornfully-and the evenings by the fire, exchanging songs and tales with Pellinore, singing to Elaine while sitting at her feet. Elaine was beautiful and innocent, and not unlike her cousin Gwenhwyfar, though five years younger. Morgaine let day after sunny day slide by, sure that they all must see the logic of it, that Lancelet and Elaine should marry.
No, she told herself bitterly, if any of them had had any wit to see logic or reason, then should Lancelet have married me years ago. Now it was time to act.
Elaine turned over in the bed they shared and opened her eyes; she smiled and curled up next to Morgaine. She trusts me, thought Morgaine painfully; she thinks I am helping her to win Lancelet out of friendship. If I hated her I could do her no worse harm. But she said quietly, "Now Lancelet has had enough time to feel the loss of Gwenhwyfar. Your time has come, Elaine."
"Will you give Lancelet a charm or a love potion  ...  ?"
Morgaine laughed. "I put small trust in love charms, though tonight he shall have something in his wine which will make him ready for any woman. Tonight you shall not sleep here, but in a pavilion near the woods, and Lancelet shall have a message that Gwenhwyfar has come and has sent for him. And so he will come to you, in the darkness. I can do no more than that-you must be ready for him-"
"And he will think I am Gwenhwyfar-" She blinked, swallowing hard. "Well, then-"
"He may think you are Gwenhwyfar for a short while," Morgaine said, steadily, "but he will know soon enough. You are a virgin, are you not, Elaine?"
The girl's face was crimson, but she nodded.
"Well, after the potion I have given him, he will not be able to stop himself," said Morgaine, "unless you should panic and try to fight him away from you-I warn you, it will not be all that much pleasure, since you are a virgin. Once I begin I cannot turn back, so say now whether you wish me to begin."
"I will have Lancelet for my husband, and God forbid I should ever turn back before I am honorably his wife."
Morgaine sighed. "So be it. Now-you know the scent Gwenhwyfar uses  ... "
"I know it, but I do not like it much, it is too strong for me."
Morgaine nodded. "I make it for her-you know I am schooled in such things. When you go to bed in the pavilion, you must scent your body and your bedclothes with it. It will turn his mind to Gwenhwyfar and arouse him with that memory-"
The younger woman wrinkled her nose in distaste. "It seems unfair-"
"It is unfair," said Morgaine. "Make up your mind to that. What we are doing is dishonest, Elaine, but there's good to it too. Arthur's kingdom cannot long stand if the King is known a cuckold. When you are wedded a while, since you and Gwenhwyfar are so much alike, no doubt it will be put round that it was you Lancelet loved all this time." She gave Elaine the flask of scent. "Now, if you have a servant you can trust, have him put up the pavilion somewhere Lancelet will not see it till this night ...  ."
Elaine said, "Even the priest would approve, I doubt it not, since I am taking him away from adultery with a married woman. I am free to marry ...  ."
Morgaine felt her own smile thin and strained. "Well for you, if you can quiet your conscience so ... some priests say so, that the end is all, and whatever means be used, they are for the best  ... "
She realized that Elaine was still standing, like a child at lessons, before her. "Well, go, Elaine," she said, "go and send Lancelet away another day to hunt the dragon. I must prepare my charm."
She watched them as they shared cup and plate at breakfast. Lancelet was fond of Elaine, she thought-fond as he might be of a friendly little dog. He would not be unkind to her when they were married.
Viviane had been just as ruthless as this, she had not scrupled to send a brother to the bed of his own sister ...  . Morgaine worried the memory painfully, like a sore tooth. This too is for the good of the kingdom, she thought, and as she went to hunt out her herbs and medicines, to steep them in wine for the potion she would give Lancelet, she tried to form a prayer to the Goddess who joined man and women in love, or in simple lust like the rutting of beasts.
Goddess, I know enough of lust ...  she thought, and steadied her hands, breaking the herbs and dropping them into the wine. I have felt his desire, though he would not give me what I would have had from him ...  .
She sat watching the slow simmering of the herbs in the wine; small bubbles rose, lazily broke, and spat bittersweet essences which fumed around her. The world seemed very small and far away, her brazier but a child's toy, each bubble that rose in the wine large enough that she could have floated away inside it ... her whole body aching with a desire she knew would never be slaked. She could sense that she was moving into the state where powerful magic could be made ...  .
It seemed she was both within and without the castle, that a part of her was out on the hills, following the Pendragon banner which Lancelet sometimes carried  ...  twisting, a great red dragon  ...  but there were no dragons, not this kind of dragon, and Pellinore's dragon, it was surely only a jest, a dream, as unreal as the banner which flew somewhere, far to the southward, over the walls of Camelot, a dragon invented by some artist for the banner, like the designs Elaine drew for her tapestry. And Lancelet surely knew this. Following the dragon, he was but enjoying a pleasant ride over the summer hills, following a dream and a fantasy, leaving him leisure for daydreaming of Gwenhwyfar's arms ...  . Morgaine looked down at the bubbling liquid in her little brazier, drop by drop added a little more wine to the mixture, that it would not boil away. He would dream of Gwenhwyfar, and that night there would be a woman in his arms, wearing Gwenhwyfar's perfume. But first Morgaine would give him this potion which would put him at the mercy of the rut in him, so that he would not stop when he found he held not an experienced woman and his paramour, but a shrinking virgin ...  . For a moment Morgaine stopped to pity Elaine, because what she was cold-bloodedly arranging was certainly something like rape. Much as Elaine longed for Lancelet, she was a virgin and had no real idea of the difference between her romantic dreams of his kisses, and what really awaited her-being taken by a man too drugged to know the difference. Whatever it was for Elaine, and however bravely she endured it, it would hardly be a romantic episode.
I gave up my maidenhood to the King Stag ... yet that was different. From childhood I had known what awaited me, and I had been taught and reared in the worship of that Goddess who brings man and woman together in love or in rut ...  . Elaine was reared a Christian and taught to think of that very life force as the original sin for which mankind was doomed to death ...  .
For a moment she thought she should seek out Elaine, try to prepare her, encourage her to think of this as the priestesses were taught to think of it: a great force of nature, clean and sinless, to be welcomed as a current of life, sweeping the participant into the torrent... but Elaine would think that even worse sin. Well, then, she must make of it what she would; perhaps her love for Lancelet would carry her through it undamaged.
Morgaine turned her thoughts back to simmering the herbs and the wine, and at the same time, somehow, it seemed she was riding on the hills  ...  neither was it a fair day for a ride; the sky was dark and clouded, a little wind blowing, the hills bleak and bare. Below the hills the long arm of the sea which was the lake looked grey and fathomless, like fresh-smithied metal; and the surface of the lake began to boil a little, or was it but the water in her brazier? Dark bubbles rose and spilled a foul stench, and then, slowly, rising from the lake, a long, narrow neck crowned with a horse's head and a horse's mane, a long sinuous body, writhing toward the shore  ...  rising, crawling, slithering its whole length onto the shore.
Lancelet's hounds were running about, darting down to the water, barking frenziedly. She heard him call out to them in exasperation; stop dead and look down toward the water, paralyzed, only half believing what he saw with his eyes, Then Pellinore blew his hunting horn to summon the others, and Lancelot put spurs to his horse, his spear braced on the saddle, and rode at a breakneck speed down the hill, charging. One of the hounds gave a pitiful scream; then silence, and Morgaine, from her strange distant watch, saw the curiously slimed trail where half the dog's broken body lay eaten away with the dark slime.
Pellinore was charging at it, and she heard Lancelot's shout to warn him back from riding directly at the great beast ... it was black and like a great worm, all but that mockery of a horse's head and mane. Lancelot rode at it, avoiding the weaving head, thrusting his long spear directly into the body. A wild howl shook the shore, a crazed banshee scream  ...  she saw the great head weaving wildly back and forth, back and forth  ...  Lancelot flung himself from his rearing, bucking horse, and ran on foot toward the monster. The head weaved down, and Morgaine flinched, as she saw the great mouth open. Then Lancelot's sword pierced the eye of the dragon, and there was a great gush of blood and some black foul stuff  ...  and it was all the bubbles rising from the wine ...  .
Morgaine's heart jumped wildly. She lay back and sipped a little of the undiluted wine in the flask. Had it been an evil dream, or had she actually seen Lancelot kill the dragon in which she had never really believed? She rested there for some time, telling herself that she had dreamed, and then forced herself to rise, to add some sweet fennel to the mixture, for the strong sweetness would conceal the other herbs. And there should be strong salted beef for dinner, so that everyone should thirst and drink a great deal of the wine, especially Lancelot. Pellinore was a pious man-what would he think if all his castle folk went to rutting? No, she should make sure that only Lancelot drank the spiced mixture, and perhaps, in mercy, she should give some to Elaine too ...  .
She poured the spiced wine into a flask and put it aside. Then she heard a cry, and Elaine rushed into her room.
"Oh, Morgaine, come at once, we need your work with simples- Father and Lancelot have slain the dragon, but they are both burned ...  ."
"Burned? What nonsense is this? Do you believe truly that dragons fly and belch fire?"
"No, no," Elaine said impatiently, "but the creature spat some slime at them and it burns like fire-you must come and dress their wounds...."
Disbelieving, Morgaine glanced at the sky outside. The sun was hovering, a bare hand span above the western horizon; she had sat here most of the day. She went quickly, calling to the maids for bandage linen.
Pellinore had a great burn along one arm-yes, it looked very much like a burn; the fabric of his tunic was eaten away by it, and he roared with anguish as she poured healing salve on it. Lancelot's side was burned slightly, and on one leg the stuff had eaten through his boots, leaving the leather only a thin jellylike substance covering his leg. He said, "I should clean my sword well. If it can do that to the leather of a boot, think what it would have done to my leg  ... " and shuddered.
"So much for all those who thought my dragon only a fantasy," said Pellinore, raising his head and sipping the wine his daughter gave him. "And thanks be to God that I had the wit to bathe my arm in the lake, or the slime would have eaten my arm as it dissolved my poor dog-did you see the corpse, Lancelet?"
"The dog? Yes," said Lancelet, "and hope never to see that kind of death again.... But you can confound them all when you hang the dragon's head over your gate-"
"I cannot," said Pellinore, crossing himself. "There was no proper bone to it at all, it was all soft like a grub or an earthworm ... and it has already withered away to slime. I tried to cut the head and the very air seemed to eat away at it. ... I do not think it was a proper beast at all, but something straight from hell!"
"Still it is dead," Elaine said, "and you have done what the King bade you, made an end once and for all of my father's dragon." She kissed her father, saying with tender apology, "Forgive me, sir, I thought, too, that your dragon was all fancy-"
"Would to God it had been," Pellinore said, crossing himself yet again. "I would rather be a mockery from here to Camelot than face any such thing again! I wish I thought there were no more such beasts  ...  Gawaine has told tales of what lives in the lochs yonder." He signaled to the potboy for more wine. "I think it would be well to get drunk this night, or I shall see that beast in nightmares for the next month!"
Would that be best? Morgaine wondered. No, if all about the castle were drunk, it would not fit her plans at all. She said, "You must listen to what I say, if I am to care for your wounds, sir Pellinore. You must drink no more, and you must let Elaine take you to bed with hot bricks at your feet. You have lost some blood, and you must have hot soup and possets, but no more wine."
He grumbled but he listened to her, and when Elaine had taken him away, with his body servants, Morgaine was left alone with Lancelet.
"So," she said, "how would you best celebrate your killing of your first dragon?"
He lifted his cup and said, "By praying that it will be my last. I truly thought my hour had come. I would rather face a whole horde of Saxons with no more than my axe!"
"The Goddess grant you have no more such encounters, indeed," Morgaine said, and filled his cup with the spiced wine. "I have made this for you, it is medicinal and will soothe your hurts. I must go and see that Elaine has Pellinore safely tucked away for the night-"
"But you will come back, kinswoman?" he said, holding her lightly by one wrist; she saw the wine beginning to burn in him. And more than the wine, she thought; an encounter with death sends a man ready for rutting ...  .
"I will come back, I promise; now let me go," she said, and bitterness flooded her.
So, am I fallen so low that I would have him drugged, not knowing? Elaine will have him that way ... why is it better for her? But she wants him for husband, for better or worse. Not I. I am a priestess, and I know this thing that burns in me is not of the Goddess, but unholy  ...  am I so weak that I would have Gwenhwyfar's castoff garments and her castoff paramour also? And while her scorn cried no, the weakness through her whole body cried yes, so that she was sick with self-contempt as she went along the hall to the chamber of King Pellinore.
"How does your father, Elaine?" She wondered that her voice was so steady.
"He is quiet now, and I think he will sleep."
Morgaine nodded. "Now you must go to the pavilion, and sometime this night Lancelet will come to you. Forget not the scent Gwenhwyfar wears ...  ."
Elaine was very pale, her blue eyes burning. Morgaine reached out and caught her by the arm; she held out a flask with some of the drugged wine in it. She said, and her own voice was shaking, "Drink this first, child." Elaine raised it to her lips and drank. "It is sweet with herbs ... is it a love potion?"
Morgaine's smile only stretched her mouth. "You may think it so, if you will."
"Strange, it burns my mouth, and burns me within ...  . Morgaine, it is not poison? You do not-you do not hate me, Morgaine, because I will be Lancelet's wife?"
Morgaine drew the girl close and embraced and kissed her; the warm body in her arms somehow roused her, whether to desire or tenderness she could not tell. "Hate you? No, no, cousin, I swear it to you, I would not have sir Lancelet for husband if he begged me on his knees  ...  here, finish the wine, sweeting  ...  scent your body here, and here .. . remember what he wants of you. It is you who can make him forget the Queen. Now go, child, wait for him in the pavilion there. ..." And again she drew Elaine close to her and kissed her. "The Goddess blesses you."
So like to Gwenhwyfar. Lancelet is already half in love with her, I think, and I but complete the work ...  .
She drew a long, shaking breath, composing herself to return to the hall and to Lancelot. He had not hesitated to pour himself more of the drugged wine, and raised fuddled eyes as she came in.
"Ah, Morgaine-kinswoman-" He drew her down beside him. "Drink with me  ... "
"No, not now. Listen to me, Lancelet, I bear a message for you ...  ."
"A message, Morgaine?"
"Yes," she said. "Queen Gwenhwyfar has come hither to visit her kinswoman, and she sleeps in the pavilion beyond the lawns." She took his wrist and drew him along to the door. "And she has sent you a message: she does not wish to disturb her women, so you must go to her very quietly where she is in bed. Will you do that?"
She could see the haze of drunkenness and passion in his dark eyes. "I saw no messenger-Morgaine, I did not know you wished me well ...  ."
"You do not know how well I wish you, cousin."
I wish that you may marry well and cease this hopeless, wretched love for a woman who can only bring you to dishonor and despair ...  .
"Go," she said gently, "your queen awaits you. If you doubt me, this token was sent you." She held out a kerchief; it was Elaine's, but one kerchief is like to another, and it had been all but drenched in the scent associated with Gwenhwyfar.
He pressed it to his lips. "Gwenhwyfar," he whispered. "Where, Morgaine, where?"
"In the pavilion. Finish the wine-"
"Will you drink to me?"
"Later," she said with a smile. His steps faltered a little; he caught at her for support, and his arms went round her. His touch roused her, light as it was. Lust, she told herself fiercely, animal rut, this is nothing blessed by the Goddess ...  . She struggled for calm. He was drugged like an animal, he would not care, he would take her now mindlessly, as he would have taken Gwenhwyfar, Elaine ...  . "Go, Lancelet, you must not keep your queen waiting."
She saw him disappear in the shadows near the pavilion. He would go in quietly. Elaine would be lying there, the lamp falling on her golden hair so like the Queen's, but so dim he could not distinguish her features, her body and bed smelling of Gwenhwyfar's scent. She tormented herself by imagining, as she turned to pace the long empty room, how his slender naked body would slide under the covers, how he would take Elaine in his arms and cover her with kisses. If the little fool has but the wit to keep her mouth shut and say nothing till he is done ...  .
Goddess! Shut away the Sight from me, let me not see Elaine in his arms  ...  writhing, racked, Morgaine did not know whether it was her own imagination or the Sight that tortured her with the awareness of Lancelet's naked body, of the touch of his hands  ...  how clearly she felt them in memory ...  . She went back into the hall where the servants were clearing the tables and said roughly, "Give me some wine."
Startled, the man poured her a cup. Now they will think me a sot as well as a witch. She did not care. She drank down the wine and asked for more. Somehow it cut away the Sight, freed her from her awareness of Elaine, frightened and ecstatic, pinned down under his rough, demanding body ...  .
Restlessly, like a prowling cat, she paced the hall, flickers of the Sight coming and going. When she judged the time was ripe, she drew a long breath, steeling herself for what she knew she must do now. The body servant who slept across the king's door started awake as Morgaine bent to rouse him.
"Madam, you cannot disturb the king at this hour-" "It concerns his daughter's honor." Morgaine took a torch from the wall bracket and held it aloft; she could sense how she looked to him, tall and terrible, feeling herself merge into the commanding form of the Goddess. He drew aside in terror, and she moved smoothly past.
Pellinore lay in his high bed, tossing restlessly in pain from his bandaged wound. He, too, started awake, looking up at Morgaine's pale face, the torch held high.
"You must come quickly, my lord," she said, her voice smooth and taut with her own controlled passion. "This is betrayal of hospitality ... I felt it right that you must know. Elaine-" "Elaine? What-"
"She is not asleep in our bed," Morgaine said. "Come quickly, my lord." She had been wise not to let him drink; she could not have roused him had he slept heavily with wine. Pellinore, startled, incredulous, threw on a garment, shouting for his daughter's women. It seemed to Morgaine that they followed her down the stairs and out the doors as smoothly as the writhing of a dragon, a procession with herself and Pellinore at the serpent's head, and she thrust back the silken flap of the pavilion, holding the torch high and watching with cruel triumph as Pellinore's outraged face was lighted by the torch. Elaine lay with her arms wound around Lancelet's neck, smiling and blissful; Lancelet, coming awake in the torchlight, stared around in shock and awareness, and his face was agonized with betrayal. But he did not say a word.
Pellinore shouted, "Now you will make amends, you lecherous wretch, you who have betrayed my daughter-"
Lancelet buried his face in his hands. He said through them, strangled, "I will-make amends-my lord Pellinore." Then he raised his face and looked straight into Morgaine's eyes. She met them, unflinching; but it was like a sword through her body. Before this, at least, he had loved her as a kinswoman.
Well, better that he should hate her. She would try to hate him, too. But before Elaine's face, shamed and yet smiling, she wanted to cry instead, and beg for them to pardon her.


MORGAINE SPEAKS  ...

Lancelet was married to Elaine on Transfiguration; I remember little of the ceremony save Elaine's face, joyous and smiling. By the time Pellinore had arranged the wedding, she knew already that she bore Lancelet's son in her belly, and although he looked wretched, thin and pallid with despair, he was tender with Elaine, and proud of her swelling body. I remember Gwenhwyfar too, her face drawn with long weeping, and the look of ineradicable hatred that she turned on me.
"Can you swear that this was not your doing, Morgaine?"
I looked her straight in the eye.
"Do you begrudge your kinswoman a husband of her own, as you have one?"
She could not face me at that. And again I told myself, fiercely: Had she and Lancelet been honest with Arthur, had they fled from the court together, to live beyond Arthur's kingdom, so that Arthur could have taken him another wife to get an heir for the kingdom, then I would not have meddled.
But from that day, Gwenhwyfar hated me; and that I regretted most, for in a strange way I had loved her. Gwenhwyfar never seemed to hate her kinswoman; she sent Elaine a rich gift and a silver cup when her son was born, and when Elaine had the boy christened Galahad, for his father, she named herself his godmother and swore that he should be heir to the kingdom if she did not give Arthur a son. Sometime that year she indeed announced she was pregnant, but nothing came of it, and I think, indeed, it was only her desire for a child, and her fancy.
The marriage was no worse than most. That year Arthur had to face war on the northern coast, and Lancelet spent little time at home. Like many husbands, he spent his time at war, coming home two or three times a year to see to their lands-Pellinore had given them a castle near his own-to receive the new cloaks and shirts Elaine wove and embroidered for him-after he married Elaine, Lancelet always dressed as fine as the King himself-to kiss his son, and later his daughters, to sleep with his wife once, or maybe twice, and then he was off again.
Elaine always seemed happy. I do not know whether she was truly happy, being one of those women who can find their best happiness in home and babes, or whether she longed for more than this and yet abode bravely by the bargain she had made.
As for me, I dwelt at court for two more years. And then, at Pentecost of the second year, when Elaine was pregnant with her second child, Gwenhwyfar had her revenge.

7

As with every year, the day of Pentecost was Arthur's high festival. Gwenhwyfar had been awake since earliest daylight. On this day, all of those Companions who had fought at Arthur's side should be at court, and this year Lancelet would be here too  ...
... last year he had not come. Word had been sent that he was in Less Britain, answering a call from his father, King Ban, who sought to settle trouble in his kingdom; but Gwenhwyfar knew in her heart why Lancelet had not come, why he had chosen to stay apart.
It was not that she could not forgive his marriage to Elaine. Morgaine and her spite had brought that about-Morgaine, who would have had Lancelet for herself and would stop at nothing to part him from the one he truly loved. Rather than see him in Gwenhwyfar's arms, Gwenhwyfar supposed, Morgaine would have seen him in hell, or in his grave.
Arthur, too, missed Lancelet sorely, that she had seen. Although he sat in his high seat at Camelot, and dealt justice to all manner of men-he was loved, loved far more than any king Gwenhwyfar had heard tell of before this-she could see that always he looked back to the days of battle and conquest; she supposed all men were like that. Arthur would bear to his grave the scars of the wounds he had taken in his great battles. When they had fought year after year to bring peace to the land, he had spoken as if he wished for nothing more than leisure to sit at home in Camelot and enjoy his castle. Now he was never so happy as when he could get some of his old Companions about him, and fall to talking of those old evil days when there were Saxons and Jutes and wild Northmen on every hand.
She looked at Arthur where he lay sleeping. Yes, and he was still the handsomest and goodliest of all his old Companions; at times she thought he was fairer of face and better to look at even than Lancelet, though it was unfair to compare them, one so dark, one so blond. And after all they were cousins, they were of one blood ... how, she wondered, had Morgaine come into that kindred? Perhaps indeed she was a changeling, nothing human at all, but left by the evil fairy folk to do wickedness among mankind ... a sorceress schooled in un-Christian ways. Arthur too was tainted by that background, though she had gotten him to go often to mass and to speak of himself as Christian. Morgaine liked not that, either.
Well, she would fight to the last to save Arthur's soul! She loved him well, he was the best husband a woman could ever have had, even had he been no High King but a simple knight. Surely the madness that had seized her was long gone. It was right and fitting she should think kindly of her husband's cousin. Why, it was at Arthur's own will that she had first lain in Lancelet's arms. And now it was all past and over, and she had confessed it and been absolved; her priest had told her it was as if the sin had never been, and now she must strive to forget it.
Yet she could not help remembering, a little, on this morning when Lancelet would be coming to court with his wife and son ... he was a married man, married to her own cousin. Now he was not only her husband's kinsman but her own kinsman as well. She could greet him with a kiss, and it would be no sin.
Arthur turned over, as if her thoughts could disturb him, and smiled at her.
"It is Pentecost day, sweetheart," he said, "and all of our kinfolk and friends will be here. Let me see you smile."
She smiled at him and he drew her down against him, kissing her and letting his fingers circle her breasts.
"You are certain what we do this day will not offend you? I would not have anyone think you were less to me," he said anxiously. "You are not old, God may yet bless us with children if it is his will. But the lesser kings have demanded it of me-life is never certain, so I must name an heir. When our first son is born, sweet, then it will be as if this day had never been, and I am sure young Galahad will not begrudge the throne to his cousin, but serve and honor him as Gawaine has done for me ...  ."
It might yet be true, Gwenhwyfar thought, surrendering herself to her husband's gentle caresses. There were such things told of in the Bible: the mother of John the Baptizer, who had been cousin to the Virgin-God had opened her womb long after she was past the age of bearing, and she, Gwenhwyfar, was not yet thirty  ...  why, Lancelet had said once that his mother was older than this when he was born. Perhaps this time, after all these years, she would arise from her husband's bed bearing again the seed of his son in her body. And now that she had learned not only to submit to him as a good wife must, but to take pleasure in his touch, his manhood filling her, surely she was softened and all the more ready to conceive and bear ...  .
No doubt it was all for the best, when for a time three years ago she had thought she bore Lancelet's child, but something had gone amiss  ...  three months she had not had her moon-blood and she had told one or two of her ladies that she was with child; and then, after three more months, when she should have felt the first quickening, it had proved to be nothing after all... but now, surely, with this new warmth she had known since she had been all wakened, this time it would come about as she wished. And Elaine would not gloat and triumph over her again ...  . She might, for a little time, have been the mother of the King's heir, but Gwenhwyfar would be the mother of the King's son ...  .
She said something like that later, when they were dressing, and Arthur looked at her, troubled. "Is Lancelet's wife unkind or scornful to you, Gwen? I had thought you and your cousin were good friends ...  ."
"Oh, we are," said Gwenhwyfar, blinking back tears, "but it is always so with women  ...  those women who have sons think ever they are the betters of any woman who is barren. The wife of the swineherd, in her childbed, no doubt thinks with scorn and pity of the Queen who cannot give her lord so much as a single son."
Arthur came and kissed the back of her neck. "Don't, sweeting, don't cry. I would rather have you than another woman who could have given me a dozen sons already."
"Truly?" Gwenhwyfar said, a hint of scorn in her voice. "Yet I was only something my father gave you with a hundred horsemen, just a part of the bargain-and you took me dutifully to get the horses-but I was a bad bargain-"
He raised his eyes and stared at her with a blue incredulous gaze. "Have you been thinking of that and holding it against me all these years, my Gwen? But surely you must know that since the first moment that I looked on your face, no one could be dearer to me than you!" he said and wound his arms around her. She was rigid, blinking back tears, and he kissed her at the corner of her eye. "Gwenhwyfar, Gwenhwyfar, could you think- you are my wife, beloved, my own dear wife, and nothing on earth could part us. If I wanted only a brood mare to get me sons, God knows I could have had enough of them!"
"But you have not," she said, still stiff and cold in his arms. "I would willingly take your son to foster, and bring him up as your heir. But you thought me not worthy to foster your son  ...  and it was you who pushed me into Lancelet's arms-"
"Oh, my Gwen," he said, and his face was rueful like a punished child. "Do you hold it against me, that old madness? I was drunk, and it seemed to me that you loved Lancelet well... I thought to give you pleasure, and if it might truly be so, that it was my fault you did not bear, then you could have a child by one so close to me that I could in good conscience call whatever child came of that night, my own heir. But mostly it was that I was drunk-"
"At times," she said, her face set like stone, "it has seemed to me that you loved Lancelet more than me. Can you say in truth that it was to give me pleasure, or was it for the pleasure of him you loved best of all-?"
He dropped his arm from her neck as if he were stung. "Is it a sin, then, to love my kinsman and think, too, of his pleasure? It is true, I love you both-"
"In Holy Writ it speaks of that city that was destroyed for such sins," said Gwenhwyfar.
Arthur was as white as his shirt. "I love my kinsman Lancelet with all honor, Gwen; King David himself wrote of his cousin and kinsman Jonathan, Thy love to me was wonderful, passing the love of woman, and God smote him not. It is so with comrades in battle. Dare you to say that such a love is a sin, Gwenhwyfar? I will avow it before the throne of God-" He stopped, unable to force further sound through his dry throat.
Gwenhwyfar heard her own voice cracking with hysteria.
"Can you swear that when you brought him to our bed ... I saw it then, you touched him with more love than ever you have given the woman my father forced on you-when you led me into this sin, can you swear it was not your own sin, and all your fine talk no more than a cover for that very sin that brought down fire from Heaven on the city of Sodom?"
He stared at her, still deathly white. "You are certainly mad, my lady. On that night you speak of-I was drunk, I know not what you may have thought you saw. It was Beltane, and the force of the Goddess was with us all. I think all your prayers and thoughts of sin have turned your mind, my Gwen."
"No Christian man would say so!"
"And that is one reason why I like not to call myself a Christian!" he shouted back at her, losing patience at last. "I am tired of all this talk of sin! If I had put you away from me-aye, and I was counselled to do so, and would not because I loved you too well-and taken another woman-"
"No! Rather would you share me with Lancelet, and have him too-"
"Say that again," he said very low, "and wife or no, love or no, I will kill you, my Gwenhwyfar!"
But she was sobbing hysterically now and could not stop herself. "You say you wished for a son, and so you led me into such sin as God cannot pardon-if I have sinned, and God has punished me with barrenness, was it not you who led me into that sin? And even now, it is Lancelet's son is your heir. Can you dare say it is not Lancelet you love best, when you make his son your heir and not your own son, when you will not give me your son to foster for you-"
"Let me call your women, Gwenhwyfar," he said, with a deep breath. "You are beside yourself. I swear to you, I have no son, or if I do, it is some chance-gotten child from my days in battle, and the woman knew me not, nor who I was. No woman anywhere near my own station has ever come to me and said she bore my child. Priests or no, sin or no, I cannot believe any woman would be ashamed to admit that she had borne the son of a childless High King. I have taken no unwilling woman, nor played at adultery with any man's wife. What is this mad talk of a son of mine you would foster as my heir? I tell you, I have none. I have often wondered if some sickness in boyhood, or that wound I took, might have gelded me ... I have no son."
"No, but that is a lie!" Gwenhwyfar said angrily. "Morgaine bade me not speak of it, but long ago I went to her, I begged her for a charm to help my barrenness. I was in despair, I said I would give myself to another man, since it was likely you could not father a son. And at that time Morgaine swore to me that you could father a child, that she had seen a son of yours, fostered at the court of Lot of Lothian, but she made me promise not to speak of it-"
"Fostered at the court of Lothian ..." said Arthur, and then he caught at his chest, as if in dreadful pain there. "Ah, merciful God!" he said in a whisper, "and I never knew ...  ."
Gwenhwyfar felt sudden terror striking through her. "No, no, Arthur, Morgaine is a liar! No doubt it was but her malice, it was she who contrived Lancelet's marriage to Elaine, because she was jealous ... no doubt she was lying to plague me ...  ."
Arthur said in a distant voice, "Morgaine is a priestess of Avalon. She does not lie. I think, Gwenhwyfar, that we must ask of this. Send for Morgaine-"
"No, no," Gwenhwyfar begged. "I am sorry I spoke-I was beside myself and raving as you said-oh, my dear lord and husband, my king and my lord, I am sorry for every word I said! I beg you to forgive me-I beg you."
He put his arms around her. "There is need for you to forgive me too, my dear lady. I see now I have done you great wrong. But when you have unloosed the winds, then must you abide by their blowing, whatever they may tear down. ..." He kissed her very gently on the forehead. "Send for Morgaine."
"Oh, my lord, oh, Arthur, I beg you-I promised to her that I would never speak of it to you-"
"Well, then, you have broken your promise," Arthur said. "I besought you not to speak, but you would have it so, and now what has been said cannot be unsaid." He stepped to the door of the chamber and called to his chamberlain, "Go to the lady Morgaine and command that she attend me and my queen as quickly as she may."
When the man had gone, Arthur called Gwenhwyfar's servant, and Gwenhwyfar stood like a stone as the woman put on her holiday robe and braided her hair. She sipped at a cup of hot water and wine, but her throat was tight. She had spoken the unforgivable.
But if it is true that this morning he has given me his child to bear  ...  and a strange pain struck inward through her body even into her womb. Could anything take root and grow in such bitterness?
After a time Morgaine came into the room in a dark-red gown, her hair braided with crimson silk ribbons; she had dressed well for the festival and looked alive and glowing.
And I am but a barren tree, Gwenhwyfar thought; Elaine has Lancelot's son; even Morgaine, who has no husband and no wish for one, has played the harlot and borne a son to somebody or other, and Arthur has fathered a son on some unknown woman, but I-I have none.
Morgaine came and kissed her; Gwenhwyfar stood rigid within her arms. Then Morgaine turned to Arthur and said, "You commanded me to come, my brother?"
Arthur said, "I am sorry to disturb you so early, sister. But, Gwenhwyfar," he said, "now must you repeat in my presence and Morgaine's what you have said. I will have no secret slanders repeated within my court."
Morgaine looked at Gwenhwyfar and saw the marks of tears around her reddened eyes. "Dear brother," she said, "your queen is ill. Is she pregnant again? As to whatever she has said, well, it's a true saying, hard words break no bones."
Arthur looked coldly at Gwenhwyfar, and Morgaine drew back; this was not the brother she knew well, this was the stern face of the High King as he sat in his hall to dispense justice.
"Gwenhwyfar," he said, "not only as your husband, but as your king, I command you: Repeat before Morgaine's face what you have said behind her back, and what she told you, that I had a son in fosterage at the court of Lothian-"
It is true, Gwenhwyfar thought in that split second. Never before, save when Viviane was murdered before her eyes, have I seen Morgaine's face other than calm, serene, the face of a priestess ...  . It is true, and somehow it touches her deeply  ...  but why?
"Morgaine," Arthur said. "Tell me-is this true? Have I a son?"
What is it to Morgaine? Why should she wish it to be concealed, even from Arthur? She might wish her own harlotries to be hidden, but why should she conceal it from Arthur that he has a son? And then some inkling of the truth struck her, and she gasped aloud.
Morgaine thought: A priestess of Avalon does not lie. But I am cast out of Avalon, and for this, and unless it is all to be for nothing, I must lie, and lie well and quickly ...  .
"Who was it?" demanded Gwenhwyfar angrily. "One of the whore priestesses of Avalon who lies with men in sin and lustfulness at their demon festivals?"
"You know nothing of Avalon," said Morgaine, fighting to keep her voice steady. "Your words are like the wind, without meaning-"
Arthur took her by the arm. He said, "Morgaine-my sister-" and she thought that in another moment she would weep ... as he had wept in her arms, that morning when first he knew how Viviane had trapped them both. ...
Her mouth was dry and her eyes burned. She said, "I spoke-of your son-only to comfort Gwenhwyfar, Arthur. She feared you could not give her a child-"
"Would you had spoken so to comfort me," said Arthur, but his smile was only a grimace stretching his mouth. "All these years have I thought I could beget no son, even to save my kingdom-Morgaine, now you must tell me the truth."
Morgaine drew a long breath. In the dead silence inside the room she could hear a dog barking somewhere beyond the windows, and some small insect chirping somewhere. At last she said, "In the name of the Goddess, Arthur, since you will have it said at last-I bore a son to the King Stag, ten moons after your kingmaking on Dragon Island. Morgause has him in her keeping, and she swore to me that you should never hear it from her lips. Now you have had it from mine. Let it end here."
Arthur was white as death. He caught her into his arms, and she could feel how he was trembling. Tears were streaming down his face and he made no effort to check them or wipe them away. "Ah, Morgaine, Morgaine, my poor sister-I knew I had done you a great wrong, but I dreamed never that it was so great a wrong as this-"
"You mean this is true?" Gwenhwyfar cried out. "That this unchaste harlot of a sister of yours, she is such a one as would practice her whore's arts on her own brother-!"
Arthur swung round to her, his arm still around Morgaine. He said in a voice she had never heard before, "Be silent! Speak not one word against my sister-it was neither her doing nor her fault!" He drew a long, shaking breath, and Gwenhwyfar had time to hear the echo of her own ugly words. "My poor sister," Arthur said again. "And you have borne this burden alone, nor ever laid the fault rightly at my door-no, Gwenhwyfar," he said earnestly, turning to her again, "it is not what you think. It was at my kingmaking, and neither of us knew the other-it was dark, and we had not seen one another since I was so small that Morgaine could carry me about in her arms. She was to me no more than the priestess of the Mother, and I was no more to her than the Horned One, and when we knew one another, it was too late and the harm was done," he said, and it was as if he forced his voice past tears. And he held Morgaine close to him, crying out, "Morgaine, Morgaine, you should have told me!"
"And again you think only of her!" Gwenhwyfar cried. "Not of your own greatest of all sins-she is your own sister, the child of your own mother's womb, and for such a thing as this God will punish you-"
"He has punished me indeed," said Arthur, holding Morgaine close. "But the sin was unknowing, with no desire to do evil."
"Maybe it is for this," Gwenhwyfar faltered, "that he has punished you with barrenness, and even now, if you repent and do penance-"
Morgaine pulled herself gently free of Arthur. Gwenhwyfar watched, with a rage she could not speak, as Morgaine dried his tears with her own kerchief, almost an absentminded gesture, the gesture of a mother or older sister, with nothing in it of the harlotry she wished to see. She said, "Gwenhwyfar, you think too much of sin. We did no sin, Arthur and I. Sin is in the wish to do harm. We came together by the will of the Goddess, for the forces of life, and if a child came to birth, then it was made in love, whatever brought us together. Arthur cannot acknowledge a son begotten on his sister's body, it is true. But he is not the first king to have a bastard son whose very existence he cannot admit. The boy is healthy and well, and safe in Avalon. The Goddess-for that matter, your God-is not a vindictive demon, looking about to punish somebody for some imagined sin. What happened between Arthur and me, it should not have happened, neither he nor I would have sought it, but done is done-the Goddess would not punish you with childlessness for the sins of another. Can you blame your own childlessness on Arthur, Gwen?"
Gwenhwyfar cried, "I do so! He has sinned, and God has punished him -for incest, for fathering a son on his own sister- for serving the Goddess, that fiend of foul abominations and lechery ...  . Arthur," she cried, "tell me you will do penance, that you will go on this holy day and tell the bishop how you have sinned, and do such penance as he may lay on you, and then perhaps God will forgive you and he will cease to punish us both!"
Arthur, troubled, looked from Morgaine to Gwenhwyfar. Morgaine said, "Penance? Sin? Do you truly believe that your God is an evil-minded old man, who snoops around to see who lies in bed with another's wife?"
"I have confessed my sins," Gwenhwyfar cried, "I have done penance and been absolved, it is not for my sins that God punishes us I Say you will do so too, Arthur! When God gave you the victory at Mount Badon, you swore to put aside the old dragon banner, and rule as a Christian king, but you left this sin unconfessed. Now do penance for this too, and let God give you the victory of this day as he did at Mount Badon-and be freed of your sins, and give me a son who can rule after you at Camelot!"
Arthur turned and leaned against the wall, covering his face with his hands. Morgaine would have moved toward him again, but Gwenhwyfar cried, "Keep away from him, you-! Would you tempt him into sin further than this? Have you not done enough, you and that foul demon you call your Goddess, you and that evil old witch whom Balin rightly killed for her heathen sorceries-?"
Morgaine shut her eyes, and her face looked as if she were about to weep. Then she sighed and said, "I cannot listen to you curse at my religion, Gwenhwyfar. I cursed not yours, remember that. God is God, however called, and always good. I think it sin to believe God can be cruel or vindictive, and you would make him meaner than the worst of his priests. I beg you to consider well what you do before you put Arthur into the hands of his priests with this." She turned, her crimson draperies moving silently around her, and left the room.
Arthur turned back to Gwenhwyfar as he heard Morgaine go. At last he said, more gently than he had ever spoken to her, even when they lay in each other's arms, "My dearest love-"
"Can you call me so?" she said bitterly, and turned away. He followed her, laying a hand on her shoulder and turning her round to face him. "My dearest lady and queen-have I done you such a wrong?"
"Even now," she said shaking, "even now all you can think of is the wrong you have done to Morgaine-"
"Should I be happy at the thought of what I have brought on my own sister? I swear to you, I knew her not until the thing was done, and then, when I recognized her, it was she who comforted me, as if I had been the little boy who used to sit in her lap. ... I think if she had turned on me and accused me, as she had every right to do, I would have gone away and drowned myself in the Lake. But I never thought what might come to her ... I was so young, and there were all the Saxons and all the battles-" He spread his hands helplessly. "I tried to do as she bade me-put it behind us, remember that what we had done was done in ignorance. Oh, I suppose it was sin, but I did not choose to sin ...  ."
He looked so wretched that for a moment Gwenhwyfar was tempted to say what he wanted to hear, that indeed he had done no wrong; to take him in her arms and comfort him. But she did not move. Never, never had Arthur come to her for comfort, never had he acknowledged that he had done her any wrong; even now, all he could do was to insist that the sin which had kept them childless was no sin; his concern was only for the wrong he had done that damned sorceress of a sister of his! She said, crying again and furious because she knew he would think she wept from sorrow and not from rage, "You think it is only Morgaine you have wronged?"
"I cannot see I have harmed any other," he said stubbornly. "Gwenhwyfar, it was before ever I set eyes on you!"
"But you married me with this great sin unconfessed, and even now you cling to your sin when you might be shriven and do penance, and freed of your punishment-"
He said wearily, "Gwenhwyfar mine, if your God is such a one as would punish a man for a sin he knew not he committed, would he then abate that punishment because I tell a priest, and mouth such prayers as he gives me, and I know not what all-eat bread and water for a space, or what have you-?"
"If you truly repent-"
"Oh, God, do you think I have not repented?" Arthur burst out. "I have repented it every time I looked on Morgaine, these twelve years past! Would it make my repentance stronger to avow it before one of these priests who wants nothing more than to have power over a king?"
"You think only of your pride," Gwenhwyfar said angrily, "and pride too is a sin. Would you but humble yourself, God would forgive you!"
"If your God is such a God as that, I want not his forgiveness!" Arthur's fists were clenched. "I must rule this kingdom, my Gwen, and I cannot do that if I kneel before some priest and accept whatever he chooses to lay on me for penance! And there is Morgaine to think of-already they call her sorceress, harlot, witch! I have no right to confess to a sin which will call down scorn and public shame to my sister!"
"Morgaine too has a soul to be saved," said Gwenhwyfar, "and if the people of this land see that their king can put aside his pride and take thought for his soul, repent humbly for his sins, then it will help them to save their souls too, and it will be to his credit even in Heaven."
He said, sighing, "Why, you argue as well as any councillor, Gwenhwyfar. I am not a priest, and I am not concerned with the souls of my people-"
"How dare you say so?" she cried. "As a king is above all his people and their lives are in his hand, so are their souls too! You should be foremost in piety as you are in bravery on the battlefield! How would you think of a king who sent his soldiers out to fight, and sat safe out of sight and watched them from afar?"
"Not well," said Arthur, and Gwenhwyfar, knowing she had him now, said, "Then what would you think of a king who saw his people pursue ways of piety and virtue, and said he need have no thought to his own sins?
Arthur sighed. "Why should you care so much, Gwenhwyfar?"
"Because I cannot bear to think that you will suffer hellfire  ...  and because if you free yourself of your sin, God may cease to punish us with childlessness."
She choked at last and began to cry again. He put his arms around her and stood with her head against his shoulder. He said gently, "Believe you this truly, my queen?"
She remembered; once before, when he had first refused to bear the banner of the Virgin into the battle, he had spoken to her like this. And then she had triumphed and brought him to Christ, and God had given him the victory. But then she had not known he had this sin unconfessed on his soul. She nodded against him and heard him sigh.
"Then I have done you wrong too, and I must somehow amend it. But I cannot see how it is right that Morgaine should suffer shame for this."
"Always Morgaine," said Gwenhwyfar, in a blaze of white rage. "You will not have her suffer, she is perfect in your eyes-tell me then, is it right that I should suffer for the sin that she has done, or you? Do you love her so much better than me that you will let me go childless all my days so that sin may be kept secret?"
"Even if I have done wrong, my Gwen, Morgaine is blameless-"
"Nay, that she is not," Gwenhwyfar flared, "for she follows that ancient Goddess, and the priests say that their Goddess is that same old serpent of evil whom our Lord drove from the Garden of Eden! Even now Morgaine clings to those filthy and heathenish rituals of hers-God tells us, yes, that those heathen who have not heard the word of the Lord may be saved, but what of Morgaine, who was brought up in a Christian household, and afterward turned to the filthy sorcerous ways of Avalon? And all these years at this court, she has heard the word of Christ, and do they not say that those who hear the word of Christ and do not repent and believe in him, they shall surely be damned? And women especially have need of repentance, since through a woman sin came first into the world-" Gwenhwyfar was sobbing so hard that she could hardly speak.
At last Arthur said, "What do you want me to do, my Gwenhwyfar?"
"This is the holy day of Pentecost," she said, wiping her eyes and trying to control her sobs, "when the spirit of God came down to Man. Will you go to the mass and take the sacrament with this great sin on your soul?"
"I suppose-I suppose I cannot," said Arthur, his voice breaking. "If truly you believe this, Gwenhwyfar, I will not deny it to you. I will repent as far as it is in me to repent for something I cannot think a sin, and I will do what penance the bishop lays on me." His smile was only a thin, harried grimace. "I hope, for your sake, my love, that you are right about God's will."
And Gwenhwyfar, even as she put her arms around him, crying with thankfulness, had a moment of shattering fear and doubt. She remembered when she had stood in the house of Meleagrant, and known that all her prayers could not save her. God had not rewarded her for her virtue, and when Lancelet came to her, had she not sworn to herself that never again would she hide or repent, because a God who had not rewarded her virtue would surely not punish her sin. God could not care either way ...  .
But God had punished her indeed; God had taken Lancelet from her and given him to Elaine, so for all that perilling of her soul she had won nothing ... she had confessed and done penance, but God punished her still. And now she knew it might not be all her fault, but that she was bearing the weight of Arthur's sin too, the sin he had done with his sister. But if they were both freed of sin, if he did penance for that great sin unconfessed, and humbled himself, then no doubt God would forgive him too ...  .
Arthur kissed the top of her head and stroked her hair. Then he moved away, and she felt cold and lost when he took his arms away from her, as if she were not safely within walls but out under the huge open sky, bewildering, huge, filled with terror. She moved toward him again, to take refuge in his arms, but he had dropped into a chair and sat there, exhausted, beaten, a thousand leagues away from her.
At last he raised his head, and said, with a sigh that seemed ripped from the very depths of his being, "Send for Father Patricius."

8

When Morgaine left Arthur and Gwenhwyfar in their chamber, she snatched a cloak and fled out into the weather, uncaring of the rain. She went to the high battlements and walked there, alone; the tents of Arthur's followers and Companions, of the lesser kings and the guests, crowded the level space at the brow of the hill that was Camelot, and even in the rain, all the banners and flags fluttered brightly. But the sky was dark, and thick low clouds almost touched the brow of the hill; pacing, restless, Morgaine thought that the Holy Ghost could have chosen a finer day to descend on his people-and especially on Arthur.
Oh, yes. Gwenhwyfar would give him no peace until he had given himself into the hands of the priests. And what of his vow to Avalon?
And yet if it should be Gwydion's fate that one day he should sit on his father's throne, if that was what the Merlin planned ... no man could escape fate. Morgaine thought mirthlessly, No woman either. Taliesin, who knew all manner of music and old tales, had once told her a story from the ancients who dwelt to the south in the Holy Land or somewhere near to there, of a man who was born under a curse that he should slay his father and wed with his mother. So the parents listened to the curse and cast him out to die, and he was reared by strangers, and one day, meeting with his father, unknowing, he quarrelled with him, killed him, and wedded with his widow; so that the very means they had taken to prevent the falling of the curse had brought it to pass-had he been reared in his father's house, he would not have done what he did in ignorance. ...
She and Arthur had done what they did in ignorance, too, yet the fairy woman had cursed her son: Cast forth your babe, or kill it as it comes from the womb; what of the King Stag when the young stag is grown? And it seemed to her that all round her the world grew grey and strange, as if she had wandered into the mists of Avalon, and there was a strange humming in her brain.
There seemed a terrible clanging and banging in the air all round her, deafening her  ...  no, it was the church bells, ringing for the mass. She had heard, too, that the fairy folk could not abide the sound of the church bells, and it was for that reason they had taken to the far hills and hollows ... it seemed to her that she could not go and sit quietly, as she usually did, listening with polite attention because the Queen's waiting-women should set an example to all the others. She thought that the walls would stifle her and the mumbling of the priests and the smoke of the incense would drive her mad; better to stay out here in the clean rain. Now she thought to draw up the hood of the woolen cloak over her head; the ribbons in her hair were all wet, likely they were spoilt. She fumbled with them and the red came off on her fingers; poorly dyed they were, for materials so costly.
But the rain was slowing a little, and people were beginning to move about in the spaces between the tents.
"There will be no mock battle games today," said a voice behind her, "or I would ask you for one of those ribbons you are casting about, and carry it into battle as a flag of honor, lady Morgaine."
Morgaine blinked, trying to collect herself. A young man, slender and dark-haired, with dark eyes; something familiar about him, but she could not quite remember ...  .
"You do not remember me, lady?" he said reproachfully. "And I was told you had wagered a ribbon on my success in just such a mock battle a year or two ago-or was it three?"
Now she remembered him; he was the son of King Uriens of North Wales. Accolon, that was his name; and she had wagered with one of the Queen's ladies who claimed that no man could stand in the field against Lancelot ...  . She had never known how her wager came off; that was the Pentecost when Viviane had been murdered.
"Indeed I remember you, sir Accolon, but that Pentecost feast, you may remember, ended in such brutal murder, and it was my foster-mother who was slain-"
He was at once contrite. "Then I must beg your pardon for calling such a sad occasion to your mind. And I suppose there will be enough mock battles and combats before we leave here again, now that there is no war in the land-my lord Arthur wishes to know that his legions are still skilled to defend us all."
"The need seems not too likely," she said, "even the wild Northmen turn elsewhere these days. Do you miss the days of battle and glory?"
He had, she thought, a nice smile. "I fought at Mount Badon," he said. "It was my first battle, and came near to being my last. I think I prefer mock battles and tourneys. I will fight if I must, but it is better to fight in play against friends who have no real desire to kill, with pretty ladies looking down and admiring us-in real battle, lady, there is none to admire gallantry, and indeed, little of gallantry, for all they talk of courage. ..."
They had moved, as they spoke, nearer to the church; and now the sound of the bells nearly drowned his voice-a pleasant, musical voice, she thought. She wondered if he played upon the harp. She turned abruptly away from the sound of the bells.
"Are you not going to the holy day mass, lady Morgaine?"
She smiled and looked down at his wrists, where the serpents twined. She ran a light finger over one of them. "Are you?"
"I do not know. I thought I might go to see the faces of my friends -no, I think not," he said, smiling at her, "when there is a lady to talk to ...  ."
She said, tingeing her voice with irony, "Do you not fear for your soul?"
"Oh, my father is pious enough for both of us ... he has no wife now, and no doubt he wishes to study out the land and see how it lies for his next conquest. He has listened well to the Apostle and knows it is better to marry than to burn, and he burns oftener than I would think dignified for a man of his years. ..."
"You have lost your mother, sir Accolon?"
"Aye, before I was weaned; and my stepmothers one, two, and three," Accolon said. "My father has three sons living, and it is certain he can have no further need of heirs, but he is too pious only to take a woman to his bed, so he must marry again. And even my oldest brother is married, and has a son."
"You were the son of his old age?"
"Of his middle age," Accolon said, "and I am not so young as all that. If there had not been war when I was younger, I might have been destined for Avalon and the lore of the priests. But my father has grown Christian in his old age."
"Yet you wear the serpents."
He nodded. "And know something of their wisdom, yet not enough to content me. In these days there is not much for a younger son to do. My father told me he would also seek a wife for me at this gathering," he said with a smile. "I would that you were the daughter of some lesser man, lady."
Morgaine felt herself blushing like a girl. "Oh, I am too old for you," she said, "and I am only the King's half-sister by his mother's first marriage. My father was Duke Gorlois, the first man Uther Pendragon killed as a traitor ...  ."
There was a brief silence before Accolon said, "In these days it is dangerous, perhaps, to wear the serpents-or will be, if the priests grow more powerful. When Arthur came to the throne, I heard he had the support of Avalon, that the Merlin gave him the sword of the Holy Regalia. But now he has made this so Christian a court  ...  my father told me that he feared Arthur would move this land back to the Druid rule, but it seems he has not. ..."
"True," she said, and for a moment anger stifled her. "Yet still he wears the Druid sword ...  ."
He looked at her closely. "And you bear the crescent of Avalon." Morgaine blushed. All the people had gone into the church now, and the doors were shut. "It has begun to rain harder-lady Morgaine, you will be drenched, you will take cold. You must go inside. But will you come and sit beside me at the feast this day?"
She hesitated, smiling. It was certain that Arthur and Gwenhwyfar would not seek her company at the high table this day of all days.
She who must remember what it was like to fall prey to Meleagrant's lust  ...  should she blame me, she that comforted herself in the arms of her husband's dearest friend? Oh, no, it was not rape, nothing like to it, but still I was given to the Horned One without anyone's asking if it was what I wished  ...  it was not desire brought me to my brother's bed, but obedience to the will of the Goddess ...  .
Accolon was still waiting for her answer, his face turned to her, eagerly. If I willed it, he would kiss me, he would beg me for the favor of a single touch. She knew it and the thought was healing to her pride. She smiled at him, a smile that dazzled him.
"I will indeed, if we can sit far off from your father." And it struck her suddenly: Arthur had looked at her like that. That is what Gwenhwyfar fears. She knows what I did not know, that if I stretched my hand to Arthur, I could make him ignore anything she said; Arthur loves me best. I have no desire for Arthur, I would have him only as a dear brother, but she does not know that. She fears that I will beckon with my hand, and with the secret arts of Avalon I will seduce him to my bed again.
"I beg you, go inside and change your-your gown," said Accolon earnestly, and Morgaine smiled at him again and pressed his hand in her own.
"I will see you at the feast."


ALL THROUGH the holy day service, Gwenhwyfar had sat alone, striving to compose herself. The Archbishop had preached the usual Pentecost sermon, telling of the descent of the Holy Spirit, and she thought, If Arthur has at last repented all his sins and become a Christian, then I must give thanks to the Holy Spirit for coming on us both today. She let her fingers stray unseen to her belly; today they had lain together, it might be that at Candlemas she would hold in her arms the heir to the kingdom  ...  she looked across the church to where Lancelet knelt at Elaine's side. She could see, jealously, that Elaine's waist was already swelling again. Another son, or a daughter. And now Elaine flaunts herself, beside the man I loved so long and so well with the son I should have borne  ...  well, I must bend my head and be humble a while, it will not hurt me to pretend that I believe her son will follow Arthur on his throne ...  . Ah, I am a sinful woman, I spoke to Arthur of humbling his pride, and I am full of pride.
The church was crowded, as always at this holy day mass. Arthur looked pale and subdued; he had spoken with the bishop, but there had been no time for extended talk before the mass. She knelt beside him and felt that he was a stranger, far more of a stranger than when she had first lain in his bed, terrified of the unknown things ahead of her.
I should have held my peace with Morgaine ...  .
Why do I feel guilty? It was Morgaine who sinned ...  I have repented my sins and confessed them and been absolved ...  .
Morgaine was not in the church; no doubt, she had not had the brazenness to come unshriven to holy services when she had been exposed for what she was-incestuous, heathen, witch, sorceress.
The service seemed to last forever, but at last the blessing was given and the people began to move out of the church. Once for a moment she found herself crushed against Elaine and Lancelet; he had his arm protectively around his wife, that she should not be jostled. Gwenhwyfar raised her eyes to them, so that she need not look at Elaine's swollen belly.
"It is long since we have seen you at court," she said.
"Ah, there is much to do in the North," Lancelet said.
"No more dragons, I trust?" Arthur asked.
"God be thanked, no," Lancelet said, smiling. "My first sight of a dragon was like to be my last.... God forgive me that I mocked at Pellinore when he spoke of the beast! And now that there are no more Saxons to slay, I suppose our Companions must go against dragons and bandits and reavers, and all manner of ill things that plague the people."
Elaine smiled shyly at Gwenhwyfar. "My husband is like to all men -they would rather go into battle, even against dragons, than stay home and enjoy that peace they fought so hard to win! Is Arthur so?"
"I think he has battle enough, here at court where all men come to him for justice," said Gwenhwyfar, dismissing that. "When will this one come?" she added, looking at Elaine's swelling body. "Do you think it will be another son, or a daughter?"
"I hope it is another son, I do not want a daughter," Elaine said, "but it shall be as God wills. Where is Morgaine? Did she not come to church? Is she ill?"
Gwenhwyfar smiled scornfully. "I think you know how good a Christian Morgaine is."
"But she is my friend," Elaine said, "and no matter how bad a Christian she may be, I love her and I will pray for her."
Well you might, thought Gwenhwyfar bitterly. She had you married to spite me. It seemed that Elaine's sweet blue eyes were cloying, her voice false. It seemed to her that if she stood there a moment more listening to Elaine she would turn on her and strangle her. She made an excuse, and after a moment Arthur followed her.
He said, "I had hoped we would have Lancelet with us for some weeks, but he would be off to the North again. But he said Elaine might stay, if you would like to have her. She is near enough to her confinement that he would rather she did not return alone. Perhaps Morgaine is lonely for her friend, too. Well, you women must arrange that among yourselves-" He turned, and his face was bleak as he looked down at her. "I must go to the Archbishop. He said he would speak with me immediately after mass."
She wanted to clutch at him, keep him back, hold him with her by both hands, but it had gone too far for that.
"Morgaine was not in church," he said. "Tell me, Gwenhwyfar, did you say anything to her-"
"I spoke not one word to her, good or bad," she said shrilly. "As for where she is, I care not-I wish she were in hell!"
He opened his mouth and for a moment she thought he would chide her, and in a perverse way she longed for his wrath. But he only sighed and lowered his head. She could not bear to see him so beaten, like a whipped dog. "Gwen, I beg you, do not quarrel further with Morgaine. She has been hurt enough already-" And then, as if he was ashamed of his pleading, he turned abruptly and went away from her, toward where the Archbishop was standing and greeting his flock. As Arthur came toward him he bowed, spoke a few words of excuse to the others, and the King and the Archbishop moved away together through the crowds.
Inside the castle there was much to do-welcoming guests to the hall, speaking to men who had been Arthur's Companions in years gone by, explaining to them that Arthur had business with one of his councillors- that was no lie, Patricius was indeed one of Arthur's advisers-and would be late. For a time everyone was so busy greeting old friends, exchanging stories of what had befallen in their homes and villages, of what marriages had been made and daughters betrothed and sons grown to manhood, of what babies had been born and robbers slain and roads built, that the time went on and the absence of King Arthur was hardly noticed. But at last even reminiscences palled, and the people in the hall began to murmur. The food would be cold, Gwenhwyfar knew; but you could not start the King's feast unless the King was there. She gave orders for wine and beer and cider to be served, knowing that by the time the food was served now, many of the guests would be too drunk to care. She saw Morgaine far down the table, laughing and talking with a man she did not recognize, save that he had the serpents of Avalon around his wrist; would she practice her priestess-harlotries to seduce him too, as she had seduced Lancelet before him, and the Merlin? Morgaine's whorish ways were so great, she could not let any man slip beyond her grasp.
When Arthur finally came, walking slowly and heavily, she was overwhelmed with distress; she had never seen him look like that except when he was wounded and near to death. She felt suddenly that he had taken a deeper wound than she could know, in his very soul, and for a moment wondered, had Morgaine been right to spare him this knowledge? No. As his devoted wife, what she had done was to secure the health of his soul and his eventual salvation; what was a little humiliation against that?
He had taken off his holiday gown and wore a simple tunic, unadorned; nor had he put on the coronet he wore on such occasions. His golden hair looked dull and greyed. As they saw him enter, all his Companions had broken into wild applause and cheering; he stood solemnly, accepting it, smiling, then finally raised a hand.
"I am sorry to have kept you all waiting," he said. "I beg you forgive me, and go to your meat." He sat down at his place, sighing. The servants began to go around with the smoking pots and platters, the carvers to wield their knives. Gwenhwyfar let one of the butlers lay some slices of roast duck on her plate, but she only played with her food. After a time she dared to raise her eyes and look toward Arthur. Among the abundance of festival meats, he had nothing on his plate but a bit of bread, without even butter, and in his cup was only water.
She remonstrated, "But you are eating nothing-"
His smile was wry. "It is no insult to the food. I am sure it is fine as always, my love."
"It is not well done, to fast on a feast day-"
He grimaced. "Well, if you must have it," he said impatiently, "the bishop would have it that my sin was so grievous that he cannot absolve it with ordinary penance, and since that was what you wished of me, well-" He spread his hands wearily. "And so I come to Pentecost holiday in my shirt and without my fine clothing, and I have many fastings and prayers till I have done full penance-but you have had your wish, Gwenhwyfar." He picked up his cup and drank water, resolutely, and she knew he did not want her to say more.
But she had not wanted it like this ...  . Gwenhwyfar tightened her whole body so that she would not weep again; all eyes were on them, and surely it was scandal enough that the King sat fasting at his own highest festival. Outside the rain beat and battered on the roof. There was a strange silence in the hall. At last Arthur raised his head and called for music.
"Let Morgaine sing for us-she is better than any minstrel!"
Morgaine! Morgaine! Always Morgaine! But what could she do? Morgaine, she noticed, had put off the bright gown she had worn that morning and was wearing dark sober stuff like a nun's. She looked not so much like a harlot, now, without her bright ribbons; she came and took the harp, and sat near the King's table to sing.
Because it seemed to be what Arthur wished, there was some laughing and gaiety, and when Morgaine had finished, another took the harp, and another. There was much moving from table to table, talking, singing, drinking.
Lancelet came toward them and Arthur gestured to him to sit beside them, as in the old days, on the bench. The servants were bringing great plates of sweets and fruit, baked apples in cream and wine, all manner of delicate and subtle pastries. They sat talking of nothing in particular, and Gwenhwyfar felt happy for a moment: it was like old times, when they had all been friends, when there was love among them all ... why could it not always have stayed like that?
After some time, Arthur rose and said, "I think I will go and talk to some of the older Companions  ...  my legs are young, and some of them are getting so old and grey. Pellinore-he looks not as if he could fight a dragon. I think a good stiff fight with Elaine's little lapdog would be hard for him now!"
Lancelet said, "Since Elaine is married, it is as if he has nothing more to do in life. Such men often die soon after they have decided such a thing. I hope it may not be so with him-I love Pellinore and hope he will be long with us." He smiled shyly. "I never felt I had a father-though Ban was good to me in his way-and now, for the first time, I have a kinsman who treats me as a son. Brothers I had not either, till I was grown and Ban's sons Lionel and Bors came to the court. I grew to manhood hardly speaking their language. And Balan had other concerns."
Arthur had hardly smiled since he had come from the bishop's rooms, but he was smiling now. "Does a cousin count for so much less than a brother, then, Galahad?"
Lancelet reached out and gripped his wrist. "God strike me if I could forget that, Gwydion-" He raised his eyes to Arthur, and for a moment, Gwenhwyfar thought Arthur would embrace him; but then Arthur drew back and let his hand drop. Lancelet gazed at him, startled, but Arthur got quickly to his feet.
"There is Uriens, and Marcus of Cornwall-he too grows old ...  . They shall see that their king is not too proud to come and speak to them today. Stay here by Gwenhwyfar, Lance, let it be like old times today."
Lancelet did as he was asked, sitting on the bench beside Gwenhwyfar. At last he asked, "Is Arthur ill?"
Gwenhwyfar shook her head. "I think he has penance to do and is brooding about it."
"Well, surely Arthur can have no great sin on his soul," Lancelet said, "he is one of the most spotless men I know. I am proud that he is still my friend-I do not deserve it, I know, Gwen." He looked at her so sadly that again Gwenhwyfar almost wept. Why could she not have loved the two of them without sin, why had God ordained that a woman must have only one husband? She was grown as bad as Morgaine, that she could think such a thing!
She touched his hand. "Are you happy with Elaine, Lancelet?"
"Happy? What man alive is happy? I do as best I can."
She looked down at her hands. For a moment she forgot that this man had been her lover and remembered only that he had been her friend. "I want you to be happy. Truly, I do."
His hand closed for a moment over hers. "I know, my dear. I did not want to come here today. I love you, and I love Arthur-but the day is past when I can be content to be his captain of horse and-" His voice broke. "And the champion of the Queen."
She said suddenly, looking up, her hand in his, "Does it seem sometimes to you that we are no longer young, Lancelet?"
He nodded and sighed. "Aye-it does so."
Morgaine had taken the harp again and was singing. Lancelet said, "Her voice is as sweet as ever. I am put in memory of my mother singing-she sang not so well as Morgaine, but she had the same soft, low voice-"
"Morgaine is as young as ever," said Gwenhwyfar jealously.
"It is so with those of the old blood, they seem ever young until the day they are suddenly old," Lancelet said; then, bending down to touch her cheek in a light kiss, he said abruptly, "Never think you are less beautiful than Morgaine, my Gwen. It is a different beauty, that is all."
"Why do you say this?"
"Love, I cannot bear it if you are unhappy ...  ."
She said, "I do not think I know what it means, to be happy."
How is Morgaine so untouched? That which wrecked my life and Arthur's, it lies lightly on her, there she sits laughing and singing, and yonder knight with the serpents about his wrists, is glamoured by her.
Soon after, Lancelet said he must go back to Elaine, and left her; and when Arthur returned, there were Companions and old followers coming to him for concessions, to give him gifts and recall their service. After a time Uriens of North Wales came, portly now and greying, but he still had all his own teeth, and he led his men into the field when he must.
He said, "I have come to ask you a favor, Arthur. I want to marry again, and I would like to be allied with your house. I have heard that Lot of Lothian is dead, and I ask your permission to marry his widow, Morgause."
Arthur had to stifle a laugh. "Ah, for that, my friend, you must ask leave of sir Gawaine. Lothian is his now, and no doubt he would be glad to marry his mother away, but no doubt, the lady is old enough to have a mind of her own. I cannot order her to marry-it would be like ordering my mother to marry!"
Gwenhwyfar was struck by sudden inspiration. This would be the perfect solution-Arthur himself had said that if it became known at court, Morgaine could be scorned or shamed. She reached out and touched Arthur's sleeve. She said in a low voice, "Arthur, Uriens is a valuable ally. You have told me that the mines of Wales are valuable as they were to the Romans, for iron and lead ... and you have a kinswoman whose marriage is in your keeping."
He looked at her, startled. "Uriens is so old!"
"Morgaine is older than you," she said, "and since he has grown sons and grandsons, he will not mind too much if Morgaine does not give him children."
"That is true," said Arthur with a frown, "and this seems a good match." He raised his head to Uriens and said, "I cannot order lady Morgause to marry again, but my sister, the Duchess of Cornwall, is not married."
Uriens bowed. "I could not presume to ask so high, my king, but if your sister would be queen in my country-"
"I will compel no woman to marry unwilling," said Arthur, "but I will ask her." He beckoned one of the pages. "Ask the lady Morgaine if she will come to me when she has finished singing."
Uriens' eyes were on Morgaine where she sat, her dark gown lending fairness to her skin. "She is very beautiful, your sister. Any man would think himself fortunate to have such a wife."
As Uriens went to his seat, Arthur said thoughtfully, watching Morgaine come toward them, "She is long unmarried-she must wish for a home of her own where she will be mistress, rather than serving another woman always. And she is too learned for many young men. But Uriens will be glad that she is gracious and will rule his home well. I wish, though, that he were not quite so old ...  ."
"I think she will be happier with an older man," Gwenhwyfar said. "She is not a giddy young thing."
Morgaine came and curtseyed to them. Always, in public, she was smiling and impassive, and Gwenhwyfar was for once glad of it.
"Sister," said Arthur, "I have had an offer of marriage for you. And after this morning"-he lowered his voice-"I think it well you should not live at court for a time."
"Indeed I would be glad to be gone from here, brother."
"Why, then-" Arthur said, "how would you like to live in North Wales? I hear it is desolate there, but no more than Tintagel, surely-"
To Gwenhwyfar's surprise, Morgaine blushed like a girl of fifteen. "I will not try to pretend I am as surprised as all that, brother."
Arthur chuckled. "Why, he did not tell me he had spoken to you, the sly fellow."
Morgaine colored and played with the end of her braid. She did not, Gwenhwyfar thought, look anywhere near her age. "You may tell him I should be happy to live in North Wales."
Arthur said gently, "Does the difference in age not bother you?"
Her face was rosy. "If it does not bother him, it does not bother me."
"So be it," said Arthur, and beckoned to Uriens, who came, beaming. "My sister has told me that she would like it well to be Queen of North Wales, my friend. I see no reason we cannot have the wedding with all speed, perhaps on Sunday." He raised his cup and called out to the assembled company, "Drink to a wedding, my friends-a wedding between the lady Morgaine of Cornwall, my dear sister, and my good friend King Uriens of North Wales!"
For the first time that day it sounded like a proper Pentecost feasting, as the applause, cries of congratulation, acclaim, all stormed up. Morgaine stood still as a stone.
But she agreed to this, she said he had spoken to her  ...  Gwenhwyfar thought, and then she remembered the young man who had been flirting with Morgaine. Was that not Uriens' son-Accolon, Accolon, that was it. But surely she could not have expected him to offer for her; Morgaine was older than he was! It must have been Accolon-will she make a scene? Gwenhwyfar wondered.
And then, with another surge of hatred, Now let Morgaine see what it is like to be given in marriage to a man she does not love!
"So you will be a queen, too, my sister," she said, taking Morgaine's hand. "I shall be your bride-woman."
But for all her sweet words, Morgaine looked her straight in the eye, and Gwenhwyfar knew that she had not been deceived.
So be it. We will at least be rid of one another. And no more pretense of friendship between us.


MORGAINE SPEAKS  ...

For a marriage destined to end as mine did, it began well enough, I suppose. Gwenhwyfar gave me a fine wedding, considering how she hated me; I had six bride-women and four of them were queens. Arthur gave me some fine and costly jewelry-I had never cared a great deal for jewelry, having not been accustomed to wear it in Avalon and never having learned since, though I had a few pieces that had been Igraine's. Now he gave me many more of our mother's gems, and some that had been plunder of the Saxons. I would have protested, but Gwenhwyfar reminded me that Uriens would expect to see his wife finely dressed as befitted a queen, and I shrugged and let her deck me out like a child's doll. One piece, an amber necklace, I remembered seeing Igraine wear when I was very young but never since; once I had seen it in her jewel chest when I was but small, and she said Gorlois had given it her and one day it should be mine, but before I was old enough to wear it I was priestess in Avalon and had no need of jewels. Now it was mine, with so many other things that I protested I would never wear them.
The one thing I asked of them-to delay the wedding till I could send for Morgause, who was my only living kinswoman-they would not do. Perhaps they thought I might come to my senses and protest that when I agreed to marry into North Wales, I had Accolon in mind, not the old king. I am sure Gwenhwyfar knew, at least. I wondered what Accolon would think of me; I had all but pledged myself to him, and before that night fell I had been publicly promised to his father! I had no chance to ask.
But after all, I suppose Accolon would want a bride of fifteen, not one of four-and-thirty. A woman past thirty-so women mostly said-must content herself with a man who had been often married and wanted her for her family connections, or for her beauty or possessions, or perhaps as a mother for his children. Well, my family connections could hardly be better. As for the rest-I had jewels enough, but I could hardly imagine myself as a mother to Accolon and whatever other children the old man might have. Grandmother to his son's children perhaps. I reminded myself with a start that Viviane's mother had been a grandmother younger than I was now; she had borne Viviane at thirteen, and Viviane's own daughter had been born before Viviane was fourteen.
I spoke but once alone with Uriens, in the three days which elapsed between Pentecost and our bridal. Perhaps I hoped that he, a Christian king, would refuse when he knew; or perhaps even now he wanted a young wife who could give him children. Nor did I want him to take me under false pretenses and reproach me later, and I knew what a great thing these Christians made of an untouched wife; I suppose they had it from the Romans, with their pride of family and worship of virginity.
"I am long past thirty years old, Uriens," I said, "and I am no maiden." I knew no gracious or polite way to say such things.
He reached forward and touched the small blue crescent between my brows. It was fading now; I could see it in the mirror which had been one of Gwenhwyfar's gifts. Viviane's had faded, too, when I came to Avalon, but she had used to paint it with blue dye.
'"You were priestess of Avalon, one of the maidens of the Lady of the Lake, and you went as a maiden to the God, is it so?"
I assented.
Uriens said, "Some of my people still do so, and I make no great effort to put it down. The peasants feel that it is all very well for kings and great folk, who can afford to pay priests and the like to pray them out of Hell, to follow the way of Christ, but it would be hard on them if the Old Ones, who had been worshipped in our hills since time out of mind, should not have their due. Accolon thinks much the same, but now so much of power is going into the hands of the priests, it is needful I too must not offend them. As for me, I care not what God sits on the throne in Heaven, or what God is worshipped by my people, so that my kingdom is at peace. But once I wore the antlers. I swear I will never reproach you, lady Morgaine."
Ah, Mother Goddess, I thought, this is grotesque, this is madness, you jest with me ... I might well have made a happy marriage with Accolon, after all. But Accolon was young and would wish for a young wife ...  . I said to Uriens, "One more thing you must know. I bore a child to the Horned One. ..."
"I have said I will not reproach you with anything that is past, lady Morgaine-"
"You do not understand. It went so ill with me when that child was born that I will certainly never bear another." A king, I thought, a king would want a fertile bride, even more than his younger son ...  .
He patted my hand. I think he actually meant to comfort me. "I have sons enough," he said. "I have no need of others. Children are a fine thing, but I have had my share and more."
I thought: He is foolish, he is old,  ...  but he is kind. If he had professed a madness of desire for me, I would have been sickened by him, but kindness I can live with.
"Do you grieve for your son, Morgaine? If you wish, you may send for him and have him fostered at my court, and I swear to you that neither he nor you shall ever hear a word of reproach, and he shall be decently reared as befits the son of the Duchess of Cornwall and the Queen of North Wales."
This kindness brought tears to my eyes. "You are very kind," I said, "but he is well where he is, in Avalon."
"Well, if you decide otherwise, tell me," he said. "I would be glad of another boy about the house, and he would be the right age, I suppose, for a playmate to my youngest son, Uwaine."
"I thought Accolon was your youngest, sir."
"No, no, Uwaine is only nine years old. His mother died when he was born  ...  you wouldn't think an old fellow like me could have a boy as young as nine, would you?"
Why, yes, I would, I thought with an ironic smile, men are as proud of their ability to father sons as if it took a great skill. As if any tomcat could not do the same! At least a woman must bear a child in her body for most of a year and suffer to bring it forth, and so she has some reason for pride; but men accomplish their trick with no thought or trouble at all!
But I said, trying to make a jest of it, "When I was a young girl, sir, there was a saying in my country: a husband of forty may not become a father, but a husband of sixty surely will do so."
I had done this deliberately. If he had gone stiff and offended by the ribaldry of that, I would have known how I must treat him in the future, and taken great care always to speak him modest and quiet. Instead he laughed heartily and said, "I think you and I may agree well enough, my dear. I have had enough of being married to young girls who don't know how to laugh. I hope you will be content, marrying an old fellow like me. My sons laugh at me because I married again after Uwaine was born, but to tell the truth, lady Morgaine, a man gets used to being married, and I do not like living alone. And when my last wife died of the summer fever-well, it is true that I wished to be akin by marriage to your brother, but also, I am lonely. And it comes to me that you, who are unmarried so many years beyond the women of your age, you may not like it so ill to have a home and a husband, even if he is not young and handsome. I know you were not consulted about this marriage-but I hope you will not be too unhappy."
At least, I thought, he does not expect me to be madly excited about the great honor of being married to him. I could have said that it would be no change- I had not truly been happy since I left Avalon, and since I would be unhappy wherever I was, at least it would be better to be away from Gwenhwyfar's malice. I could no longer make pretense to be her loyal kinswoman and friend, and that saddened me somewhat, because there had been a time when we had truly been friends, and it was not I who had changed. I certainly had no wish to rob her of Lancelet; but how could I explain to her that, though I had once desired him, I despised him, too, and would not have had him for husband as a gift. Oh, yes, if Arthur had married its to each other before he was wed to Gwenhwyfar-but even then it was too late. It was always too late after that afternoon beneath the ring stones. If I had let him take me then, none of this would have come about  ...  but done is done, and I had not known what other plans Viviane had had for me; and they had brought me in the end to this wedding with Uriens.
Our first bedding was about what I expected. He stroked me and fussed and pumped away atop me for a little while, snorting and breathing hard, and then was suddenly done and away from me and asleep. Having expected no better, I was not disappointed, nor particularly sorry to curl up in the curve of his arm; he liked having me there, and although after the first few weeks he lay with me but seldom, still he liked having me in his bed and would sometimes hold me in his arms for hours, talking of this and that, and what was more, listening to what I said. Unlike the Romans of the South, these men of the Tribes never scorned to listen to a woman's advice, and for that, at least, I was grateful, that he would hear what I said and never put it aside as being but a woman's counsel.
North Wales was a beautiful country, great hills and mountains that reminded me of the country of Lothian. But where Lothian was high and barren, Uriens' country was all green and fertile, lush with trees and flowers, and the soil was rich and the crops good. Uriens had built his castle in one of the finer valleys. His son Avalloch, and Avalloch's wife and children, deferred to me in all things, and his youngest son, Uwaine, called me "Mother." I came to know what it might have been to have a son to bring up, to look after all the little daily concerns of a growing child, climbing trees and breaking bones, outgrowing his clothes or tearing them in the woods, being rude to his tutors or taking dog's leave to go hunting when he should have been at his book; the priest who taught Uwaine his letters despaired, but he was the pride and joy of the arms master. Troublesome as he was, I loved him well; he waited on me at dinner, and often sat in hall to listen to me when I played the harp-like all the folk of that country he had an ear for music and a clear and tuneful voice; and like all of that court, Uriens'family would rather make music themselves than listen to paid minstrels. After a year or two I began to think of Uwaine as my own son, and of course he could not remember his own mother. Wild as he was, he was always gentle with me; boys that age are not easy to control, but there were endearing moments, after days of rudeness or sullenness, when he would suddenly come and sit by me in the hall and sing to my harp, or bring me wild flowers or a clumsily tanned hareskin, and once or twice, awkward and shy as a young stork, he would bend and brush my cheek with his mouth. Often I wished, then, that I had had children of my own that I could rear myself. There was little enough else to do at this quiet court, far away from the wars and troubles to the south.
And then, when I had been married to Uriens for a year, Accolon came home.