9

Summer on the hills; the orchard in the queen's garden covered with pink and white blossoms. Morgaine, walking beneath the trees, felt an aching homesickness all through her blood, remembering the Avalon spring and the trees covered with those white and rosy clouds. The year was swinging toward the summer solstice; Morgaine reckoned it up, realizing ruefully that at last the effects of half a lifetime in Avalon were wearing away-the tides no longer ran in her blood.
No, need I lie to myself? It is not that I have forgotten, or that the tides no longer run in my blood, it is that I no longer let myself feel them. Morgaine considered herself dispassionately-the somber costly gown, suitable for a queen ... Uriens had given her all the gowns and jewels which had belonged to his late wife, and she had her jewels from Igraine as well; Uriens liked to see her decked out in jewels befitting a queen.
Some kings kill their prisoners of state, or enslave them in their mines; if it pleases the King of North Wales to hang his with jewels and parade her forth at his side, and call her queen, why not?
Yet she felt full of the flow of the summer. Beneath her on the hillside she could hear a plowman encouraging his ox with soft cries. Tomorrow would be Midsummer.
Next Sunday a priest would carry torches into the field and circle it in procession with his acolytes, chanting psalms and blessings. The richer barons and knights, who were all Christian, had persuaded the people that this was more seemly in a Christian country than the old ways, where the people lighted fires in the fields, and called the Lady in the old worship. Morgaine wished-and not for the first time-that she had been only one of the priestesses, not one of the great royal line of Avalon.
I would still be there, she thought, one of them, doing the work of the Lady  ...  not here, like any shipwrecked sailor, lost in an alien land ...  . Abruptly she turned and walked through the blossoming garden, her eyes downcast, refusing to look any further at the apple blossoms.
Spring comes again and again, and the summer follows, with its fruitfulness. But I am as alone and barren as one of those locked-up Christian virgins within convent walls. She set her will against the tears which seemed somehow always beneath the surface these days, and went inside. Behind her the setting sun spread crimson over the fields, but she would not look at it; all was grey and barren here. As grey and barren as I.
One of her women greeted her as she stepped inside the door.
"My lady, the king has returned and would see you in his chamber."
"Yes, I suppose so," said Morgaine, more to herself than to the woman. A tight band of headache settled around her forehead, and for a moment she could not breathe, could not force herself to walk inside the darkness of the castle which, all this cold winter, had closed round her like a trap. Then she told herself not to be fanciful, set her teeth, and went to Uriens' chamber, where she found him half-clad and lying on the flagstones, stretched out with his body servant rubbing his back.
"You have tired yourself again," she said, not adding, you are no longer young enough to go about your own lands like this. He had ridden to a nearby town to hear about some disputed lands. She knew that he would want her to sit beside him and listen to his tales of all that he had heard in the countryside. She sat down in her own chair nearby and listened with half an ear to what he told her.
"You can go, Berec," he told the man. "My lady will fetch my clothes for me." When the man had gone he asked, "Morgaine, will you rub my feet? Your hands are better than his."
"Certainly. But you will have to sit in the chair."
He stretched out his hands and she gave him a tug upward. She placed a footstool under his feet and knelt beside it, chafing his thin, callused old feet until the blood rose to the surface and they looked alive again; then she fetched a flask and began to rub one of her herbal oils into the king's gnarled toes.
"You should have your man make you some new boots," she said. "The crack in the old ones will make a sore there-see where it is blistered?"
"But the old ones fit me so well, and boots are so stiff when they are new," he protested.
Morgaine said, "You must do as you like, my lord."
"No, no, you are right, as always," he said. "I will tell the man tomorrow to come and measure my feet for a pair."
Morgaine, putting away her flask of herbal oil and fetching a pair of shapeless old soft shoes, thought: I wonder if he knows that this may be his last pair of boots, and that is why he is reluctant? She would not think about what the king's death would mean to her. She did not want to wish him dead -he had never been anything but kind to her. She slid the soft indoor slippers on his feet and stood up, wiping her hands on a towel. "Is that better, my lord?"
"Wonderful, my dear, thank you. No one can look after me the way you do," he said. Morgaine sighed. When he had the new boots he would have more trouble with his feet; they would, as he had rightly foreseen, be stiff, and that would make his feet just as sore as they were now. Perhaps he should stop riding and stay at home in his chair, but he would not do that.
She said, "You should have Avalloch ride out to hear these cases. He must learn to rule over his people." His oldest son was the same age as she. He had waited long enough to rule, and Uriens looked like living forever.
"True, true-but if I do not go, they will think their king does not care for them," Uriens said. "But perhaps when the roads are bad next winter I will do so ...  ."
"You had better," she said. "If you have chilblains again, you could lose the use of your hands."
"The fact is, Morgaine," he said, smiling his good-natured smile at her, "I am an old man, and there is nothing that can be done about it. Do you think there is roast pork for supper?"
"Yes," she said, "and some early cherries. I made sure of that."
"You are a notable housekeeper, my dear," he said, and took her arm as they went out of the room. She thought, He thinks he is being kind to say so.
The household of Uriens was assembled already for the evening meal: Avalloch; Avalloch's wife, Maline, and their young children; Uwaine, lanky and dark, with his three young foster-brothers and the priest who was their tutor; and below them at the long table the men-at-arms and their ladies, and the upper servants. As Uriens and Morgaine took their seats and Morgaine signalled to the servants to bring food, Maline's younger child began to clamor and shout.
"Granny! I want to sit on Granny's knee! Want Granny to feed me!"
Maline-a slender, fair-haired, pale young woman, heavily pregnant -frowned and said, "No, Conn, sit down prettily and be quiet!"
But the child had already toddled to Morgaine's knee, and she laughed and lifted him up. I am an unlikely grandmother, she thought; Maline is almost as old as I. But Uriens' grandsons were fond of her, and she hugged the little boy close, taking pleasure in the feel of the small curly head digging into her waist, the grubby little fingers clutching at her. She sliced bits of pork with her knife and fed them to Conn from her own plate, then cut him a piece of bread in the shape of a pig.
"See, now you have more pork to eat..." she said, wiping her greasy fingers, and turned her attention to her own meal. She ate but little meat, even now; she soaked her bread in the meat juices, but no more. She was quickly finished, while the rest were still eating; she leaned back in her chair and began to sing softly to Conn, who curled up contentedly in her lap. After a time she grew aware that they were all listening to her, and she let her voice drop away.
"Please go on singing, Mother," Uwaine said, but she shook her head.
"No, I am tired-listen, what did I hear in the courtyard?" She rose and signalled to one of the serving-men to light her to the doorway. Torch held high, he stood behind her, and she saw the rider come into the great courtyard. The serving-man stuck his torch into one of the wall brackets and hurried to help the rider dismount. "My lord Accolon!"
He came, his scarlet cape swirling behind him like a river of blood. "Lady Morgaine," he said, with a deep bow, "or should I say-my lady mother?"
"Please do not," Morgaine said impatiently. "Come in, Accolon, your father and brothers will be happy to see you."
"As you are not, lady?"
She bit her lip, suddenly wondering if she would weep. She said, "You are a king's son, as I am a king's daughter. Do I have to remind you how such marriages are made? It was not my doing, Accolon, and when we spoke together, I had no idea-" She stopped, and he looked down at her, then stooped over her hand.
He said so softly that even the serving-man did not hear, "Poor Morgaine. I believe you, lady. Peace between us, then-Mother?"
"Only if you do not call me Mother," she said, with a shred of a smile. "I am not so old. It is well enough for Uwaine-" and then, as they came back into the hall, Conn started upright and began to cry out again for "Granny!" Morgaine laughed, mirthlessly, and went back to pick up the toddler. She was aware of Accolon's eyes on her; she cast her own down at the child in her lap, listening silently as Uriens greeted his son.
Accolon came formally to embrace his brother, to bow before his brother's wife; he knelt and kissed his father's hand and then turned to Morgaine. She said shortly, "Spare me further courtesies, Accolon, my hands are all pork fat, I have been holding the baby, and he is a messy feeder."
"As you command, madam," said Accolon, going to the table and taking the plate one of the serving-women brought to him. But while he ate and drank, she was still conscious of his eyes.
I am sure he is still angry with me. Asking my hand in the morning, and in the evening, seeing me promised to his father; no doubt he thinks I succumbed to ambition-why marry the king's son if you can have the king?
"No," she said firmly, giving Conn a little shake, "if you are to stay in my lap you must be quiet and not paw at my dress with your greasy hands ...  ."
When he saw me last I was clad in scarlet and I was the king's sister, reputed a witch  ...  now I am a grandmother with a dirty child in my lap, looking after the housekeeping and nagging my old husband not to ride in mended boots which make his feet sore. Morgaine was acutely aware of every grey hair, every line in her face. In the name of the Goddess, why should I care what Accolon thinks of me? But she did care and she knew it; she was accustomed to having young men look at her and admire her, and now she felt that she was old, ugly, undesirable. She had never thought herself a beauty, but always before this she had been one of the younger people, and now she sat among the aging matrons. She hushed the child again, for Maline had asked Accolon what news of Arthur's court.
"There is no news of great doings," Accolon said. "I think those days are over for our lifetime. Arthur's court is quiet, and the King still does penance for some unknown sin-he touches no wine, even at high feast days."
"Has the Queen yet shown any signs of bearing him an heir?" Maline asked.
"None," said Accolon, "though one of her ladies told me before the mock games that she thought the Queen might be pregnant."
Maline turned to Morgaine and said, "You knew the Queen well, did you not, mother-in-law?"
"I did," said Morgaine, "and as for that rumor, well, Gwenhwyfar always thinks herself pregnant if her courses come a day late."
"The King is a fool," said Uriens. "He should put her away and take some woman who would give him a son. I remember all too well what chaos ruled the land when they thought Uther would die with no son. Now the succession should be firmly established."
Accolon said, "I have heard that the King has named one of his cousins for his heir-the son of Lancelet. I like that not-Lancelet is the son of Ban of Benwick, and we want no foreign High Kings reigning over our own."
Morgaine said firmly, "Lancelet is the son of the Lady of Avalon, of the old royal line."
"Avalon!" said Maline disdainfully. "This is a Christian land. What is Avalon to us now?"
"More than you think," said Accolon. "I have heard that some of the country people, who remember the Pendragon, are not happy with so Christian a court as Arthur's, and remember that Arthur, before his crowning, took oath to stand with the folk of Avalon."
"Yes," said Morgaine, "and he bears the great sword of the Holy Regalia of Avalon."
"The Christians seem not to hold that against him," Accolon said, "and now I remember some news from the court-King Edric of the Saxons has turned Christian and came to be baptized, with all his retinue, at Glaston-bury, and he knelt and took oath before Arthur in token that all the Saxon lands accepted Arthur as High King."
"Arthur? King over Saxons? Will wonders never cease!" Avalloch said. "I always heard him say he would deal with the Saxons only at the point of his sword!"
"Yet there he was, the Saxon king, kneeling in Glastonbury church, and Arthur hearing his oath and taking him by the hand," said Accolon. "Perhaps he will marry the Saxon's daughter to the son of Lancelet and have done with all this fighting. And there sat the Merlin among Arthur's councillors, and one would have said he was as good a Christian as any of them!"
"Gwenhwyfar must be happy now," said Morgaine. "Always she said God had given Arthur the victory at Mount Badon because he bore the banner of the Holy Virgin. And later I heard her say that God had spared his life that he might bring the Saxons into the fold of the church."
Uriens shrugged and said, "I do not think I would trust a Saxon behind me with an axe, even if he wore a bishop's miter!"
"Nor I," said Avalloch, "but if the Saxon chiefs are praying and doing penance for their souls' sake, at least they are not riding to burn our villages and abbeys. And as to penance and fasting-what, think you, can Arthur have on his conscience? When I rode with his armies, I was not among his Companions and knew him not so well, but he seemed an uncommon good man, and a penance of such length means some sin greater than common. Lady Morgaine, do you know, you who are his sister?"
"His sister, not his cpnfessor." Morgaine knew her voice was sharp, and fell silent.
Uriens said, "Any man who waged war for fifteen years among the Saxons must have more on his conscience than he cares to tell; but few are so tender of conscience as to think of it when the battle is past. All of us have known murder and ravage and blood and the slaughter of the innocent. But the battles are over for our lifetime, God grant, and having made our peace with men, we have leisure to make peace with God."
So Arthur does penance still, and that old Archbishop Patricius still holds the mortgage on his soul! How, I wonder, does Gwenhwyfar enjoy that?
"Tell us more of the court," Maline begged. "What of the Queen? What did she wear when she sat at court?"
Accolon laughed. "I know nothing of ladies' garments. Something of white, with pearls-the Marhaus, the great Irish knight, brought them to her from the Irish king. And her cousin Elaine, I heard, has borne Lancelet a daughter-or was that last year? She had a son already, I think, that was chosen Arthur's heir. And there is some scandal in King Pellinore's court -it seems that his son, Lamorak, went on a mission to Lothian, and now speaks of marrying Lot's widow, old Queen Morgause-"
Avalloch chuckled. "The boy must be mad. Morgause is fifty, at least, maybe more!"
"Five-and-forty," Morgaine said. "She is ten years older than I." And she wondered why she thus turned the knife in her own wound  ...  do I want Accolon to realize how old I am, grandmother to Uriens' brood ...  ?
"He is mad indeed," Accolon said, "singing ballads, and carrying about the lady's garter and such nonsense-"
"I should think that same garter would make a horse's halter by now," said Uriens, and Accolon shook his head.
"No-I have seen Lot's lady and she is a beautiful woman still. She is not a girl, but she seems all the more beautiful for that. What I wonder is, what can the woman want with a raw boy like that? Lamorak is not more than twenty."
"Or what can a boy like that want with the old lady?" Avalloch insisted.
"Perhaps," said Uriens, with a ribald laugh, "the lady is well learned at sport among the cushions. Though one would hardly think she could have learned it, married all those years to old Lot! But no doubt she had other teachers ...  ."
Maline flushed and said, "Please! Is this talk seemly in a Christian household?"
Uriens said, "If it were not, daughter-in-law, I doubt your girdle would be grown so wide."
"I am a married woman," said Maline, crimson.
Morgaine said sharply, "If to be a Christian household means not to speak of what one is not ashamed to do, then the Lady forbid I should ever call myself Christian!"
"Still," said Avalloch, "perhaps it is ill done to sit here at meat and tell ugly stories about lady Morgaine's kinswoman."
Accolon said, "Queen Morgause has no husband to be offended, and the lady is of age, and her own mistress. No doubt her sons are well pleased that she contents herself with a paramour and does not marry the boy! Is she not also the Duchess of Cornwall?"
"No," said Morgaine, "Igraine was Duchess of Cornwall after Gorlois was set down for his treason to Pendragon. Gorlois had no son, and since Uther gave Tintagel to Igraine for bride-gift, I suppose now it belongs to me." And Morgaine was suddenly overcome with homesickness for that half-remembered country, the bleak outline of castle and crags against the sky, the sudden dips into hidden valleys, the eternal noise of the sea below the castle  ...  Tintagel! My home! I cannot return to Avalon, but I am not homeless  ...  Cornwall is mine.
"And under the Roman law," said Uriens, "I suppose, as your husband, my dear, I am Duke of Cornwall."
Again Morgaine felt the surge of violent anger. Only when I am dead and buried, she thought. Uriens cares nothing for Cornwall, only that Tintagel, like myself, is his property, bearing the mark of his ownership! Would that I could go there, live there alone as Morgause at Lothian, my own mistress with none to command me. ... A picture came in her mind, the queen's chamber at Tintagel, and she seemed very small, she was playing with an old spindle on the floor ...  . If Uriens dares to lay claim to an acre of Cornwall, I will give him six feet of it, and dirt between his teeth!
"Tell me now your news of this country," said Accolon. "The spring was late-I see the plowmen are just getting into the fields."
"But they have nearly done with plowing," said Maline, "and Sunday they will go to bless the fields-"
"And they are choosing the Spring Maiden," said Uwaine. "I was down in the village, and I saw them choosing among all the pretty girls ... you were not here last year, Mother," he said to Morgaine. "They choose the prettiest of all for the Spring Maiden, and she walks in the procession around the fields when the priest comes to bless it... and there are dancers who dance round the fields  ...  and they carry an image made from the last harvest, made from the barley straw. Father Eian does not like that," he said, "but I don't know why not, it is so pretty ...  ."
The priest coughed and said self-consciously, "The blessing of the church should be enough-why should we need more than the word of God to make the fields grow and blossom? The straw image they carry is a memory of the bad old days when men and animals were burned alive so that their lives should make the fields fertile, and the Spring Maiden a memory of-well, I will not speak before children of that evil and idolatrous custom!"
"There was a day," said Accolon, speaking directly to Morgaine, "when the queen of the land was the Spring Maiden, and the Harvest Lady as well, and she did that office in the fields, that the fields might have life and fertility." Morgaine saw at his wrists the faint blue shadow of the serpents of Avalon.
Maline made the sign of the cross and said primly, "God be thanked that we live among civilized men."
Accolon said, "I doubt you would be asked to do that office, sister-in-law."
"No," said Uwaine, tactless as any boy, "she is not pretty enough. But our mother is, isn't she, Accolon?"
"I am glad you think my queen is handsome," said Uriens hastily, "but the past is past-we do not burn cats and sheep alive in the fields, nor kill the king's scapegoat to scatter his blood there, and it is no longer needful that the queen should bless the fields in that way."
No, thought Morgaine. Now all is sterile, now we have priests with their crosses, forbidding the lighting of the fires of fertility-it is a miracle the Lady does not blight the fields of grain, since she is angry at being denied her due ...  .
Soon after, the household went to rest; Morgaine, the last to rise from her seat, went to supervise the locks and bars, and then went, with a small lamp in her hand, to make sure Accolon had been given a good bed- Uwaine and his foster-brothers were now occupying the room that had been his when he lived here as a boy.
"Is all well with you here?"
"Everything I could desire," said Accolon, "except a lady to grace my chamber. My father is a fortunate man, lady. And you well deserve to be the wife of a king, not of, a king's younger son."
"Must you always taunt me?" she burst out. "I have told you; I was given no choice!"
"You were pledged to me!"
Morgaine knew that the color was leaving her face. She set her lips like stone. "Done is done, Accolon."
She lifted her lamp and turned away. He said behind her, almost a threat, "This is not done between us, lady."
Morgaine did not speak; she hurried along the corridor to the chamber she shared with Uriens. Her lady-in-waiting was ready to unlace her gown, but she sent the woman away. Uriens sat on the edge of the bed, groaning.
"Even those slippers are too hard on my feet! Aaah, it is good to go to rest!"
"Rest well, then, my lord."
"No," he said, and pulled her down at his side. "So tomorrow the fields are to be blessed ... and perhaps we should be grateful we live in a civilized land, and the king and the queen need no longer bless the fields by lying together in public. But on the eve of the blessing, dear lady, perhaps we should have our own blessing, private in our chamber-what would you say to that?"
Morgaine sighed. She had been scrupulously careful of her aging husband's pride; never did she make him feel less than a man for his occasional and clumsy use of her body. But Accolon had roused in her an anguished memory of her years in Avalon-the torches borne to the top of the Tor, the Beltane fires lighted and the maidens waiting in the plowed fields  ...  and tonight she had had to hear a shabby priest mocking what was, to her, holy beyond holiness. Now even Uriens, it seemed, made a mockery of it.
"I would say that such blessing as you and I might give the fields would be better left undone. I am old and barren, and you are not such a king as can give much life to the fields, either!"
Uriens stared at her. In all the year of their marriage she had never spoken a harsh word to him. He was too startled even to reproach her.
"I doubt it not, you are right," he said quietly. "Well, then, we will leave that to the young people. Come to bed, Morgaine." But when she lay down beside him, he lay quiet, and after a moment, he put a shy arm across her shoulders. Now Morgaine was regretting her harsh words  ...  she felt cold and alone, she lay biting her lip so that she would not cry, but when Uriens spoke to her, she pretended she was asleep.


MIDSUMMER DAWNED brilliant and beautiful; Morgaine, waking early, realized that, however much she might say to herself that the sun tides ran no longer in her blood, there was something within her that ran heavy with the summer. As she dressed, she looked dispassionately at the sleeping form of her husband.
She had been a fool. Why should she have accepted compliantly Arthur's word, fearing to embarrass him before his fellow kings? If he could not keep his throne without a woman's help it might be he did not deserve to hold it. He was a traitor to Avalon, an apostate; he had given her into the hands of another apostate. Yet she had meekly agreed to what they had planned for her.
Igraine let her life be used for their politics. And something in Morgaine, dead or sleeping since the day she fled forth from Avalon, bearing Gwydion within her womb, suddenly woke and stirred, moving sluggishly and slow like a sleeping dragon, a movement as secret and unseen as the first movements of a child in the womb; something that said, clear and quiet within her, If I would not let Viviane, whom I loved, use me this way, why should I bow my head meekly and let myself be used for Arthur's purposes? I am queen in North Wales, and I am duchess in Cornwall, where Gorlois's name still means something, and I am of the royal line of Avalon.
Uriens groaned, heaving himself stiffly over. "Ah, God, I ache in every muscle and there is a toothache in every toe of my foot-I rode too far yesterday. Morgaine, will you rub my back?"
She started to fling back furiously, You have a dozen body servants, and I am your wife, not your slave, then stopped herself; instead she smiled and said, "Yes, of course," and sent a pageboy for her vials of herbal oil. Let him think her still compliant to everything; healing was a part of a priestess's work. If it was the smallest part, still, it gave her access to his plans and his thoughts. She rubbed his back and kneaded salve into his sore feet, listening to the small details of the land dispute he had ridden out yesterday to settle. For Uriens, any woman could be queen, he wants only a smiling face and kind hands to cosset him. Well, he shall have them while it suits my purpose.
"And now it looks as if we would have a fine day for the blessing of the crops. We never have rain at Midsummer-day," Uriens said. "The Lady shines on her fields when they are consecrated to her-that is what they used to say when I was young and a pagan, that the Great Marriage could not be consummated in the rain." He chuckled. "Still, I remember once when I was very young, when the fields had been rained on for ten days, and the priestess and I might have been pigs wallowing in the mud!"
Against her will, Morgaine smiled; the picture he made in her mind was ludicrous. "Even in ritual, the Goddess will have her joke," she said, "and one of her names is the Great Sow, and we are all her piglets."
"Ah, Morgaine, those were good times," he said, then his face tightened. "Of course, that was long ago-now what the folk want in their kings is dignity. Those days are gone, and forever."
Are they? I wonder. But Morgaine said nothing. It occurred to her that Uriens, when he was younger, might have been a king strong enough to resist the tide of Christianity washing over the land. If Viviane had tried harder to put a king on the throne who was not bound hard and fast to the rule of the priests  ...  but of course, who could have foreseen that Gwenhwyfar would be pious beyond all reason? And why had the Merlin done nothing?
If the Merlin of Britain and the wise folk at Avalon had done nothing to stem this tide that was drowning the land and washing away all the old ways and the old Gods, why should she blame Uriens, who was after all only an old man, and wanted peace? There was no reason to make him an enemy. If he was content, it would not matter to him what she did  ...  she did not know yet what she meant to do. But she knew that her days of silent compliance were over.
She said, "I wish I had known you then," and let him kiss her on the forehead.
If I had been married to him when first I became marriageable, North Wales might never have become a Christian land. But it is not too late. There are those who have not forgotten that the king still wears, however faded, the serpents of Avalon about his arms. And he has married one who was a High Priestess of the Lady.
I could have done her work better here than all those years at Arthur's court, in Gwenhwyfar's shadow. It occurred to Morgaine that Gwenhwyfar would have been content with a husband like Uriens, whom she could keep within her own sphere, rather than one like Arthur, living an entire life in which she had no part.
And there had been a time, too, when Morgaine had had influence with Arthur-the influence of the woman he had first taken in coming to manhood, who wore, for him, the face of the Goddess. Yet, in her folly and pride, she had let him fall into the hands of Gwenhwyfar and the priests. Now, when it was too late, she began to understand what Viviane had intended.
Between us, we could have ruled this land; they would have called Gwenhwyfar the High Queen, but she would have had Arthur only in body; he would have been mine in heart and soul and mind. Ah, what a fool I was ... . He and I could have ruled-for Avalon! Now Arthur is the priests' creature. And he bears, still, the great sword of the Druid Regalia, and the Merlin of Britain does nothing to hinder him.
I must take up the work that Viviane let fall ...  .
Ah, Goddess, I have forgotten so much ...  .
And then she stopped, shaking at her own daring. Uriens had reached a pause in his tale; she had ceased rubbing his feet, and he looked down questioning at her, and she said hastily, "I am quite sure you did the right thing, my dear husband," and spread some more of the sweet-smelling salve on her hands. She had not the slightest idea what she had agreed to, but Uriens smiled and went on with his tale, and Morgaine slid off into her own thoughts again.
I am a priestess still. Strange how I am suddenly sure of that again, after all these years, when even the dreams of Avalon are gone.
She pondered what Accolon had told them. Elaine had borne a daughter. She herself could not give Avalon a daughter, but as Viviane had done, she would bring her a fosterling. She helped Uriens to dress, went down with him, and with her own hands fetched him fresh new-baked bread from the kitchen and some of the foaming new beer. She served him, spreading honey on his bread. Let him think her the most doting of his subjects, let him think her only his sweet compliant wife. It meant nothing to her, but one day it might mean much to have his trust, so that she could do what she chose.
"Even with the summer my old bones ache-I think, Morgaine, that I will ride south to Aquae Sulis and take the waters there. There is an ancient shrine to Sul-when the Romans were here they built a huge bathhouse, and some of it is still there, unfallen. The great pools are choked, and when the Saxons came they carried off much of the fine work, and threw down the statue of the Goddess, but the spring is still there, undamaged-boiling up in clouds of steam, day after day and year after year, from the forges at the center of the earth. It is awesome to behold! And there are hot pools where a man can soak all the weariness from his bones. I have not been there for two or three years, but I shall go again, now the countryside is quiet."
"I see no reason you should not," she agreed, "now there is peace in the land."
"Would you care to go with me, my dear? We can leave my sons to care for everything here, and the old shrine would interest you."
"I would like to see the shrine," she said, sincerely enough. She thought of the cold unfailing waters of the Holy Well on Avalon, bubbling up inexhaustible, forever, sourceless, cool, clear ...  . "Still, I do not know if it would be well to leave all things in your sons' hands. Avalloch is a fool. Accolon is clever, but he is only a younger son-I do not know if your people would listen to him. Perhaps if I were here, Avalloch would take counsel of his younger brother."
"An excellent idea, my dear," Uriens said sunnily, "and in any case it would be a long journey for you. If you are here I will not have the slightest hesitation in leaving all things to the young men-I will tell them they must come to you for good advice in all things."
"And when will you set forth?" It would not be at all a bad thing, Morgaine thought, if it were known that Uriens did not hesitate to leave his kingdom in her hands.
"Tomorrow, perhaps. Or even after the blessing of the crops this day. Will you have them pack my things?"
"Are you sure you can travel that long a road? It is not an easy ride even for a young man-"
"Come, come, my dear, I am not yet too old to ride," he said, frowning a little, "and I am sure the waters will do me good."
"I am sure they will." Morgaine rose, leaving her own breakfast almost untasted. "Let me call your body servant and have everything made ready for you to depart."
She stood at his side during the long procession around the fields, standing on a little hill above the village and watching the capering dancers, like young goats  ...  she wondered if any of them so much as knew the significance of the phallic green wands wound about with red and white garlands, and the pretty girl with her hair streaming, who walked, serene and indifferent, among them. She was fresh and young, not fourteen, and her hair was coppery gold, streaming halfway between her waist and knees; and she had on a gown, dyed green, that looked very old. Did any of them know what they were watching, or see the incongruity of the priest's procession, following them, two boys in black carrying candles and crosses, and the priest intoning the prayers in his bad Latin; Morgaine spoke better Latin than he!
These priests hate fertility and life so much, it is a miracle their so-called blessing does not blast the fields sterile-
It was like an answer from her own mind when a voice spoke softly behind her. "I wonder, lady, if any here save ourselves truly know what they are watching?"
Accolon took her arm for a moment to help her over a rough clump of the plowed land, and she saw again the serpents, fresh and blue along his wrists.
"King Uriens knows and has tried to forget. That seems to me a worse blasphemy than not to know at all."
She had expected that would make him angry; had, in a way, been inviting it. With Accolon's strong hands on her arm, she felt the strong hunger, the inner leap ... he was young, he was a virile man, and she- she was the aging wife of his old father  ...  and the eyes of Uriens' subjects were on them, and the eyes of his family and his house priest! She could not even speak freely, she must treat him with cold detachment: her stepson! If Accolon said anything kind or pitying, she would scream aloud, would tear at her hair, at her face and flesh with her nails ...  .
But Accolon only said, in a voice that could not have been overheard three feet away, "Perhaps it is enough for the Lady that we know, Morgaine. The Goddess will not fail us while a single worshipper gives her what is due."
For a moment she looked round at him. His eyes were dwelling on her, and although his hands on hers were careful, courteous, detached, it seemed that heat ran upward from them into her whole body. She was suddenly frightened and wanted to pull away.
I am his father's wife and of all women I am the one most forbidden to him. I am more forbidden to him, in this Christian land, than I was to Arthur.
And then a memory from Avalon surfaced in her mind, something she had not thought of for a decade; one of the Druids, giving instruction in the secret wisdom to the young priestesses, had said, If you would have the message of the Gods to direct your life, look for that which repeats, again and again; for this is the message given you by the Gods, the karmic lesson you must learn for this incarnation. It comes again and again until you have made it part of your soul and your enduring spirit.
What has come to me again and again  ...  ?
Every man she had desired had been too close kin to her-Lancelet, who was the son of her foster-mother; Arthur, her own mother's son; now the son of her husband  ...
But they are too close kin to me only by the laws made by the Christians who seek to rule this land  ...  to rule it in a new tyranny; not alone to make the laws but to rule the mind and heart and soul. Am I living out in my own life all the tyranny of that law, so I as priestess may know why it must be overthrown?
She discovered that her hands, still tightly held in Accolon's, were trembling. She said, trying to collect her scattered thoughts, "Do you truly believe that the Goddess would withdraw her life from this earth if the folk who dwell here should no longer give her her due?"
It was the sort of remark that might have been made, priestess to priest, in Avalon. Morgaine knew, as well as anyone, that the true answer to that question was that the Gods were what they were, and did their will upon the earth regardless of whether man regarded their doing one way or the other. But Accolon said, with a curious animal flash of white teeth in a grin, "Then must we make it sure, lady, that she should always be given her due, lest the life of the world fail." And then he addressed her by a name never spoken except by priest to priestess in ritual, and Morgaine felt her heart beating so hard she was dizzy.
Lest the life of the world fail. Lest my life fail within me ... he has called on me in the name of the Goddess ...  .
"Be still," she said, distracted. "This is neither the time nor the place for such talk."
"No?" They had come to the edge of the rough ground. He let go of her hand and somehow her own felt cold without it. Ahead of them the masked dancers shook their phallic wands and capered, and the Spring Maiden, her long hair buffeted and tangled by the breeze, was going around the circle of the dancers, exchanging a kiss with each-a ritualized, formal kiss, where her lips barely touched each cheek. Uriens beckoned Morgaine impatiently to his side; she moved stiffly and cold, feeling the spot on her wrists where Accolon had held her as a spot of heat on her icy body.
Uriens said fussily, "It is your part, my dear, to give out these things to the dancers who have entertained us this day." He motioned to a servant, who filled Morgaine's hands with sweets and candied fruits; she tossed them to the dancers and the spectators, who scrambled for them, laughing and pushing. Always mockery of the sacred things  ...  a memory of the day when the folk scrambled for bits of the flesh and blood of the sacrifice ...  . Let the rite be forgotten, but not mocked this way! Again and yet again they filled her hands with the sweets, and again and again she tossed them into the crowd. They saw no more in the rite than dancers who had entertained them; had they all forgotten? The Spring Maiden came up to Morgaine, laughing and flushed with innocent pride; Morgaine saw now that although she was lovely, her eyes were shallow, her hands thick and stubby with work in the fields. She was only a pretty peasant girl trying to do the work of a priestess, without the slightest idea what she was doing; it was folly to resent her.
Yet she is a woman, doing the Mother's work in the best way she has ever been told; it is not her fault that she was not schooled in Avalon for the great work. Morgaine did not quite know what was expected of her, but as the girl knelt for a moment before the Queen, Morgaine took on the half-forgotten stance of a priestess in blessing, and felt for an instant the old awareness of something shadowing her, above her, beyond  ...  she laid her hands for a moment on the girl's brow, felt the momentary flow of power between them, and the girl's rather stupid face was transfigured for a moment. The Goddess works in her, too, Morgaine thought, and then she saw Accolon's face; he was looking at her in wonder and awe. She had seen that look before, when she brought down the mists from Avalon  ...  and the awareness of power flooded her, as if she were suddenly reborn.
I am alive again. After all these years, I am a priestess again, and it was Accolon who brought it back to me ...  .
And then the tension of the moment broke, and the girl backed away, stumbling over her feet, and dropping a clumsy curtsey to the royal party. Uriens distributed coins to the dancers and a somewhat larger gift to the village priest for candles to burn in his church, and the royal party went homeward. Morgaine walked sedately at Uriens' side, her face a mask, but inwardly seething with life. Her stepson Uwaine came and walked beside her.
"It was prettier than usual this year, Mother. Shanna is so lovely-the Spring Maiden, the daughter of the blacksmith Euan. But you, Mother, when you were blessing her, you looked so beautiful, you should have been the Spring Maiden yourself-"
"Come, come," she chided the boy, laughing. "Do you really think I could dress in green with my hair flying, and dance all round the plowed fields that way? And I am no maiden!"
"No," said Uwaine, surveying her with a long look, "but you looked like the Goddess. Father Eian says that the Goddess was really a demon who came to keep the folk from serving the good Christ, but do you know what I think? I think that the Goddess was here for people to worship before they were taught how to worship the holy mother of Christ."
Accolon was walking beside them. He said, "Before the Christ, the Goddess was, and it will not hurt if you think of her as Mary, Uwaine. You should always do service to the Lady, under whatever name. But I would not advise you to speak much about this to Father Eian."
"Oh no," said the boy, his eyes wide. "He does not approve of women, even when they are Goddesses."
"I wonder what he thinks of queens?" Morgaine murmured. Then they had arrived back at the castle and Morgaine had to see to King Uriens' travelling things, and in the confusion of the day, she let the new insights slide into the back of her mind, knowing that later she would have to consider all this most seriously.
Uriens rode away after midday, with his men-at-arms and a body servant or two, taking leave of Morgaine tenderly with a kiss, counselling his son Avalloch to listen to Accolon's counsel and that of the queen in all things. Uwaine was sulking; he wanted to go with his father, whom he adored, but Uriens would not be troubled with a child in the party. Morgaine had to comfort him, promise some special treat for him while his father was away. But at last all was quiet, and Morgaine could sit alone before the fire in the great hall-Maline had taken her children off to bed -and think of all that had befallen her that day.
It was twilight outside, the long evening of Midsummer. Morgaine had taken her spindle and distaff in her hand, but she was only pretending to spin, twirling it once in a while and drawing out a little thread; she disliked spinning as much as ever, and one of the few things she had asked of Uriens was that she might employ two extra spinning women so that she would be free of that detested task; she did twice her share of the household weaving in its stead. She dared not spin; it would throw her into that strange state between sleep and waking, and she feared what she might see. So now she only twirled the spindle now and again, that none of the servants would see her sitting with her hands idle ... not that anyone would have the right to reproach her, she was busy early and late ...  .
The room was darkening, a few slashes of crimson light from the setting sun still brilliant, darkening the corners by contrast. Morgaine narrowed her eyes, thinking of the red sun setting over the ring stones on the Tor, of the priestesses walking in train behind the red torchlight, spilling it into the shadows... for a moment Raven's face flickered before her, silent, enigmatic, and it seemed that Raven opened her silent lips and spoke her name ... faces floated before her in the twilight: Elaine, her hair all unbound as the torchlight caught her in Lancelet's bed; Gwenhwyfar, angry and triumphant at Morgaine's wedding; the calm, still face of the strange woman with braided fair hair, the woman she had seen only in dreams, Lady of Avalon ... Raven again, frightened, entreating ... Arthur, bearing a candle of penitence as he walked among his subjects  ...  oh, but the priests would never dare force the King to public penance, would they? And then she saw the barge of Avalon, draped all in black for a funeral, and her own face like a reflection on the mists, mirrored there, with three other women draped all in black like the barge, and a wounded man lying white and still in her lap-
Torchlight flared crimson across the dark room, and a voice said, "Are you trying to spin in the dark, Mother?"
Confused by the light, Morgaine looked up and said peevishly, "I have told you not to call me that!"
Accolon put the torch into a bracket, and came to sit at her feet. "The Goddess is Mother to us all, lady, and I acknowledge you as such ...  ."
"Are you mocking me?" Morgaine demanded, agitated.
"I do not mock." As Accolon knelt close to her, his lips trembled. "I saw your face today. Would I mock that-wearing these?" He thrust out his arms, and by a trick of the light, the blue serpents dyed on his wrists seemed to writhe and thrust up their painted heads. "Lady, Mother, Goddess-" His painted arms went out around her waist, and he buried his head in her lap. He muttered, "Yours is the face of the Goddess to me ...  ."
As if she moved in a dream, Morgaine put out her hands to him, bending to kiss the back of his neck where the soft hair curled. Part of her was wondering, frightened, What am I doing? Is it only that he has called on me in the name of the Goddess, priest to priestess? Or is it only that when he touches me, speaks to me, I feel myself woman and alive again after all this time when I have felt myself old, barren, half dead in this marriage to a dead man and a dead life? Accolon raised his face to her, kissed her full on the lips. Morgaine, yielding to the kiss, felt herself melting, opened, a shudder, half pain half pleasure, running through her as his tongue against hers shot waking memories through her whole body ... so long, so long, this long year when her body had been deadened, never letting itself wake lest it be aware of what Uriens was doing. ...  She thought, defiant, I am a priestess, my body is mine to be given in homage to her! What I did with Uriens was the sin, the submission to lust! This is true and holy ...  .
His faands trembled on her body; but when he spoke, his voice was quiet and practical.
"I think all the castle folk are abed. I knew you would be here waiting for me ...  ."
For a moment Morgaine resented his certainty; then she bowed her head. They were in the hands of the Goddess and she would not refuse the flow that carried her on, like a river; long, long, she had only whirled about in a backwater, and now she was washed clean into the current of life again. "Where is Avalloch?"
He laughed shortly. "He is gone down to the village to lie with the Spring Maiden ... it is one of our customs that the village priest does not know. Ever, since our father was old and we were grown men, it has been so, and Avalloch does not think it incompatible with his duty as a Christian man, to be the father of his people, or as many of them as possible, like Uriens himself in his youth. Avalloch offered to cast lots with me for the privilege, and I had started to do so, then I remembered your hands blessing her, and knew where my true homage lay ...  ."
She murmured half in protest, "Avalon is so far away  ... "
He said, with his face against her breast, "But she is everywhere."
Morgaine whispered, "So be it," and rose. She pulled him upright with her and made a half turn toward the stairs, then stopped. No, not here; there was not a bed in this castle that they could honorably share. And the Druid maxim returned to her, Can that which was never made nor created by Man, be worshipped under a roof made by human hands?
Out, then, into the night. As they stepped into the empty courtyard, a falling star rushed downward across the sky, so swiftly that for an instant it seemed to Morgaine that the heavens reeled and the earth moved backward under her feet  ...  then it was gone, leaving their eyes dazzled. A portent. The Goddess welcomes me back to herself ...  .
"Come," she whispered, her hand in Accolon's, and led him upward to the orchard, where the white ghosts of blossom drifted in the darkness and fell around them. She spread her cloak on the grass, like a magic circle under the sky; held out her arms and whispered, "Come."
The dark shadow of his body over her blotted out the sky and the stars.


MORGAINE SPEAKS  ...

Even as we lay together under the stars that Midsummer, I knew that what we had done was not so much lovemaking as a magical act of passionate power; that his hands, the touch of his body, were reconsecrating me priestess, and that it was her will. Blind as I was to all at that moment, I heard around us in the summer night the sound of whispers and I knew that we were not alone.
He would have held me in his arms, but I rose, driven on by whatever power held me now at this hour, and raised my hands above my head, bringing them down slowly, my eyes closed, my breath held in the tension of power  ...  and only when I heard him gasp in awe did I venture to open my eyes, to see his body rimmed with that same faint light which edged my own.
It is done and she is with me ...  . Mother, I am unworthy in thy sight  ...  but now it has come again. ... 7 held my breath to keep from breaking out into wild weeping. After all these years, after my own betrayal and my faithlessness, she has come again to me and I am priestess once more. A pale glimmer of moonlight showed me, at the edge of the field where we lay, though I saw not even a shadow, the glimmer of eyes like some animal in the hedgerow. We were not alone, the little people of the hills had known where we were and what she wrought here, and come to see the consummation unknown here since Uriens grew old and the world had turned grey and Christian. I heard the echo of a reverent whisper and returned it in a tongue of which I knew less than a dozen words, just audible where I stood and where Accolon still knelt in reverence.
"It is done; so let it be!"
I bent and kissed him on the brow, repeating, "It is done. Go, my dear; be thou blessed."
He would have stayed, I know, had I been the woman with whom he had come into that garden; but before the priestess he went silent away, not questioning the word of the Goddess.
There was no sleep for me that night. Alone, I walked in the garden till dawn, and I knew already, shaking with terror, what must be done. I did not know how, or whether, alone, I could do what I had begun, but as I had been made priestess so many years ago and renounced it, so must I retrace my steps alone. This night I had been given a great grace; but I knew there would be no more signs for me and no help given until I had made myself, alone, unaided, again the priestess I had been trained to be.
I bore still on my brow, faded beneath that housewifely coif Uriens would have me wear, the sign of her grace, but that would not help me now. Gazing at the fading stars, I did not know whether or no the rising sun would surprise me at my vigil; the sun tides had not run in my blood for half a lifetime, and I no longer knew the precise place on the eastern horizon where I should turn to salute the sun at its rising. I knew not, anymore, even how the moon-tides ran with the cycles of my body  ...  so far had I come from the training of Avalon. Alone, with no more than a fading memory, I must somehow recapture all the things I had once known as part of myself.
Before dawn I went silently indoors, and moving in the dark, found for myself the one token I had of Avalon-the little sickle knife I had taken from Viviane's dead body, a knife like the one I had borne as priestess and had abandoned in Avalon when I fled from there. I bound it silently around my waist, beneath my outer garments; it would never leave my side again and it would be buried with me.
I wore it thus, hidden there, the only memory I could keep of that night. I did not even paint the crescent anew on my brow, partly because of Uriens-he would have questioned it-and partly because I knew I was not, yet, worthy to bear it; I would not have worn the crescent as he wore the faded serpents about his arms, an ornament and a half-forgotten reminder of what once he had been and was no more. Over these next months and as they stretched into years, one part of me moved like a painted doll through the duties he demanded of me-spinning and weaving, making herbal medicines, looking to the needs of son and grandson, listening to my husband's talk, embroidering him fine clothes and tending him in sickness  ...  all these things I did without much thought, with the very surface of my mind and a body gone numb for those times when he took brief and distasteful possession of it.
But the knife was there to touch now and again for reassurance as I learned again to count sun tides from equinox to solstice and back to equinox again  ...  count them painfully on my fingers like a child or a novice priestess; it was years before I could feel them running in my blood again, or know to a hairline's difference where on the horizon moon or sun would rise or set for the salutations I learned again to make. Again, late at night while the household lay sleeping round me, I would study the stars, letting their influence move in my blood as they wheeled and swung around me until I became only a pivot point on the motionless earth, center of the whirling dance around and above me, the spiraling movement of the seasons. I rose early and slept late so that I might find hours to range into the hills, on pretext of seeking root and herb for medicines, and there I sought out the old lines of force, tracing them from standing stone to hammer pool ...  it was weary work and it was years before I knew even a few of them near to Uriens' castle.
But even in that first year, when I struggled with fading memory, trying to recapture what I had known so many years ago, I knew my vigils were not unshared. I was never unattended, though never did I see more than I had seen that first night, the gleam of an eye in the darkness, a flicker of motion out of the corner of my eyes  ...  they were seldom seen, even here in the far hills, anywhere in village and field; they lived their own life secretly in deserted hills and forests where they had fled when the Romans came. But I knew they were there, that the little folk who had never lost sight of Her watched over me.
Once in the far hills I found a ring of stones, not a great one like that which stood on the Tor at Avalon, nor the greater one which had once been Temple of the Sun on the great chalk plains; here the stones were no more than shoulder-high even on me (and I am not tall) and the circle no greater than the height of a tall man. A small slab of stone, the stains faded and overgrown with lichens, was half-buried in the grass at the center. I pulled it free of weed and lichen-, and as I did whenever I could find food unseen in the kitchens, left for her people such things as I knew seldom came to them-a slab of barley bread, a bit of cheese, a lump of butter. And once when I went there I found at the very center of the stones a garland of the scented flowers which grew on the border of the fairy country; dried, they would never fade. When next I took Accolon out of doors when the moon was full, I wore them tied about my brow as we came together in that solemn joining which swept away the individual and made us only Goddess and God, affirming the endless life of the cosmos, the flow of power between male and female as between earth and sky. After that I went never unattended beyond my own garden. I knew better than to look for them directly, but they were there and I knew they would be there if I needed them. It was not for nothing that I had been given that old name, Morgaine of the Fairies  ...  and now they acknowledged me as their priestess and their queen.
I came to the stone circle, walking by night, when the harvest moon sank low in the sky and the breath of the fourth winter grew cold on the eve of the Day of the Dead. There, wrapped in my cloak and shivering through the night, I kept the vigil, fasting; snow was drifting out of the sky when I rose and turned my steps homeward, but as I left the circle I turned my foot on a stone which had not been there when I came thither, and, bending my head, I saw the pattern of white stones arranged.

: :
 :
: :


I bent, moving one stone to make the next in sequence of the magical numbers -the tides had shifted and now we were under the winter's stars. Then I went home, shivering, to tell a story of being benighted in the hills and sleeping in an empty shepherd's hut-Uriens had been frightened by the snow, and sent two men to seek me. Snow, lying deep on the mountainsides, kept me within doors much of the winter, but I knew when the storms would lift and risked the journey to the ring stones at Midwinter, knowing the stones would be clear  ...  snow lay never within the great circles, I knew, and I guessed that it would be so here in the smaller circles, where magic was still done.
And there at the very center of the circle I saw a tiny bundle-a scrap of leather tied with sinew. My fingers were recapturing their old skill and did not fumble as I untied it and rolled the contents into my palm. They looked like a couple of dried seeds, but they were the tiny mushrooms which grew so rarely near Avalon. They were no use as food, and most folk thought them poison, for they would cause vomiting and purging and a bloody flux; but taken sparingly, fasting, they could open the gates to the Sight ...  this was a gift more precious than gold. They grew not in this country at all, and I could only guess how far the little folk had wandered in search of them. I left them what food I had brought, dried meats and fruits and a honeycomb, but not in repayment; the gift was priceless. I knew that I would lock myself within my chamber at Midwinter, and there seek again the Sight I had renounced. With the gates of vision thus opened I could seek and dare the very presence of the Goddess, begging to reprcnounce what I had forsworn. I had no fear that I would be cast forth again. It was she who sent me this gift that I might seek again her presence.
And I bent to the ground in thanksgiving, knowing that my prayers had been heard and my penance done.

10

The snow was beginning to melt off the hills and a few of the earliest wild flowers showed in sheltered valleys when the Lady of the Lake was summoned to the barge to greet the Merlin of Britain. Kevin looked pale and worn, his face haggard, his twisted limbs dragging more reluctantly than ever, and he braced himself with a stout stick. Niniane noticed, her eyes hiding the pity she felt, that he had been forced to put My Lady from him into the hands of a serving-man, and she pretended not to see, knowing what a blow that must have been to his pride. She slowed her own steps on the path toward her dwelling place, and there she welcomed him, summoned her women to build up the fire, and sent for wine, of which he took only a token sip, and bowed gravely in thanks.
"What brings you here so early in the year, Venerable?" she asked him. "Have you come from Camelot?"
He shook his head. "I was there for a part of the winter," he said, "and I spoke much with Arthur's councillors, but early in the spring I went southward on a mission to the treaty troops-I should say now, I suppose, the Saxon kingdoms. And I take it you know whom I saw there, Niniane. Was that Morgause's doing, or yours, I wonder?"
"Neither," she said quietly. "It was Gwydion's own choice. He knew he should have some experience in battle, Druid teaching or no-there have been warrior Druids ere this. And he chose to go south to the Saxon kingdoms-they are allied with Arthur, but there he would not come under Arthur's eyes. He did not-for reasons known as well to you as to me- wish for Arthur to set eyes on him." After a moment she added, "I would not swear that Morgause did not influence his choice. He takes counsel of her, when he will seek the counsel of any."
"Is it so?" Kevin raised his eyebrows. "Aye, I suppose so-she is the only mother he has ever known. And she ruled Lot's kingdom as well as any man, and still rules, even with her new consort."
"I heard not that she had a new consort," said Niniane. "I cannot see as well what happens in the kingdoms as did Viviane."
"Aye, she had the Sight to aid her," Kevin said, "and maidens with the Sight when her own Sight failed her. Have you none, Niniane?"
"I have-some," she said hesitating. "Yet it fails me now and again-" and she was silent a moment, staring at the flagstones of the floor. At last she said, "I think-Avalon is-is drifting further from the lands of men, Lord Merlin. What season was it in the world outside?"
"Ten days have passed since the equinox, Lady," said Kevin.
Niniane drew a long breath. "And I kept that feast but seven days since. It is as I thought-the lands are drifting. As yet no more than a few days in every moon, but I fear soon we shall be as far from sun tide and moon tide as that fairy kingdom they tell of... it is ever harder to summon the mists and to pass forth from this land."
"I know," said Kevin. "Why, think you, I came at the slack of the tide?" He smiled his twisted grin and said, "You should rejoice-you will not age as women in the outer world are prone to age, Lady, but remain younger."
"You do not comfort me," said Niniane with a shudder. "Yet there is none in the outer world whose fate I follow, save-"
"Gwydion's," said Kevin. "I thought as much. But there is one with whose fate you should be concerned as well-"
"Arthur in his palace? He has renounced us," said Niniane, "and Avalon lends him no more help-"
"It is not of Arthur I spoke," said Kevin, "nor does he seek help from Avalon, not now. But-" He hesitated. "I heard it from the folk of the hills -there is a king again in Wales, and a queen."
"Uriens?" Niniane laughed, a scoffing laugh. "He is older than those same hills, Kevin! What can he do for those folk?"
"Nor did I speak of Uriens," said Kevin. "Had you forgotten? Morgaine is there, and the Old People have accepted her as their queen. She will protect them, even against Uriens, while she lives. Had you forgotten that the son of Uriens had teaching here, and wears the serpents about his wrists?"
Niniane was silent for a moment, motionless. At last she said, "I had forgotten that. He was not the elder son, so I thought he would never reign-"
"The elder son is a fool," said Kevin, "though the priests think him a good successor to his father, and from their view, he is so-pious and simple and he will not interfere with their church. The priests trust not the second son-Accolon-because he wears the serpents. And, since Morgaine has come there, he has remembered it, and serves her as his queen. And for the folk of the hills she is queen, too, whoever may sit on the throne in the Roman fashion. For them, the king is he who dies yearly among the deer, but the queen is eternal. And it may be that in the end Morgaine will do what Viviane left undone."
Niniane could hear, with a detached surprise, the bitterness in her own voice. "Kevin, not for one day since Viviane died and they came to set me here, have I been allowed to forget that I am not Viviane, that after Viviane I am nothing. Even Raven follows me with her great silent eyes that say always, You are not Viviane, you cannot do the work Viviane spent her life to do. I know it well-that I was chosen only because I am the last of Taliesin's blood and there was no other, that I am not of the royal line of the Queen of Avalon! No, I am not Viviane, and I am not Morgaine, but I have served faithfully here in this place when I sought it never and when it was thrust upon me because of Taliesin's blood. I have been faithful to my vows- is this nothing to anyone?"
"Lady," said Kevin gently, "Viviane was such a priestess as comes not into this world more than once in many hundreds of years, even in Avalon. And her reign was long-she ruled here for nine-and-thirty years, and very few of us can remember before her time. Any priestess who must follow in her steps would feel herself less in comparison. There is nothing for which you must reproach yourself. You have been faithful to your vows."
"As Morgaine was not," said Niniane.
"True. But she is of the blood royal of Avalon, and she bore the heir to the King Stag. It is not for us to judge her."
"You defend her because you were her lover-" Niniane flared, and Kevin raised his head. She had not realized; set within the dark and twisted face, his eyes were blue, like the very center of flame. He said quietly, "Would you try to pick a quarrel with me, Lady? That is over and gone years since, and when last I saw Morgaine, she called me traitor and worse, and drove me from her presence with harsh words such as no man with blood in his veins could forgive. Do you think I love her too well? But it is not my place to judge her, nor yours. You are the Lady of the Lake. Morgaine is my queen, and Queen of Avalon. She does her work in the world as you do yours here-and I where the Gods lead me. And they led me this spring into the fen country, where, at the court of a Saxon who calls himself king under Arthur, I saw Gwydion."
Niniane had been schooled in her long training to keep her face impassive; but she knew that Kevin, who had had the same teaching, could see that she must do so with an effort, and felt that somehow those sharp eyes could read within her. She wanted to ask news of him, but instead she said only, "Morgause told me that he has some knowledge of strategy and is no coward in battle. How fared he, then, among those barbarians who would rather batter out brains with their great clubs than make use of them at their courts? I knew he went south to the Saxon kingdoms because one of them wished for a Druid at court who could read and write and knew something of figures and mapmaking. And he said to me that he wished to be seasoned in war without coming under the eye of Arthur, so I suppose he had his wish. Even though there has been peace in the land, there is always fighting among yonder folk-is the Saxon God not one of war and battles?"
"Mordred, they call Gwydion, which means "Evil Counsel" in their tongue. It is a compliment-they mean it is evil for those who would harm them. They give every guest a name, as they call Lancelet Elf-arrow."
"Among the Saxons, a Druid, even a young one, might seem wiser than he is, in contrast to all their thick heads! And Gwydion is clever! Even as a boy he could think of a dozen answers for everything!"
"Clever he is," said Kevin slowly, "and knows well how to make himself loved, I have seen that. Me, he welcomed as if I had been his favorite uncle in childhood, saying how good it was to see a familiar face from Avalon, embracing me, making much of me-all as if he loved me well."
"No doubt he was lonely and you were like a breath from home," said Niniane, but Kevin frowned and drank a little wine, then set it down and forgot it again. He demanded, "How far did Gwydion go in the magical training?"
"He wears the serpents," Niniane said.
"That may mean much or little," Kevin said. "You should know that-" And although the words were innocent, Niniane felt their sting; a priestess who bore the crescent on her brow might be a Viviane- or no more than she herself. She said, "He is to return at Midsummer to be made King of Avalon, that state Arthur betrayed. And now he is grown to manhood-"
Kevin warned, "He is not ready to be king."
"Do you doubt his courage? Or his loyalty-"
"Oh-courage," said Kevin, and made a dismissing gesture. "Courage, and cleverness-but it is his heart I trust not and cannot read. And he is not Arthur."
"It is well for Avalon that he is not," Niniane flared. "We need no more apostates who swear loyalty to Avalon and forsake their oath to the folk of the hills! The priests may set a pious hypocrite on the throne, who will serve whatever God he finds expedient at the moment-"
Kevin raised his twisted hand, with such a commanding gesture that Niniane fell silent. "Avalon is not the world! We have neither strength, nor armies, nor craft, and Arthur is loved beyond measure. Not in Avalon, I grant you, but all the length and breadth of these islands, where Arthur is the hand that has created the peace they value. At this moment, any voice arising against Arthur would be silenced within months, if not within days. Arthur is loved-he is the very spirit of all Britain. And even if it were otherwise, what we do in Avalon has little weight in the world outside. As you marked, we are drifting into the mists."
"Then all the more must we move quickly, to bring Arthur down and set a king on the throne of Britain who will restore Avalon to the world and the Goddess ...  ."
Kevin said quietly, "I wonder, sometimes, if that can ever be done- if we have all spent our lives within a dream without reality."
"You say that? You, the Merlin of Britain?"
"I have been at Arthur's court, not sheltered in an island that moves ever further from the world outside," said Kevin gently. "This is my home, and I would die, as I am sworn ... but it was with Britain I made the Great Marriage, Niniane, not with Avalon alone."
"If Avalon dies," said Niniane, "then Britain is without her heart and will die, for the Goddess has withdrawn her soul from all the land."
"Think you so, Niniane?" Kevin sighed again, and said, "I have been all up and down these lands, in all weathers and all times-Merlin of Britain, hawk of the Sight, messenger of the Great Raven-and I see now another heart in the land, and it shines forth from Camelot."
He was silent. After a long while Niniane said, "Was it when you said such words as this to Morgaine that she called you traitor?"
"No-it was something else," he said. "Perhaps, Niniane, we do not know the ways of the Gods and their will as well as we think we do. I tell you, if we move now to bring Arthur down, this land will fall into a chaos worse than that when Ambrosius died and Uther had to fight for his crown. Do you think Gwydion can fight as Arthur did to take the land? Arthur's Companions would all be ranged against any man who rose against their king and their hero-he is like a God to them and can do no wrong."
"It was never our wish," said Niniane, "that Gwydion should face his father and fight him for his crown-only that one day, when Arthur knows he has no heir, he must turn to the son who comes of the royal line of Avalon and is sworn to loyalty to Avalon and the true Gods. And to that end he must be proclaimed King Stag in Avalon, so that there may be voices, when Arthur seeks an heir, to speak for him. I have heard that Arthur has chosen Lancelet's son for his heir, since the Queen is barren. But Lancelet's son is but a young child, and Gwydion already a man grown. If anything happened to Arthur now, do you not think they would choose Gwydion-a grown man, a warrior and a Druid-over a child?"
"Arthur's Companions would not follow a stranger, were he twice over warrior and Druid. Most likely they would name Gawaine regent for Lancelet's son till he came of age. And the Companions are Christian, most of them, and would reject Gwydion because of his birth-incest is a grave sin among them."
"They know nothing of sacred things."
"Granted. They must have time to accustom themselves to the idea, and that time is not yet. But if Gwydion cannot now be acknowledged as Arthur's son, it should be known that the priestess Morgaine, who is Arthur's own sister, has a son, and that this son is closer to the throne than Lancelet's child. And this summer there will be war again-"
"I thought," said Niniane, "that Arthur had made peace."
"Here in Britain, yes. But there is one in Less Britain who would claim all of Britain as his empire-"
"Ban?" asked Niniane in astonishment. "He was sworn long ago-he made the Great Marriage before our Lancelet was born. He would be all too old to go to war against Arthur-"
"Ban is old and feeble," said Kevin. "His son Lionel rules in his place, and Lionel's brother Bors is one of Arthur's Companions, and worships Lancelet as his hero. Neither of them would trouble Arthur's rule. But there is one who will. He calls himself Lucius, and he has somehow gotten the ancient Roman eagles and proclaimed himself emperor. And he will challenge Arthur-"
Niniane's skin prickled. She asked, "Is that the Sight?"
"Morgaine said to me once," Kevin said with a smile, "that it needed not the Sight to know a rogue will be a rogue. It needs not the Sight to know that an ambitious man will challenge where the challenge will further his ambition. There are those who may think Arthur is growing old because his hair shines not all gold as it did and he flies the dragon no more. But do not rate him low, Niniane. I know him, you do not. He is not a fool!"
"I think," said Niniane, "that you love him too well for a man you are sworn to destroy."
"Love him?" Kevin's smile was mirthless. "I am Merlin of Britain, messenger of the Great Raven, and I sit at his side in council. Arthur is an easy man to love. But I am sworn to the Goddess." Again the short laugh. "I think my sanity depends on this-that I know that what benefits Avalon must in the long years benefit Britain. You see Arthur as the enemy, Niniane. I see him still as the King Stag, protecting his herd and his lands."
Niniane said in a trembling whisper, "And what of the King Stag when the young stag is grown?"
Kevin leaned his head on his hands. He looked old and ill and weary. "That day is not yet, Niniane. Do not seek to push Gwydion so swiftly he will be destroyed, merely because he is your lover." And he rose and limped out of the room without looking back, leaving Niniane sullen and angry.
How did that wretched man know that?
And she told herself, I am under no vows like the Christian nuns! If I choose to take a man to my bed, that is for me to say  ...  even if that man should be my pupil, and only a boy when he came here!
In the first years, he had twined himself around her heart, a lonely boy, lost and bereft, with none to love him or care for him or wonder how he did ...  . Morgause was the only mother he had known, and now he was parted from her too. How could Morgaine have found it in her heart to give up a fine son like this, clever and beautiful and wise, and never send to inquire how he did, or come to set eyes on him? Niniane had never borne a child, though she had thought, sometimes, that if she had come from Beltane with her womb filled she would have liked to bear a daughter to the Goddess. But it had never gone thus with her, and she had not rebelled against her lot.
But in those first years she had let Gwydion find his way into her heart. And then he had gone from them, as men must do, grown too old for the teachings of the priestesses, to be taught among the Druids and schooled in the arts of war. And he had returned, one year at Beltane, and she thought it was by craft that he had come near to her in the fire rites and she had gone apart with him ...  .
But they had not parted when that season was over; and whenever, after that, in his comings and goings, anything had brought him to Avalon, she made it clear that she wanted him, and he had not said her no. I am closest to his heart, she thought, I know him best-what does Kevin know of him?
And now the time has come when he shall return, to Avalon, and shall have his trial as King Stag ...  .
And she turned her thoughts to that: where should she find a maiden for him? There are so few women in the House of Maidens who are even halfway fit for this great office, she thought, and there was sudden pain and dread in her thoughts.
Kevin was right. Avalon is drifting, dying; few come here for the ancient teachings, and there are none to keep the rites  ...  and one day there will be no one at all... and again she felt that almost painful prickling in her body which came to her, now and again, in lieu of the Sight.


GWYDION CAME HOME to Avalon a few days before Beltane. Niniane greeted him formally at the boat, and he bowed to her in reverence before the maidens and the assembled folk of the Island, but when they were alone he caught her in his arms and kissed her, laughing, until they were both breathless.
His shoulders had broadened, and there was a red seam on his face. He had been fighting, she could tell; he no longer had the untroubled look of a priest and scholar.
My lover and my child. Is this why the Great Goddess has no husband, after the Roman fashion, but only sons, as we are all her children? And I who sit in her place must feel my lover as my son too  ... for all those who love the Goddess are her children ...  .
"And the lands are astir with it," he said, "here in Avalon and among the Old People of the hills, that on Dragon Island the Old People will be choosing their king again.... It was for this that you summoned me there, was it not?"
Sometimes, she thought, he could be as infuriating as an arrogant child. "I do not know, Gwydion. The time may not be ripe, and the tides may not be ready. Nor can I find anywhere within this house anyone to play for you the part of the Spring Maiden."
"Yet it will be this spring," he said quietly, "and this Beltane, for I have seen it."
Her mouth curved a little as she said, "And have you then seen the priestess who will admit you to the rite when you have won the antlers, supposing that the Sight does not mislead you to your death?"
She thought as he faced her that he had but grown more beautiful, his face cold and set, dark with hidden passion. "I have, Niniane. Do you not know that it was you?"
She said, suddenly chilled to the bone, "I am no maiden. Why do you mock me, Gwydion?"
"Yet I have seen you," he said, "and you know it as well as I. In her the Maiden and the Mother and the Crone meet and blend. She will be old and young as it shall please her, Virgin and Beast and Mother and the face of Death in the lightning, flowing and filling and returning again to her virginity ...  ."
Niniane bent her head and said, "Gwydion, no, it cannot be-"
"I am her consort," he said implacably, "and shall win it there ... it is not the time for a virgin-the priests make much of that nonsense. I call upon her as the Mother to give me my due and my life ...  ."
Niniane felt as if she were trying to stand against some relentless tide that would sweep her away. She said, hesitating, "So it has always been, that in the running of the deer, though the Mother sends him forth, he returns again to the Maiden ...  ."
Yet there was reason in what he said. Surely it was better to have a priestess for the rites who knew what she was doing, rather than some half-trained child new come to the temple, whose only qualification was that she was not yet old enough to feel the call to the Beltane fire... . Gwydion spoke truth: the Mother ever renews herself, Mother and Crone and again the Maiden, even as the moon who hides herself in the dark sky.
She bent her head and said, "Let it be so. You shall make the Great Marriage with the land and with me in her name."
But when she was alone again she was frightened. How had she come to agree to this? What, in the name of the Goddess, was this power in Gwydion, that he could make all men do his will?
Is this, then, his heritage from Arthur, and the blood of the Pendragon? And ice flooded her again.
What of the King Stag  ...  Morgaine was dreaming  ...
Beltane, and the deer running on the hills... and the life of the forest running through her body, as if every part of the forest was a part of the life within her ... he was down among the deer, the running stag, the naked man with the antlers tied on his brow, and the horns thrust down and down, his dark hair matted with blood... but he was on his feet, charging, a knife flashing in the sunlight through the trees, and the King Stag came crashing down and the sound of his bellowing filled the forest with cries of despair.
And then she was in the dark cave, and the signs painted there were painted on her body, she was one with the cave, and all around her the Beltane fires flared, sparks crashing skyward-there was the taste of fresh blood on her mouth, and now the cave mouth was shadowed with the antlers  ...  it should not befall moon, she should not see so clearly that her naked body was not the slender body of a virgin, but that her breasts were soft and full and pink as they had been when her child was born, almost as if they were dripping with milk, and surely she had been tested that she came virgin to this rite  ...  what would they say to her, that she came not as the Spring Maiden to the King Stag?
He knelt at her side and she raised her arms, welcoming him to the rite and to her body, but his eyes were dark and haunted. His hands on her were tender, frustrating, toying with pleasure as he denied her the rite of power  ...  it was not Arthur, no, this was Lancelet, King Stag, who should pull down the old stag, consort of the Spring Maiden, but he looked down at her, his dark eyes tormented by that same pain that struck inward through her whole body, and he said, I would you were not so like to my mother, Morgaine ...  .
Terrified, her heart pounding, Morgaine woke in her own room, Uriens sleeping at her side and snoring. Still caught up in the frightening magic of the dream, she shook her head in confusion to ward the terror away.
No, Beltane is past ...  she had kept the rites with Accolon as she had known she would do, she was not lying in the cave, awaiting the King Stag  ...  and why, she wondered, why should this dream of Lancelet visit her now, why did she dream not of Accolon, when she had made him her priest and Lord of Beltane, and her lover? Why, after so many years, should the memory of refusal and sacrilege strike inward at her very soul?
She tried to compose herself for sleep again, but sleep would not come, and she lay awake, shaken, until the sun thrust the rays of early summer into her chamber.

11

Gwenhwyfar had come to hate the day of Pentecost, when each year Arthur sent out word that all his old Companions should come to Camelot and renew their fellowship. With the growing of peace in the land, and the scattering of the old Companions, every year there were fewer to come, more who had ties to their own homes and families and estates. And Gwenhwyfar was glad, for these Pentecost reunions put her too much in mind of those days when Arthur had not been a Christian king but bore the hated Pendragon banner. At Pentecost court he belonged to his Companions and she had no part at all in his life.
She stood behind him now as he sealed the two dozen copies his scribes had made, for every one of his fellow kings and many of his old Companions. "Why do you send out a special call for them to come this year? Surely all those who have no other business will come without your calling."
"But that is not enough this year," said Arthur, turning to smile at her. He was going grey, she realized, though he was so fair-haired that none could see unless they were standing quite close. "I wish to assure them of such games and mock battles as will make all men aware that Arthur's legion is still well able to fight."
"Do you think any will doubt this?" Gwenhwyfar asked.
"Perhaps not. But there is this man Lucius in Less Britain-Bors has sent me word, and as all my subject kings came to my aid when the Saxons and Northmen would have overrun this island, so I am pledged to come to theirs. Emperor, he calls himself, of Rome!"
"And has he any right to be emperor?" Gwenhwyfar asked.
"Need you ask? Far less than I, certainly," Arthur said. "There has been no Emperor of Rome for more than a hundred years, my wife. Constantine was emperor and wore the purple, and after him Magnus Maximus, who went abroad over the channel to try and make himself emperor; but he came never back to Britain, and God alone knows what befell him or where he died. And after him, Ambrosius Aurelianus rallied our people against the Saxons, and after him Uther, and I suppose either of them could have called himself emperor, or I, but I am content to be High King of Britain. When I was a boy I read something of the history of Rome, and it was nothing new that some upstart pretender should somehow get the loyalty of a legion or two, and proclaim himself to the purple. But here in Britain it takes more than an eagle standard to make an Imperator. Else would Uriens be emperor in this land! I have sent for him to come-it seems long since I have seen my sister."
Gwenhwyfar did not answer that, not directly. She shuddered. "I do not want to see this land touched by war again, and torn apart by slaughter-"
"Nor do I," said Arthur. "I think every king would rather have peace."
"I am not so certain. There are some of your men who never cease speaking of the old days when they fought early and late against the Saxons. And now they begrudge Christian fellowship to those same Saxons, no matter what their bishop says-"
"I do not think it is the days of war they regret," Arthur said, smiling at his queen, "I think it is the days when we were all young, and the closeness that was between us all. Do you never long for those years, my wife?"
Gwenhwyfar felt herself coloring. Indeed, she remembered well  ...  those days when Lancelet had been her champion, and they had loved  ...  this was no way for a Christian queen to think, and yet she could not stop herself. "Indeed I do, my husband. And, as you say, perhaps it is only longing for my own youth ... I am not young," she said, sighing, and he took her hand and said, "You are as beautiful to me, my dearest, as the day when we were first bedded," and she knew that it was true.
But she forced herself to be calm, not to blush. I am not young, she thought, it is not seemly that I should think of those days when I was young and regret them, because in those days I was a sinner and an adulteress. Now I have repented and made peace with God, and even Arthur has done penance for his sin with Morgaine. She forced herself to practicality, as befitted the Queen of all Britain. "I suppose we shall have more visitors than ever, then, at Pentecost-I must take counsel with Cai, and sir Lucan, as to where we shall bestow them all, and how we shall feast them. Will Bors come from Less Britain?"
"He will come if he can," Arthur said, "although Lancelet sent me a message earlier in this week, asking leave to go and aid his brother Bors if he is besieged there. I sent him word to come here, for it might be that we will all go.... Now that Pellinore is gone, Lancelet is king there as Elaine's husband, while their son is a little child. And Agravaine will come for Morgause of Lothian, and Uriens-or perhaps one of his sons. Uriens is marvelously well preserved for his years, but he is not immortal. His elder son is something of a fool, but Accolon is one of my old Companions, and Uriens has Morgaine to guide and counsel him."
"That seems not right to me," Gwenhwyfar said, "for the Holy Apostle said that women should submit themselves to their husbands, yet Morgause rules still in Lothian, and Morgaine would be more than helpmeet to her king in North Wales."
"You must remember, my lady," said Arthur, "that I come of the royal line of Avalon. I am king, not only as Uther Pendragon's son, but because I am son of Igraine, who was daughter to the old Lady of the Lake. Gwenhwyfar, from time out of mind, the Lady ruled the land, and the king was no more than consort in time of war. Even in the days of Rome, the legions dealt with what they came to call client queens, who ruled the Tribes, and some of them were mighty warriors. Have you heard never of the Queen Boadicea?-she who, when her daughters were raped by the men of the legions, and the queen herself flogged as a rebel against Rome, raised an army and nearly drove all the Romans from these shores."
Gwenhwyfar said bitterly, "I hope they killed her."
"Oh, they did, and outraged her body  ...  yet it was a sign that the Romans could not hope to conquer without accepting that in this country, the Lady rules ...  . Every ruler of Britain, down to my father, Uther, has borne the title the Romans coined for a war leader under a queen: dux bellorum, duke of war. Uther, and I after him, bear the throne of Britain as dux bellorum to the Lady of Avalon, Gwenhwyfar. Forget not that."
Gwenhwyfar said impatiently, "I thought you had done with that, that you had professed yourself a Christian king and done penance for your servitude to the fairy folk of that evil island ...  ."
Arthur said, with equal impatience, "My personal life and my religious faith are one thing, Gwenhwyfar, but the Tribes stand by me because I bear this!" His hand struck against Excalibur, belted at his side, inside its crimson scabbard. "I survived in war because of the magic of this blade-"
"You survived in war because God spared you to Christianize this land," said Gwenhwyfar.
"Some day, perhaps. That time is not yet, lady. In Lothian, men are content to live under the rule of Morgause, and Morgaine is queen in Cornwall and in North Wales. If the time were ripe for all these lands to fall to the rule of Christ, then would they clamor for a king and not for a queen. I rule this land as it is, Gwenhwyfar, not as the bishops would have it to be."
Gwenhwyfar would have argued further, but she saw the impatience in his eyes and held her peace. "Perhaps in time even the Saxons and the Tribes may come to the foot of the cross. A day will come, so Bishop Patricius has said, when Christ will be the only king among Christian men, and kings and queens his servants. God speed the day," and she made the sign of the cross. Arthur laughed.
"Servant to Christ will I be willingly," he said, "but not to his priests. No doubt, though, Bishop Patricius will be among the guests, and you may feast him as fine as you will."
"And Uriens will come from North Wales," Gwenhwyfar said, "and Morgaine too, no doubt. And from Pellinore's land, Lancelet?"
"He will come," said Arthur, "though I fear, if you wish to see your cousin Elaine again, you must journey thither to make her a visit: Lancelet sent word that she is in childbed again."
Gwenhwyfar flinched. She knew that Lancelet spent little time at home with his wife, but Elaine had given Lancelet what she could not-sons and daughters.
"How old now is Elaine's son? He is to be my heir, he should be fostered at this court," Arthur said, and Gwenhwyfar replied, "I offered as much when he was born, but Elaine said that even if he was to be king one day, he must be brought up to a simple and modest manhood. You too were fostered as a plain man's son, and it did you no harm."
"Well, perhaps she is right," said Arthur. "I would like, once, to see Morgaine's son. He would be grown to manhood now-it has been seventeen years. I know he cannot succeed me, the priests would not have it, but he is all the son I have ever fathered, and I would like, once, to set eyes on the lad and tell him ... I know not what I would like to tell him. But I would like to see him once."
Gwenhwyfar struggled against the furious retort that sprang to her lips; nothing could be gained by arguing this again. She said only, "He is well where he is." She spoke the truth, and after she said it she knew it was the truth; she was glad Morgaine's son was being reared on that isle of sorceries, where no Christian king could go. Schooled there, it was more certain than ever that no sudden swing of fortune would set him on the throne after Arthur-more and more, the priests and people of this land distrusted the sorcery of Avalon. Reared at court, it might be that some unscrupulous person would begin to think of Morgaine's son as a successor more legitimate than Lancelet's.
Arthur sighed. "Yet it is hard for a man to know he has a son and never set eyes on him," he said. "Perhaps, one day." But his shoulders went up and then down in resignation. "No doubt you are right, my dear. What of the Pentecost feast? I know you will make it, as always, a memorable day."


AND SO SHE HAD DONE, Gwenhwyfar thought on that morning, looking out over the expanse of tents and pavilions. The great war-gaming field had been cleared and lined with ropes and banners, and the flags and banners of half a hundred petty kings and more than a hundred knights were moving briskly in the summer wind on the heights. It was like an army encamped here.
She sought out the banner of Pellinore, the white dragon he had adopted after the killing of the dragon in the lake. Lancelet would be there ... it had been more than a year since she had seen him, and then formally before all the court. It had been many years since she had been alone with him even for a moment; the day before he had married Elaine, he had come to seek her out alone and to say farewell.
He had been Morgaine's victim too; he had not betrayed her, they had both been victim of the cruel trick Morgaine had played on them. When he told her about it, he had wept, and she cherished the memory of his tears as the highest compliment he had ever given her ... who had seen Lancelet weep?
"I swear to you, Gwenhwyfar, she trapped me-Morgaine sent me the false message, and a kerchief with your scent. And I think she drugged me, too, or put some spell upon me." He had looked into her eyes, weeping, and she had wept too. "And Morgaine told Elaine some lie too, saying I was sick with love of her  ...  and we were there together. I thought it was you at first, it was as if I were under some enchantment. And then when I knew it was Elaine in my arms, still I could not stop myself. And then they were all there with torches  ...  what could I do, Gwen? I had taken the virgin daughter of my host, Pellinore would have been within his rights to kill me then and there in her bed  ... " Lancelet cried out, and then, his voice breaking, he had ended, "Would to God that I had rushed on his sword instead ...  ."
She had asked him, You do not care at all for Elaine, then? She had known it was an inexcusable thing to say, but she could not live without that reassurance  ...  but while Lancelet might uncover his own misery to her, he would not speak of Elaine; he had only said, stiffly, that none of this was Elaine's fault, and that he was bound in honor to try to make her as happy as he could.
Well, it was done, Morgaine had had her will. So she would see Lancelet and welcome him as her husband's kinsman, no more. The other madness was past and gone, but she would see him and that was better than nothing. She tried to banish all this with thoughts of the feast. Two oxen were being roasted, would it be enough? And there was a huge wild boar taken in hunting a few days ago, and two pigs from the farms nearby, being baked in a pit yonder; already it smelled so good that a group of hungry children were hanging around sniffing the good smell. And there were hundreds of loaves of barley bread, many of which would be given away to the countryfolk who came to crowd around the edges of the field and watch the doings of the nobles, the kings and knights and Companions; and there were apples baked in cream, and nuts by the bushel, and confectionery for the ladies, honey cakes, and rabbits and small birds stewed in wine ... if this feast was not a success, certainly it would not be for the want of good and abundant food!
Some time after the noon hour they gathered, a long line of richly dressed nobles and ladies coming into the great hall and being ushered to their proper places. The Companions, as always, were shown to their places at the great round mead-hall table; but huge as it was, it would no longer place all the assembled company.
Gawaine, who was always closest to Arthur, presented his mother, Morgause. She was leaning on the arm of a young man Gwenhwyfar did not for a moment recognize; Morgause was slender as ever, her hair still thick and rich, braided with gems. She sank in a curtsey before Arthur, who motioned her to rise and embraced her.
"Welcome, Aunt, to my court."
"I have heard that you ride only white horses," said Morgause, "and so I have brought you one from the Saxon country. I have a fosterling there who sent it as a gift."
Gwenhwyfar saw Arthur's jaw tighten, and she too could guess who the fosterling must be. But he only said, "A kingly gift truly, Aunt."
"I will not have the horse led into the hall, as I am told is the custom in the Saxon countries," Morgause said gaily. "I do not think the lady of Camelot would like having her high hall, garnished for guests, turned into a byre! And, no doubt, your stewards have enough to do, Gwenhwyfar!" She embraced the Queen; the younger woman was enveloped in a warm wave, and close by she could see that Morgause's face was painted, her bright eyes lined with kohl; but she was beautiful no less.
Gwenhwyfar said, "I thank you for your forbearance, lady Morgause -it would not be the first time a fine horse or dog had been led before my lord and king here in his hall, and I know 'tis meant as courtesy, but I have no doubt your horse will be waiting outside quite content-I do not think the hospitality of Camelot means much even to the finest of horses. He would rather dine in his stall! Though Lancelet used to tell us a tale of some Roman who had his horse fed on wine in a golden trough and gave him honors and laurel wreaths-"
The handsome young man at Morgause's side laughed and said, "I remember, Lancelet told that story at my sister's wedding. It was the Emperor Gaius the God, who made his favorite horse one of his senators, and when he died, the next emperor said something like, at least the horse had given no evil counsel and done no murder. But do not the same, my lord Arthur-we have no chairs fit to hold such a Companion, should you see fit to name your stallion as one of them!"
Arthur laughed heartily and took the young man by the hand, saying, "I will not, Lamorak," and with a start, Gwenhwyfar realized who the young man at Morgause's side must be: he was Pellinore's son. Yes, she had heard some rumor of this-that Morgause had taken the young man as her favorite, even before her whole court-how could the woman share her bed with a man young enough to be her son? Why, Lamorak was only five-and-twenty, even now! She looked with fascinated horror and secret envy at Morgause. She looks so young, she is still so beautiful despite all her paint, and she does what she will and cares not if all men criticize her! Her voice was chill as she said, "Will you come and sit beside me, kinswoman, and leave the men to their talk?"
Morgause pressed Gwenhwyfar's hand. "Thank you, cousin. I come so seldom to court, I am happy to sit for once among ladies and gossip about who is married and who has taken a paramour and all the new fashions in gowns and ribbons! I am kept so busy in Lothian with the ruling of the land that I have small time for women's matters, and it is a luxury and a pleasure for me." She patted Lamorak's hand and, when she thought no one noticed, brushed his temple with a surreptitious kiss. "I leave you to the Companions, my dear."
Her ample fragrance, the warm scent of her ribbons and the folds of her gown, almost dizzied Gwenhwyfar as the Queen of Lothian sat beside her on the bench. Gwenhwyfar said, "If you are kept so busy with affairs of state, cousin, why do you not find a wife for Agravaine, and let him rule in his father's place, and give over the ruling of Lothian? Surely the folk there cannot be happy without a king-"
Morgause's laugh was warm and merry. "Why, then I should have to live unwedded, since in that country the queen's husband is king, and my dear, that would not suit me at all! And Lamorak is overyoung to rule as king, though he has other duties, and I find him most satisfactory-"
Gwenhwyfar listened with fascinated distaste; how could a woman Morgause's age make a fool of herself with so young a man? Yet his eyes followed Morgause as if she were the most beautiful and fascinating woman in the world. He hardly looked at Isotta of Cornwall, who was bending before the throne now at the side of her elderly husband, Duke Marcus of Cornwall. Isotta was so beautiful that a little murmur went all down the hall; tall and slender, with hair the color of a new-struck copper coin. But no doubt Marcus had thought more of the Irish gold she wore at her throat and at the clasp of her cloak, and the Irish pearls braided into her hair, than the treasure of her beauty. Isotta was, Gwenhwyfar thought, the most beautiful woman she had ever seen. Next to Isotta Morgause looked raddled and overblown, but still Lamorak's eyes followed her.
"Aye, Isotta is very beautiful," Morgause said, "but it is told in the court of Duke Marcus that she has more of an eye for his heir, young Drustan, than for old Marcus himself, and who can blame her? But she is modest and discreet, and if she has sense enough to give the old man a child -though, heaven knows, she might fare better at such craft with the young Drustan, at that." Morgause chuckled. "She looks not like a woman over-happy in her marriage bed. Still, I do not suppose Marcus wants much more of her than a son for Cornwall. Marcus wants only for that, I think, before he declares that Cornwall belongs to him who keeps it, not to Morgaine, who has it from Gorlois-where is my kinswoman Morgaine? I am eager to embrace her!"
"She is there with Uriens," said Gwenhwyfar, looking to where the King of North Wales waited to approach the throne.
"Arthur would have done better to marry Morgaine into Cornwall," Morgause said. "But I think he felt Marcus was too old for her. Though he might well have married her to yonder young Drustan-his mother was kindred to Ban of Less Britain, and he is a distant cousin to Lancelet, and handsome almost as Lancelet himself, is he not, Gwenhwyfar?" She smiled merrily and added, "Ah, but I had forgotten, you are so pious a lady, you look never on the beauty of any man save your own wedded husband. But then, it is easy for you to be virtuous, married to one so young and handsome and gallant as Arthur!"
Gwenhwyfar felt that Morgause's chatter would drive her mad. Did the woman think of nothing else? Morgause said, "I suppose you must speak a word or two of courtesy to Isotta-she is newcome to Britain. I have heard she speaks little of our tongue, only that of her Irish homeland. But I have heard, too, that in her own country she was a notable mistress of herbs and magic, so that when Drustan fought with the Irish knight the Marhaus, she healed him when none thought he could live, and so he is her faithful knight and champion-or at least he said that was his reason," Morgause chattered on, "though she is so beautiful, I would not wonder  ...  perhaps I should make her known to Morgaine, she too is a great mistress of herb lore and spells of healing. They would have much to speak of, and I think Morgaine knows a little of the Irish tongue. And Morgaine, too, is married to a man old enough to be her father-I think that was ill done of Arthur!"
Gwenhwyfar said stiffly, "Morgaine married Uriens with her own consent. You do not think Arthur would marry away his dear sister without asking her!"
Morgause almost snorted, "Morgaine is full enough of life that I do not think she would be content in an old man's bed," she said, "and if I had a stepson as handsome as yonder Accolon, I know well I would not!"
"Come, ask the lady of Cornwall to sit with us," Gwenhwyfar said, to put an end to Morgause's gossip. "And Morgaine, too, if you will." Morgaine was safely married to Uriens; what was it to Gwenhwyfar if she made a fool of herself or put her immortal soul at hazard by playing the harlot with this man or that?
Uriens, with Morgaine and his two younger sons, had come to greet Arthur, who took the old king by both hands, calling him "Brother-in-law," and kissed Morgaine on either cheek.
"But you have come to offer me a gift, Uriens? I need no gifts from kinsmen, your affection is enough," he said.
"Not only to offer you a gift but to ask a boon of you," said Uriens. "I beg you to make my son Uwaine a knight of your Round Table and receive him as one of your Companions."
Arthur smiled at the slender, dark young man who knelt before him. "How old are you, young Uwaine?"
"Fifteen, my lord and king."
"Well, then, rise, sir Uwaine," said Arthur graciously. "You may watch this night by your arms, and tomorrow one of my Companions shall make you knight."
"By your leave," said Gawaine, "may I be the one to confer this honor on my cousin Uwaine, lord Arthur?"
"Who better than you, my cousin and friend?" Arthur said. "If that is agreeable to you, Uwaine, let it be so. I receive you willingly as my Companion for your own sake, and because you are stepson to my dear sister. Make him a place at table there, you men, and you, Uwaine, may fight in my company tomorrow in the mock battles."
Uwaine stammered, "I thank you, my k-king."
Arthur smiled at Morgaine. "I thank you for this gift, my sister."
"It is a gift to me as well, Arthur," Morgaine said. "Uwaine has been like a true son to me."
Gwenhwyfar thought, cruelly, that Morgaine looked her age; her face was touched with subtle lines, and there were streaks of white in the raven hair, though her dark eyes were as fine as ever. And she had spoken of Uwaine as her son, and she looked at him with pride and affection. Yet her own son must be older yet ...  .
And so Morgaine, damn her, has two sons, and I not so much as a fosterling!
Morgaine, seated at Uriens' side down the table, was conscious of Gwenhwyfar's eyes on her. How she hates me! Even now when I can do her no harm! Yet she did not hate Gwenhwyfar; she had even ceased to resent the marriage to Uriens, knowing that in some obscure way it had brought her back to what she had once been-priestess of Avalon. Still, but for Gwenhwyfar, I would have been married to Accolon at this moment, and as it is, we are at the mercy of some servant who might spy on us, or blab to Uriens for a reward  ...  here in Camelot they must be very discreet. Gwenhwyfar would stop at nothing to make trouble.
She should not have come. Yet Uwaine had wished for her to see him knighted, and she was the only mother Uwaine had ever known.
Uriens could not, after all, live forever-though sometimes, in the dragging years, she felt that he had decided to rival old King Methuselah -and she doubted that even the stupid pig farmers of North Wales would accept Avalloch as king. If she could only bear Accolon a child, then no one would question that Accolon, at her side, would reign rightly.
She would have risked it-Viviane, after all, had been nearly as old as she was now when Lancelet was born, and she had lived to see him grown. But the Goddess had not sent her even the hope of conception, and to be honest, she did not want it. Uwaine was son enough for her, and Accolon had not reproached her for childlessness-no doubt he felt that no one would seriously believe it was Uriens' son, though Morgaine doubted not she could persuade her old husband to acknowledge the child his own; he doted on her in everything, and she shared his bed often enough-too often, for her taste.
She said to Uriens now, "Let me fill your plate. That roast pig is too rich for you, it will make you ill. Some of those wheaten cakes, perhaps, sopped in the gravy, and here is a fine fat saddle of rabbit." She beckoned to a serving-man carrying a tray of early fruits and chose some gooseberries and cherries for her husband. "Here, I know you are fond of these."
"You are good to me, Morgaine," he said, and she patted his arm. It was worth it-all the time she spent in cosseting him, caring for his health, embroidering him fine cloaks and shirts, and even now and then, discreetly, finding a young woman for his bed and giving him a dose of one of her herb medicines which would allow him something like normal virility; Uriens was convinced that she adored him, and never questioned her devotion or denied her anything she asked.
The feasting was breaking up now-people moving about the hall, nibbling at cakes and sweets, calling for wine and ale, stopping to speak to kinsmen and friends whom they saw only once or twice a year. Uriens was still munching his gooseberries; Morgaine asked leave to go and speak to her kinswomen.
"As you like, my dearest," he mumbled. "You should have cut my hair, my wife, all the Companions are wearing their hair shorn-"
She patted his scanty locks and said, "Oh, no, my dear, I think it is better suited to your years. You do not want to look like a schoolboy, or a monk." And, she thought, there is so little of your hair that if you cut it short, your bald spot would shine through like a beacon! "Look, the noble Lancelet still wears his hair long and flowing, and Gawaine, and Gareth- no one could call them old men!"
"You are right, as always," Uriens said smugly. "I suppose it is fitted to a mature man. It is all very well for a boy like Uwaine to clip his hair short." And Uwaine, indeed, had shorn his hair close to the nape of his neck in the new fashion. "I mark there is gray in Lancelet's hair as well-we are none of us young anymore, my dear."
You were a grandsire when Lancelet was born, Morgaine thought crossly, but she only murmured that none of them was as young as they had been ten years ago-a truth with which no one could possibly argue-and moved away.
Lancelet was still, she thought, the finest-looking man she had ever seen; next to him even Accolon seemed too perfect, his features too precise. There was grey in his hair, yes, and in the smoothly trimmed beard; but his eyes twinkled with the old smile. "Good day to you, cousin."
She was surprised at his cordial tone. Yet, she thought, it is true what Uriens said, we are none of us so young anymore, and there are not many of us who remember that time when we were all young together. He embraced her, and she felt his curly beard silky against her cheek.
She asked him, "Is Elaine not here?"
"No, she bore me another daughter but three days since. She had hoped the child would be already born, and she well enough to ride to Pentecost, but it was a fine big girl and she took her own time in coming. We had hoped to have her three weeks ago!"
"How many children have you now, Lance?"
"Three. Galahad is a big lad of seven, and Nimue is five years old. I do not see them very often, but their nurses say they are clever and quick for their age, and Elaine would name the new little one Gwenhwyfar, for the Queen."
"I think I shall ride north and visit her," Morgaine said.
"She will be glad to see you, I am sure. It is lonely there," said Lancelet. Morgaine did not think Elaine would be glad to see her at all, but that was between her and Elaine. Lancelet glanced toward the dais where Gwenhwyfar had taken Isotta of Cornwall to sit at her side while Arthur spoke with Duke Marcus and his nephew. "Know you yonder Drustan? He is a fine harper, though not like to Kevin, of course."
Morgaine shook her head. "Is Kevin to play at this feast?"
"I have not seen him," Lancelet said. "The Queen likes him not-the court is grown too Christian for that, though Arthur values him as a councillor and for his music as well."
She asked him bluntly, "Are you grown a Christian too?"
"I could wish I were," he said, sighing from the bottom of his heart. "That faith seems too simple to me-the idea that we have only to believe that Christ died for our sins once and for all. But I know too much of the truth ... of the way life works, with life after life in which we ourselves, and only we, can work out the causes we have set in motion and make amends for the harm we have done. It stands not in the realm of reason that one man, however holy and blessed, could atone for all the sins of all men, done in all lifetimes. What else could explain why some men have all things, and others so little? No, that is a cruel trick of the priests, I think, to coax men into thinking that they have the ear of God and can forgive sins in his name-ah, I wish it were true indeed. And some of their priests are fine and sincere men."
"I never met with one who was half so learned or so good as Taliesin," said Morgaine.
"Taliesin was a great soul," Lancelet said. "Perhaps one lifetime of service to the Gods cannot create so much wisdom, and he is one of the great ones who has served them for hundreds of years. Next to him, Kevin seems no more fit to be the Lord Merlin than my little son to sit on Arthur's throne and lead his troops into battle. And Taliesin was big enough to make no quarrel with the priests, knowing they served their God as best they could, and perhaps after many lives they would learn that their God was bigger than they thought him. And I know he respected their strength to live chastely."
"That seems to me blasphemy and a denial of life," said Morgaine, "and I know Viviane would have thought it so." Why, she wondered, do I stand here arguing religion with Lancelet, of all men?
"Viviane, like Taliesin, came from another world and another time," said Lancelet. "They were giants in those days, and now we must make do with such as we have. You are so like her, Morgaine. He smiled, a rueful half-smile, and it wrenched her heart; she remembered that he had said something like this to her  ...  nay, she had dreamed it too, but she could not remember all ...  but he went on, "I see you here with your husband and your fine stepson-a credit he will be to the Companions. I always wished you happiness, Morgaine, and for so many years you seemed so unhappy, but now you are queen in your own country, and you have a good son..."
Surely, she thought, what more could any woman want  ...  ?
"But now I must go and pay my respects to the Queen-"
"Yes," she said, and could not keep the bitterness from her voice. "You would be eager to do that."
"Oh, Morgaine," he said, dismayed, "we have known each other so long, we are all kin, cannot we let the past die? Do you despise me so much, do you still hate her as much as that?"
Morgaine shook her head. "I don't hate either of you," she said. "Why should I? But I thought, now you were wedded-and Gwenhwyfar too deserves to be left in peace."
"You have never understood her," said Lancelet hotly. "I well believe you have disliked her since you were both young girls! It is not well done of you, Morgaine! She has repented her sin, and I-well, I am wedded, as you say, to another. But I will not shun her as if she were a leper. If she wants my friendship as her husband's kinsman, it is hers!"
Morgaine knew he spoke sincerely; well, it was nothing to her. She had now from Accolon what she had so long desired from him  ...  and strangely even that was painful, like the space left by an aching tooth after it was drawn; she had loved him so many years that now when she could look on him without desire, she felt hollow inside. She said softly, "I am sorry, Lance, I had no wish to make you angry. As you say, it is all past."
I dare say he really believes that he and Gwenhwyfar can be no more than friends  ...  maybe for him it is so, and Gwenhwyfar has grown so pious, I doubt it not at all ...  .
"So there you are, Lancelet, as always, chattering with the court's most beautiful ladies," said a merry voice, and Lancelet turned and caught the newcomer in a bear hug.
"Gareth! How goes it with you in the North country? And so you too are a married man and a householder ... is it two children your lady has given you now, or three? Handsome, you are better-looking than ever-even Cai could not mock you now!"
"I would like it well to have him back in my kitchens," laughed Cai, coming up to clap Gareth on the shoulder. "Four sons, is it not? But the lady Lionors has twins, like one of the wildcats of your country, does she not? Morgaine, I think you grow ever younger with the years," he added, bending over her hand; he had always liked her.
"But when I see Gareth grown, and such a man, I feel older than the hills themselves." Morgaine too laughed. "A woman knows she is getting old when she looks at every tall young man and says to herself, I knew him before he was breeched ...  ."
"And, alas, 'tis true of me, cousin." Gareth bent to hug Morgaine. "I remember, you used to carve me wooden knights when I was no more than a babe-"
"You remember still those wooden knights?" Morgaine was pleased.
"I do-one of them Lionors keeps with my treasures still," Gareth said. "It is bravely painted in blue and red, and my oldest son would gladly have it, but I treasure it too greatly. Did you know I called it Lancelet when I was a babe, cousin?"
The older man laughed too, and Morgaine thought she had never seen Lancelet so carefree and merry as he was now among his friends. "Your son -he is almost as old as my Galahad, I think. Galahad is a fine boy, though he looks not much like my side of the family. I saw him but a few days ago, for the first time since he was out of breechclouts. And the girls are pretty, or they seem so to me."
Gareth turned back to Morgaine and said, "How does my foster-brother Gwydion, lady Morgaine?"
She said shortly, "I have heard he is in Avalon. I have not seen him," and turned away, leaving Lancelet to his friends. But Gawaine joined them, bending to give Morgaine an almost filial embrace.
Gawaine was a huge man now, monstrously heavy, with shoulders that looked-and probably were-strong enough to throw down a bull; his face was hacked and bitten with many scars. He said, "Your son Uwaine seems a fine lad. I think he will make a good knight, and we may need such- have you seen your brother Lionel, Lance?"
"No-is Lionel here?" asked Lancelet, glancing around, and his eyes fell on a tall, sturdy man, wearing a cloak of a strange fashion. "Lionel! Brother, how goes it with you in your foggy kingdom beyond the seas?"
Lionel came and greeted them, speaking with so thick an accent that Morgaine found it hard to follow his speech. "All the worse for you not being there, Lancelet-we may have some trouble there, you have heard? You have heard Bors's news?"
Lancelot shook his head. "I heard nothing later than that he was to marry King Hoell's daughter," he said, "I forget her name-"
"Isotta-the same name as the Queen of Cornwall," said Lionel. "But there has been no marriage as yet. Hoell, you must know, is one who can say never yea or nay to anything, but must ponder forever the advantage of alliance with Less Britain or Cornwall-"
"Marcus cannot give Cornwall to any," said Gawaine dryly. "Cornwall is yours, is it not, lady Morgaine? I seem to remember Uther gave it to the lady Igraine when he came to the throne, so that you have it of both Igraine and Gorlois, though Gorlois's lands were forfeit to Uther, if I mind the tale aright -it all befell before I was born, though you were a child then."
"Duke Marcus keeps the land for me," said Morgaine. "I knew never that he claimed it, though I know once there was talk I should marry Duke Marcus, or Drustan his nephew-"
"It would have been well if you had," said Lionel, "for Marcus is a greedy man-he got much treasure with his Irish lady, and I doubt it not, he will try to swallow up all of Cornwall and Tintagel too, if he thinks he can get away with it, as a fox gets away with a barnyard fowl."
Lancelet said, "I liked better the days when we were all but Arthur's Companions. Now I am reigning in Pellinore's country, and Morgaine queen in North Wales, and you, Gawaine, should be king in Lothian, if you had your rights-"
Gawaine grinned at him. "I have neither talent nor taste for kingship, cousin, I am a warrior, and to dwell always in one place and live at court would weary me to death! I am happy enough that Agravaine shall rule at my mother's side. I think the Tribes have the right of it-women to stay home and rule, and men to wander about and make war. I will not be parted from Arthur, but I admit I grow weary of life in court. Still, a mock battle is better than none."
"I am sure you will win honor and credit," said Morgaine, smiling at her cousin. "How does your mother, Gawaine? I have not yet spoken with her." She added, with a touch of malice, "I have heard she has other help than Agravaine in ruling your kingdom."
Gawaine chuckled broadly. "Aye, 'tis all the fashion now-it is your doing, Lancelet. After you married Pellinore's daughter, I suppose Lamorak thought no knight could be great and courtly and win great renown unless he had first been the para-" He stopped himself at Lancelet's grim face, and amended hastily, "the chosen champion of a great and beautiful queen. I think it is not just a pose-I think Lamorak truly loves my mother, and I begrudge it not. She was wedded to old King Lot when she was not yet fifteen, and even when I was a little fellow I used to wonder how she could live at peace with him and be always kind and good."
"Kind and good is Morgause indeed," said Morgaine, "nor had she any very easy life with Lot. He may have sought her counsel in all things, but the court was so full of his bastards he had no need to hire men-at-arms, and any woman who came into the court was his lawful prey, even I who was his wife's niece. Such behavior is thought manly in a king, and if any criticize it in Morgause, I will have a word to say to them myself!"
Gawaine said, "I know well you are my mother's friend, Morgaine. I know too Gwenhwyfar does not like her. Gwenhwyfar-" He glanced at Lancelet, shrugged, and held his peace. Gareth said, "Gwenhwyfar is so pious, and no woman has ever had anything to complain about at Arthur's court-perhaps Gwenhwyfar finds it hard to understand that a woman may have cause for wanting more of life than her marriage gives her. As for me, I am fortunate that Lionors chose me of her own free will, and she is always so busy breeding, or lying-in, or suckling our youngest, that she has no leisure to look at any other man even if she would. Which," he added, smiling, "I hope she has no desire to do, for if she wished for it I think I could deny her nothing."
Lancelet's face lost its grimness. He said, "I cannot imagine that a dame married to you, Gareth, would wish to look elsewhere."
"But you must look elsewhere, cousin," said Gawaine, "for there is the Queen looking for you, and you should go and pay your respects as her champion."
And indeed at that moment one of Gwenhwyfar's little maidens came and said in her childish voice, "You are sir Lancelet, are you not? The Queen has asked that you will come and speak with her," and Lancelet bowed to Morgaine, said, "We will speak later, Gawaine, Gareth," and went away. Gareth watched him, frowning, and muttered, "Ever he runs when she stretches out her hand."
"Did you expect anything else, brother?" Gawaine said in his easygoing way. "He has been her champion since she was wedded to Arthur, and if it were otherwise-well, so Morgaine said: such things are considered manly in a king, why should we criticize them in a queen? Nay, 'tis all the fashion now-or have you not heard the tales about yonder Irish queen, married to old Duke Marcus, and how Drustan makes songs for her and follows her about ... he is a harper, they say, as fine as Kevin! Have you yet heard him play, Morgaine?"
She shook her head. She said, "You should not call Isotta Queen of Cornwall-there is no queen in Cornwall but I. Marcus reigns there only as my castellan, and if he does not know it, it is time he found it out."
"I do not think Isotta cares what Marcus may call himself," said Gawaine, turning to look at the long table where the ladies sat. Morgause had joined Gwenhwyfar and the Irish queen, and Lancelet had come to speak with them; Gwenhwyfar was smiling at Lancelet, and Morgause making some jest which made them laugh, but Isotta of Cornwall was staring at nothing, her exquisite face pale and drawn. "I never saw any lady who looked so unhappy as yonder Irish queen."
Morgaine said, "If I were married to old Duke Marcus, I doubt I should be happy," and Gawaine gave her a rough hug.
"Arthur did not well when he married you to that grandsire old Uriens, either, Morgaine-are you unhappy too?"
Morgaine felt her throat tighten, as if Gawaine's kindness would make her weep. "Perhaps there is not much happiness for women in marriage after all ...  ."
"I would not say that," Gareth said. "Lionors seems happy enough."
"Ah, but Lionors is married to you," Morgaine said, laughing. "And I could not have that good fortune, I am only your old cousin."
"Still," said Gawaine, "I criticize not my mother. She was good to Lot all his life long, and while he lived she never flaunted her lovers in his face. I begrudge her nothing, and Lamorak is a good man and a good knight. As for Gwenhwyfar-" He grimaced. "It's God's pity that Lancelet did not take her away from this kingdom while there was still time for Arthur to find him another wife-still, I suppose young Galahad will be a good king in his day. Lancelet is of the old royal line of Avalon, and royal, too, in his blood from Ban of Less Britain."
"Still," said Gareth, "I think your son closer to the throne than his, Morgaine," and she remembered that he had been old enough to remember Gwydion's birth. "And the Tribes would give allegiance to Arthur's sister -in the old days, the sister's son was the natural heir, in the days when rule passed through the blood of the woman." He frowned and thought for a moment, then asked, "Morgaine, is he Lancelet's son?"
She supposed the question was natural enough-they had been friends from childhood. But she shook her head, trying to make a jest instead of showing the irritation she felt. "No, Gareth, if it had been so I would have told you. It would have pleased you so, anything to do with Lancelet. Forgive me, cousins, I should go and speak with your mother-she was always good to me." She turned away, making her way slowly toward the dais where the ladies sat; the room was growing more and more crowded as everyone greeted old friends and little knots of people collected.
She had always disliked crowded places, and she had lately spent so much time on the green Welsh hills that she was no longer used to the smell of bodies crowded together and the smoke from the hearth fire. Moving to one side, she collided with a man who staggered under her light weight and caught at the wall to steady himself, and she found herself face to face with the Merlin.
She had not spoken with Kevin since the day of Viviane's death. She looked him coldly in the face and turned away.
"Morgaine-"
She ignored him. Kevin said, in a voice as cold as her glance, "Will a daughter of Avalon turn her face away when the Merlin speaks?"
Morgaine drew a long breath and said, "If you bid me hear you in the name of Avalon, I am here to listen. But that suits you not, you who gave Viviane's body to Christian rule. That I call a traitor's deed."
"And who are you to speak of traitor's deeds, lady, who sits as queen in Wales when Viviane's high seat is empty in Avalon?"
She flared, "I sought once to speak in Avalon's name and you bade me hold my peace," and bowed her head, not waiting for his reply. No, he is right. How dare I speak of treachery when I fled from Avalon, too young and too foolish to know what Viviane planned? Only now do I begin to know that she gave me a hold on the King's conscience: And I cast it aside unused and let Gwenhwyfar lead him into the hands of the priests. "Speak, Merlin. Avalon's daughter listens."
For a moment he said nothing, but only looked at her, and she remembered, sorrowfully, the years when he had been her only friend and ally at this court. At last he said, "Your beauty, like Viviane's, ripens with the years, Morgaine. Next to you every woman at this court, including that Irishwoman they call so beautiful, is a painted doll."
She smiled faintly and said, "You did not stop me in my tracks with the thunders of Avalon to make me pretty compliments, Kevin."
"Did I not? I spoke ill, Morgaine-you are needed in Avalon. She who sits there now is-" He broke off, troubled. "Are you so much in love with your elderly husband that you cannot tear yourself away?"
"No," she said, "but I do the work of the Goddess there too."
"This much I know," he said, "and so I have told Niniane. And if Accolon can succeed his father, the worship of the Goddess will grow there  ...  but Accolon is not his father's heir, and the older son is a priest-ridden fool."
"Accolon is not king, but Druid," Morgaine said, "and Avalloch's death would avail nothing-they follow Roman ways in Wales now, and Avalloch has a son." Conn, she thought, who sat in my lap and called me Granny.
And Kevin said, as if he had heard her unspoken words: "The lives of children are uncertain, Morgaine. Many come not to manhood."
"I will do no murder," she said, "even for Avalon, and you may tell them so for me."
"Tell them yourself," said Kevin. "Niniane said to me that you would be coming there after Pentecost." And now Morgaine felt the empty, cold sickness strike at her stomach and was glad she had eaten but little of the rich food of the feast.
Do they know all, then? Do they watch, judging me, as I betray my old and trusting husband with Accolon? She thought of Elaine, trembling and shamed in the light of the torches that had caught her naked in Lancelet's arms. Do they know even what I plan before I am certain of it myself? But she had done only what the Goddess gave her to do.
"What is it that you came to tell me, Merlin?"
"Only that your place in Avalon is empty still, and Niniane knows it as well as 1.1 love you well, Morgaine, and I am no traitor-it pains me that you think me so, when you have given me so much." He held out his twisted hands. "Peace, then, Morgaine, between us?"
She said, "In the Lady's name, peace, then," and kissed his scarred mouth.
For him too the Goddess wears my face  ...  and pain struck through her. The Goddess is the giver of life and manhood... and of death. As her lips touched his, the Merlin recoiled, and on his face was naked fear.
"Do you recoil from me, Kevin? I swear it on my life, I will do no murder. You have nothing to fear-" she said, but he put out his twisted fingers to stop the words.
"Make no oath, Morgaine, lest you pay the penalty of the forsworn ... none of us knows what the Goddess may demand of us. I too have made the Great Marriage, and my life was forfeit on that day. I live only at the will of the Goddess, and my life is not so sweet that I would begrudge to lay it down," he said. Years later Morgaine would remember these words and feel them sweeten the bitterest task of her life. He bent to her, in the salute given only to the Lady of Avalon or to the High Druid, and then, swiftly, turned away. Morgaine stood trembling, watching him go. Why had he done that? And why did he fear her?
She moved on through the crowds; when she reached the dais, Gwenhwyfar gave her a chilly smile, but Morgause rose and took her into an ample, warm embrace.
"Dearest child, you look tired-I know you have little love for crowds!" She held a silver cup to Morgaine's lips, and Morgaine sipped the wine, then shook her head. She said, "You seem to grow ever younger, Aunt!"
Morgause laughed gaily and said, "Young company does that for me, my dear-saw you Lamorak? While he thinks me beautiful, I think myself so, and so I am ... it is the only sorcery I need!" She traced with her smooth finger a little line beneath Morgaine's eye, and said, "I recommend it to you, my dear, or you will grow old and cross ... are there no handsome young men at Uriens' court with an eye for their queen?"
Over her shoulder Morgaine saw Gwenhwyfar's frown of distaste, even though she certainly believed Morgause was joking. At least the tale of my behavior with Accolon is not common gossip here. Then she thought angrily, In the Lady's name, I am not ashamed of what I do, I am not Gwenhwyfar!
Lancelet was talking with Isotta of Cornwall. Yes, he would always have an eye for the most beautiful woman in the room, and Morgaine could tell Gwenhwyfar liked it not; Gwenhwyfar said now, with nervous haste, "Lady Isotta, know you my husband's sister, Morgaine?"
The Irish beauty raised her eyes listlessly to Morgaine, and smiled. She was very pale, her chiselled features white as new cream, her eyes that blue that is almost green. Morgaine saw that although she was tall, her bones were so small that she looked like a child hung with jewels and pearls and golden chains which seemed too heavy for her. Morgaine had sudden pity for the girl and withheld the first words that came into her mind, which were, So they call you queen in Cornwall now? I must have words with Duke Marcus! She said only, "My kinsman told me you are skilled in herbs and medicines, lady. Some day, if we have leisure before I return to Wales, I would like to speak of them with you."
"It would be a pleasure," said Isotta courteously. Lancelet looked up and said, "I have told her also that you are a musician, Morgaine. Are we to hear you play this day?"
"With Kevin here? My music is nothing to his," said Morgaine, but Gwenhwyfar shuddered, and interrupted.
"I wish Arthur would listen to me and send that man from his court. I like it not, to have wizards and sorcerers here, and such an evil face must portend evil within! I know not how you can bear to touch him, Morgaine
-I should think any fastidious woman would be ill if he touched her, yet you embraced and kissed him as if he were a kinsman-"
"Clearly," said Morgaine, "I am altogether lacking in proper feelings-and I rejoice at it."
Isotta of Cornwall said in her soft, sweet voice, "If what is without is like to that which is within, then the music Kevin makes must be a sign to us, lady Gwenhwyfar, that the soul within him is indeed that of the highest angels. For no evil man could play as he plays."
Arthur had come to join them, and had heard the last few words. He said, "Yet I will not affront my queen with the presence of one distasteful to her-nor will I have the insolence to command the music of such an artist as Kevin for one who cannot receive him with grace." He sounded displeased. "Morgaine, will you play for us, then?"
"My harp is in Wales," she said. "Perhaps, if someone can lend me a harp, at another time. The hall is so crowded and noisy, the music would be lost ...  . Lancelet is as much a musician as I."
Lancelot, standing behind him, shook his head. "Oh, no, cousin. I know one string from another, because I was reared in Avalon and my mother set a harp in my hand for a plaything as soon as I could hold one. But I have not the gift of music as Morgaine has, nor the nephew of Marcus-have you heard Drustan play, Morgaine?"
She shook her head, and Isotta said, "I will ask him to come and play for us."
She sent a page for him, and Drustan came, a slight young man, dark-eyed and dark-haired; he was indeed, Morgaine thought, not unlike Lancelet. Isotta asked him to play, and he called for his harp and sat on the steps of the dais, playing some Breton tunes. They were plaintive and sad, in a very old scale, and they made Morgaine think of the ancient land of Lyonnesse, far away and sunk past the coastline of Tintagel. He had, indeed, a gift beyond Lancelet's; even, she thought, beyond her own. Though he was not Kevin, nor near to it, he was the finest player, otherwise, that she had heard. His voice, too, was sweet and musical.
Under cover of the music Arthur said softly to Morgaine, "How is it with you, sister? It is long since you came to Camelot-we have missed you."
"Oh, indeed?" said Morgaine. "I thought that was why you married me away into North Wales-that my lady"-an ironic bow to Gwenhwyfar-"might not be affronted with the sight of anything distasteful to her, neither Kevin nor me."
"Why, how can you say that?" demanded Arthur. "I love you well, you know that, and Uriens is a good man, and he seems to dote on you -certainly he hangs on your every word! I sought to find you a kind husband, Morgaine, one who had sons and would not reproach you should you not give him children. And it was my pleasure this day to make your fine young stepson one of my Companions. What could you ask more than this, my sister?"
"What, indeed?" said Morgaine. "What more could a woman desire than a good husband old enough to be her grandsire, and a kingdom to rule at the far end of the world-I should bow down and thank you on my knees, my brother!"
Arthur sought to take her hand. "Indeed I did what I thought would please you, sister. Uriens is too old for you, but he will not live forever. Truly, I thought it would make you happy."
No doubt, thought Morgaine, he was telling the exact truth as he saw it. How could he be so good and wise a king, and have so little imagination? Or was this the secret of his kingship, that he held to simple truths and sought for no more? Was this why the Christian faith had lured him, that it was so simple, with a few simple laws?
"I like that everybody be happy," Arthur said, and she knew that this was really the key to his nature; he did indeed seek to see everyone happy, down to the least of his subjects. He had allowed what went on between Gwenhwyfar and Lancelet because he knew it would make his queen unhappy if he parted them, nor would he hurt Gwenhwyfar by taking another wife or a mistress to give him the son she could not.
He is not ruthless enough to be High King, she thought, while she tried to listen to Drustan's sorrowful songs. Ardiur turned to speaking of the lead and tin mines of Cornwall-she should ride to see to them, Duke Marcus should know that he was not ruler over all that country, and, no doubt, she and Isotta would be friends, they both cared for music-see how intently she listened to Drustan.
It is not love of music which makes it impossible to take her eyes from him, Morgaine thought, but she did not say so. She considered the four queens who sat at this table, and sighed; Isotta could not take her eyes from Drustan, and who could blame her? Duke Marcus was old and stern, with quick, darting, ill-natured eyes that reminded her of Lot of Orkney. Morgause had beckoned to her young Lamorak and was whispering to him; well, who could blame her? She had been wedded to Lot-and he was no prize-when she was but fourteen, and all the while Lot lived she had been mindful of his pride and never flaunted her young lovers in his face. And I am no better than any of them, cosseting Uriens with one hand and slipping away to Accolon's bed with the other, and justifying myself by calling Accolon my priest ...  .
She wondered if any woman ever did otherwise. Gwenhwyfar was High Queen, and she had first taken a lover  ...  and it seemed to Morgaine that her heart hardened like stone. She and Morgause and Isotta were married to old men, and such was their life. But Gwenhwyfar had been married to a man who was handsome, and no more than her own age, and High King as well-what had she to be discontented with?
Drustan put the harp aside, bowing, and took up a horn of wine to cool his throat. "I can sing no more," he said, "but if the lady Morgaine would like to take my harp, she is welcome. I have heard of the lady's skill as a musician."
"Yes, sing for us, child," said Morgause, and Arthur added his entreaty.
"Yes, it is long since I heard your voice, and it is still the sweetest voice I have ever heard  ...  perhaps because it is the first voice I remember hearing," Arthur said. "I think you sang me to sleep with lullabies before I could talk plain, and you were no more than a child yourself. Always I remember you best like that, Morgaine," he added, and before the pain in his eyes, Morgaine bent her head.
Is this what Gwenhwyfar cannot forgive, that I bear for him the face of the Goddess? She took Drustan's harp and bent her head over the strings, touching them one by one.
" 'Tis tuned differently than mine," she said, trying a few strings, and then looked up as there was a commotion in the lower hall. A trumpet blew, harsh and shrill inside the walls, and there was a tramp of armed feet. Arthur half rose, then sank back into his seat as four armed men, bearing sword and shield, strode into the hall.
Cai came to meet them, protesting-it was not allowed to bear weapons into the King's hall at Pentecost. They shoved him roughly to one side.
The men wore Roman helmets-Morgaine had seen one or two of those preserved in Avalon-and short military tunics and Roman armor, and thick red military cloaks streamed out behind them. Morgaine blinked -it was as if Roman legionaries had walked out of the past; one man bore, at the end of a pike, the carved and gilded figure of an eagle.
"Arthur, Duke of Britain!" cried out one of the men. "We bear you a message from Lucius, Emperor of Rome!"
Arthur rose from his seat and took a single step toward the men in legionary dress. "I am not Duke of Britain, but High King," he said mildly, "and I know of no Emperor Lucius. Rome has fallen and is in the hands of barbarians-and, I doubt not, impostors. Still, one does not hang the dog for the impertinence of the master. You may say your message."
"I am Castor, centurion of the Valeria Victrix legion," said the man who had spoken before. "In Gaul, the legions have been formed again, behind the banner of Lucius Valerius, Emperor of Rome. The message of Lucius is this-that you, Arthur, Duke of Britain, may continue to rule under that style and designation, provided that you send him, within six weeks, imperial tribute consisting of forty ounces of gold, two dozens of the British pearls, and three wagonloads each of iron, tin, and lead from your country, with a hundred ells of woven British wool and a hundred slaves."
Lancelet rose from his place, leaped forward into the space before the King.
"My lord Arthur," he cried, "let me flay these impudent dogs and send them yelping back to their master, and tell this idiot Lucius that if he wants tribute from England he may come and try to take it-"
"Wait, Lancelet," said Arthur gently, smiling at his friend, "that is not the way." He surveyed the legionaries for a moment; Castor had half drawn his sword, and Arthur said grimly, "No steel may be drawn on this holy day in my court, soldier. I do not expect a barbarian from Gaul to know the manners of a civilized country, but if you put not your sword back into its sheath, then, I swear, Lancelet may come and take it from you as best he can. And no doubt you have heard of sir Lancelet, even in Gaul. But I want no blood shed at the foot of my throne."
Castor, baring his teeth with rage, thrust his sword back into his sheath. "I am not afraid of your knight Lancelet," he said. "His days were long gone in the wars with the Saxons. But I was sent as a messenger with orders to shed no blood. What answer may I take the emperor, Duke Arthur?"
"None-if you refuse me my proper title in my own hall," said Arthur. "But say this to Lucius: that U

12

Morgaine knew that she dared make this journey only if she made it one step at a time, one league at a time, one day at a time. Her first step, then, was to Pellinore's castle; bitter irony, that her first mission was a kindly message to Lancelet's wife and his children.
All that first day she followed the old Roman road northward through rolling hills. Kevin had offered to escort her, and she had been tempted; the old fear gripped her, that she would not find the way to Avalon this time either, not dare to summon the Avalon barge; that she would wander again into the fairy country and be lost there forever. She had not dared go after Viviane's death ...  .
But now she must meet this test, as when she had first been made priestess ...  cast out of Avalon alone, with no test save this, that she must be able somehow to return ... by her own strength, not Kevin's, she must win entry there again.
Still she was frightened; it had been so long.
On the fourth day she came within sight of Pellinore's castle, and at noon of that day, riding along the marshy shores of the lake which now bore no trace of the dragon which once had lurked there (though her serving-man and woman shivered and clung together and told each other horrible tales of dragons), she caught sight of the somewhat smaller dwelling which Pellinore had given to Elaine and Lancelet when they were wedded.
It was more villa than castle; in these days of peace there were not many fortified places in that countryside. Broad lawns sloped down toward the road, and as Morgaine rode up toward the house, a flock of geese sent up a great squawk.
A well-dressed chamberlain greeted her, asking her name and business.
"I am the lady Morgaine, wife of King Uriens of North Wales. I bear a message from the lord Lancelet."
She was taken to a room where she could wash and refresh herself, then conducted to the great hall, where a fire burned and wheat cakes were set before her, with honey and a flask of good wine. Morgaine found herself yawning at the ceremoniousness of this-she was, after all, a kinswoman, not a state visitor. After a time, a small boy peered into the room, and when he saw that she was alone, came in. He was fair, with blue eyes and a splashing of golden freckles on his face, and she knew at once whose son he was, though he was nothing like his father.
"Are you the lady Morgaine that they call Morgaine of the Fairies?"
Morgaine said, "I am. And I am your cousin, Galahad."
"How do you know my name?" he asked suspiciously. "Are you a sorceress? Why do they call you Morgaine of the Fairies?"
She said, "Because I am of the old royal line of Avalon, and fostered there. And I know your name, not from sorcery, but because you look like your mother, who is also my kinswoman."
"My father's name is Galahad too," said the child, "but the Saxons call him Elf-arrow."
"I came here to bear your father's greetings to you, and to your mother, and to your sisters too," Morgaine said.
"Nimue is a silly girl," said Galahad. "She is a big girl, five years old, but she cried when my father came and would not let him pick her up and kiss her, because she did not recognize him. Do you know my father?"
"Indeed I do," said Morgaine. "His mother, the Lady of the Lake, was my foster-mother and my aunt."
He looked skeptical and frowned. "My mother told me that the Lady of the Lake is an evil sorceress."
"Your mother is-" Morgaine stopped and softened the words; he was, after all, only a child. "Your mother did not know the Lady as I did. She was a good and wise woman, and a great priestess."
 "Oh?" She could see Galahad struggling with this concept. "Father Griffin says that only men can be priests, because men are made in God's image and women are not. Nimue said that she wanted to be a priest when she grew up, and learn to read and write and play upon the harp, and Father Griffin told her that no woman could do all these things, or any of them."
"Then Father Griffin is mistaken," said Morgaine, "for I can do them all and more."
"I don't believe you," Galahad said, surveying her with a level stare of hostility. "You think everyone is wrong but you, don't you? My mother says that little ones should not contradict grown-ups, and you look as if you were not so much older than I. You aren't much bigger, are you?"
Morgaine laughed at the angry child and said, "But I am older than either your mother or your father, Galahad, even though I am not very big."
There was a stir at the door and Elaine came in. She had grown softer, her body rounded, her breasts sagging-after all, Morgaine told herself, she had borne three children and one was still at the breast. But she was still lovely, her golden hair shining as bright as ever, and she embraced Morgaine as if they had met but yesterday.
"I see you have met my good son," she said. "Nimue is in her room being punished-she was impertinent to Father Griffin-and Gwennie, thank Heaven, is asleep-she is a fussy baby and I was awake with her much of the night. Have you come from Camelot? Why did my lord not ride with you, Morgaine?"
"I have come to tell you about that," Morgaine said. "Lancelet will not ride home for some while. There is war in Less Britain, and his brother Bors is besieged in his castle. All of Arthur's Companions have gone to rescue him and put down the man who would be emperor."
Blame's eyes filled with tears, but young Galahad's face was eager with excitement. "If I were older," he said, "I would be one of the Companions and my father would make me a knight and I would ride with them, and I would fight these old Saxons-and any old emperor too!"
Elaine heard the story and said, "This Lucius sounds to me like a madman!"
"Mad or sane, he has an army and claims it in the name of Rome," Morgaine said. "Lancelet sent me to see you, and bade me kiss his children -though I doubt not this young man is too big to be kissed like a babe," she said, smiling at Galahad. "My stepson, Uwaine, thought himself too big for that when he was about your size, and a few days ago he was made one of Arthur's Companions."
"How old is he?" asked Galahad, and when Morgaine said fifteen, he scowled furiously and began to reckon up on his fingers.
Elaine asked, "How looked my dear lord? Galahad, run away to your tutor, I want to speak with my cousin," and when the child had gone, she said, "I had more time to speak with Lancelet before Pentecost than in all the years of our marriage. This is the first time in all these years that I have had more than a week of his company!"
"At least he did not leave you with child this time," said Morgaine.
"No," said Elaine, "and he was very considerate and did not seek my bed during those last weeks while we waited together for Gwen's birth- he said that I was so big, it would be no pleasure to me. I would not have refused him, but to tell the truth I think he cared not at all ... and there's a confession for you, Morgaine."
"You forget," said Morgaine with a grim little smile, "I have known Lancelet all my life."
"Tell me," Elaine said, "I swore, once, I would never ask you this- was Lancelet your lover, did you ever lie with him?"
Morgaine looked at her drawn face and said gently, "No, Elaine. There was a time when I thought-but it came never to that. I did not love him, nor did he love me." And to her own surprise, she knew the words were true, though she had never known it before.
Elaine stared at the floor, where a patch of sunlight came in through an old, discolored bit of glass that had been there since Roman days. "Morgaine-while he was at Pentecost, did he see the Queen?"
"Since Lancelet is not blind, and since she sat on the dais beside Arthur, I suppose he did," Morgaine said dryly.
Elaine made an impatient movement. "You know what I speak of!"
Is she still so jealous? Does she hate Gwenhwyfar so much? She has Lancelet, she has borne his children, she knows he is honorable, what more does she want? But before the younger woman's nervously twisting hands, the tears which seemed to hang on her eyelashes, Morgaine softened. "Elaine, he spoke with the Queen, and he kissed her in farewell when the call to arms came. But I vow to you, he spoke as courtier to his queen, not as lover to lover. They have known one another since they were young, and if they cannot forget that once they loved in a way that comes not twice to any man or woman, why should you begrudge them that? You are his wife, Elaine, and I could tell when he bade me bear you his message, he loves you well."
"And I swore to be content with no more, did I not?"
Elaine lowered her head for a long moment, and Morgaine saw her blinking furiously, but she did not cry, and at last she raised her head. "You who have had so many lovers, have you ever known what it is to love?"
For a moment Morgaine felt herself swept by the old tempest, the madness of love which had flung her and Lancelet, on a sun-flooded hill in Avalon, into each other's arms, which had brought them together again and again, until it all ended in bitterness ... by main will she forced away the memory and filled her mind with the thought of Accolon, who had roused again the sweetness of womanhood in her heart and body when she had felt old, dead, abandoned  ...  who had brought her back to the Goddess, who had made her again into a priestess  ...  she felt bands of crimson rising in quick successive waves over her face. Slowly, she nodded. "Yes, child. I have known-I know what it is to love."
She could see that Elaine wanted to ask a hundred other questions, and she thought how happy it would be to share all this with the one woman who had been her friend since she left Avalon, whose marriage she had made -but no. Secrecy was a part of the power of a priestess, and to speak of what she and Accolon had known would be to bring it outside of the magical realm, make her no more than a discontented wife sneaking to the bed of her stepson. She said, "But now, Elaine, there is something more to speak of. Remember, you made me a vow once-that if I helped you to win Lancelet, you would give me what I asked of you. Nimue is past five years old, old enough for fostering. I ride tomorrow for Avalon. You must make her ready to accompany me."
"No!" It was a long cry, almost a shriek. "No, no, Morgaine-you cannot mean it!"
Morgaine had been afraid of this. Now she made her voice distant and hard.
"Elaine. You have sworn it."
"How could I swear for a child not yet born? I knew not what it meant -oh, no, not my daughter, not my daughter-you cannot take her from me, not so young!"
Again Morgaine said, "You have sworn it."
"And if I refuse?" Elaine looked like a spitting cat ready to defend her kittens against a large and angry dog.
"If you refuse," Morgaine's voice was as quiet as ever, "when Lancelet comes home, he shall hear from me how this marriage was made, how you wept and begged me to put a spell on him so that he would turn from Gwenhwyfar to you. He thinks you the innocent victim of my magic, Elaine, and blames me, not you. Shall he know the truth?"
"You would not!" Elaine was white with horror.
"Try me," Morgaine said. "I know not how Christians regard an oath, but I assure you, among those who worship the Goddess, it is taken in all seriousness. And so I took yours. I waited till you had another daughter, but Nimue is mine by your pledged word."
"But-but what of her? She is a Christian child-how can I send her from her mother into-into a world of pagan sorceries  ...  ?"
"I am, after all, her kinswoman," Morgaine said gently. "How long have you known me, Elaine? Have you ever known me do anything so dishonorable or wicked that you would hesitate to entrust a child to me? I do not, after all, want her for feeding to a dragon, and the days are long, long past when even criminals were burnt on altars of sacrifice."
"What will befall her, then, in Avalon?" asked Elaine, so fearfully that Morgaine wondered if Elaine, after all, had harbored some such notions.
"She will be a priestess, trained in all the wisdom of Avalon," said Morgaine. "One day she will read the stars and know all the wisdom of the world and the heavens." She found herself smiling. "Galahad told me that she wished to learn to read and write and to play the harp-and in Avalon no one will forbid her this. Her life will be less harsh than if you had put her to school in some nunnery. We will surely ask less of her in the way of fasting and penance before she is grown."
"But-but what shall I say to Lancelet?" wavered Elaine.
"What you will," said Morgaine. "It would be best to tell him the truth, that you sent her to fosterage in Avalon, that she might fill the place left empty there. But I care not whether you perjure yourself to him-you may tell him that she was drowned in the lake or taken by the ghost of old Pellinore's dragon, for all care."
"And what of the priest? When Father Griffin hears that I have sent my daughter to become a sorceress in the heathen lands-"
"I care even less what you tell him," Morgaine said. "If you choose to tell him that you put your soul in pawn for my sorceries to win yourself a husband, and pledged your first daughter in return-no? I thought not."
"You are hard, Morgaine," said Elaine, tears falling from her eyes. "Cannot I have a few days to prepare her to go from me, to pack such things as she will need-"
"She needs not much," said Morgaine. "A change of shift if you will, and warm things for riding, a thick cloak and stout shoes, no more than that. In Avalon they will give her the dress of a novice priestess. Believe me," she added kindly, "she will be treated with love and reverence as the granddaughter of the greatest of priestesses. And they will-what is it your priests say-they will temper the wind to the shorn lamb. She will not be forced to austerities until she is of an age to endure them. I think she will be happy there."
"Happy? In that place of evil sorcery?"
Morgaine said, and the utter conviction of her words struck Elaine's heart, "I vow to you-I was happy in Avalon, and every day since I left, I have longed, early and late, to return thither. Have you ever heard me lie? Come-let me see the child."
"I bade her stay in her room and spin in solitude till sunset. She was rude to the priest and is being punished," said Elaine.
"But I remit the punishment," said Morgaine. "I am now her guardian and foster-mother, and there is no longer any reason to show courtesy to that priest. Take me to her."


THEY RODE FORTH the next day at dawn. Nimue had wept at parting with her mother, but even before they were gone an hour, she had begun to peer forth curiously at Morgaine from under the hood of her cloak. She was tall for her age, less like Lancelet's mother, Viviane, than like Morgause or Igraine; fair-haired, but with enough copper in the golden strands that Morgaine thought her hair would be red when she was older. And her eyes were almost the color of the small wood violets which grew by the brooks.
They had had only a little wine and water before setting out, so Morgaine asked, "Are you hungry, Nimue? We can stop and break our fast as soon as we find a clearing, if you wish."
"Yes, Aunt."
"Very well." And soon she dismounted and lifted the little girl from her pony.
"I have to-" The child cast down her eyes and squirmed.
"If you have to pass water, go behind that tree with the serving-woman," said Morgaine, "and never be ashamed again to speak of what God has made."
"Father Griffin says it is not modest-"
"And never speak to me again of anything Father Griffin said to you," Morgaine said gently, but with a hint of iron behind the mild words. "That is past, Nimue."
When the child came back she said, with a wide-eyed look of wonder, "I saw someone very small peering out at me from behind a tree. Galahad said you were called Morgaine of the Fairies-was it a fairy, Aunt?"
Morgaine shook her head and said, "No, it was one of the Old People of the hills-they are as real as you or I. It is better not to speak of them, Nimue, or take any notice. They are very shy, and afraid of men who live in villages and farms."
"Where do they live, then?"
"In the hills and forests," Morgaine said. "They cannot bear to see the earth, who is their mother, raped by the plow and forced to bear, and they do not live in villages."
"If they do not plow and reap, Aunt, what do they eat?"
"Only such things as the earth gives them of her free will," said Morgaine. "Root, berry and herb, fruit and seeds-meat they taste only at the great festivals. As I told you, it is better not to speak of them, but you may leave them some bread at the edge of the clearing, there is plenty for us all." She broke off a piece of a loaf and let Nimue take it to the edge of the woods. Elaine had, indeed, given them enough food for ten days' ride, instead of the brief journey to Avalon.
She ate little herself, but she let the child have all she wanted, and spread honey herself on Nimue's bread; time enough to train her, and after all, she was still growing very fast.
"You are eating no meat, Aunt," said Nimue. "Is it a fast day?"
Morgaine suddenly remembered how she had questioned Viviane. "No, I do not often eat it."
"Don't you like it? I do."
"Well, eat it then, if you wish. The priestesses do not have meat very often, but it is not forbidden, certainly not to a child your age."
"Are they like the nuns? Do they fast all the time? Father Griffin says-" She stopped, remembering she had been told not to quote what he said, and Morgaine was pleased; the child learned quickly.
She said, "I meant you are not to take what he says as a guide for your own conduct. But you may tell me what he says and one day you will learn to separate for yourself what is right in what he says, and what is folly or worse."
"He says that men and women must fast for their sins. Is that why?"
Morgaine shook her head. "The people of Avalon fast, sometimes, to teach their bodies to do what they are told without making demands it is inconvenient to satisfy-there are times when one must do without food, or water, or sleep, and the body must be the servant of the mind, not the master. The mind cannot be set on holy things, or wisdom, or stilled for the long meditation which opens the mind to other realms, when the body cries out 'Feed me!' or 'I thirst!' So we teach ourselves to still its clamoring. Do you understand?"
"N-not really," said the child doubtfully.
"You will understand when you are older, then. For now, eat your bread, and make ready to ride again."
Nimue finished her bread and honey and wiped her hands tidily on a clump of grass. "I never understood Father Griffin either, but he was angry when I did not. I was punished when I asked him why we must fast and pray for our sins when Christ had already forgiven them, and he said I had been taught heathendom and made Mother send me to my room. What is heathendom, Aunt?"
"It is anything a priest does not like," said Morgaine. "Father Griffin is a fool. Even the best of the Christian priests do not trouble little ones like you, who can do no sin, with much talk about it. Time enough to talk about sin, Nimue, when you are capable of doing it, or making choices between good and evil."
Nimue got on her pony obediently, but after a time she said, "Aunt Morgaine-I am not such a good girl, though. I sin all the time. I am always doing wicked things. I am not at all surprised that Mother wanted to send me away. That is why she is sending me to a wicked place, because I am a wicked girl."
Morgaine felt her throat close with something like agony. She had been about to mount her own horse, but she hurried to Nimue's pony and caught the girl in a great hug, holding her tight and kissing her again and again. She said, breathlessly, "Never say that again, Nimue! Never! It is not true, I vow to you it is not! Your mother did not want to send you away at all, and if she had thought Avalon a wicked place she would not have sent you no matter what I threatened!"
Nimue said in a small voice, "Why am I being sent away, then?"
Morgaine still held her tight with all the strength of her arms. "Because you were pledged to Avalon before you were born, my child. Because your grandmother was a priestess, and because I have no daughter for the Goddess, and you are being sent to Avalon that you may learn wisdom and serve the Goddess." She noted that her tears were falling, unheeded, on Nimue's fair hair. "Who let you believe it was punishment?"
"One of the women-while she packed my shift-" Nimue faltered. "I heard her say, Mother should not have sent me to that wicked place- and Father Griffin has told me often I am a wicked girl-"
Morgaine sank to the ground, holding Nimue in her lap, rocking her back and forth. "No, no," she said gently, "no, darling, no. You are a good girl. If you are naughty or lazy or disobedient, that is not sin, it is only that you are not old enough to know any better, and when you are taught to do what is right, then you will do so." And then, because she thought this conversation had gone far for a child so young, she said, "Look at that butterfly! I have not seen one that color before! Come, Nimue, let me lift you on your pony now," she said, and listened attentively as the little girl chattered on about butterflies.
Alone she could have ridden to Avalon in a single day, but the short legs of Nimue's little pony could not make that distance, so they slept that night in a clearing. Nimue had never slept out of doors before, and the darkness frightened her when they put out the fire, so Morgaine let the child creep into the circle of her arms and lay pointing out one star after another to her.
The little girl was tired with riding and soon slept, but Morgaine lay awake, Nimue's head heavy on her arm, feeling fear stealing upon her. She had been so long away from Avalon. Step by slow step, she had retraced all her training, or what she could remember; but would she forget some vital thing?
At last she slept, but before morning it seemed that she heard a step in the clearing, and Raven stood before her. She wore her dark gown and spotted deerskin tunic, and she said, "Morgaine! Morgaine, my dearest!" Her voice, the voice Morgaine had heard but once in all her years in Avalon, was so filled with surprise and joy and wonder that Morgaine woke suddenly and stared around the clearing, half expecting to see Raven there in the flesh. But the clearing was empty, except for a trace of mist that blotted out the stars, and Morgaine lay down again, not knowing if she had dreamed, or whether, with the Sight, Raven knew that she was approaching. Her heart was racing; she could feel the beat of it, almost painful inside her chest.
I should never have stayed away so long. I should have tried to return when Viviane died. Even if I died in the attempt, I should have made it ...  . Will they want me now, old, worn, used, the Sight slowly going from me, with nothing to bring them ...  ?
The child at her side made a small sleepy sound and stirred; she shifted her weight slightly and moved closer into Morgaine's arms. Morgaine put an arm round her, thinking, I bring them Viviane's granddaughter. But if they let me return only for her sake it will be more bitter than death. Has the Goddess cast me out forever?
At last she slept again, not to waken until it was broad daylight, misty drizzle beginning to fall. With this bad start the day went badly; toward midday Nimue's pony cast a shoe, and, although Morgaine was impatient and would have taken the child up to ride before her-she herself was the lightest of burdens for a horse, who could have carried two her size without trouble-she did not want to lame the pony, so they must turn aside for a village and a blacksmith. She did not want it known or rumored in the countryside that the King's sister rode for Avalon, but now there was no help for it. There was so little news in this part of the land that whatever happened here seemed to fly on wings.
Well, it could not helped; the wretched little animal was not to blame. They delayed and found a small village off the main road. All day the rain fell; even though it was high summer, Morgaine was shivering, and the child was damp and fretful. Morgaine paid little attention to her fussing; she was sorry for her, especially when Nimue began to cry softly for her mother, but that could not be helped either, and one of the first lessons of a priestess in the making was to endure loneliness. She would simply have to cry until she found her own comfort or learned to live without it, as all the maidens in the House had had to learn to do.
It was now long past noon, although the overcast was so thick that they could get no hint of the sun. Still, at this time of year, the light lingered late, and Morgaine did not want to spend another night on the road. She resolved to ride as far as they could see their way and was encouraged to see that as soon as they began to ride again, Nimue stopped whimpering and began to take an interest in what they rode past. Now they were very near Avalon. Nimue was so sleepy that she swayed in her saddle and at last Morgaine lifted the little girl from her pony and held her in front of her on the saddle. But the child woke when they came to the shores of the Lake.
"Are we there, Aunt?" she asked, as she was set on her feet.
"No, but it is not far now," Morgaine said. "Within half an hour, if all goes well, you will be ready for supper and bed."
And if all does not go well? Morgaine refused to think of that. Doubt was fatal to power, and to the Sight.... Five years she had spent, laboriously retracing her steps from the beginning; now it was as it had been before, cast out of Avalon, with no test save this, Have I the power to return  ...  ?
"I don't see anything at all," Nimue said. "Is this the place? But there is nothing here, Aunt." And she looked fearfully at the dismal dripping shore, the solitary reeds murmuring to the rain.
"They will send us a boat," said Morgaine.
"But how will they know we are here? How can they see us in this rain?"
"I will call it," said Morgaine. "Be quiet, Nimue." Within her echoed the fretful child's cry, but now, when she stood at last on the shores of home, she felt the old knowledge welling up, filling her like a cup overrunning its brim. She bent her head for an instant in the most fervent prayer of her life, then drew a long breath and raised her arms in invocation'.
For an instant, heartsick with failure, she felt nothing; then, like a slowly descending line of light running down her, it struck through her, and she heard the little girl at her side gasp in sudden wonder; but she had no time for that, she felt her body like a bridge of lightning between Heaven and Earth. She did not consciously speak the word of power, but felt it throbbing like thunder through her whole body ... silence. Silence, Nimue white and dumb at her side. And then in the dim, dull waters of the Lake there was a little stirring, like mist boiling ... and then a shadow, and then, long and dark and shining, the Avalon barge moving slowly out of the patch of mist. Morgaine let her breath go in a long sigh that was half a sob.
It glided noiseless as a shadow to the shore, but the sound of the boat scraping on the land was very real and solid. Several of the little dark men scrambled out and took the horses' heads, bowing low to Morgaine, saying, "I will lead them by the other path, lady," and vanishing into the rain. Another drew back so that Morgaine could first step into the boat, lift the staring child in after her, give a hand to the frightened servants. Still in silence, except for the muttered words of the man who had taken the horses, the boat glided out into the Lake.
"What is that shadow, Aunt?" Nimue whispered, as the oars shoved out from shore.
"It is Glastonbury church," said Morgaine, surprised that her voice was so calm. "It is on the other island, the one we can see from here. Your grandmother, your father's mother, is buried there. Someday, perhaps, you will see her memorial stone."
"Are we going there?"
"Not today."
"But the boat is going straight toward it-I have heard there is a convent on Glastonbury too-"
"No," said Morgaine, "we are not going there. Wait and see, and be quiet."
Now would come the true test. They might have seen her from Avalon, with the Sight, and sent the boat, but whether she could open the mists to Avalon ... that would be the test of all she had done in these years. She must not try and fail, she must simply arise and do it, without stopping to think. They were now in the very center of the Lake, where another stroke of the oars would take them into the current which ran toward the Isle of Glastonbury ...  . Morgaine rose swiftly, the flow of her draperies around her, and raised her arms. Again she remembered ... it was like the first time she had done this, with a shock of surprise that the tremendous flow of power was silent, when it should blast the sky with thunders  ...  she dared not open her eyes until she heard Nimue cry aloud in fear and wonder ...  .
The rain was gone, and under the last brilliance of a setting sun, the Isle of Avalon lay green and beautiful before them, sunlight on the Lake, sunlight striking through the ring stones atop the Tor, sunlight on the white walls of the temple. Morgaine saw it through a blur of tears; she swayed in the boat and would have fallen, except for a hand laid on her shoulder.
Home, home, I am here, I am coming home ...  .
She felt the boat scrape on the pebbled shore and composed herself. It seemed not right that she should not be wearing the garb of a priestess, though beneath her gown, as always, Viviane's little knife was belted close around her waist. It seemed not right ...  her silken veils, the rings on her narrow fingers  ...  Queen Morgaine of North Wales, not Morgaine of Avalon  ...  well, that could be changed. She lifted her head proudly, drawing a long breath, and took the child by the hand. However she had changed, however many the years that lay between, she was Morgaine of Avalon, priestess of the Great Goddess. Beyond that Lake of mists and shadows, she might be queen to an elderly and laughable king, in a country far away  ...  but here she was priestess, and born of the old royal line of Avalon.
She saw without surprise, as she stepped on land, that before her stood a line of bowing servants and behind them, awaiting her, the dark-robed forms of priestesses... they had known and had come to welcome her home. And through the line of priestesses, she saw a face and form she had seen only in a dream, a tall woman, fair-haired and queenly, her golden hair braided low on her forehead. The woman came to Morgaine quickly through the line of the other priestesses, and took her into an embrace.
"Welcome, kinswoman," she said softly. "Welcome home, Morgaine."
And Morgaine spoke the name she had heard only in dreams till Kevin spoke it to her, confirming the dream. "I greet you, Niniane, and I bring you Viviane's granddaughter. She shall be fostered here, and her name is Nimue."
Niniane was studying her curiously; what had she heard, Morgaine wondered, in all these years? But then she looked away and stooped to look at the little girl.
"And this is Galahad's daughter?"
"No," said Nimue, "Galahad is my brother. I am the daughter of the good knight Lancelet."
Niniane smiled. "I know," she said, "but here we do not use the name the Saxons gave your father, and he has the same name as your brother, you see. Well, Nimue, have you come to be a priestess here?"
Nimue looked around at the sunset landscape. "That is what my aunt Morgaine told me. I would like to learn to read and write and play the harp, and know about the stars and all kinds of things as she does. Are you really evil sorceresses here? I thought a sorceress would be old and ugly, and you are very pretty." She bit her lip. "I am being rude again."
Niniane laughed. "Always speak out the truth, child. Yes, I am a sorceress. I do not think I am ugly, but you must decide for yourself whether I am good or evil. I try to do the will of the Goddess, and that is all anyone can do."
"I will try to do that, if you will tell me how," Nimue said.
The sun dropped below the horizon, and suddenly the shore was all grey twilight. Niniane signalled; a servant holding a single torch reached out to another, and the light passed swiftly from hand to hand until the shore was all ablaze with torchlight. Niniane patted the little girl on the cheek. She said, "Until you are old enough to know her will for yourself, will you obey the rules here, and obey the women who have you in charge?"
"I will try," Nimue said, "but I am always forgetting. And I ask too many questions."
"You may ask as many questions as you want to, when it is the proper time for such things," Niniane said, "but you have been riding all day and it is late, so for tonight the first command I give you is to be a good girl, and go and have supper and a bath and go to your bed. Say farewell to your kinswoman, now, and go with Lheanna to the House of Maidens." She gestured to a sturdy, motherly looking woman in the dress of a priestess.
Nimue sniffled a little and said, "Must I say goodbye now? Won't you come and tell me goodbye tomorrow, Aunt Morgaine? I thought I would be with you here."
Morgaine said, very gently, "No, you must go to the House of Maidens, and do what you are told." She kissed the petal-soft cheek. "The Goddess bless you, darling. We will meet again when she wills it." And as she spoke she saw this same Nimue grown to tall womanhood, pale and serious with the blue crescent painted between her brows, and the shadow of the Death-crone  ...  she swayed, and Niniane put out a hand to support her.
"You are weary, lady Morgaine. Send the babe to her rest, and come with me. We can talk tomorrow."
Morgaine printed a final kiss on Nimue's brow and the little girl trotted away obediently at Lheanna's side. Morgaine felt a darkening mist before her eyes; Niniane gave her an arm and said, "Lean on me. Come with me to my quarters where you can rest."
Niniane brought her to the dwelling that had once been Viviane's, and to the little room where the priestesses in attendance on the Lady of the Lake slept in their turn. Alone, Morgaine managed to collect herself. For a moment she wondered if Niniane had brought her to these quarters to emphasize that she, not Morgaine, was Lady of the Lake  ...  then stopped herself; that kind of intrigue was for the court, not for Avalon. Niniane had simply given her the most convenient and secluded of the rooms available. Once Raven had dwelt here, in her consecrated silence, so that Viviane might teach her ...  .
Morgaine washed the grime of travel from her weary body, wrapped herself in the long robe of undyed wool which she found lying across the bed, and even ate some of the food they brought, but did not touch the warmed and spiced wine. There was a stone water jar at the side of the fireplace, and she dipped out a ladleful, drinking, with tears in her eyes.
The priestesses of Avalon drink only waterfront the Sacred Well.... Again she was the young Morgaine, sleeping within the walls of her own place. She went to bed and slept like a child.
She never knew what woke her. There was a step in the room, and silence. By the last flicker of the dying firelight and the flooding light of the moon through the shutters, she saw a veiled form, and for a moment she thought that Niniane had come to speak with her; but the hair that flowed over the shoulders was long and dark and the dark face beautiful and still. On one hand she could see the darkened, thickened patch of an ancient scar  ...  Raven! She sat up and said, "Raven! Is it you?"
Raven's fingers covered her lips, in the old gesture of silence; she came to Morgaine's side, bent over her and kissed her. Without a word, she threw off her long cloak and lay down at Morgaine's side, taking her in her arms. In the dimness Morgaine could see the rest of the scars running up along the arm and across the pale heavy breast ...  neither of them spoke a word, then, nor in the time that followed. It seemed that the real world and Avalon had both slipped away, and again she was in the shadows of the fairy country, held close in the arms of the lady.... Morgaine heard in her mind the words of the ancient blessing of Avalon, as Raven touched her slowly, with ritual silence and significance, and the sound seemed to shiver around her in the silence. Blessed be the feet that have brought you to this place... blessed the knees that shall bend before her altar  ...  blessed be the gate of Life ...  .
And then the world began to flow and change and move around her, and for a moment it was not Raven in the silence, but a form edged in light, whom she had seen once, years before, at the time when she crossed the great silence  ...  and Morgaine knew that she too was glowing in light  ...  still the deep flowing silence. And then it was only Raven again, lying close to her with her hair perfumed with the herbs they used in the rites, one arm flung over her, her silent lips just touching Morgaine's cheek. Morgaine could see that there were long pale streaks of white in the dark hair.
Raven stirred and raised herself up. Still she did not speak, but she took from somewhere a silver crescent, the ritual ornament of a priestess. Morgaine knew, with a catch of breath, that it was the one she had left on her bed in the House of Maidens on that day when she had fled forth from Avalon with Arthur's child in her womb  ...  silent, after a gasp of half-voiced protest, she let Raven bind it about her neck; but Raven showed her briefly, by the last glint of the setting moon, the flash of a knife blade bound about her own waist. Morgaine nodded, knowing that Viviane's ritual knife would never again while she lived leave her side; she was content that Raven should bear the one she herself had abandoned until one day she saw it bound about Nimue's waist.
Raven took the little razor-sharp knife, and Morgaine watched, stilled into a dream, as she raised it; so be it, even if she wishes here to shed my blood before the Goddess I tried to flee  ...  but Raven turned the knife toward her own throat; from the breastbone she pricked a single drop of blood, and Morgaine, bowing her head, took the knife and made a slight cut over her heart.
We are old, Raven and I, we shed blood no longer from the womb but from the heart ...  and wondered afterward what she had meant. Raven bent to her and licked the blood away from the small cut; Morgaine bent and touched her lips to the small, welling stain at Raven's breast, knowing that this was a sealing long past the vows she had taken when she came to womanhood. Then Raven drew her again into her arms.
I gave up my maidenhood to the Horned One. I bore a child to the God. I burned with passion for Lancelet, and Accolon created me priestess anew in the plowed fields which the Spring Maiden had blessed. Yet never have I known what it was to be received simply in love.... It seemed to Morgaine, half in a dream, that she lay in the lap of her mother ... no, not Igraine, but welcomed back into the arms of the Great Mother ...  .
When she woke she was alone. Opening her eyes into the sunlight of Avalon, weeping with joy, she wondered for a moment if she had dreamed. Yet over her heart was a small stain of dried blood; and on the pillow beside her lay the silver crescent, the ritual jewel of a priestess, which she had left when she fled from Avalon. Yet surely Raven had bound it about her throat ...  .
Morgaine tied it around her neck on its slender thong. It would never leave her again; like Viviane, she would be buried with this about her neck. Her fingers shook as she knotted the leather, knowing this was a reconsecration. There was something else on the pillow, and for a moment it shifted and changed, an unopened rosebud, a blown rose, and when Morgaine took it into her hand, it was the rose-hip berry, full and round and crimson, pulsing with the tart life of the rose. As she watched, it shrank, withered, lay dried in her hand; and Morgaine suddenly understood.
Flower and even fruit are only the beginning. In the seed lies the life and the future.
With a long sigh, Morgaine tied the seed into a scrap of silk, knowing that she must go forth again from Avalon. Her work was not completed, and she had chosen the place of her work and her testing when she fled forth from Avalon. One day, perhaps, she might return, but that time had not yet come.
And what I am must be hidden, as the rose lies hidden within the seed. She rose then and put on the garments of the queen. The robe of a priestess should be hers again one day, but she had yet to earn again the right to wear it. Then she sat and waited for Niniane to summon her.


WHEN SHE CAME into the central room where she had faced Viviane so often, time swooped and circled and turned on itself so that for a moment it seemed to Morgaine that she must see Viviane sitting where she had so often sat, dwarfed by the high seat and yet impressive, filling the whole room  ...  then she blinked, and it was Niniane there, tall and slight and fair; it seemed to Morgaine that Niniane was no more than a child, sitting in play in the high seat.
And then what Viviane had said to her when she stood before her, so many years ago, suddenly rushed over her: you have reached a stage where obedience may be tempered with your own judgment ...  and for a moment it seemed to her that her best judgment was to turn aside now, to say to Niniane only such words as might reassure her. And then the surge of resentment came over her at the thought that this child, this foolish and ordinary girl in the dress of a priestess, was presuming to sit where Viviane had sat and to give orders in the name of A valon. She had been chosen only because she was of the blood of Taliesin ...  . How does she dare sit here and presume to give orders to me ...  ?
She looked down at the girl, knowing, without being certain how, that she had taken upon herself the old glamour and majesty, and then, with a sudden surge of the Sight, it seemed to her that she read Niniane's thoughts.
She should be here in my place, Niniane was thinking, how can I speak with authority to Queen Morgaine of the Fairies  ...  and the thought was blurred, half with awe of the strange and powerful priestess before her, and half with simple resentment, if she had not fled from us and forsworn her duty, I would not now be struggling to fill a place for which we both know I am not fit.
Morgaine came and took her hands, and Niniane was surprised at her gentle voice.
"I am sorry, my poor girl, I would give my very life to return here and take the burden from you. But I cannot, I dare not. I cannot hide here and shirk my given task because I long for my home." It was no longer arrogance, nor contempt for the girl who had been thrust, unwilling, into the place which should have been hers, but simple pity for her. "I have begun a task in the West country which must be completed-if I leave it half done, it were better it had never been begun. You cannot take my place there, and so, may the Goddess help us both, you must keep my place here." She bent and embraced the girl, holding her tight. "My poor little cousin, there is a fate on us both, and we cannot escape it ... if I had stayed here, the Goddess would have worked with me one way, but even when I tried to flee my sworn duty, she brought it upon me elsewhere  ...  none of us can escape. We are both in her hands, and it is too late to say it would have been better the other way  ...  she will do with us as she will."
Niniane held rigidly aloof for a moment, then her resentment melted and she clung to Morgaine, almost as Nimue had done. Blinking back tears, she said, "I wanted to hate you-"
"And I, you, perhaps  ... " Morgaine said. "But she has willed otherwise, and before her we are sisters...." Hesitantly, her lips reluctant to speak the words which had been withheld for so long, she added something else, and Niniane bent her head and murmured the proper response. Then she said, "Tell me of your work in the West, Morgaine. No, sit here beside me, there is no rank between us, you know that ...  ."
When Morgaine had told her what she could, Niniane nodded. "Something of this I heard from the Merlin," she said. "In that country, then, men turn again to the old worship  ...  but Uriens has two sons, and the elder is his father's heir. Your task then is to make certain that Wales has a king from Avalon-which means that Accolon must succeed his father, Morgaine."
Morgaine closed her eyes and sat with bent head. At last she said, "I will not kill, Niniane. I have seen too much of war and bloodshed. Avalloch's death would solve nothing-they follow Roman ways there now, since the priests have come, and Avalloch has a son."
Niniane dismissed that. "A son who could be reared to the old worship -how old is he, four years old?"
"He was so when I came to Wales," said Morgaine, thinking of the child who had sat in her lap and clung to her with his sticky fingers and called her Granny. "Enough, Niniane. I have done all else, but even for Avalon, I will not kill."
Niniane's eyes flamed blue sparks at her. She raised her head and said, warning, "Never name that well from which you will not drink!"
And suddenly Morgaine realized that the woman before her was priestess, too, not merely the pliant child she had seemed; she could not be where she was, she could never have passed the tests and ordeals which went into the making of a Lady of Avalon, if she had not been acceptable to the Goddess. With unexpected humility, she realized why she had been sent here. Niniane said, almost in warning, "You will do what the Goddess wills when her hand is laid upon you, and that I know by the token you bear  ... " and her eyes rested upon Morgaine's bosom as if she could see through the folds of the gown to the seed which lay there, or to the silver crescent on its leather thong. Morgaine bent her head and whispered, "We are all in her hands."
"Be it so," said Niniane, and for a moment it was so silent in the room that Morgaine could hear the splash of a fish in the Lake beyond the borders of the little house. Then she said, "What of Arthur, Morgaine? He bears still the sword of the Druid Regalia. Will he honor his oath at last? Can you make him honor it?"
"I do not know Arthur's heart," Morgaine said, and it was a bitter confession. I had power over him, and I was too squeamish to use it. I flung it away.
"He must swear again to honor his oath to Avalon, or you must get the sword from him again," said Niniane, "and you are the only person living to whom this task might be entrusted. Excalibur, the sword of the Holy Regalia, must not remain in the hands of one who follows Christ. You know Arthur has no son by his queen, and he has named the son of Lancelet, Galahad by name, to be his heir, since now the Queen grows old."
Morgaine thought, Gwenhwyfar is younger than I, and I might still bear a child if I had not been so damaged in Gwydion's birth. Why are they so certain she will never bear? But before Niniane's certainty she asked no questions. There was magic enough in Avalon, and no doubt they had hands and eyes at Arthur's court; and indeed the last thing they would wish would be that the Christian Gwenhwyfar should bear Arthur a son  ...  not now.
"Arthur has a son," said Niniane, "and while his day is not yet, there is a kingdom he can take-a place to begin the recapture of this land for Avalon. In the ancient ways, the king's son meant little, the son of the Lady was all, and the king's sister's son was his heir  ...  know you what I mean, Morgaine?"
Accolon must succeed to the throne of Wales. Morgaine heard it again, and then what Niniane did not say: And my son .. . is the son of King Arthur. Now it all made sense. Even her own barrenness after Gwydion's birth. But she asked, "What of Arthur's heir-Lancelet's son?"
Niniane shrugged and for a moment Morgaine wondered, horrified, whether it was intended to give Nimue the same hold on Galahad's conscience that she had been given on Arthur's.
"I cannot see all things," said Niniane. "Had you been Lady here- but time has moved on and other plans must be made. Arthur may yet honor his oath to Avalon and keep the sword Excalibur, and then there will be one way to proceed. And he may not, and there will be another way which she will prepare, to which end we each have our tasks. But whether or no, Accolon must come to rule in the West country, and that is your task. And the next king will rule from Avalon. When Arthur falls-though his stars say he will live to be old-then the king of Avalon will rise. Or else, the stars say, such darkness will fall over this land that it will be as if he had never been. And when the next king takes power, then will Avalon return into the mainstream of time and history ... and then there will be a subject king over the western lands, ruling his Tribespeople. Accolon shall rise high as your consort-and it is for you to prepare the land for the great king from Avalon."
Again Morgaine bowed her head and said, "I am in your hands."
"You must return now," said Niniane, "but first there is one you must know. His time is not yet  ...  but there will be one more task for you." She raised her hand, and as if he had been waiting in an anteroom, a door opened and a tall young man came into the room.
And at the sight Morgaine caught her breath, with a pain so great that it seemed for a moment that she could not breathe. Here was Lancelet reborn -young and slender as a dark flame, his hair curling about his cheeks, his narrow dark face smiling ... Lancelet as he had been on that day when they lay together in the shadow of the ring stones, as if time had slipped and circled back as in the fairy country ...  .
And then she knew who it must be. He came forward and bent to kiss her hand. His walk was Lancelet's too, the flowing movements that seemed almost a dance. But he wore the robes of a bard, and on his forehead was the small tattoo of an acorn crest, and about his wrists the serpents of Avalon writhed. Time reeled in her mind.
If Galahad is to be king in the land, is my son then the Merlin, tanist and dark twin and sacrifice? For a moment it seemed she moved among shadows, king and Druid, the bright shadow who sat beside Arthur's throne as queen, and herself who had borne Arthur's shadow son  ...  Dark Lady of power.
She knew anything she said would be foolish. "Gwydion. You are not like your father."
He shook his head. "No," he said, "I bear the blood of Avalon. I looked once on Arthur, when he made a pilgrimage to Glastonbury of the priests -I went there unseen in a priest's robe. He bows overmuch to the priests, this Arthur our king." His smile was fleeting, feral.
"You have no reason to love either of your parents, Gwydion," said Morgaine, and her hand tightened on his, but she surprised a fleeting look in his eyes, icy hatred  ...  then it was gone and he was the smiling young Druid again.
"My parents gave me their best gift," Gwydion said, "the royal blood of Avalon. And one more thing I ask of you, lady Morgaine." Irrationally she wished he had called her, just once, by the name of Mother.
"Ask, and if I can give, it is yours."
Gwydion said, "It is not a great gift. Surely not more than five years hence, Queen Morgaine, you will lead me to look on Arthur and let him know that I am his son. I am aware"-a quick, disturbing smile-"that he cannot acknowledge me as his heir. But I wish him to look on the face of his son. I ask no more than that."
She bent her head. "Surely I owe you that much, Gwydion."
Gwenhwyfar might think what she liked-Arthur had already done penance for this. No man could be other than proud of this grave and priestly young Druid. Nor should she  ...  after all these years, she knew it ... feel shame for what had been, as now she knew she had felt it all these years since she fled from Avalon. Now that she saw her son grown, she bowed before the inevitability of Viviane's Sight.
She said, "I vow to you that day will come, I swear it by the Sacred Well." Her eyes blurred, and angrily she blinked back the rebellious tears. This was not her son; Uwaine, perhaps, was her son, but not Gwydion. This dark, handsome young man so like the Lancelet she had loved as a girl, he was not her son looking for the first time on the mother who had abandoned him before he was weaned; he was priest and she priestess of the Great Goddess, and if they were no more to each other than that, at least they were no less.
She put her hands to his bent head and said, "Be thou blessed."

13

Queen Morgause had long ceased to repine that she had not the Sight. Yet twice, in the last days of falling leaves, when the red larch trees stood bare in the icy wind that blew over Lothian, she dreamed of her foster-son Gwydion; and she was not at all surprised when one of her servant folk told her that a rider was on the road.
Gwydion wore a strangely colored cloak, coarse and with a clasp of bone such as she had never seen, and when she would have wrapped him in her arms, he shrank away, wincing.
"No, Mother-" He put his free arm around her and explained, "I caught a sword cut there in Brittany-no, it is not serious," he reassured her. "It did not fester and perhaps I shall not even have a scar, but when it is touched it cries out to me!"
"You have been fighting in Brittany, then? I thought you safe in Avalon," she remonstrated, as she led him within and set him by the fire. "I have no southern wine for you-"
He laughed. "I am weary of it-barley beer is enough for me, or some of the firewater if you have it... with hot water and honey if there is any. I am stiff with riding." He let one of the women draw off his boots and hang his cloak to dry, leaning back at ease.
"So good it is to be here, Mother-" He set the steaming cup to his lips and drank with pleasure.
"And you came so far, riding in the cold with a wound? Was there some great tidings that needed to tell?"
He shook his head. "None-I was homesick, no more," he said. "It's all so green and lush and damp there, with fog and church bells ... I longed for the clean air of the fells, and the gulls' cry, and your face, Mother  ... " He reached out for the cup he had set down, and she saw the serpents about his wrists. She was not greatly versed in the lore of Avalon, but she knew they were the sign of the highest rank of the priesthood. He saw her glance and nodded, but said nothing.
"Was it in Brittany you got you that ugly cloak, so coarse-woven and low, fit only for a serving-man?"
He chuckled. "It kept the rain from me. I took it from a great chief of the foreign lands, who fought under the legions of that man who called himself Emperor Lucius. Arthur's men made short work of that one, believe me, and there was plunder for all-I have a silver cup and a golden ring in my packs for you, Mother."
"You fought in the armies of Arthur?" Morgause asked. She had never thought he would do this; he saw the surprise in her face and laughed again.
"Yes, I fought under that great King who fathered me," he said, with a grin of contempt. "Oh, fear not, I had my orders from Avalon. I took care to fight among the warriors of Ceardig, the Saxon chief of the treaty men who loves me well, and to come not under Arthur's eyes. Gawaine knew me not, and I was careful not to let Gareth see me except when I was shrouded in a cloak like that-I lost my own cloak in battle, and feared if I was wearing a cloak of Lothian, Gareth would come to look on a wounded countryman, so I got this one ...  ."
"Gareth would have known you anywhere," said Morgause, "and I hope you do not think your foster-brother would ever betray you."
Gwydion smiled, and Morgause thought that he looked very like the little boy who had once sat in her lap. He said, "I longed to make myself known to Gareth, and when I lay wounded and weak, I came near to doing so. But Gareth is Arthur's man, and he loves his king, I could see that, and I would not put that burden on my best of brothers," he said. "Gareth- Gareth is the only one-"
He did not finish the sentence, but Morgause knew what he would have said; stranger as he was everywhere, Gareth was his brother and his beloved friend. Abruptly he grinned, chasing away the remote smile that made him look so young. "All through the Saxon armies, Mother, I was asked again and again if I was Lancelet's son! I cannot see the resemblance so much myself, but then I am not really familiar with my own face ... I look into a mirror only when I shave myself!"
"Still," said Morgause, "anyone who had seen Lancelet, especially anyone who knew him in youth, could not look on you without knowing you his kinsman."
"Some such thing as that I said-I put on a Breton accent, sometimes, and said I too was kinsman to old King Ban," Gwydion said. "Yet I would think our Lancelet, with the face which makes him a magnet to all maids, would have fathered enough bastards that it would not be such a marvel to all men that one should go about wearing his face! Not so? I wondered," he said, "but all I heard of Lancelet was that it might be that he had fathered a son on the Queen and the child was spirited away somewhere to be fostered by that kinswoman of hers whom they married off to Lancelet ...  . Tales of Lancelet and the Queen are many, each wilder than the next, but all agree that for every other woman the Gods made, he has nothing but courtesy and fair words. There were even women who flung themselves at me, saying that if they could not have Lancelet, they would have his son...." He grinned again. "It must have been hard for the gallant Lancelet. I have eye enough for a fair woman, but when they push themselves on me so, well  ... " He shrugged, comically. Morgause laughed.
"Then the Druids have not robbed you of that, my son?"
"By no means," he said. "But most women are fools, so that I prefer not to trouble myself making play with those who expect me to treat them as something very special, or to pay heed to what they say. You have spoilt me for foolish women, Mother."
"Pity the same could not have been said of Lancelet," said Morgause, "for never did anyone think Gwenhwyfar had more wits than she needed to keep her girdle tied, and where Lancelet was concerned, I doubt she had that much," and she thought, You have Lancelet's face, my boy, but you have your mother's wit!
As if he had heard her thoughts, he set down the empty cup, and waved away a serving-girl who would have scurried to refill it. "No more, I am so weary that I will be drunk at another taste! Supper I would have. I have had enough of hunter's fortune, I am sick of meat, and long for home food -porridge and bannock ...  . Mother, I looked on the lady Morgaine at Avalon before I left for Brittany."
Now why, Morgause wondered, does he say this to me? It could not be looked for that he should have much love for his mother, and then she felt sudden guilt. I made sure he should not love any but me. Well, she had done what she must, and she did not regret it.
"How looks my kinswoman?"
"She looks not young," said Gwydion, "it seemed to me that she was older than you, Mother."
"No," Morgause said, "Morgaine is younger than I by ten years."
"Still, she looks worn and old, and you  ... " He smiled at her, and Morgause felt the flood of sudden happiness. She thought, None of my own sons have I loved as this one. Morgaine did well to leave him to my care.
"Oh," she said, "I grow old too, my lad ... I had a grown son when you were born!"
"Then you are twice the sorceress she is," said Gwydion, "for one could swear you had dwelt long in the fairy country with time never touching you ... you look to me as you did the day I rode away for Avalon, Mother mine." He reached out his hand to hers and brought it to his lips and kissed it, and she came and put her arm round him, careful to avoid his wound. She stroked the dark hair. "So Morgaine is queen now in Wales."
"True," Gwydion said, "and high, I hear, in favor with the King  ...  Arthur has made her stepson Uwaine a member of his own personal bodyguard, next to Gawaine, and he and Gawaine are close friends. Uwaine's not a bad fellow-not unlike Gawaine, I'd say-tough and staunch, both of them, and devoted to Arthur as if the sun rose and set where he pissed ..." and Morgause noted the wry smile. "But then it's a fault many men have-and I came here to speak of this to you, Mother," he said. "Know you anything of Avalon's plan?"
"I know what Niniane said, and the Merlin, when they came to take you thither," said Morgause. "I know you are to be Arthur's heir, even though he believes he will leave the kingdom to that son of Lancelet's. I know you are the young stag who will bring down the King Stag  ... " she said in the old language, and Gwydion raised his brow.
"Then you know it all," he said. "But this, perhaps, you do not know ... it cannot be done now. Since Arthur brought down this Roman who would be emperor, this Lucius, his star has never flamed higher than now. Anyone who raised a hand against Arthur would be torn in pieces by the mob, or by his Companions-never have I seen a man so loved. This, I think, is why I needed to look from afar on his face, to see what is it in a king which makes him so loved ...  ."
His voice fell away into silence and Morgause felt ill at ease. "And did you so?"
Gwydion nodded slowly. "He is a king indeed  ...  even I who have no cause to love him felt that spell he creates around him. You cannot imagine how he is worshipped."
"Strange," said Morgause, "I for one never thought him so remarkable."
"No, be fair," said Gwydion. "There are not many-perhaps there is no other within this land who could have rallied all factions as he did! Romans, Welsh, Cornish, West-countrymen, East Anglians, men of Brittany, the Old People, the men of Lothian ... all through this kingdom, Mother, all men swear by Arthur's star. Even those Saxons who once fought Uther to the death, stand and swear that Arthur shall be their king. He is a great warrior  ...  no, not in himself, he fights no better than any other warrior, not half so well as Lancelet or even Gareth, but he is a great general. And it is something  ...  something in himself," Gwydion said. "It is easy to love him. And while all worship him thus, I have no possible task."
"Then," said Morgause, "their love of him must somehow be made less. He must be discredited. He is no better than any other man, the Gods know that. He fathered you on his own sister, and it is well known here and abroad that he plays no very noble part with his queen. There is a name for a man who sits complacent while another man pays court to his queen, and not so pretty a name, after all."
"Something, I am sure, can be made of that," said Gwydion. "Though in these late years, it is said, Lancelet has stayed far from court and taken care never to be alone with the Queen, so that no shadow of scandal shall fall on her name. Yet they say she wept like a child, and so did Lancelet, when he took leave of her to go and fight at Arthur's side against this Lucius, and never did I see man fight as did Lancelet. One would think he longed to fling himself headlong into death. But he took never even a wound, as if his life was charmed. I wonder ... he is the son of a High Priestess of Avalon," he mused. "It may be he bears supernatural protection of some sort."
"Morgaine would know that," said Morgause dryly, "but I would not suggest you ask her."
"I do know that Arthur's life is charmed," said Gwydion, "for he bears the sacred Excalibur, sword of the Druid Regalia, and a magical scabbard which guards him from shedding blood. Without it, so Niniane told me, he would have bled himself to death at Celidon Wood, and after that ...  . Morgaine has been given as her first task to get this sword again from Arthur, unless he will swear anew to be true to Avalon. And I doubt not my mother is wily enough to do so. I doubt she would stop at much, my mother. Of the two, I think I like my father better-he knew not what evil he had wrought when he got me, I think."
"Morgaine knew not that, either," said Morgause sharply.
"Oh, I am weary of Morgaine  ...  even Niniane has fallen under her spell," said Gwydion sharply. "Do not you begin to defend her to me, Mother."
Morgause thought, Viviane was even so, she could charm any man alive to do her will, and any woman either  ...  Igraine went pliant at her bidding to wed with Gorlois and later to seduce Uther  ...  and I to Lot's bed  ...  and now Niniane has done what Morgaine wished. And this foster-son of hers had, she suspected, something of that power, too. She recalled, suddenly and with unexpected pain, Morgaine with her head bent, having her hair combed like a child, on the night she bore Gwydion; Morgaine, who had been to her as the daughter she never bore, and now she was torn between Morgaine and Morgaine's son, who was even dearer to her than her own sons. "Do you hate her so, Gwydion?"
"I know not how I feel," said Gwydion, looking up at her with Lancelet's dark mournful eyes. "It seems not to run with the vows of Avalon that I should so hate the mother who bore me and the father who got me. ... I would that I had been reared at court as my father's son and his sworn follower, not his bitterest enemy ...  ."
He laid his head down on his arms and said through them, "I am weary, Mother. I am weary and sick of fighting, and I know Arthur is so, too ... he has brought peace in these isles-from Cornwall to Lothian. I do not like to think that this great king, this great man, is my enemy and that for the sake of Avalon I must bring him down to nothing, to death or dishonor. I would rather love him, as all men do. I would like to look on my mother-not you, Mother, but lady Morgaine-I would like to look on her who bore me as my mother, not as the great priestess whom I am sworn to obey whatever she bids me. I would that she were my mother, not the Goddess. I wish that when Niniane lay in my arms she were no more than my own dear love, whom I love because she has your sweet face and your lovely voice. ... I am so weary of gods and goddesses ... I would that I had been your son and Lot's and no more than this, I am so weary of my fate ...  ." And he lay for a long moment quiet, his face hidden, his shoulders shaking. Tentatively, Morgause stroked his hair. At last he raised his head and said, with a bitter grin that defied her to make anything of his moment of weakness, "I will have now another cup of that strong spirit they brew in these hills, without the water and honey this time  ... " and when it was brought, he drained it, without even looking on the steaming porridge and bannock the girl had brought. "What was it said in those old books of Lot's, when the house priest beat Gareth and me until our backsides were bloody, trying to teach us the Roman tongue? Who was yonder old Roman who said, 'Call no man happy until he is dead'? My task, then, is to bring that greatest of all happinesses to my father, and why should I then rebel against that fate?" He signalled for another drink; when Morgause hesitated, he seized the flask and poured the cup full again.
"You will be drunk, my dear son. Eat your supper first, will you not?"
"So I will be drunk," said Gwydion bitterly. "So let it be. I drink to death and to dishonor... Arthur's and mine!" Again he drained the drinking horn and flung it into a corner, where it struck with a metallic sound. "So let it be as the fates have ordained-the King Stag shall rule in the forest until the day the Lady has ordained .. .for all the beasts were born and joined with others of their kind and lived and worked the will of the forces of life and at last gave up their spirits into the keeping of the Lady again. ..." He spoke the words with a strange, harsh emphasis, and Morgause, untrained in Druid lore, knew that the words were those of ritual, and shivered as he spoke them.
He drew a deep breath. Then he said, "But for tonight I shall sleep in my mother's house and forget Avalon, and kings, and stags, and fates. Shall I not? Shall I not?" and, as the strong drink at last overpowered him, he fell forward into her arms. She held him there, stroking his fine dark hair, so much like Morgaine's own, as he slept with his head on her breast. But even in his dreams he twitched and moaned and muttered as if his dreams were evil, and Morgause knew it was not only the pain of his unhealed wound.

Book Four

The Prisoner in the Oak

1


In far hills of North Wales, rain had been falling day after day, and the castle of King Uriens seemed to swim in fog and damp. The roads were ankle-deep mud, the fords swollen as rivers rushed down in spate from the mountains, and damp chill gripped the countryside. Morgaine, wrapped in cloak and heavy shawl, felt her fingers stiffening and slowing on the shuttle as she sent it through the loom; suddenly she started upright, the shuttle falling from her cold hands.
"What is it, Mother?" Maline asked, blinking at the sharp sound in the quiet hall.
"There is a rider on the road," Morgaine said. "We must make ready to welcome him." And then, observing her daughter-in-law's troubled look, she cursed herself; again she had let herself slip into the half-trance which women's work always brought upon her nowadays. She had long ago ceased to spin, but weaving, which she enjoyed, had seemed safe if she kept her wits about her and didn't succumb to the drowsy trancelike monotony of it.
And Maline was looking at her in the half-wary, half-exasperated way which Morgaine's unexpected seeings always evoked. Not that Maline believed there was anything wicked or even magical about them-it was just her mother-in-law's queer way. But Maline would speak of them to the priest, and he would come again and try to be subtle about asking her whence they came, and she would have to put on a meek-woman face and pretend she didn't know what he was talking about. Someday she would be too weary or too unguarded to care, and she would speak her mind to the priest. Then he would really have something to talk about ...  .
Well, done was done, and could not be helped now. She got along well enough with Father Eian, who had been Uwaine's tutor-he was an educated man for a priest. "Tell the Father that his pupil will be here at dinnertime," Morgaine said, and once again realized that her tongue had slipped; she had known Maline had been thinking of the priest and had responded to Maline's thought, not her words. She went out of the room leaving the younger woman staring.
All the winter, which had been heavy with rain and snow and repeated storms, not a single traveller had come. She dared not spin; it opened the gates too quickly to trance. Now, weaving was likely to do the same. She sewed industriously at making clothes for all the folk of the household, from Uriens down to Maline's newest baby, but it was hard on her eyes to do fine needlework; in the winter she had no access to fresh herbs and plants, and could do little with brewing simples and medicines. She had no companion-her waiting-women were the wives of Uriens' men-at-arms and duller than Maline; not one of them could spell out so much as a verse in the Bible and were shocked that Morgaine could read and write and knew some Latin and Greek. And she could not sit always at her harp. So she had spent the winter in a frenzy of boredom and impatience  ...
 ...  the worse, she thought, because the temptation was always there to sit and spin and dream, letting her mind slide away, to follow Arthur at Camelot, or Accolon on quest-it had come to her, three years ago, that Accolon should spend enough time at court that Arthur should know him well and trust him. Accolon bore the serpents of Avalon, and that might prove a valuable bond with Arthur. She missed Accolon like a constant ache; in his presence she was what he always saw her-high priestess, confident of her goals and herself. But that was secret between them. In the long, lonely seasons, Morgaine experienced recurrent doubts and dreads; was she then no more than Uriens thought her, a solitary queen growing old, body and mind and soul drying and withering?
Still, she kept her hand firmly on this household, over countryfolk and castlefolk alike, so that all should turn to her for counsel and wisdom. They said in the country around: The queen is wise. Even the king does nothing without her consent. The Tribesmen and the Old Ones, she knew, came near to worshipping her; though she dared not appear too often at the ancient worship.
Now in the kitchen house she made arrangements for a festal dinner -or as near to it as they could come at the end of a long winter when the roads were closed. Morgaine gave from the locked cupboards some of her hoarded store of raisins and dried fruits, and a few spices for cooking the last of the bacon. Maline would tell Father Eian that Uwaine was expected at the hall for dinner. She herself should bear the tidings to Uriens.
She went up to his chamber, where he was lazily playing at dice with one of his men-at-arms; the room smelled frowsty and unaired, stale and old. At least his long siege with the lung fever this winter has meant I need not be expected to share his bed. It has been just as well, Morgaine thought dispassionately, that Accolon has spent this winter in Camelot with Arthur; we might have taken dangerous chances and been discovered.
Uriens set down the dice cup and looked up at her. He was thinner, wasted by his long struggle with the fever. There had been a few days when Morgaine thought he could not live, and she had fought hard for his life; partly because, in spite of everything, she was fond of him and did not want to see him die, partly because Avalloch would have succeeded to his throne the moment he died.
"I have not seen you all day. I have been lonely, Morgaine," Uriens said, with a fretful note of reproach. "Huw, here, is not half so good to look at."
"Why," Morgaine said, tuning her voice to the broad jesting Uriens liked, "I have left you purposely alone, thinking that in your old age you had taken a taste for handsome young men ... if you do not want him, husband, does that mean that I can have him?"
Uriens chuckled. "You are making the poor man blush," he said, smiling with broad good nature. "But if you leave me alone all day, why, what am I to do but moon and make sheep's eyes at him, or at the dog."
"Well, I have come to give you good news. You shall be carried down to the hall for dinner tonight-Uwaine is riding hither and will be here before suppertime."
"Now God be thanked," Uriens said. "I thought this winter that I should die without seeing either of my sons again."
"I suppose Accolon will return for the Midsummer festivals." In her body Morgaine felt a stab of hunger so great that it was pain as she thought of the Beltane fires, now only two months away.
"Father Eian has been at me again to forbid the rites," Uriens said peevishly. "I am tired of hearing his complaints. He has it in mind that if we cut down the grove, then the folk would be content with his blessing of the fields, and not turn away to the Beltane fires. It is true that there seems more and more of the old worship every year-I had thought that as the old folk died off, year by year, it would grow ever less. I was willing to let it die out with the Old People who could not accustom themselves to new ways. But if the young people now are turning back to heathen ways, then we must do something-perhaps, even, cut down the grove."
If you do, I shall do murder, Morgaine thought, but schooled her voice to gentleness and reason. "That would be wrong. The oaks give pig food and food for the country people-even here we have had to use acorn flour in a bad season. And the grove has been there for hundreds of years-the trees are sacred-"
"You sound too much a pagan yourself, Morgaine."
"Can you say the oak grove is not the work of God?" she retorted. "Why should we punish the harmless trees because foolish men make a use of them dial Father Eian does not like? I thought you loved your land."
"Well, and so I do," said Uriens fretfully, "but Avalloch, too, says I should cut it down, so that the pagans should have no place of resort. We might build a church or chapel there."
"But the Old Ones are your subjects too," Morgaine said, "and in your youth you made the Great Marriage with the land. Would you deprive the Old People of the grove that is their food and shelter, and their own chapel built by the very hands of God and not of man? Would you then condemn them to die or starve as they have done in some of the cleared lands?"
Uriens looked down at his gnarled old wrists. The blue tattoos there had almost faded and were no more than pale stains. "Well are you called Morgaine of the Fairies-the Old People could have no better advocate. Since you plead for their shelter, my lady, I will spare the grove while I live, but after me, Avalloch must do as he will. Will you fetch me my shoes and robe, so that I may dine in hall like a king, and not an old dodderer in bedgown and slippers?"
"To be sure," said Morgaine, "but I cannot lift you now. Huw will have to dress you."
But when the man had finished his work, she combed Uriens' hair and summoned the other man-at-arms who awaited the king's call. The two men lifted him, making a chair between their arms, and carried him into the hall, where Morgaine placed cushions about his high seat and watched as the thin old body was deposited there.
By that time she could hear servants bustling about, and riders in the courtyard  ...  Uwaine, she thought, hardly raising her eyes as the young man was escorted into the hall.
It was hard to bear in mind that this tall young knight, with broad shoulders and a battle scar along one cheek, was the scrawny little boy who had come to her, like a wild animal tamed, in her first lonely, desperate year at Uriens' court. Uwaine kissed his father's hand, then bent before Morgaine.
"My father. Dear mother-"
"It's good to see you home again, lad," said Uriens, but Morgaine's eyes were on the other man who followed him into the hall. For a moment she did not believe it, it was like seeing a ghost-surely if he were really here I would have seen him with the Sight... and then she understood. I have been trying so hard not to think of Accolon, lest I go mad  ...
Accolon was slenderer than his brother, and not quite so tall. His eyes darted to Morgaine, one swift furtive look as he knelt before his father, but his voice was wholly correct when he turned to her. "It is good to be home again, lady-"
"It is good to have you here," she said steadily, "both of you. Uwaine, tell us how you got that dreadful scar on your cheek. Since the defeat of Emperor Lucius, I thought all men had pledged to Arthur to make no further trouble!"
"The usual," said Uwaine lightly. "Some bandit who moved into a deserted fort and amused himself by preying on the countryside and calling himself a king. Lot's son Gawaine went with me and we made short work of him, and Gawaine got himself a wife out of it-the lady is a widow with rich lands. As for this-" He touched the scar lightly. "While Gawaine fought the master I took the man-an ugly bastard who fought left-handed and got through my guard. Clumsy, too-I'd rather fight a good swordsman than a bad, any day! If you'd been there, Mother, I wouldn't have quite such a scar-the surgeon who stitched it up for me had hands like cabbages! Has it spoilt my looks as much as that?"
Morgaine reached out and gently touched her stepson's slashed cheek. "You will always be handsome to me, my son. But perhaps I can still do something-there is festering there and swelling; before I sleep I will make you a poultice for it, so that it will heal better. It must pain you."
"It does," Uwaine admitted, "but I thought myself lucky not to get the lockjaw from it, which one of my men did. Ai, what a death!" He shuddered. "When the wound swelled, I thought I was for it, too, and my good friend Gawaine said, as long as I could drink wine I was in no danger -and he kept me well supplied, too. I swear I was drunk for a fortnight, Mother!" He guffawed. "I would have given all the plunder of that bandit's castle for some of your soup-I couldn't chew bread or dried meat, and I nearly starved to death. I did lose three teeth ...  ."
She rose and peered at the wound. "Open your mouth. Yes," she said, and gestured to one of the servants. "Bring sir Uwaine some stew, and some stewed fruit, too," she said. "You must not even try to chew hard food for a while. After supper, I'll see to it."
"I won't say no to that, Mother. It still hurts like the devil, and besides, there's a girl at Arthur's court-I don't want her to shrink away as if I were a devil face." He chuckled. But for all the pain in his wound he ate hugely, telling tales of the court until they were all laughing. Morgaine dared not take her eyes from her stepson, but all through the meal she could feel Accolon's eyes on her, warming her as if she were standing in sunlight after the winter's chill.
It was a merry meal, but at last Uriens began to look weary and Morgaine summoned his body servants. "This is the first day you have left your bed, my husband-you must not weary yourself too much."
Uwaine rose and said, "Let me carry you, Father." He stooped and lifted the sick man as if he were a child. Morgaine, following, turned back before leaving the dining hall to say, "See to all things here, Maline-I will bandage Uwaine's cheek before I go to rest."
Soon Uriens was tucked into bed in his own chamber, Uwaine standing beside him while Morgaine went to the kitchens to brew a poultice for his cheek. She had to prod the cook awake and set him to heating more water over the kitchen fire ... she should have a brazier and a cauldron in her own rooms if she was going to do this kind of work, why had she never thought of it before? She went up and sat Uwaine down so that she could poultice his cheek with the hot cloths wrung in steaming herb brew, and the young man sighed with relief as the poultice began to draw out the soreness from the festered wound.
"Oh, but that's good, Mother-that girl at Arthur's court wouldn't know how to do this. When I marry her, Mother, will you teach her some of your craft? Her name is Shana, and she's from Cornwall. She was one of Queen Isotta's ladies-how is it that Marcus calls himself king in Cornwall, Mother? I thought Tintagel belonged to you."
"So it does, my son, from Igraine and Duke Gorlois. I knew not that Marcus thought to reign there," Morgaine said. "Does Marcus dare to claim Tintagel as his own?"
"No, for the last I heard he had no champion there," Uwaine said. "Sir Drustan has gone into exile in Brittany-"
"Why? Was he one of the Emperor Lucius' men?" asked Morgaine. This talk of the court was a breath of life in the deadness of this isolated place.
Uwaine shook his head. "No  ...  there was talk that he and Queen Isotta had been overfond of each other," he said. "One can hardly blame the poor lady  ...  Cornwall is the end of the world, and Duke Marcus is old and peevish and his chamberlains say he is impotent too-hard life for the poor lady, while Drustan is handsome and a harper, and the lady fond of music."
"Have you no gossip of court save of wickedness and other men's wives?" demanded Uriens, scowling, and Uwaine laughed. "Well, I told the lady Shana that her father might send a messenger to you, and I hope, dear father, that when he comes you will not refuse him. Shana is not rich, but I have no great need of a dowry, I won goods enough in Brittany-I shall show you some of my plunder, and I have gifts for my mother, too." He raised his hand to stroke Morgaine's cheek as she bent over him, changing the poultice for a fresh one. "Well I know you are not such a woman as that lady Isotta, to turn your back on my good old father and play the harlot."
Her cheeks stung; she bent over the kettle of steaming herbs, wrinkling her nose at the bitter scent. Uwaine thought her the best of women, and his trust was sweet to her, yet there was the bitterness of knowing it unmerited.
At least I have never made Uriens look a fool, nor yet flaunted any other lover in his face ...  .
"But you should go to Cornwall, when my father is well enough to travel," Uwaine said seriously, flinching a little as the heat of the poultice touched a new spot on his festered cheek. "There should be a clear understanding, Mother, that Marcus cannot lay claim to what is yours. You have not shown your face in Tintagel for so long that the common people may forget they have a queen."
"I'm sure it will not come to that," said Uriens. "But if I am well again this summer, I will ask Arthur, when I ride to Pentecost, about this matter of Morgaine's lands."
"And if Uwaine marries into Cornwall," said Morgaine, "he shall keep Tintagel for me-would you like to be my castellan, Uwaine?"
"I would like nothing better," said Uwaine, "except, perhaps, to sleep tonight without forty separate toothaches in my jaw."
"Drink this," said Morgaine, pouring one of her medicines from a small flask into his wine, "and I can promise you sleep."
"I would sleep without it, I think, madam, I am so glad to be in my own home and my own bed, under my mother's care." Uwaine bent and embraced his father, and kissed Morgaine's hand. "But I will take your medicines willingly." He swallowed the medicined wine and beckoned to one of Uriens' men-at-arms to light him to his own room. Accolon came and embraced his father, and said, "I too am for my bed  ...  lady, are there pillows there, or is the room empty and bare? I have not been home in so long, I expect to find pigeons roosting in that old room where I used to sleep and Father Eian tried to beat Latin into my head through the seat of my breeches."
"I told Maline to be sure you had everything you needed," said Morgaine, "but I will come and see. Will you need me again this night, my lord," she asked, turning to Uriens, "or shall I too go to my rest?"
Only a soft snore answered her, and his man Huw, settling the old man on the pillows, answered, "Go, lady Morgaine. If he wakes in the night I'll look after him."
As they went out, Accolon asked, "What ails my father?"
"He had the lung fever this winter," said Morgaine, "and he is not young."
"And you have had all the weight of caring for him," Accolon said. "Poor Morgaine-" and he touched her hand; she bit her lip at his tender voice. Something hard and cold inside her, frozen there since the winter, was melting and she thought she would dissolve into weeping. She bent her head and did not look at him.
"And you, Morgaine-not a word or a look for me-?" He reached out and touched her, and she said between clenched teeth, "Wait."
She called a servant to fetch fresh bolsters, a blanket or two from the store. "Had I known you were coming, I would have had the best linens and blankets, and fresh bed straw."
He said in a whisper, "It is not fresh straw I want in my bed," but she refused to turn her face to him while the serving-women were making the bed up, bringing hot water and light, and hanging up his armor and outer garments.
When they were all away for a moment he whispered, "Later, may I come to your room, Morgaine?"
She shook her head and whispered back, "I will come to you-I can have some excuse for being out of my chamber in the middle of the night, but since your father has been ill, often they come to fetch me-you must not be found there-" and she gave him a quick, silent pressure of her fingers. It was as if his hand burned her. Then she went with the chamberlain on the last rounds of the castle to make sure that all was locked and secure.
"God give you a good night, lady," he said, bowing, and went away. She tiptoed through the hall where the men-at-arms slept, moving on noiseless feet; along the stairs, past the room where Avalloch slept with Maline and the younger children, the room where young Conn had slept with his tutor and his foster-brothers before the poor lad had succumbed to the lung fever. In the farther wing were Uriens' own chamber, one she now kept for herself, another room usually allotted to guests of importance, and at the far end, the room where she had left Accolon. She stole toward his room, her mouth dry, hoping he had had the sense to keep his door ajar  ...  the walls were old and thick and there would be no way he could hear her at his door.
She looked into her own room; went in, swiftly, and disarranged the bed clothing. Her own waiting-woman, Ruach, was old and deaf, and in the winter past Morgaine had cursed her for her deafness and stupidity, but now that would serve her  ...  even so, she must not wake in the morning and find Morgaine's bed untouched; even old Ruach knew that King Uriens was not well enough to share his bed with the queen.
How often have I told myself, I am not ashamed of what I do  ...  yet she must not bring scandal on her name, or she could accomplish nothing here. But she hated the need for secrecy and furtiveness.
He had left the door ajar. She slipped inside, her heart pounding, and pushed the door shut; felt herself seized in a hungry embrace that waked her body into fierce life. His mouth closed on hers as if he had starved for this as much as she ... it seemed as if the whole winter's desolation and pain fell away and that she was like melting ice, that she would flood and overflow ...  . She pressed her body to Accolon's and fought to keep from crying.
All her resolve that Accolon was no more to her than priest of the Goddess, that she would not allow any personal tie between them, had gone for nothing in the face of this wild hunger in her. She had felt so much scorn for Gwenhwyfar, bringing the court to scandal and her king into contempt, because he could not keep his wife in order. But now, in Accolon's arms, all her resolve melted. She sank down in his embrace and let him carry her to his bed.

2

The night was far advanced when Morgaine slipped away from Accolon's side. He lay heavily asleep; she ran her fingers over his hair, kissed him softly, and stole from the room. She had not slept-she had feared to sleep too long and be surprised there by day. It was more than an hour before sunrise. Morgaine rubbed her burning eyes. Somewhere outside a dog barked, a child wailed and was hushed, birds chirped in the garden. Morgaine thought, looking out through a narrow slit in the stone wall, In another moon it will be full daylight at this hour. She leaned for a moment against the wall, overcome by memories of the night past.
I never knew, she thought, I have never known what it was to be only a woman. I have borne a child and I have been married for fourteen years and I have had lovers  ...  but I knew nothing, nothing ...  .
She felt a sudden rough hand on her arm. Avalloch's hoarse voice said, "What are you doing sneaking around the house at this hour, girl?"
He had evidently mistaken her for one of the servant-women; some of them were small and dark with the blood of the Old Ones.
"Let me go, Avalloch," she said, looking at the dimly seen face of her older stepson. He was heavy and soft, his jowls blurred with fat, his eyes small and set close. Accolon and Uwaine were handsome men, and one could see that once Uriens had been good-looking in his own way. But not Avalloch.
"Well, my lady mother!" he said, stepping back and giving her an exaggerated bow. "I repeat, what were you doing at this hour?"
His hand remained on her arm; she picked it off as if it were a crawling bug. "Must I account for my movements to you? It is my house and I move in it as I will and that is my only answer." He dislikes me, she thought, almost as much as I dislike him.
"Don't play games with me, madam," said Avalloch. "Do you think I do not know in whose arms you spent the night?"
She said, contemptuously, "Now is it you who play with sorcery and the Sight?"
His voice dropped and took on a cozening sound. "Of course it must be dull for you, wed to a man old enough to be your father-but I would not hurt my father's feelings by telling him where his wife spends her nights, provided"-he put his arm round her and by main force drew her close to him. He bent his head and nibbled on her neck, his unshaven cheek scratching her-"provided you come and spend some of them with me."
She pulled away from him and tried to make her voice jocular. "Come now, Avalloch, why should you pursue your old stepmother when the Spring Maiden is yours, and all the pretty young maidens in the village-"
"But I have always looked on you as a beautiful woman," he said, and his hand stole out to caress her shoulder, sliding under the half-fastened front of her robe. She pulled away again and his face twisted into a snarl. "Why play the modest maiden with me? Was it Accolon or Uwaine, or both at once?"
She stared at him. "Uwaine is my son! I am the only mother he can remember!"
"Am I to think that would stop you, lady Morgaine? It was common talk at Arthur's court that you were Lancelet's paramour and tried to lure him from the Queen, and that you shared the Merlin's bed-that you had not stopped at making unlawful love to your own brother, and that was why the King sent you from court, that you might tempt him no more from Christian ways-why should you stop at your stepson? Does Uriens know what kind of incestuous harlot he took for his wife, madam?"
"Uriens knows everything about me that he has any need to know," said Morgaine, surprised that her voice was so steady. "As for the Merlin, we were then both unwed and neither of us cares anything for the laws of a Christian court. Your father knew and absolved me of that. None but he has any right to complain of my conduct since then, and when he does so I will answer to him, as I need not answer to you, sir Avalloch. And now I will go to my own room, and I bid you do the same."
"So you throw the pagan laws of Avalon at me," Avalloch said, his voice a sneering growl. "Harlot, how dare you claim you are so good-" He grabbed her; his mouth crushed hers. Morgaine stabbed her stiffened fingers into his belly; he grunted and let her go with a curse. She said angrily, "I claim nothing. I need not answer to you for my conduct, and if you speak to Uriens, I will tell him that you laid hands on me in a fashion unseemly for your father's wife, and we will see whom he will believe."
Avalloch snarled, "Let me tell you, lady, you may cozen my father as you will, but he is old, and on the day I am made king in this land, be sure there will be no more grace extended to those who have lived on because my father cannot forget that once he wore the serpents!"
"Oh, rare," said Morgaine scornfully. "First you make advances to your fadier's wife, and then you boast of how good a Christian you will be when your father's land is yours!"
"You first bewitched me-harlot!"
Morgaine could not keep back her laughter. "Bewitch you? And why? Avalloch, if all men save you vanished from the earth, I would sooner share my bed with one of the puppies! Your father may be old enough to be my grandsire, but I would sooner lie with him than you! Do you think I am jealous of Maline, when every time you go down to the village at harvest or spring-plowing festival she sings? If I made such an enchantment, it would not be to enjoy your manhood but to wither it! Now get your hands off me, and go back to whoever will have you, for if you touch me again with one fingertip I swear I will blast your manhood!"
He believed she could do it; that was clear from the way he shrank from her. But Father Eian would hear of this, and then he would question her, and he would question Accolon, and he would question the servants, and then he would be at Uriens again to cut down the sacred grove and put down the old worship. Avalloch would not stop until he had set this whole court by the ears.
I hate Avalloch! Morgaine was surprised that her rage was physical, a scalding pain beneath her breastbone, a shaking through her whole body. Once I was proud; a priestess ofAvalon does not lie. And now there is something about which I must auoid the truth. Even Uriens would see me as a treacherous wife, creeping in secret to Accolon's bed for her own lusts ...  . She was weeping with rage, feeling Avalloch's hot hands again on her arm and her breast. Now, soon or late, she would be accused, and even if Uriens trusted her, she would be watched. Ah, I was happy for the first time in many years and now it is all spoilt ...  .
Well, the sun was rising, soon the housefolk would be waking, and she must make arrangements for the work of the day. Had he been only guessing? Uriens must keep his bed, certainly Avalloch would not disturb his father this day. She must brew some more of the herb medicine for Uwaine's face wound, and the roots of one of his broken teeth must be dug out, too.
Uwaine loved her-surely he would not listen to any accusation Avalloch might make. And at that, she felt the flooding, surging fury again, remembering Avalloch's words: Was it Accolon or Uwaine, or both at once.. . ? I am as much Uwaine's mother as if I had borne him! What kind of woman does he think me? But was that rumor indeed in Arthur's court, that she had committed incest with Arthur, himself? How, then, in the face of that, can I bring Arthur to acknowledge Gwydion his son? Galahad is Arthur's heir, but my son must be acknowledged, and the royal line of Avalon. But there must be no further scandal about me, certainly not any hint that I have committed incest with my stepson ...  .
And she wondered a little at herself. She had flown into a desperate rage when she knew she was to bear Arthur's son and now it seemed trivial to her; after all, she and Arthur had not even known themselves brother and sister. But Uwaine-no blood kin to her-was far more her son than Gwydion; she had mothered Uwaine ...  .
Well, there was nothing to be done about it now. Morgaine went to the kitchen and heard the cook complain that all the bacon was gone, and the storerooms were near enough empty to make it hard to feed all these homecomers.
"Well, we must send Avalloch to hunt today," said Morgaine, and stopped Maline on the stairs as she carried up her husband's morning drink of hot wine.
Maline said, "I saw you talking with Avalloch-what did he have to say to you?" She frowned a little, and Morgaine, reading her thoughts as it was easy to do with a woman as stupid as Maline, realized that her daughter-in-law feared and resented her; thought it unfair that Morgaine should still be slim-bodied and hard when she, Maline, was heavy and worn with childbearing, that Morgaine should have glossy dark hair when Maline herself, busied with babies, never had time to comb and plait her own, and make it shine.
Morgaine said truthfully, but also with a wish to spare her daughter-in-law's feelings, "We spoke of Accolon, and of Uwaine. But the storerooms are nearly empty, and Avalloch must go hunting for boar." And then what she must do flashed full-blown into her head, and for a moment she stood frozen, hearing Niniane say in mind and memory, Accolon must succeed his father, and her own voice replying ...  . Maline was staring at her, waiting for her to finish what she was saying, and Morgaine quickly collected herself. "Tell him that he must go out after boar, today if he can, tomorrow at the latest, or we shall be eating the last of the flour too soon."
"Certainly I will tell him, Mother," said Maline. "He will be glad to have an excuse to be away." And through Maline's complaining voice, Morgaine knew the younger woman was relieved that it had been nothing worse.
Poor woman, married to that pig. She remembered, troubled, exactly what Avalloch had said, On the day I am made king in this land, there will be no more grace extended to those who have lived on because my father cannot forget that once he wore the serpents.
This, then, was her task: to make certain that Accolon should succeed his father, not for her own sake or for revenge, but for the sake of the old worship which she and Accolon had brought back to this land. If I had half an hour to tell Accolon all, he would go with Avalloch hunting, and I doubt not that would solve all. And she thought, with cold calculation, Shall I keep my hands clean of this, and leave it to Accolon?
Uriens was old; but he might live another year, or another five years. Now that Avalloch knew all, he would work with Father Eian to undermine any influence Accolon and Morgaine might have, and all that she had done would be undone again.
If Accolon wants this kingdom, perhaps it is he who should make certain of it. If Avalloch dies of poison, it is I who will die for a sorceress. Yet if she left it to Accolon-then would it be all too much like that old ballad, the one which began, Two brothers went a-hunting ...  .
Shall I tell Accolon, and let him act in his rage? Troubled, still not certain what she would do, she went up to find Accolon in his father's room, and as she came in she heard him say, "Today Avalloch goes to hunt boar- the storeroom is near to empty. And I will ride with him. It is all too long since I have hunted in my own hills-"
"No," Morgaine said sharply. "Stay with your father today. He will need you, and Avalloch has all his huntsmen to help him."
She thought, Somehow I must tell him what I mean to do, and then she stopped herself. If he knew what she planned-though she was not yet sure herself what form her necessity would take-he would never accede to it, except perhaps in his first anger at hearing what Avalloch had said to her.
And if he did, she thought-though I thought I knew him better than that, still my own hunger for his body might have deceived me, and he may be less honorable than I think him-if he were such a one as would consent to be party to this, then he would be kin slayer and under that curse, and not such a one as I could trust for what lies before us. Avalloch is kin to me by marriage alone; there is no blood tie to dishonor. Only if I had borne Uriens a son would there be blood guilt on me. Now, she was glad she had given Uriens no son.
Accolon said, "Let Uwaine stay with father-if his cheek wound is being poulticed still, it is he that should stay indoors and keep to the fireside."
How can I make him understand? His hands must be clean; he must be here when the news comes  ...  what can I say to him to make him understand that this is important, perhaps the most important thing I shall ever ask of him? Urgency, and the impossibility of voicing her inner thoughts, made her voice sharp.
"Will you do as I ask you without argument, Accolon? If I am to tend Uwaine's wound too, I shall have no leisure to tend your father as well, and he has been left to serving-folk all too often of late!" And your father, if the Goddess is with me, shall have more need of you at his side than ever, before this day is ended ...  .
She slurred her words, hoping Uriens would not understand what she was saying. "As your mother I ask it," she said, but what she was saying to Accolon, with all the force of her thoughts, was, From the Mother I command it.... "Obey me," she said and, turning a little away from Uriens, so that Accolon alone could see, she touched the faded blue crescent on her forehead. Accolon looked at her-puzzled, questioning-but she turned away, shaking her head slightly, hoping that at least he would understand why she could not speak more freely.
He said, frowning, "Certainly, if you wish it so much. It is no hardship to stay with my father."
Morgaine saw Avalloch ride out at midmorning with four huntsmen, and while Maline was in the lower hall, she slipped into their bedchamber, searching through the untidy room and through the discarded baby clothes and still unwashed napkins of the youngest. At last she found a small bronze arm ring she had seen Avalloch wear. There were some gold things too in Maline's chest, but she did not dare to take anything of value which might be missed when Maline's servant came to sort out the room. As it was, the serving-woman found her there and asked, "What did you want, lady?"
Morgaine feigned anger. "I will not live in a house that is kept like a pig's byre! Look at all these unwashed napkins, they stink of baby shit! Take them down now, and give them to the washwoman, and then sweep and air this room-must I put on a clout and do all the sweeping myself?"
"No, madam," said the servant, cringing, and took the fouled cloths that Morgaine heaped in her arms. Morgaine tucked the bronze ring inside her bodice and went down to have the cook heat water for Uwaine's wound; that must be done first, and somehow she must order things in this house so that she would be idle and alone this afternoon. ...  She sent for the best surgeon to bring his tools and made Uwaine sit down and open his mouth so that she could help to find the broken root of his tooth. He endured the probing and pulling stoically (though the tooth broke off in his jaw and again had to be dug for; fortunately it was numb and swollen), and finally when all the tooth was out, she dropped some of her strongest numbing medicine into the wound and poulticed the sore swollen cheek again. Finally it was done and Uwaine sent to bed with a strong dram of liquor inside him; he protested, arguing that he had ridden and even fought when he was in worse case than this, but she firmly ordered him to go to his bed and let her medicines take their full effect. So Uwaine, too, was safely out of the way and beyond suspicion. And since she had sent the servants to do washing, there were none of these, either, so that Maline began to complain. "If we are to have new gowns for Pentecost, and if Avalloch is to have his cloak finished-you do not like to spin, Mother, but I must weave at Avalloch's cloak, and all the women are heating kettles of water for the washing and getting out their beating paddles-"
"Oh, dear, I had forgotten that," said Morgaine. "Well, there is no help for it, I must spin then-unless you would have me do the weaving." Better, she thought, even than the arm ring, a cloak made to his measure by his wife.
"Would you do that then, Mother? But you have the king's new cloak set up on the other loom-"
"Uriens does not need it so much as Avalloch," Morgaine said. "I will weave at Avalloch's cloak." And when I am done, she thought, a shudder running through her heart, he will never need a cloak anymore ...  .
"Then I will spin," said Maline, "and I will be grateful to you, Mother -you weave better than I." She came and pressed her cheek to her mother-in-law's. "You are always kind to me, lady Morgaine."
But you do not know what I shall be weaving today, child.
Maline sat down and picked up the distaff. She paused for a moment, pressing her hands to her back.
"Are you not well, daughter-in-law?"
Maline said, "It is nothing-my courses are four days late. I am afraid I have gotten with child again, and I had hoped I could nurse the baby another year-" She sighed. "Avalloch has women enough in the village, but I think he never loses hope I will give him another son to take Conn's place! He doesn't care anything for the girls-he did not even weep when Maeva died last year, just before I was brought to bed with the baby, and when she was another girl, he was really angry with me. Morgaine, if you truly know any charms, could you give me a charm so that I would bear a son next time I am brought to bed?"
Morgaine smiled, putting the shuttle to the threads. She said, "Father Eian will not like it, if you ask me for charms. He would tell you to pray to the Virgin Mother for a son."
"Well, her son was a miracle, and I am beginning to think that if I ever have another son it would be another miracle," said Maline. "But perhaps it is only this dismal chilly weather."
"I will make you some tea for that," said Morgaine. "If you are truly with child, I swear it will not disturb you, but if it is only delay from a chill, it will bring on your courses."
"Is this one of your magical spells from Avalon, Mother?"
Morgaine shook her head. "It is herb lore, no more," she said, went to the kitchen and made up the brew over the fire. She brought it to Maline and said, "Drink it as hot as you can, and wrap up in your shawl while you spin, try to keep warm."
Maline drank up the brew, emptying the little pottery cup, and grimaced at the taste. "Ugh, foul!"
Morgaine said, smiling, "I should have put honey in it, as I do with the brews I make for the children when they have fever."
Maline sighed, taking up the spindle and distaff again. She said, "Gwyneth is old enough to spin-I could spin when I was five years old."
"So could I," said Morgaine, "but I beg you, defer the lesson another day, for if I am to weave in here I do not want noise and confusion."
"Well then, I will tell the nurse to keep all the children out in the gallery," said Maline, and Morgaine dismissed her from her mind, beginning to run the shuttle slowly through the cloth and making sure of the pattern. It was a pattern of green and brown checkered cloth, not very demanding for a good weaver; so long as she counted the threads automatically, she need not keep her mind on it very long  ...  spinning would have been better. But she had made her distaste for spinning so well known that if she volunteered to spin this day it would be remembered.
The shuttle slid through the cloth: green, brown, green, brown, picking up the other shuttle every tenth row, changing the color. She had taught Maline to dye this green color, which she had learned in Avalon  ...  green of the new leaves coming into the spring, brown of the earth and of the fallen leaves where the boar rooted in the forest for acorns... shuttle sliding through the cloth, the comb to tighten each row of threads, her hands moving automatically, in and out and across, slide down the bar, pick up the shuttle from the other side  ...  would that Avalloch's horse would slip and fall and he would break his neck and save me from what I must do ...  . She felt cold and shivered, and willed herself to ignore it, concentrating on the shuttle sliding in and out of the threads, in and out, letting images rise and go at will, seeing Accolon in Uriens' chamber playing with his father at draughts, Uwaine asleep, tossing and turning with the pain in his cheek wound even through his slumber, but now it would heal cleanly  ...  would that a wild boar would fight back and Avalloch's huntsman be too slow to come to his aid ...  .
I said to Niniane that I would not kill. Never name that well from which you will not drink... an image rose in her mind of the Holy Well of Avalon, the water rising from the spring, flooding into the fountain. The shuttle flickered in and out, green and brown, green and brown, like the sunlight falling through the green leaves onto the brown earth, where the spring tides rising within the forest ran with life, sap running in the brown wood  ...  the shuttle flashing now, faster and faster, the world beginning to blur before her eyes  ...  Goddess! Where you run in the forest with the running life of the deer ... all men are in your hands, and all the beasts ...  .
Years ago she had been the Virgin Huntress, blessing the Horned One and sending him forth to run with the deer and to conquer or die as the Goddess might decree. He had come back to her .. . now she was no longer that Virgin, holding all the power of the Huntress. As the Mother, with all the power of fertility, she had woven spells to bring Lancelet to Elaine's bed. But motherhood for her had ended in the blood of Gwydion's birth. Now she sat here with her shuttle in her hand and wove death, like the shadow of the Old Death-crone. All men are in your hands to live or die, Mother ...  .
The shuttle flickered, flashed in and out of her sight, green, brown, green like leaves and forest intertwined, where they ran, the beasts  ...  the wild boar snuffling and grunting and rooting with his long tusks, the sow with the piglets bounding behind her, in and out of a copse  ...  the shuttle raced in her hands and she saw nothing, only the snorting snuffle of the swine in the forest.
Ceridwen, Goddess, Mother, Death-crone, Great Raven  ...  Lady of death and life  ...  Great Sow, eater of your young  ...  I call you, I summon you  ...  if this is truly what you have decreed, it is for you to accomplish it ...  time slid and shifted around her, she lay in the glade with the sun burning her back while she ran with the King Stag, she moved through the forest, softly, snuffling  ...  she sensed the life, the hunters trampling and shouting ...  . Mother! Great Sow  ...
Morgaine knew in a random corner of her mind that her hands continued to move, steadily, green and brown, brown and green, but beneath her lowered eyelids she saw nothing of the room or the threads, but only the new green springing beneath the trees, the mud and dead leaves brown from the winter, trampling, it was as if she rooted on all fours in the fragrant mud ... life of the Mother there beneath the trees  ...  behind her the little gruntings and squealings of the piglets, tusks tearing up the ground for hidden roots and acorns  ...  brown and green, green and brown  ...
Like a shock to her nerves, as if it ripped through her body, she felt the sound of the trampling in the forest, the distant cries  ...  her body sat motionless before the loom, weaving brown threads and changing for green, shuttle after shuttle, only her fingers alive, but with the starting thrill of terror and rush of rage, she charged, letting the life of the swine rush through her ...
Goddess! Let not the innocent suffer  ...  the huntsmen are nothing to you. ... She could do nothing, she watched in dread, trembling, shuddering with the smell of blood, the smell of her mate's blood  ...  blood spilled from the great boar, but this was nothing to her, like the King Stag he must die  ...  when his time was come, then must his blood be shed on the earth  ...  behind her she heard the squeals of frenzied piglings and suddenly the life of the Great Goddess rushed through her, not knowing whether she was Morgaine or the Great Sow, heard her own high frenzied grunting-as when, in Avalon, she had raised her hands and brought down on her the mists of the Goddess, so she flung her head back, shivering, grunting, hearing the terror of her piglings, making short little rushes, flinging up her head, rushing in circles  ...  green and brown under her eyes, an irrelevant shuttle in automatic fingers, unnoticed  ...  then, maddened by the alien smells, blood, iron, strangeness, the enemy rising on two legs, steel and blood and death, she felt herself charge, heard cries, felt the hot stab of metal and red blurring her eyes through the brown and green of the forest, felt her tusks tearing, felt hot blood burst forth and gush as the life went out of her in searing pain and she fell and knew no more  ...  and the shuttle went on, leaden, weaving brown and green and brown over the agony in her belly and the red bursting through her eyes and her pounding heart, the screams still in her ears in the silent room where there was no sound but the whisper of shuttle and warp and spindle and distaff... she swung silent, in her trance, exhausted ... slumped forward at the loom and lay there, motionless. After a time she heard Maline speak, but she neither moved nor answered.
"Ah! Gwyneth, Morag-Mother, are you ill? Ah, heavens, she will weave, and always it brings these fits upon her-Uwaine! Accolon! Come, Mother has fallen at her loom-"
She felt the woman restlessly chafing her hands, calling her name, heard Accolon's voice, felt him lift and carry her. She did not, could not, move or speak-she let them lay her on her bed, bring wine to revive her, felt it trickle down her neck, and wanted to say, I am all right, let be, but she heard herself make a frightened little grunting sound and was still, agony ripping her, knowing that in death the Great Sow would release her, but first she must suffer the death throes  ...  and even as she lay there, blind, tranced, agonized, she heard the hunting horn sound and knew that they were bringing Avalloch home, dead on his horse, slain by the sow which had attacked him within moments after he had killed the boar  ...  and he in turn had slain the sow  ...  death and blood and rebirth and the flow of life in and out of the forest, like the winding in and out of the shuttle ...  .


IT WAS hours later. She still could not move a muscle without griping, terrifying pain; almost she welcomed it. I should not go wholly free of this death, but Accolon's hands are clean ...  . She looked up into his eyes. He was bending over her with concern and dread, and they were alone for a moment.
"Are you able to speak now, my love?" he whispered. "What happened?"
She shook her head and could not speak. But his hands on her were tender, welcome. Do you know what I have done for you, dear love?
He bent and kissed her. He would never know how close they had come to being exposed and defeated.
"I must go back to Father," he said gently, troubled. "He weeps and says, if I had gone, my brother would not have died-he will blame me always." His dark eyes rested on her, a shadow of disquiet in them. "It was you who commanded me not to go," he said. "Did you know this with your magic, beloved?"
She found a shred of voice through the soreness in her throat. "It was the will of the Goddess," she said, "that Avalloch should not destroy what we have done here." She managed, with great pain, to move her finger, tracing out the line of the tattooed serpent on the hand that touched her face.
His expression changed, grew suddenly fearful. "Morgaine! Had you any part in this?"
Ah, I should have known how he would look at me if he knew  ...
"Can you ask?" she whispered. "I was weaving in the hall all this day in clear sight of Maline and the servants and the children ... it was her will and her doing, not mine."
"But you knew, you knew?"
Slowly, her eyes filling with tears, she nodded, and he bent and kissed her lips.
"Be it so. It was the will of the Goddess," he said, and he went away.

3

There was a place in the woods where a rushing stream broadened out between rocks into a deep pool; Morgaine sat there on a flat rock overlooking the water and made Accolon sit beside her. They would be unseen here, except by the little ancient folk, and they would never betray their queen.
"My dear, all these years we have worked together-tell me, Accolon, what is it you think we are doing?"
"Lady, I have been content to know you had a purpose," he said, "and not to ask questions of you. If you had sought only for a lover"-he raised his eyes to her and reached for her hand-"there would have been others than I for that, better suited to such games. ... I love you well, Morgaine, and I have been-glad and honored-that you turned to me, even for companionship and the touch of tenderness, but it was not that which called me to you, priest to priestess." He hesitated, and sat stirring the sand at his feet with a booted foot. Finally he said, "It has come to me, too, that there was more of purpose in this than the wish of a priestess to restore the rites in this country, or your need to draw down upon us the moon tides-glad I have been to aid you in this and share the worship with you, lady. Lady of this land you have been indeed, especially to the ancient folk who see in you the face of the Goddess. For a time I thought it was only that we had been called to restore the old worship here. But now it comes to me, I know not why"-he touched the serpents which twined about his wrists -"that by these, I am bound to this land, to suffer and perhaps to die if need be."
I have used him, Morgaine thought, as ruthlessly as ever Viviane did me. ...
He said, "I know it well-not once in a hundred years, now, is that old sacrifice exacted. Yet when these"- again he touched, with a brown fingertip, the serpents encircling his wrist-"were set here, it came to me that perhaps I should indeed be the one called by the Lady for that ancient sacrifice. In the years between, I had come to think of this as no more than a green boy's fancy. But if I am to die  ... " and his voice faded, like the ripples in the dying pool. It was very still; they could hear some insect making a small dry noise in the grass. Morgaine spoke no word, though she could feel his fear. He must pass the barriers of fear unaided, even as had she ... or Arthur, or the Merlin, or any other facing that last testing. And if he was to face the final test he must go to it consenting.
At last he asked, "Is it exacted of me, then, lady, that I must die? I had thought-if blood sacrifice is demanded-then, when Avalloch fell prey to her . .." and she saw the muscles in his face move; he tightened his jaw and swallowed hard. Still she said nothing, though her heart ached in pity. For some reason she heard Viviane's voice in her mind, a time will come when you will hate me as much as you love me now  ...  and felt again the surge of love and pain. Still she hardened her heart; Accolon was older than Arthur had been when he faced his kingmaking. And while Avalloch had indeed been blood sacrifice, spilled to the Goddess, still another's blood could not redeem any other, nor could Avalloch's death free his brother of the obligation to face his own.
At last his breath went out in a harsh sigh. "So be it-I have faced death in battle often enough. I swore unto her, even to death, and I shall not be forsworn. Tell me her will, lady."
Then at last she stretched out her hand and clasped his. "I do not think it is death that will be demanded of you, and certainly not the altar of sacrifice. Still, testing is needed; and death lies always near to the doors of such testing. Would it reassure you to know that I too have faced death this way? Yet I am here at your side. Tell me: are you sworn, man to man, to Arthur?"
"I am not one of his Companions," Accolon said. "Uwaine you have seen sworn to him, but not I, though I have fought willingly enough among his men."
Morgaine was glad, though she knew that she would even have used the oath of a Companion against Arthur now. "Listen to me, my dear," she said. "Arthur has twice betrayed Avalon; and only from Avalon can a king reign over all this land. I have sought, again and again, to call to Arthur's mind that oath he gave. But he will not hear me, and he holds still, in his pride, the holy sword Excalibur, the sword of the Sacred Regalia, and with it the magical scabbard I fashioned for him."
She saw his face turn pale. "You mean it truly-that you will bring Arthur down?"
"Not so, not unless he refuses still to bring his oath to completion," Morgaine said. "I shall give him, still, every opportunity to become what he has sworn to be. And Arthur's son is not yet ripe to the challenge. You are no boy, Accolon, and you are trained to kingcraft, not Druid-craft, in spite of these-" and she laid a slender fingertip on the serpents encircling his wrist. "Say then, Accolon of Wales, if all other shifts fail, will you be champion of Avalon, and challenge the betrayer for that sword he holds by betrayal?"
Accolon drew a long breath. "To challenge Arthur? Fitly did you ask, Morgaine, if I am ready to die," he said. "And you speak to me in riddles. I knew not that Arthur had a son."
"His son is son to Avalon and to the spring fires," said Morgaine. She thought she had long outgrown shame for this-I am priestess, I need make no accounting to any man for what I must do-but she could not force herself to meet Accolon's eyes. "Listen, and I will tell you all."
He sat silent as she told him of the kingmaking on Dragon Island, and what had befallen after; but when she told how she had fled from Avalon and of Gwydion's birth, he put out his hand and encircled her small fingers in his own.
"He has passed his own testing," said Morgaine, "but he is young and untried: none thought that Arthur would betray his oath. Arthur was young too, but he came to his kingmaking when Uther was old and dying and men were seeking everywhere for a king of the Avalon line. Now Arthur's star is high and his renown great, and even with all the powers of Avalon at his back, Gwydion could never challenge Arthur for his throne."
"How is it that you think I can challenge Arthur and get the sword Excalibur from him and not be slain at once by his men?" said Accolon. "And there is nowhere in this world that I can challenge him where he goes not so guarded."
"That is true," Morgaine said, "but you need not challenge him in this world. There are other realms which are not within this world at all, and within one of these realms you may get from him the sword Excalibur, to which he has forfeited all shadow of right, and the magical scabbard which protects him from all harm. Once disarmed, he is no more than any other man. I have seen his Companions-Lancelet, Gawaine, Gareth-disarm him in play at their mock battles. Without his sword, Arthur is easy prey. He is not the greatest of warriors, nor, with that sword and scabbard, did he ever need to be. And Arthur once dead-"
She had to stop and steady her voice, knowing she incurred the curse of kin slayer, that same curse she had hesitated to bring on Accolon when Avalloch died.
"Arthur once dead," she repeated firmly at last, "I am nearest his throne, and his sister. I shall rule as Lady of Avalon, and you as my consort and duke of war. True, in your time you too will be challenged and brought down as King Stag  ...  but before that day comes you shall have your day as King at my side."
Accolon sighed. "I never thought to be King. But if you bid me, lady, I must do her will-and yours. Yet to challenge Arthur for his sword-"
"I did not mean that you shall do so without all the help I can give. For what else have I been schooled all these weary years in magic, and for what have I made you my priest? And there is one greater than I who shall help us both to your testing."
"Speak you of those magical realms?" Accolon asked her, almost in a whisper. "I do not understand you."
That surprises me not; I know not myself what I mean to do, nor what I say, Morgaine thought, but she recognized the strange dimness rising in her mind, clouding thought, as that state in which powerful magic was made. I must trust to the Goddess now, and let her lead me. Not I alone, but he who stands at my side, who will take up the sword from Arthur's hand.
"Trust me, and obey." She rose, moving through the woods on silent feet, looking for... what was she looking for? She asked, and heard her voice distant and strange, "Does hazelwood grow within this forest, Accolon?"
He nodded, and she followed him to the grove of trees, at this season just bursting into leaf and flower. The wild pigs who roamed here had eaten the last of the nuts; fragments of nut hulls lay scattered on the thick leaf mold of the forest floors. Yet new shoots were springing, too, toward the light, where new trees would rise, so that the life of the forest would never die.
Flower and fruits and seed. And all things return and grow and come to light and at the last give up their bodies into the keeping of the Lady again. But she who works, silently and alone, at the heart of nature, cannot work her magic without the strength of Him who runs with the deer and with the summer sun draws forth the richness of her womb. Beneath the hazel tree she looked across at Accolon, and while part of her mind was aware that this man was her lover, her chosen priest, she knew that now he had consented to a testing beyond what she alone could confer.
Before ever the Romans had come to these hills seeking for tin and lead, the hazel grove had been a sacred place. At the edge of the grove there was a pool, standing beneath three of the sacred trees, hazel and willow and alder-a magic older than the magic of the oak. The surface of the pool was somewhat obscured with dry sticks and leaves, but the water was clear and dark, brown with the clear brown of the forest, and she saw her own face reflected as she bent and dipped up the water in her hand, touching it to brow and lips. Before her eyes the reflected face shifted and changed, and she saw the strange deep eyes of the woman from that older world than this. And something in her crawled in terror at what she saw in those eyes.
The world had shifted subtly round them-she had believed this strange ancient land lay at the borders of Avalon, not here in the remote fastnesses of North Wales. Yet a voice said silently in her mind, I am everywhere, and where the hazel reflects in the sacred pool, there am I. She heard Accolon draw in a breath of wonder and awe, and turned to see that the lady of the fairy kingdom was with them, standing straight and silent in her shimmering garment, the crown of bare wicker-wither above her brow.
Was it she who spoke, or the lady?
There is other testing than the running of the deer  ...  and suddenly it was as if a horn rang out, far and eerie, through the hazel grove ... or was it the hazel grove? And then the leaves lifted and stirred, and there was the rushing of sudden winds, making the branches creak and sway, and a chill of fear rippled through Morgaine's body and blood.
He is coming  ...
Slowly, reluctant, she turned and saw that they were not alone in the grove. There at the edge between the worlds, he was standing  ...
Never did she ask Accolon what it was that he saw ... she saw only the shadow of the antler crown, the bright leaves of gold and crimson where they stood in a wood gilded with the first buds of spring, the dark eyes  ...  once she had lain with him on a forest floor like this, but he had not come for her this time, and she knew it. Now she, and even the lady, must step aside. His step, light on the leaves, still somehow raised the wind that kept thrusting floods of air through the grove, so that her hair blew about on her forehead and she felt her cloak flapping with it. He was tall and dark, and he seemed at once to be clothed in the richest garments, and in leaves, and at the same time she would have taken oath that his flesh gleamed smooth and naked before them. He gestured, raising one slender hand, and as if compelled, Accolon moved slowly forward, step by step  ...  and at the same time it was Accolon that she could see crowned and robed with leaves and antlers, glimmering in the strange motionless light of fairy. Morgaine felt herself buffeted, struck and battered by the wind; in the grove, she knew, were forms and faces she could not clearly see; this testing was not for her, but for the man at her side. It seemed that there were cries and horn-calls; were the riders within the air, or did the beating of their hooves drum on the forest floor with this great noise that drowned out thought? She knew Accolon was no longer at her side. She stood clasping the bark of the hazel tree, her face hidden; she did not know, she would never know, it was not for her to know what form Accolon's kingmaking should take  ...  that was not in her power to give or to know. She had invoked the powers of the Horned One through the Lady, and he had gone where she could not follow.
She never knew how long she stood there, clutching at the hazel bark, her brow pressed painfully against the bole of the tree ... and then the wind died and Accolon was with her. They stood together, alone in the hazel grove, hearing only the beat of thunder from a dark and cloudless sky where the sun's rim glared like hot metal behind the moon's dark eclipse disk, and the stars burned against the unfallen night. Accolon's arm was around her. He whispered, "What is it, what is it?"
"It is the eclipse." Her voice was steadier than she could have believed. She felt her heartbeat quieting to normal at the touch of his arms, warm and alive, holding her. The ground was quite steady under her feet again, the solid earth of the hazel grove, and when she looked down into the pool she saw fragments of broken boughs from the uncanny wind that had ravaged the grove. Somewhere a bird complained at the sudden dark, and at their feet a small pink piglet rooted in the dead leaf mold. Then the light began to steal so brightly that she saw the shadow passing away from the sun. She saw Accolon staring at the brightness and said sharply, "Turn away your eyes-you can be blinded now the darkness is gone!"
He swallowed and lowered his face to hers. His hair was awry with a wind that was not of this world, and clinging to his hair was a crimson leaf which made Morgaine shiver as they stood beneath the just unfolding buds of the hazel.
He said in a whisper, "He is gone  ...  and she  ...  or was it you? Morgaine, did it happen, was any of it real?"
Morgaine, looking into his dazzled face, saw something in his eyes, something that had never been there before-the touch of the nonhuman. She reached out and plucked the crimson leaf from his hair, holding it out to him. "You who bear the serpents  ...  need you question?"
"Ah-" She saw the shudder run right through him. He struck the crimson leaf from her hand with a savage gesture, letting it fall silent to the forest floor, and said, with a gasp, "It seemed that I rode high above the world and saw such things as come never to mortal man  ... " and then he reached for her, with blind urgency tearing at her dress and pulling her down to the ground. She let him do as he would and lay stunned on the damp ground as he thrust blindly into her, driven by a force he hardly understood. It seemed to her, as she lay silent beneath that driving strength, that his face was shadowed again with antlers or with crimson leaves; she had no part in this, she was only the passive earth beneath rain and wind, thunder and lightning bolt, and it was as if the lightning struck through her into the earth beneath ... 
Then the darkness receded and the strange stars shining forth by day were all gone, and Accolon's hands, tender and apologetic, were helping her to rise, to arrange her disordered dress; he bent to kiss her, to stammer some half-explanation, some word of excuse, but she smiled and laid her hand across his lips. "No, no-it is enough-" The grove was silent again, and around them were only the normal sounds of the quiet day.
She said calmly, "We must go back, my love. We will be missed, and everyone will be shouting and crying out about the eclipse, as if it were some strange marvel of nature  ... " and smiled faintly; she had seen something far stranger than an eclipse this day. Accolon's hand was cold and solid in hers.
He whispered, as they walked, "I knew never that you  ...  you look like her, Morgaine ...  ."
But I am she. However, Morgaine did not speak the words aloud. He was an initiate; he should have been better prepared, perhaps, for this testing. Yet he had faced it as he must, and he had been accepted by something beyond her own small powers.
Then cold struck at her heart and she turned to look at his smiling, beloved face. He had been accepted. But that did not mean he would triumph; it meant only that he might attempt the final testing for which this was only the beginning.
I felt not like this when as Spring Maiden I sent Arthur-whom I knew not to be Arthur-forth for his testing. Ah, Goddess, how young I was then, how young we both were  ...  mercifully young, for we knew not what we did. And now I am old enough to know what it is that I do, how shall I have courage to send him forth to face death?

4

On the eve of Pentecost, Arthur and his queen had bidden those guests with family ties to the throne to dine with them privately. Tomorrow would be the usual great banquet for all of Arthur's subject kings and his Companions, but Gwenhwyfar, dressing herself carefully, felt that this would be the greater ordeal. She had long accepted the inevitable. Her husband and lord would by his act tomorrow make public and irrevocable what had long been known. Tomorrow, Galahad would be made knight and Companion of the Round Table. Oh, she had known it for years, yes, but then Galahad had been only a fair-haired little boy growing up somewhere in King Pellinore's lands. When she had thought of it, she had even been pleased; Lancelet's son, by her own cousin Elaine-now dead in childbed -was a reasonable heir for the King. But now she felt him a living reproach to an aging queen whose life had been without fruit.
"You are distressed," said Arthur, watching her face as she set the coronet about her hair. "I am sorry, Gwenhwyfar-I thought it would be the way to get to know the lad, as I must if he is to have my throne. Shall I tell them that you are ill? You need not appear-you can meet him at some other time."
Gwenhwyfar tightened her mouth. "As well now as later."
He took her hand. "I do not see Lancelet very often anymore-it will be good to speak with him again."
Her mouth moved in something she knew was not the smile she had intended. "I wonder you will have it so-do you not hate him?"
Arthur smiled uneasily. "We were all so much younger then. It seems as if it all was in another world, and Lance no more than my dearest and oldest friend, almost my brother, as much as Cai."
"Cai is your brother too," said Gwenhwyfar, "and his son Arthur is one of your most loyal knights. It seems to me that he would make a better heir than Galahad ...  ."
"Young Arthur is a good man and a trusty Companion. But Cai's blood is not royal. God knows, in all these years I have wished often enough that Ectorius had in truth been my own father... but he was not, and there's an end of it, Gwen." After a moment, hesitant-he had never spoken of this, not since that other dreadful Pentecost-he said, "I have heard that-the other lad, Morgaine's son-is in Avalon."
Gwenhwyfar put out a hand as if to avoid a blow. "No-!"
"I will arrange it so that you need never meet him," he said, not looking at her, "but royal blood is royal blood and something must be done for him. He cannot have my throne, the priests would not have it-"
"Oh," said Gwenhwyfar, "and if the priests would have it, I suppose you would proclaim Morgaine's son your heir-"
"There will be those who wonder that he is not," said Arthur. "Would you have me try to explain it to them?"
"Then you should keep him far from the court," said Gwenhwyfar, thinking, I did not know my voice was so harsh when I was angry. "What place at this court has one who has been reared in Avalon as a Druid?"
He said dryly, "The Merlin of Britain is one of my councillors and has always been so, Gwen. Those who look to Avalon are always my subjects too. It is written: Other sheep have I which are not of this fold. ..."
"A blasphemous jest," Gwenhwyfar observed, making her voice gentler, "and hardly suitable for the eve of Pentecost-"
Arthur said, "Before Pentecost there was always Midsummer, my love. At least, now there are no Midsummer fires lighted, not even on Dragon Island, or, so far as I know, anywhere within three days' ride of Camelot -except on Avalon itself."
"The priests have set wards on Glastonbury Island, I am sure," said Gwenhwyfar, "so that there shall be no coming and going from that land ...  ."
"It would be a sad day if it should be lost forever," Arthur said. "As it is sad for the peasant folk to lose their own festivals... town folk, perhaps, have no need of the old rites. Oh yes, I know, there is only one name under Heaven by which we may be saved, but perhaps those who live in such close kinship with the earth need something more than salvation ...  ."
Gwenhwyfar started to speak, then held her peace. Kevin was no more than a misshapen old cripple, and a Druid, and the day of the Druids now seemed to her as far away as the time of the Romans. And even Kevin was less known at court as the Merlin of Britain than as a superb harper. The priests did not hold him in reverence as a good and kindly man, as once with Taliesin; Kevin's tongue was quick and ungentle in debate. Yet Kevin's knowledge of all the old ways and the common law was greater even than Arthur's, and Arthur had come into the way of turning to him when it was a question of old law and custom which could not be set aside.
"If this were not so strictly a family party, I would command that the Merlin perform for us tonight."
Arthur smiled and said, "I can send to ask of him, if you will, but such music as his is not to be commanded, even by a king. I can bid him dine at our table, and beg him to honor us with a song."
She smiled back and said, "So the King begs of a subject, rather than the other way around?"
"There must be a balance in all things," he said. "It is one of the things I have learned in my rule-in some matters, a king cannot command but must sue. Perhaps that was why the Caesars fell, because they fell into what my tutor used to call hubris, thinking they could command outside the legitimate sphere of a king... . Well, my lady, our guests are waiting. Are you sufficiently beautiful?"
She said, "You are making fun of me again. You know how old I am."
"You are scarcely older than I," said Arthur, "and my chamberlain tells me I am a handsome man still."
"Oh, but that is different. Men do not age as women do." She looked at his face, which was only faintly lined with the years-a man in the prime of his life.
He said, taking her hand, "It would little beseem me to have a maiden at my side for my queen. You are suited to me." They moved toward the door; the chamberlain approached and spoke in a low voice, and Arthur turned to Gwenhwyfar. "There will be other guests at our table. Gawaine sent word that his mother has come, and so we cannot but invite Lamorak as well, since he is her consort and travelling companion," said Arthur. "I have not seen Morgause in many years, God knows, but she is my kinswoman too. And King Uriens and Morgaine with their sons  ... "
"Then it will be a family party indeed."
"Yes, with Gareth and Gawaine-Gaheris is in Cornwall and Agravaine could not leave Lothian," said Arthur, and Gwenhwyfar felt pricked with an old grievance ... Lot of Lothian had so many sons. "Well, my dear, our guests are assembled in the little hall. Shall we go down to them?"
The great hall of the Round Table was Arthur's domain-a man's place, where warriors and kings met. But the little hall with the hangings she had ordered from Gaul and the trestle tables and benches-that was where Gwenhwyfar felt most a queen. She was growing daily more shortsighted; at first, though there was still plenty of light, she saw only stripes of color from the ladies' gowns and the brilliant indoor robes worn by the men. That huge figure there, well over six feet with a great shock of sandy hair, that was Gawaine-he came to bow before the King and then, rising, to embrace his cousin in a great bear hug. Gareth followed him, more modestly, and Cai came to clap Gareth on the shoulder, to call him Handsome in the old way, and to ask after his brood of children, still too young to come to court-the lady Lionors was, he said, still abed after their latest, and had stayed in their castle northward by the Roman wall. Was that eight now, or nine? Gwenhwyfar had seen the lady Lionors only twice, because always, according to Gareth, she was breeding or lying-in or still suckling her latest. Gareth was no longer pretty-faced, but good-looking as ever, and as Arthur and Gawaine and Gareth grew older, the resemblance between them all grew ever stronger. Now Gareth was being embraced by a slender man with dark curling hair streaked with grey, and Gwenhwyfar bit her lip; Lancelet changed not at all with the years, save to grow yet more handsome.
Uriens had none of that magical immunity to time. He looked at last really old, though he was still upright and strong. His hair was all white, and she heard him explaining to Arthur that he had but recently recovered from the lung fever, and had that spring buried his oldest son, savaged by a wild pig.
Arthur said, "So you will be King of North Wales one day, sir Accolon? Well, so it shall be-Ood giveth and taketh, so it says in Holy Writ."
Uriens would have bent to kiss Gwenhwyfar's hand, but she leaned instead to kiss the old man on the cheek. He was foppishly dressed in green, with a handsome cloak of green and brown.
"Our queen grows ever younger," he said, smiling with good humor. "One would think you had dwelled in the fairy country, kinswoman."
Gwenhwyfar laughed. "Perhaps I should paint lines in my face then, lest the bishops and priests think I have learned spells unseemly for a Christian woman-but such jesting is uncanny on the eve of a holy day. Well, Morgaine"-for once she could greet her sister-in-law with a jest- "you seem younger than I, and I know you are older. What is your magic?"
"No magic," said Morgaine in her rich low voice. "It is only that there is so little to occupy my mind, in that country at the end of the world, that it seems to me that time does not pass there, and so, perhaps, that is why I grow no older."
Now she looked closer, Gwenhwyfar could indeed see the small traces of time in Morgaine's face; her skin was still smooth and unmarred, but there were tiny creases around her eyes and the eyelids drooped a little. The hand she gave Gwenhwyfar was thin and bony, so that her rings hung loose. Gwenhwyfar thought, Morgaine is at least five years older than I. And suddenly it seemed to her that they were not women in middle life, but those two young girls who had met in Avalon.
Lancelet had come first to greet Morgaine. Gwenhwyfar would not have believed that she could still be torn with this raging passion of jealousy  ...  now Elaine is gone  ...  and Morgaine's husband is so old he surely cannot look to see another Christmas. She heard Lancelet speak some laughing compliment, heard Morgaine's low sweet laughter.
But she does not look at Lancelet like a lover  ...  her eyes turn to Prince Accolon-he is a goodly man too  ...  well, her husband is more than twice her age  ...  and Gwenhwyfar felt a stab of self-righteous disapproval.
"We should go to table," she said, beckoning to Cai. "Galahad must go at midnight to watch by his arms; and perhaps, like many young men, he would like to rest a little beforehand so he will not be sleepy-"
"I shall not be sleepy, lady," the young man said, and Gwenhwyfar felt again the pain. She would so gladly have had this fair young man as her son. He was tall now, broad-shouldered and big as Lancelet had never been. His face seemed to shine with scrubbing and with a calm happiness. "This is all so new to me-Camelot is such a beautiful city, I can hardly believe it is real! And I rode here with my father-all my life my mother spoke of him as if he were a king or a saint, quite beyond mortal men."
Morgaine said, "Oh, Lancelet is mortal enough, Galahad, and if you come to know him well enough, you will know it too."
Galahad bowed politely to Morgaine. He said, "I remember you. You came and took Nimue from us, and my mother wept-is my sister well, lady?"
"I have not seen her for some years," Morgaine said, "but if it was not well with her, I would have heard."
"I remember only that I was angry with you for telling me I was wrong about everything-you seemed very certain, and my mother-"
"No doubt your mother told you I am an evil sorceress." She smiled -smug as a cat, Gwenhwyfar thought-at the transparent blush that covered Galahad's face. "Well, Galahad, you are not the first to think me so." She smiled to Accolon too, who returned the smile so openly that Gwenhwyfar was shocked.
Galahad said bluntly, "And are you a sorceress, then, lady?"
"Well," said Morgaine, with that cat-claw smile again, "no doubt your mother had reason to think me so. Since now she is gone, I may tell you all-Lancelet, did Elaine never tell you how she begged and besought me for a charm that would turn your eyes on her?"
Lancelet turned to Morgaine, and it seemed to Gwenhwyfar that his face was stricken, tight with pain. "Why make jests about days that are long gone, kinswoman?"
"Oh, but I jest not," said Morgaine, and for a moment she raised her eyes to meet Gwenhwyfar's. "I thought it time you stopped breaking hearts all through the kingdoms of Britain and Gaul. So I made that marriage, and I do not regret it, for now you have a fine son who is heir to my brother's kingdom. If I had not meddled, you would have remained unwed, and still be breaking all our hearts-would he not, Gwen?" she added audaciously.
I knew it. But I did not know Morgaine would confess it so openly ...  . But Gwenhwyfar took a queen's privilege to change the subject. "How does my namesake, your little Gwenhwyfar?"
"She is pledged in marriage to Lionel's son," Lancelet said, "and will be Queen of Less Britain, one day. The priest said the kinship was overdose but a dispensation could be had-I paid a great fee to the church for that to be set aside, and Lionel paid one, too-the girl is but nine and the wedding will not be for another six years."
"And your elder daughter?" asked Arthur.
"Sire, she is in a nunnery," Lancelet said.
"Is that what Elaine told you?" Morgaine asked, and again there was the flash of malice in her eyes. "She is in your own mother's place in Avalon, Lancelet. Did you not know?"
He said peacefully, "It is all one. The priestesses of the House of Maidens are much like to the nuns of holy church, living lives of chastity and prayer, and serving God in their own way." He turned quickly to Queen Morgause, who was approaching them. "Well, Aunt, I cannot say you are unchanged by time, but the years have treated you kindly indeed."
She looks so like Igraine! I have heard only the jests and have laughed at her, but now I can well believe that young Lamorak is beglamoured by her for love and not ambition! Morgause was a big woman, and tall, her hair was still rich and red, flowing in loose braids, over her green gown-a vast expanse of brocaded silk, embroidered with pearls and golden threads. A narrow coronet set with shining topaz twinkled in her hair. Gwenhwyfar held out her arms and embraced her kinswoman, saying, "You look much like Igraine, Queen Morgause. I loved her well, and still I think often of her."
"When I was younger that statement would have had me frantic with jealousy, Gwenhwyfar-I was maddened that my sister Igraine was more beautiful than I, and had so many kings and lords at her feet. Now I remember only that she was beautiful and kind, and I am glad to know I resemble her still." She turned to embrace Morgaine, and Gwenhwyfar saw that Morgaine was lost in the bigger woman's embrace, that Morgause towered over her ...  . Why did I ever fear Morgaine? She is just a little thing after all, and the queen of an unregarded kingdom ...  . Morgaine's dress was a simple dark wool, and she wore no ornament but a silver torque about her throat and some kind of silver bracelet about her arms. Her hair, dark and rich as ever, was simply braided and wound around her head.
Ardiur had come up to embrace his sister and his aunt. Gwenhwyfar took Galahad's hand in hers. "You shall sit by me, kinsman." Ah, yes, this was the son I should have borne to Lancelet-or to Arthur ...  . She said, as they sat down, "And now you have come to know your father, have you discovered, as Morgaine said, that he is no saint but merely a very lovable man?"
"Ah, but what else is a saint?" asked Galahad, his eyes shining. "I cannot think of him as only a man, lady, he is surely more than that. He is the son of a king too, and I am sure that if they chose the best rather than the eldest son, he would reign in Less Britain. I think that man is happy whose father is also his hero," he said. "I had some time to speak with Gawaine-he despised his father and thought little of him, but no man has ever spoken of my father save with admiration!"
"I hope, then, that you see him always as a hero untarnished," said Gwenhwyfar. She had placed Galahad between herself and Arthur, as befitted the adopted heir to the kingdom; Arthur had chosen to seat Queen Morgause next to him, with Gawaine beyond, and next to him, Uwaine, who was Gawaine's friend and protege, as Gareth had been Lancelet's when they were younger.
At the table next to them were Morgaine and her husband, and other guests; they were all kin, but she could not see their faces clearly. She craned her neck and squinted to see, reproving herself-squinting would make her ugly-and rubbed at the right wrinkle beneath her brows. She wondered suddenly whereby her old fear of open spaces when she was a girl had simply come from being so shortsighted? Had she feared what the world was like only because she could not really see?
She asked Arthur across Galahad, who was eating with the hearty appetite of a healthy boy still growing, "Did you bid Kevin dine with us?"
"Aye, but he sent a message that he could not come. Since he could not be in Avalon, perhaps he keeps the holy day in his own fashion. I bid Bishop Patricias as well, but he keeps the vigil of Pentecost in the church -he will see you there at midnight, Galahad."
"I think that being made a king must be a little like being made a priest," said Galahad clearly; there was a lull in the conversation that made his young voice audible from one end of the table to another. "They are both sworn to serve man and God and to do what is right-"
Gareth said, "I felt something like that, lad. God grant you see it always so."
"I have always wanted my Companions to be men dedicated to the right." said Arthur. "I do not demand that they be godly men, Galahad, but I have hoped they would be good men."
Lancelet said to Arthur, "Perhaps these youngsters may live in a world where it is easier to be good," and it seemed to Gwenhwyfar that he sounded sad.
"But you are good, Father," said Galahad. "All up and down this land it is told that you are King Arthur's greatest knight."
Lancelet chuckled, embarrassed. "Aye-like that Saxon hero who tore the arm from the Lake monster. My works and deeds have been made into song because the true tale is not exciting enough to tell by the fireside in winter."
"But you did slay a dragon, did you not?" Galahad said.
"Oh, yes-and it was a fearful beast enough, I suppose. But your grandsire did as much as I in killing it," said Lancelet. "Gwenhwyfar, my lady, we dine never so well as at your table-"
"Too well," said Arthur cheerfully, patting his middle. "If feasts like this came often, I would be as fat as one of those beer-guzzling Saxon kings. And tomorrow is Pentecost, and another feast for even more folk-I do not know how my lady does it!"
Gwenhwyfar felt a small glow of pride. "This feast is mine, that of tomorrow is sir Cai's pride-for that one the beeves are already roasting in their pit. My lord Uriens, you are eating no meat  ... "
Uriens shook his head. "A wing of one of those birds, perhaps. Since my son was slain, I have vowed never again to eat the flesh of swine."
"And your queen shares your vow?" said Arthur. "As always, Mor-gaine is all but fasting-no wonder you are so small and spare, my sister!"
"It is no hardship for me not to eat swine's flesh."
"Is your voice sweet as ever, my sister? Since Kevin could not join us, perhaps you would sing or play-"
"If you had told me you wished it, I would not have eaten so well. I cannot sing now. Later, perhaps."
"Then you, Lancelet," Arthur said.
Lancelet shrugged and gestured to a servant to bring the harp. "Kevin will sing this tomorrow-I am no match for him. I made the words from a Saxon poet. I said once I could live with the Saxons, but not with what they called music. Then, when I dwelt among them last year, I heard this song and wept when I heard it, and tried in my poor way to put it into our tongue." He left his seat to take the small harp. "It is for you, my king," he said, "for it speaks of what sorrow I knew when I dwelt far from court and from my lord-but the music is Saxon. I had thought, before this, that all their songs were of war and battle and fighting."
He began to play a soft, sorrowful melody; his fingers were not as skillful as those of Kevin, but the sad song had a power of its own, which gradually quieted them. He sang, in the husky voice of an untrained singer:

"What sorrow is like to the sorrow of one who is alone?
Once I dwelt in the company of the king I loved well,
And my arm was heavy with the weight of the rings he gave,
And my heart weighed down with the gold of his love.
The face of the king is like the sun to those who surround him,
But now my heart is empty
And I wander alone throughout the world.
The groves take on their blossoms,
The trees and meadows grow fair,
But the cuckoo, saddest of singers,
Cries forth the lonely sorrow of the exile,
And now my heart goes wandering,
In search of what I shall never see more;
All faces are alike to me if I cannot see the face of my king,
And all countries are alike to me
When I cannot see the fair fields and meadows of my home.
So I shall arise and follow my heart in its wandering
For what is the fair meadow of home to me
When I cannot see the face of my king
And the weight on my arm is but a band of gold
When the heart is empty of the weight of love.
And so I shall go roaming
Over the fishes' road
And the road of the great whale
And beyond the country of the wave
With none to bear me company
But the memory of those I loved
And the songs I sang out of a full heart,
And the cuckoo's cry in memory.


GWENHWYFAR BENT HER HEAD to hide tears. Arthur's head was lowered, his eyes covered by his hand. Morgaine was staring straight ahead and Gwenhwyfar could see the stripes of tears making wet streaks down her face. Arthur rose and came around the table; he put his arms round Lancelet and said in a voice that was not steady, "But you are again with your king and your friend, Galahad."
The old bitterness stabbed at Gwenhwyfar's heart. He sang of his king, not of his queen and his love. His love for me was never more than a part of his love for Arthur. She closed her eyes, unwilling to see them embrace.
"That was beautiful," said Morgause softly. "Who would ever think that a Saxon brute could write music like that-it must have been Lancelet, after all-"
Lancelet shook his head. "The music is theirs. And the words only a poor echo of their own ...  ."
A voice that was like an echo of Lancelet's said gently, "But there are poets and musicians among the Saxons, as well as warriors, my lady," and Gwenhwyfar turned toward the voice. A young man in dark clothing, slender, dark-haired, a blur beyond her sight; but the voice, accented softly with the tones of the North country, still sounded like Lancelet's, the very pitch and timbre of his.
Arthur beckoned him forward. "There sits one at my table I do not know-and at a family party, that is not right. Queen Morgause-?"
She stood up in her place. "I had meant to present him to you before we went to table, but you were busy talking with old friends, my king. This is Morgaine's son, who was fostered at my court-Gwydion."
The youth came forward and bowed. "King Arthur," he said, in the warm voice that was like an echo of Lancelet's. For a moment a dizzied joy struck through Gwenhwyfar; this was Lancelet's son, surely, not Arthur's -and then she recalled that Morgaine's aunt, Viviane, was Lancelet's mother too.
Arthur embraced the youth. He said, in a voice too shaken to be audible three yards distant, "The son of my dearly beloved sister shall be received as a son at my own court, Gwydion. Come and sit beside me, lad."
Gwenhwyfar looked at Morgaine. She had spots of crimson on her cheek, as bright as if they were painted, and she was worrying her lower lip between her small, sharp teeth. Had Morgause not prepared her, then, to see her son presented to his father-no, to the King, Gwenhwyfar reminded herself sharply; there was no reason to think the boy had any idea who his father was. Though if he had ever looked in a mirror, no doubt he would come to believe, whatever anyone might say, that he was Lancelet's son.
Not a boy, after all. He must be near enough to five-and-twenty; he was a man.
"Your cousin, Galahad," Arthur said, and Galahad impulsively put out his hand.
"You are closer kin to the King than I, cousin-you have a better right than I to be where I am now," he said, with boyish spontaneity. "I wonder you don't hate me!"
Gwydion smiled and said, "How do you know I do not, cousin?" and for a moment Gwenhwyfar was jolted, until she saw the smile. Yes, he was Morgaine's son, he had the cat-smile she could show sometimes! Galahad blinked, then decided the words were meant as a jest. Gwenhwyfar could follow Galahad's transparent thoughts-Is this my father's son, is Gwydion my bastard brother by Queen Morgaine? He looked hurt, too, like a puppy whose playful proffer of friendship has been rebuffed.
"No, cousin," Gwydion said, "what you are thinking is not true." Gwenhwyfar thought, her breath catching in her throat, that he even had Lancelet's sudden breathtaking smile that transformed a rather dark and somber face into an overwhelming brilliance, as if a ray of sun had come out and transformed it.
Galahad said defensively, "I was not-I did not-"
"No," said Gwydion, kindly, "you did not say anything, but it is all too obvious what you are thinking, and what everyone in this room must be thinking." He raised his voice, just a little, that voice so like Lancelet's, although overlaid with the soft North-country accent: "In Avalon, cousin, we take our lineage from the line of the mother. I am of the old royal line of Avalon, and that is quite enough for me. It would be arrogance for any man to claim to be father to the child of a High Priestess of Avalon. But of course, like most men, I would like to know who fathered me, and what you thought has been said before-that I am the son of Lancelot. That likeness has been remarked upon before this-especially among the Saxons where I spent three years learning to be a warrior," he added. "Your reputation among them, lord Lancelet, is still much remembered there! I could not count how many men said to me that it was no disgrace to be the bastard son of a man like you, sir!" His low chuckle was like an eerie echo of the man he faced, and Lancelet looked uneasy too. "But in the end I always had to tell them that what they thought was not true. Of all the men in this kingdom who could have fathered me, one I know is not my father. And so, I must inform them that it is only a family likeness, no more. I am your cousin, Galahad, not your brother." He leaned lazily back in his chair. "Will it embarrass you too much-that everyone who sees us will think so? After all, we cannot go around telling everyone the truth!"
Galahad looked confused. "I would not have minded if you were truly my brother, Gwydion."
"But then I should have been your father's son and perhaps the King's heir, too," Gwydion said, and smiled-and it struck Gwenhwyfar suddenly that he actually took pleasure in the discomfort of the people around the table; that he was Morgaine's son, if only in that touch of malice.
Morgaine said, in that low voice which carried so clearly without being loud, "It would not have been displeasing to me, either, if Lancelet had fathered you, Gwydion."
"No, I suppose not, lady," Gwydion said. "Forgive me, lady Morgaine. Always I have called Queen Morgause my mother-"
Morgaine laughed. "If I seem an unlikely mother to you, Gwydion, you seem just as unlikely a son to me. I am grateful for this family party, Gwenhwyfar," she said. "I might have been confronted with my son tomorrow at the great feast, without warning."
Uriens said, "I think any woman would be proud of such a son, and as to your father, whoever he may have been, young Gwydion, it is his own loss that he did not claim you for his own."
"Oh, I don't think so," Gwydion said, and Gwenhwyfar thought, watching the small flicker of his eyes toward Arthur, He may say for some reason that he does not know who is his father, but he is lying. Somehow that made her uncomfortable. Yet how much more uncomfortable it would be if he were to face Arthur and demand to know why he, the son, was not also the heir.
Avalon, that accursed place! She wished it would sink into the sea like the lost land of Ys in the old tale, and never be heard of again!
"But this is Galahad's special night," Gwydion said, "and I am taking attention away from him. Are you to watch by your arms this night, cousin?"
Galahad nodded. "It is the custom for Arthur's Companions."
"I was the first," Gareth said, "and it is a good custom. I suppose it is the nearest a layman can come to being a priest, to take vows that he will always serve his king and his land and his God with his arms." He laughed and said, "What a fool of a boy I was-my lord Arthur, have you ever forgiven me, that I refused your offer to knight me with your own hands, and instead asked that Lancelet might do so?"
"Forgiven you, lad? I envied you," Arthur said, smiling. "Do you think I did not know Lancelet was the greater warrior of us two?"
Cai spoke for the first time, his somber scarred face twisting in a smile. "I told die lad then that he was a good fighter and would make a good knight, but he was certainly no courtier!"
"And so much the better," said Arthur heartily. "God knows I had enough of those!" He added, leaning forward, speaking directly to Galahad, "Would you prefer that your father should knight you, Galahad? He has knighted enough of my Companions ...  ."
The boy bowed his head. "Sir, it is for my king to say. But it seems to me that this knighthood comes from God and it does not matter who bestows it. I-I do not mean that quite as it sounds, sir-I mean, the vow is made to you, but mostly to God-"
Arthur nodded, slowly. "I know what you mean, my boy. It is much the same with a king-he vows to rule over his people, but the vow is given not to the people but to God-"
"Or," said Morgaine, "to the Goddess, in her name, as token of the land the king shall rule." She looked directly at Arthur as she spoke and he shifted his eyes, and Gwenhwyfar bit her lip ... Morgaine reminding Arthur again dial his allegiance had been given to Avalon-damn her! But that was past and Arthur was a Christian king  ...  under no authority but that of God.
"We will all be praying for you, Galahad, that you make a good knight, and that one day, you will make a good king," said Gwenhwyfar.
"So, as you make your vows, Galahad," said Gwydion, "you are making, in some form, the same kind of Sacred Marriage to the land that the King used to make in the old days. But you will not, perhaps, be so hard tested."
The color rose in the younger boy's face. "My lord Arthur came to the throne proved in battle, cousin, but there is no way I can now be so tested."
"I could think of a way," said Morgaine softly, "and if you are to rule over Avalon as well as the Christian lands, one day you must come to that, too, Galahad."
He set his mouth firmly. "May that time be far-surely, my lord, you will live many, many years-and by then all those old folk who still believe they must give allegiance to the pagan ways will have gone."
"I trust not," said Accolon, speaking up for the first time in that company. "The sacred groves still stand, and in them, the old ways are done as they have been done from the beginning of the world. We do not anger the Goddess by denying her worship, lest she turn upon her people and blight the harvests and darken the very sun that gives us life."
Galahad was startled. "But this is a Christian land! Have no priests come to you to show you that the evil old Gods among whom the Devil had sway have no more power now? Bishop Patricius has told me that all the sacred groves have been cut down!"
"Not so," said Accolon, "nor will be while my father lives, or I after him."
Morgaine opened her mouth to speak, but Gwenhwyfar saw Accolon lay his hand on her wrist. She smiled at him and said nothing. It was Gwydion who said, "Nor yet in Avalon, while the Goddess lives. Kings come and kings go, but the Goddess shall endure forever."
What pity, Gwenhwyfar thought, that this handsome young man should be a pagan! Well, Galahad is a good and pious Christian knight, who will make a Christianfang! But as she reassured herself with that thought, a faint shiver went through her.
As if Gwenhwyfar's thoughts disturbed him, Arthur leaned forward to Gwydion, and his face was troubled. "Have you come to court to be one of my Companions, Gwydion? I need not tell you that the son of my sister is welcome among my knights."
"I admit I brought him here for that," said Morgause, "but I did not know that this was Galahad's great ceremonial. I would not steal the luster from this occasion. Surely another time will do as well for that."
Galahad said ingenuously, "I would not mind sharing my vigil and vows with my cousin."
Gwydion laughed. "You are too generous, kinsman," he said, "but you know little of kingcraft. The King's heir must be proclaimed without any to share that moment. If Arthur should knight us both at the same time, and I am so much the older, and resemble Lancelet so much more-well, there is gossip enough about my parentage; it should not shadow your knighthood as well. Nor," he added, laughing, "my own."
Morgaine shrugged. "They will gossip about the King's kin, whether or no, Gwydion. Let them have some morsel to chew on!"
"Yet another thing," Gwydion said lightly. "I have no intent ever to watch by my arms in any Christian church. I am of Avalon. If Arthur will admit me among his Companions for what I am, that will be well, and if not, that too will be well."
Uriens raised his knotty old arms so that the faded serpents could be seen. "I sit at the Round Table with no such Christian vow, step-son."
 "Nor I," said Gawaine. "We won our knighthoods, all of us who fought in those days, and needed no such ceremonial. Some of us would have been hard put to it, had knighthood been fenced about by such courtly vows as now."
"Even I," Lancelet said, "would be somewhat reluctant to take such vows, such a sinful man as I am. But I am Arthur's man for life or death, and he knows it."
"God forbid I should ever doubt it," said Arthur, smiling with deep affection at his old friend. "You and Gawaine are the very pillars of my kingdom. If I should ever lose either of you, I think my throne would split and fall from the very top of Camelot!"
He raised his head as a door opened at the far end of the hall, and a priest in white robes, with two young men dressed in white, came in. Galahad rose, eagerly. "By your leave, my lord-"
Arthur rose too, and embraced his heir. "Bless you, Galahad. Go to keep your vigil."
The boy bowed and turned to embrace his father; Gwenhwyfar could not hear what Lancelet said to him. She reached out her hand and Galahad bent to kiss it. "Give me your blessing, lady."
"Always, Galahad," Gwenhwyfar said, and Arthur added, "We will see you to the church. You must keep your vigil alone, but we will come a little way with you."
"You do me too much honor, my king. Did you not keep vigil when you were crowned?"
"He did indeed," said Morgaine, smiling, "but it was far other than this."


AS THE WHOLE PARTY MOVED toward the church, Gwydion dropped back until he was walking at Morgaine's side. She looked up at her son-he was not as tall as Arthur, who had the height of the Pendragons, but at her side he seemed tall.
"I had not expected to see you here, Gwydion."
"I had not expected to be here, madam."
"I heard that you had been fighting in this war, among Arthur's Saxon allies. I knew not that you were a warrior,"
He shrugged. "You have had little opportunity to know much of me, lady."
Abruptly, not knowing what she was going to say until she heard herself saying it, she asked, "Do you hate me that I abandoned you, my son?"
He hesitated. "Perhaps-for a time when I was young," he said at last. "But I am a child of the Goddess, and this forced me to be so in truth, that I could look to no earthly parents. I bear you no grudge now, Lady of the Lake," he said.
For a moment the path blurred around her; it was as if the young Lancelet stood at her side  ...  her son steadied her gently with his arm.
"Take care, the path here is not smooth-"
She asked, "How is it with all in Avalon?"
"Niniane is well," he said. "I have few ties with any other there, not now."
"Have you seen Galahad's sister there, the maiden called Nimue?" She frowned, trying to remember how old Nimue would be now. Galahad was sixteen-Nimue would be at least fourteen, almost grown.
"I know her not," said Gwydion. "The old priestess of the oracles- Raven, is it?-has taken her into the silence and into seclusion. No man may look upon her face."
I wonder why Raven did that? A sudden shudder went through her, but she said only, "How does Raven, then? Is she well?"
"I have not heard that she was otherwise," said Gwydion, "though when I last saw her at the rites she seemed older than the very oaks. Still, her voice was sweet and young. But I have never had private speech from her."
Morgaine said, "Nor has any man living, Gwydion, and few women. Twelve years I spent there as a maiden, and I heard her voice but half a dozen times." She did not wish to speak or to think of Avalon and said, trying to keep her voice commonplace, "So you have had battle experience with the Saxons?"
"True, and in Brittany-I spent some time at Lionel's court. Lionel thought me Lancelet's son and would have had me call him Uncle and I told him nothing contrary. It will do Lancelet no harm to be thought capable of fathering a bastard or so. And, even as with the good Lancelet, the Saxons around Ceardig gave me a name. Elf-arrow they called him-any man who accomplishes anything gets a name from those folk. Mordred, they called me -it means in our tongue something like to 'Deadly counsel' or even 'Evil counsel,' and I think not that they meant it as compliment!"
"It takes not much craft in counsel to be wilier than a Saxon," she said, "but tell me, then, what prompted you to come hare before the time I had chosen?"
Gwydion shrugged. "I felt I might well see my rival."
Morgaine glanced fearfully around her. "Say that not aloud!"
"I have no reason to fear Galahad," he said quietly. "He looks not to me like one who will live long enough to rule."
"Is that the Sight?"
"I need not the Sight to tell me it would take one stronger than Galahad to sit on the throne of the Pendragon," Gwydion said. "But if it will ease your mind, lady, I will swear to you by the Sacred Well, Galahad will not die by my hand. Nor," he added after a moment, seeing her shiver, "by yours. If the Goddess does not want him on the throne of the new Avalon, I think we may leave it to her."
He laid his hand for a moment on Morgaine's; gentle as the touch was, she shivered again.
"Come," he said, and it seemed to Morgaine that his voice was as compassionate as a priest's giving absolution. "Let us go and see my cousin to his arms. It is not right that anything should spoil this great moment of his life. He may not have many more."

5

As often as Morgause of Lothian had come to Camelot, she never tired of the pageantry. Now, conscious that as one of Arthur's subject queens and the mother of three of his earliest Companions, she would have a favored place at the mock games which marked this day, she sat beside Morgaine in church; at the end of the service, Galahad would be knighted, and he knelt now beside Arthur and Gwenhwyfar, pale and serious and shining with excitement.
Bishop Patricius himself had come from Glastonbury to celebrate the Pentecost mass here in Camelot; he stood now before them in his white robes, intoning: "Unto thee have we offered this bread, the body of the Only-begotten ...  ."
Morgause put a plump hand over her mouth, smothering a yawn. However often she attended Christian ceremonies, she never thought about them; they were not even as interesting as die rites at Avalon where she had spent her childhood, but she had thought, since she was fourteen or so, that all Gods and all religions were games which men and women played with their minds. None of them had anything to do with real life. Nevertheless, when she was at Pentecost, she dutifully attended mass, to please Gwenhwyfar-the woman was her hostess, and the High Queen, after all, and a close relative-and now, with the rest of the royal family, she went forward to receive the holy bread. Morgaine, attentive at her side, was the only one in the King's household who did not approach the communion table; Morgause thought lazily that Morgaine was a very great fool. Not only did she alienate the common people, but the more pious among the King's household called Morgaine witch and sorceress, and worse things, among themselves. And, after all, what difference did it make? One religious lie was as good as another, was it not? King Uriens, now, he had more sense of what was expedient; Morgause did not think Uriens had any more religion than Gwenhwyfar's pet house cat. She had seen the serpents of Avalon around his arms; yet, like his son Accolon, he went forward to take part.
But when the final prayer came, including one for the dead, she discovered that she had tears in her eyes. She missed Lot-his cynical cheerfulness, his steadfast loyalty to her; and he had, after all, given her four fine sons. Gawaine and Gareth knelt near her, among Arthur's own household-Gawaine, as always, close to Arthur; Gareth side by side with his young friend Uwaine-Morgaine's stepson; she had heard Uwaine call Morgaine mother, heard a genuine maternal note in Morgaine's voice when she spoke to him, something she had never thought Morgaine capable of.
With a rustle of gowns and the small chink of scabbarded swords and such gear, Arthur's household arose and moved to the church porch. Gwenhwyfar, though a little haggard, was still beautiful with the long bright golden braids over her shoulder and her fine gown belted in with a brilliant golden girdle. Arthur looked splendid, too. Excalibur hung in its scabbard at Arthur's side-the same old red velvet scabbard he had worn for more than twenty years now. She supposed that Gwenhwyfar could have embroidered him a handsomer one at any time in the past ten years.
Galahad knelt before the King; Arthur took from Gawaine a handsome sword and said, "For you, my dear kinsman and adopted son, this." He gestured to Gawaine, who belted it around the boy's slender waist. Galahad looked up with his boyish smile and said clearly, "I thank you, my king. May I bear it only and always in your service."
Arthur laid his hands on Galahad's head. He said, "I gladly receive you among the company of my Companions, Galahad, and confer on you the order of knighthood. Be always faithful and just, and serve the throne and the righteous cause always." He raised the youngster, embraced him and kissed him. Gwenhwyfar kissed him too, and the royal company went out toward the huge field, the others behind him.
Morgause found herself walking between Morgaine and Gwydion, with Uriens, Accolon, and Uwaine just behind them. The field had been decorated with green staves wound with ribbons and pennants, and the marshals of the games were pacing off the fighting areas. She saw Lancelet with Galahad, embracing him and giving him a plain white shield. Morgause said, "Will Lancelet fight today?"
Accolon said, "I think not-I heard he is to be master of the lists; he has won the field too many times. Between ourselves, he is no longer so young, and it would hardly suit the dignity of the Queen's champion to be unseated from his horse by some youth hardly made knight. I've heard that he's been beaten by Gareth more than once, and once by Lamorak-"
Morgause said smiling, "I think well of Lamorak that he forbore to boast of that conquest-few men could resist bragging that they had overcome Lancelet even in a mock battle!"
"No," said Morgaine quietly, "I think most young knights would be unhappy at the thought that Lancelet was no longer king of the field. He is their hero."
Gwydion chuckled. "Do you mean that the young stags forbear to challenge the knight who is King Stag among them?"
"I think none of the older knights would do so," said Accolon, "and of the young knights, there are few with enough strength or experience to challenge him. If they did, he would show them a trick or two still."
"I would not," said Uwaine quietly. "I think there is no knight at this court who does not love Lancelet. Gareth could overthrow him any time now, but he will not shame him at Pentecost, and he and Gawaine have always been evenly matched. Once at a Pentecost like this they fought for more than an hour, and once Gawaine knocked his sword from his hand. I do not know if I could best him in single combat, but he may stay champion while he lives, for all I will ever do to challenge it."
"Challenge him, someday," Accolon said, laughing, "I did so, and he took all the conceit out of me in five minutes! He may be old, but he has all his skill and strength."
He handed Morgaine and his father into the seats reserved for them. "By your leave, I will go and enter the lists before it is too late."
"And I," said Uwaine, bending to kiss his father's hand. He turned to Morgaine. "I have no lady, Mother. Will you give me a token to bear into the lists?"
Morgaine smiled indulgently and gave him a ribbon from her sleeve, which he tied about his arm, saying, "I have arranged to challenge Gawaine to a trial of strength."
Gwydion said with his charming smile, "Why, lady, you had better take back your favor-would you have your honor so easily disposed of as that?"
Morgaine laughed up at Accolon, and Morgause, watching her face come alight, thought, Uwaine is her son, far more than Gwydion; but Accolon, it is plain to see, is more than that. I wonder if the old king knows-or cares?
Lamorak was approaching them, and Morgause felt warmed and complimented-there were many pretty ladies on the field, he could have a favor from any of them, yet, before them all, before all Camelot, her dear young man would come and bow before her.
"My lady, may I wear a token into battle?"
"With pleasure, my dear." Morgause gave him the rose from the nosegay she wore at her bosom. He kissed the flower; she gave him her hand, pleasantly conscious that her young knight was one of the handsomest men there.
"Lamorak seems enchanted by you," said Morgaine, and although she had given her favor to him before the whole court, Morgause felt herself blush at Morgaine's detached voice.
"Do you think I have need of charms or spells, kinswoman?"
Morgaine laughed. "I should have used another word. Young men seem mostly to want a fair face and little more."
"Well, Morgaine, Accolon is younger than you, and you have certainly captivated him to the point where he has no desire for a younger woman-or a fairer one. I am not the one to reproach you, my dear. You were married against your will, and your husband could be your grandsire."
Morgaine shrugged. "Sometimes I think Uriens knows-perhaps he is glad that I have a lover who will not tempt me to leave him."
A little hesitantly-she had never asked Morgaine any personal question since Gwydion's birth-Morgause said, "You and Uriens are at odds, then?"
Morgaine gave again that indifferent shrug. "I think Uriens cares not enough for me to be at odds one way or the other."
"How like you Gwydion?" Morgause asked.
"He frightens me," said Morgaine. "Yet it would be hard not to be charmed by him."
"What do you expect? He has Lancelet's beauty and your powers of mind-and he is ambitious as well."
"How strange that you should know my son better than I do," Morgaine said, and there was so much bitterness in the words that Morgause, whose first instinct was to rap out a sharp reply-Morgaine had deserted her son, why should it surprise her?-patted the younger woman's hand and said, not unkindly, "Oh, my dear, once a son is grown out of your lap, I think anyone knows him better than his mother! I am sure that Arthur and his Companions, and even your Uwaine, all know Gawaine better than I do, and he is not even a hard man to understand-he's a perfectly simple man. If you had reared him from a babe you still would not understand Gwydion-I freely confess that I do not!"
Morgaine's only answer was an uneasy smile. She turned to look at the lists, where the first events were starting; Arthur's fools and clowns were dancing about in ridiculous mock battles, flapping pig's bladders for weapons and cloth banners, garishly painted, in the place of shields, until the watchers were guffawing at their capers. They bowed at last, and Gwenhwyfar, in an exaggerated parody of the gesture with which she would later bestow prizes to the real winners, flung them handfuls of sweets and cakes. They scrambled for them, to more laughter and applause, then capered away to the good dinner waiting for them in the kitchens.
One of the criers called out that the first match would be a trial combat between the Queen's champion, sir Lancelet of the Lake, and the King's, sir Gawaine of Lothian and the Isles. There was a tumult of applause as they came onto the field-Lancelet slender, dark, and still so handsome, despite the lines in his face and the grey in his hair, that Morgaine felt her breath catch.
Yes, thought Morgause, watching her younger kinswoman's face, she loves him still, despite the years. Perhaps she does not know it herself, but there it is.
The combat was like an elaborately choreographed dance, the two moving round one another, their swords and shields ringing loud. Morgause could not see that either of them had the slightest advantage, and when at last they lowered their swords, bowed to the King, and embraced each other, they were cheered impartially and applauded without the slightest favoritism.
Then came the horse games: demonstrations of fancy riding, a man riding an unbroken horse to master it-Morgause faintly remembered a time when Lancelet had done some such thing, perhaps at Arthur's wedding -it seemed very long ago. After that, there were individual duels on horseback, with blunted spears which could nevertheless unhorse a rider and give him a nasty spill into the field. One young rider fell twisted on his leg and was carried away screaming, the leg sticking out at an improbable angle. This was the only serious injury, but there were bruises, smashed fingers, men flung senseless to the ground, and one who barely escaped being kicked by a badly trained horse. Gwenhwyfar gave prizes at the end of all this, and Morgaine too was called by Arthur and asked to distribute several prizes.
Accolon had won one of the prizes for riding, and as he came to kneel and accept the prize from Morgaine's hands, Morgause was astonished to hear a low, but perceptible hiss of disapproval somewhere in the stands. Someone softly but audibly whispered, "Witch! Harlot!"
Morgaine colored, but her hands did not falter as she handed Accolon the cup. Arthur said in a low voice to one of his stewards, "Find out who that was!" and the man slipped away, but Morgause was sure that in such a crowd, the voice would never be recognized.
When Morgaine came back to her seat at the start of the second half of the entertainment, she looked pale and angry; her hands, Morgause noted, were shaking, and her breath coming fast in her throat.
"My dear, don't worry about it," said Morgause. "What do you think they call me, when it is a year of poor crops, or when someone has had justice done to him and would rather have gotten away with his villainy?"
"Do you think I care what that rabble think of me?" Morgaine said scornfully, but Morgause knew her indifference was pretended. "I am loved well enough in my own country."
The second half of the games began with some Saxon churls demonstrating the art of wrestling. They were huge hairy men, hair not only on their faces but all over their near-naked bodies; they grunted and strained and heaved, with hoarse cries, grappling and wrenching with bone-cracking strength. Morgause leaned forward, shamelessly enjoying the sight of their male strength; but Morgaine turned her eyes away in squeamish distaste.
"Oh, come, Morgaine, you are growing as prudish as the Queen. What a face!" Morgause shaded her eyes with her hand and glanced down to the field. "I think the mock battle is about to begin-Look! Is that Gwydion? What can he be doing?"
Gwydion had leaped into the field, and waving away the crier who hurried to him, called out in a strong, clear voice which could be heard clearly from one end of the field to another, "King Arthur!"
Morgause saw that Morgaine had sunk back, white as death, and was clutching the rails with both hands. What was the lad about? Was he going to make a scene here before half of Arthur's people, demanding the acknowledgment that was his?
Arthur rose, and Morgause thought that he too looked uneasy, but his voice was ringing clear.
"Yes, nephew?"
"I have heard that it is customary at these games to allow a challenge, if the King is willing. I ask now if sir Lancelet will meet me for a challenge fight!"
Lancelet had once said-Morgause remembered this-that such challenges were the bane of his existence; every young knight wanted to master the Queen's champion. Arthur's voice was grave. "It is customary, but I cannot speak for Lancelet. If he agrees to this match, I cannot refuse him, but you must challenge him directly and abide by his answer."
Morgause said, "Oh, damn the boy! I had no idea this was what he had in mind  ... " but Morgaine somehow felt she was not so displeased, after all.
A wind had come up, and dust from the field was blowing, blurring the summer glare of the dry white clay of the field. Gwydion walked through the dust to the end of the lists, where Lancelet was sitting on a bench. Morgause could not hear what either of them said, but Gwydion turned angrily and shouted, "My lords! I heard always that a champion's duty is to meet with all comers! Sir, I demand that Lancelet now meet my challenge or yield up his high office to me! Does he hold his post because of his skill at arms, or for some other reason, my lord Arthur?"
"I wish," said Morgause, "that your son were still young enough to have his breeches well dusted, Morgaine!"
"Why blame him?" asked Morgaine. "Why not blame Gwenhwyfar for making her husband so vulnerable? Everyone in this kingdom knows she favors Lancelet, yet no one cries out 'witch' or 'harlot' when she comes before the people."
But Lancelet, below them, had risen and strode to Gwydion; he brought back his gloved hand and struck the younger man smartly across the mouth. "Now indeed you have given me cause to chastise your ungentle tongue, young Gwydion. We will see who refuses combat now!"
"I came here for that," said Gwydion, unmoved by blow or words, though there was a small trickle of blood on his face. "I will even grant you first blood, sir Lancelet. It is fitting that a man of your years should have some advantage."
Lancelet spoke to one of his marshals, who came to take his place as master of the lists. There was a considerable murmuring in the stands as Lancelet and Gwydion took swords and faced the King for the ritual bow which began the contest. Morgause thought, If there is a man in that crowd who does not believe that they are father and son, he must have poor eyesight.
The two men raised swords to each other, their faces now hidden by helmets. They were within an inch of the same height; the only difference between them was between Lancelet's battered old breastplate and armor, and Gwydion's newer, unstained gear. They circled one another slowly, then rushed in and for a moment Morgause lost track of the separate strokes, which were nearly too fast for the eye to follow. She could see that Lancelet was taking the younger man's measure, and after a moment he pressed hard and struck a mighty blow. Gwydion caught it on the side of his shield, but the force behind it was so enormous that he reeled, lost his balance, and measured his length on the field. He began to scramble up. Lancelet put his sword aside and went to help the young man to his feet. Morgause could not hear what he said, but the gesture was good-natured, something like, "Had enough, youngster?"
Gwydion pointed to the trickle of blood down Lancelet's wrist from a small cut he had managed to inflict. His voice was clearly audible.
"You drew first blood, sir, and I second. Shall we decide it with one more fall?"
There was a small storm of hissing and disapproval; first blood in these demonstration matches, since the contestants fought with sharp weapons, was supposed to end the fight.
King Arthur rose in his place. "This is a festival and a courtesy challenge, not a duel! I will have no settling of grudges here, unless you fight with fists or cudgels! Continue if you will, but I warn you, if there is a serious wounding, you will both be under my gravest displeasure!"
They bowed and moved apart, circling for their advantage; then they rushed together, and Morgause gasped, watching the fierceness of it. It seemed that at any moment one or the other might rush in under the shield and inflict a mortal wound! One of them had gone to his knees-a rain of blows on the shield, the swords locked together in a deadlock, and one was borne closer and closer to the ground  ...
Gwenhwyfar rose and cried out, "I will have this go no further!"
Arthur cast his baton into the lists; by custom, a fight was instantly stopped when that happened, but neither man saw, and the marshals had to pull them apart. Gwydion stood fresh and erect, smiling as he pulled off his helmet. Lancelet's squire had to help the older man to his feet; he was breathing hard, sweat and blood pouring down his face. There was a perfect storm of hissing, even from the other knights on the field; Gwydion had added nothing to his popularity by shaming the hero of the people.
But he bowed to the older knight. "I am honored, sir Lancelet. I came to this court a stranger, not even one of Arthur's Companions, and I am grateful to you for a lesson in swordplay." His smile was the very reflection of Lancelet's own. "Thank you, sir."
Lancelet managed to summon from somewhere his old smile. It exaggerated the resemblance between them almost to the point of caricature. "You bore yourself most bravely, Gwydion."
"Then," said Gwydion, kneeling before him in the dust of the field, "I beg of you, sir, grant to me the order of knighthood."
Morgause caught her breath. Morgaine sat as if she had been turned to stone. But from where the Saxons sat there was a burst of cheering. "Crafty counsel indeed! Clever, clever-how can they refuse you now, lad, when you have stood up well to combat with their own champion!"
Lancelet glanced at Arthur. The King sat paralyzed, seeming frozen, but after a moment, he nodded. Lancelet gestured to his squire, who brought a sword. Lancelot took it and belted it around Gwydion's waist. "Bear this always in the service of your king, and of the righteous cause," said the old knight. He was deadly serious now. All the mockery and defiance had gone from Gwydion's face; he looked grave and sweet, his eyes raised to Lancelet, and Morgause saw that his lips were trembling.
Sudden sympathy for him rose in Morgause-bastard, not even an acknowledged one, he was even more of an outsider than Lancelet had been. Who could blame Gwydion for the ruse by which he had forced his kinsmen to notice him? She thought, We should have taken him long since to Arthur's court, had him privately acknowledged even if Arthur could not do so publicly. A king's son should not have to do this.
Lancelet laid his hands on Gwydion's brow. "I confer on you the honor of a Companion of the Round Table, by permission of our king. Serve him always, and since you have won this honor by craft rather than brute strength-though indeed you have shown that too, well enough-I name you among this company, not Gwydion, but Mordred. Rise, sir Mordred, and take your place among the Companions of Arthur."
Gwydion-no, Mordred, Morgause remembered; for the naming of a Companion was a rite not much less serious than baptism-rose and heartily returned Lancelet's embrace. He seemed deeply moved, almost unhearing the cheers and applause. His voice broke as he said, "Now I have won the prize of the day, whoever is judged winner in these games, my lord Lancelet."
"No," Morgaine said quietly at Morgause's side, "I do not understand him. That is the last thing I would have expected."


THERE WAS a long pause before the Companions ranged themselves for the final mock battle. Some went to drink water or swallow a hasty bite of bread; some gathered in little knots, arguing about which side they should take in the final games; others went to see to their horses. Morgause went down to the field where a few of the young men lingered, Gareth among them-he towered over the others by half a head, making him easy to pick out. She thought he was talking to Lancelet, but when she came closer she discovered her sight had deceived her; he was facing Gwydion, and his voice sounded angry. She caught only the last few words.
"-what harm has he ever done you? To make a fool of him before the whole field-"
Gwydion laughed and said, "If our cousin needs protection before a whole field of his friends, God help Lancelet when he falls among the Saxons or the Northmen! Come, foster-brother, I doubt not he can protect his own reputation! Is that all you have to say to me after all these years, brother, to chide me that I have distressed someone you love so well?"
Gareth laughed and caught Gwydion into a great hug. He said, "Same reckless young one, you are-what put it into your head to do that? Arthur would have made you knight, if you had asked him!"
Morgause remembered: Gareth did not know all the truth about Gwydion's parentage; no doubt, he meant only, because you are his sister's son.
Gwydion said, "I am sure of it- he is always kind to his kinsmen. He would have made you knight, Gareth, for Gawaine's sake, but you took not that road either, foster-brother." He chuckled. "And I think Lancelet owes me something for all those years I have walked about wearing his face!"
Gareth shrugged ruefully. "Well, it seems he bears you no grudge, so I suppose I too must forgive you. Now you, too, have seen how greathearted he is."
"Aye," said Gwydion softly, "he is so-" then raised his head and saw Morgause. "Mother, what do you here? How may I serve you?"
"I came only to greet Gareth, who has not spoken with me this day," said Morgause, and the big man bent to kiss his mother's hand. She asked him, "How will you fight in the mock battle?"
"As always," said Gareth, "I fight at Gawaine's side, in the King's men. You have a horse for fighting, do you not, Gwydion? Will you fight with the King's side, then? We can make a place for you."
Gwydion said, with his dark enigmatic smile, "Since Lancelet made me knight, I suppose I should fight with the army of sir Lancelet of the Lake, and at Accolon's side, for Avalon. But I will not take the field at all today, Gareth."
"Why not?" Gareth asked and laid his hand on the younger man's shoulder, looking down at him as he had always done-Morgause thought of a younger Gareth, smiling down at his little brother. "It is expected of those who have been made knight-Galahad will fight among us, you know."
"And which side will he take?" Gwydion asked. "His father Lancelet's, or that of the King who has made him heir to his kingdom? Is that not a cruel test of his loyalties?"
Gareth looked exasperated. "How then would you divide the armies for the mock battle, save by the two greatest knights among us? Do you think either Lancelet or Arthur believes it a test of loyalties? Arthur will not take the field himself, just so that no man will have to make the choice whether to strike at his king, but Gawaine has been his champion since he was crowned! Are you going to rake up old scandal? You?"
Gwydion shrugged. "Since I am not intending to join either force-"
"But what will they think of you? That you are cowardly, that you shrink from combat-"
"I have fought enough in Arthur's armies that I care not what they say," said Gwydion, "but if you wish, you may tell them that my horse is gone lame and I have no wish to risk more injury to him-that is an honorable excuse."
"I would lend you a horse of Gawaine," Gareth said, puzzled, "but if you wish for an honorable excuse, do what you will. But why, Gwydion? Or must I now call you Mordred?"
"You shall call me always what you will, foster-brother."
"But will you not tell me why you shirk the fight, Gwydion?"
"None other but you could speak that word unchallenged," said Gwydion, "but since you ask me, I will tell you. It is for your sake, brother."
Gareth scowled at him. "What, in God's name, do you mean?"
"I know little of God, or care to," said Gwydion, and stared down at his feet. "Since you will know, brother-you know from old-I have the Sight-"
"Aye, and what of it?" asked Gareth impatiently. "Have you had some ill dream that I will fall before your lance?"
"No, make not a jest of it," said Gwydion, and Morgause felt ice go through her veins as he turned up his face to Gareth. "It seemed to me-" He swallowed, as if his throat closed against the words he would speak. "It seemed to me that you lay dying-and I knelt at your side, and you would not speak to me-and I knew it was my doing you lay without the spark of life."
Gareth pursed his lips and whistled soundlessly. But then he clapped his foster-brother on the shoulder. "Nay, but I put small faith in dreams and visions, youngster. And fate, no man can escape. Did they not teach you that in Avalon?"
"Aye," Gwydion said softly. "And if you fell, even at my hand, in battle, fate then it would be ... but I will not tempt that fate in play, my brother. Some ill chance might guide my hand to strike amiss ...  . Let it be, Gareth. I will not take the field this day, let them say what they will."
Gareth still looked distressed. "Well, do as you will, lad. Stay beside our mother, then, since Lamorak will take the field beside Lancelet." He bent to kiss his mother's hand, and went; Morgause, frowning, started to ask Gwydion what he had seen; but he was scowling, staring at the ground, and she forbore, saying only, "Well, if I am to have a young courtier to sit beside me, will you bring me a dipper of water before I go to my seat again?"
"Certainly, Mother," he said, and went off toward the water butts.
To Morgause, the final scrimmage battle was always something of a blur; her head had begun to ache with the sun and she was eager for it to be over. She was hungry, too, and could smell, from a distance, the meat roasting in the pits.
Gwydion sat beside her and explained it to her, though she knew little of the fine points of fighting, nor cared to. But she did note that Galahad acquitted himself well, unseating two riders; she was a little surprised, he seemed so gentle a boy. But then, Gareth too had seemed a gentle child to her, and he was the most fearsome of fighters. At the end, he took the prize on the King's side where Gawaine was at the head of the fighting. To no one's surprise, Galahad won the prize on Lancelet's side; this was customary for a young man who had been knighted that day, and she said so.
"You could have had a prize too, Gwydion," she said, but he laughed and shook his head. "I need it not, Mother. Why spoil this day for my cousin? And Galahad fought well-no one begrudges him the prize."
There were many smaller prizes, and when they were all given, the knights went to be sluiced with buckets of water from head to toe by their squires, and to put on fresh clothing. Morgause went with the ladies of the King's household to a room put at their disposal, where they could arrange their gowns and hair, and wash off the dust and sweat of the stands.
"How do you think?" Morgause asked. "Has Lancelet made himself an enemy?"
Morgaine said, "I think not. Did you see them embrace?"
"They looked like father and son," said Morgause. "Would that they were!"
But Morgaine's face was like stone. "It is many years too late to speak of that, Aunt."
Morgause reflected, Perhaps she has forgotten that I know whose son he really is. But before Morgaine's frozen calm she could only say, "Would you like me to help with your braids at the back?" and took up the comb as Morgaine turned. "Mordred," she said, as she worked. "Well, he showed crafty counsel here, God knows! Now he has won himself a place by valor and impudence, so he need not demand one from Arthur on the grounds of his parentage. The Saxons named him well. But I knew not he was so much of a fighter. He has certainly managed to carry away the luster of the day! Even though Galahad won the prize, no one will talk about anything but Mordred's daring gesture."
One of the Queen's ladies came up to them. "Lady Morgaine, is sir Mordred your son? I never knew you had a son-"
Morgaine said steadily, "I was very young when he was born, and Morgause fostered him. I had come near to forgetting it myself."
"How proud you must be of him! And isn't he handsome? As good-looking as Lancelet himself," the woman said, and her eyes glistened.
"He is, isn't he," agreed Morgaine, her tone so courteous that only Morgause, who knew her well, knew that she was angry. "It has been an embarrassment to them both, I dare say. But Lancelet and I are first cousins, and when I was a little girl, I was more like him than like my own brother. Our mother was tall and red-haired like Queen Morgause here, but Lady Viviane was of the old folk of Avalon."
"Who is his father, then?" asked the woman, and Morgause saw Morgaine's hands clench at her sides. But she said with a pleasant smile, "He is a Beltane child, and the God claims all children gotten in the groves. No doubt you remember that as a young girl I was one of the damsels of the Lady of the Lake."
Trying to be polite, the woman murmured, "I had forgotten-they still kept the old rites there, then?"
"As they do now," said Morgaine quietly. "And the Goddess grant they shall do so till the world end."
As she had intended, that silenced the woman, and Morgaine turned away, saying to Morgause, "Are you ready, kinswoman? Let us go down to the hall." As they left the room she drew a long breath of mingled exasperation and relief.
"Chattering fools-listen to them! Have they nothing better to do than gossip?"
"Probably not," said Morgause. "Their most Christian husbands and fathers make sure they shall have nothing else to occupy their minds."
The doors to the great chamber of the Round Table where the Pentecost feast would be held were shut, so that they might all enter at once.
"Arthur every year gives us more pageantry," said Morgause. "Now a grand procession and entrance, I suppose?"
"What do you expect?" Morgaine asked. "Now there are no wars, he must touch the imagination of his people somehow, and he is clever enough to do it by making great display for them-I have heard it was the Merlin who counselled him so. The common folk-yes, and the nobles too-like a fine show, and the Druids have known that since they lit the first Beltane fires. Gwenhwyfar has spent many years making this the greatest holiday anywhere in any Christian land." She gave the first real smile Morgause had seen on her face this day. "Even Arthur knows he cannot hold his people with a mass and a feast alone-if there is no great marvel to see, I doubt not Arthur and the Merlin will somehow arrange one! What a pity they could not arrange to hold the eclipse today!"
"Did you watch the eclipse in Wales? My folk were frightened," Morgause said, "and no doubt, those fools of Gwenhwyfar's ladies shrieked and shouted as if the world were coming to an end!"
"Gwenhwyfar has a passion for fools among her ladies," Morgaine said. "Yet she herself is not really a fool, though she likes to seem so. I wonder how she can tolerate it?"
"You should show more patience with them," Morgause warned, and Morgaine shrugged.
"I care not what fools think of me."
"I cannot imagine how you have dwelt in Uriens' kingdom as his queen so long, and not learned more of queencraft," said Morgause. "Whatever she is thought by men, a woman must depend on the goodwill of other women-what else did you learn at Avalon?"
Morgaine said, her voice hard, "The women in Avalon are not such fools." But Morgause knew her well enough to know that her angry tone concealed loneliness and suffering.
"Morgaine, why do you not return to Avalon?"
Morgaine bent her head, knowing that if Morgause spoke kindly again to her she would break and weep. "My time has not yet come. I have been ordered to stay with Uriens-"
"And Accolon?"
"Oh, aye, with Accolon," said Morgaine. "I might have known you would reproach me with that-"
"I am the last to speak," said Morgause. "But Uriens will not live long-"
Morgaine said, her face as frozen as her voice, "So I believed on that day years ago when we were wedded. He is like to live as long as Taliesin himself, and Taliesin was past ninety when he died."
Arthur and Gwenhwyfar had arrived and were slowly making their way to the head of the line-Arthur resplendently clad in white robes, Gwenhwyfar beside him, exquisite in white silk and jewels. The great doors were flung open, and they passed within, then Morgaine as the King's sister with her husband and his sons, Accolon and Uwaine; then Morgause with her household, as the King's aunt; then Lancelet and his household, and then the other knights one by one, proceeding around the Round Table to take their seats. A few years back, some craftsman had wrought in gold paint and crimson the name of every Companion over his customary chair. Now, as they entered, Morgause noticed that the seat nearest the King, reserved all these years for his heir, had been painted with the name Galahad. But she saw it only in a flicker of her eye. For at the great thrones where Arthur and Gwenhwyfar were to sit, two white banners, like the garish banners with which the battles of the clowns had been fought, had been draped, and across them were scrawled paintings, ugly caricatures-on one throne was a banner portraying a knight standing on the heads of two crowned figures, bearing a devilish likeness to Arthur and Gwenhwyfar; and across the other was a lewd painting which made even Morgause, who was by no means prudish, blush, for it depicted a small, dark-haired woman, stark naked, in the embrace of a huge horned devil, and all about her, accepting certain strange and disgusting sexual ministrations, were scrawled a group of naked men.
Gwenhwyfar cried out in a shrill scream, "God and Mary defend us!"
Arthur, stopped dead, turned on the servants in a voice of thunder. "How came this-this-" Words failed him and he waved his hand at the drawings. "-this here?"
"Sir-" the chamberlain stammered, "it was not here when we finished decking the hall-all was orderly, even to the flowers before the Queen's seat-"
"Who was last in this hall?" Arthur demanded.
Cai limped forward. "My lord and my brother, it was 1.1 came to be certain all was in good order, and I swear as God sees us all, everything was ready at that time to honor my king and his lady. And if ever I find the foul dog who sneaked in to put this thing here, I will have his head like this!" And he gestured as if he were wringing a chicken's neck.
"Look to your lady!" said Arthur sharply. The women were twittering and chattering as Gwenhwyfar began to sink down in a faint. Morgaine held her up, saying in a sharp, low voice, "Gwen, don't give them this satisfaction! You are a queen-what do you care what some fool scrawls on a banner? Control yourself!"
Gwenhwyfar was crying. "How can they-how could they-how could anyone hate me so?"
"There is no one alive who can live without offending some idiot or other," said Morgaine, and helped her toward her seat. But the more crudely sexual of the banners was still draped over it, and Gwenhwyfar shrank back as if she touched something filthy. Morgaine threw it on the floor. There were wine cups set; Morgaine gestured to one of Gwenhwyfar's waiting-women to fill one and give it to the Queen.
"Don't let it trouble you, Gwen-I imagine that one is meant for me," she said. "It is whispered indeed that I take devils to my bed, and what do I care?"
Arthur said, "Get this foulness out of here and burn it, and bring scented woods and incense to take away the stink of evil." Lackeys scurried to obey him, and Cai said, "We will find out who did this. No doubt it is some servant I dismissed, coming back to embarrass me because I had shown some pride in the decorations of the hall this year. Men, bring the wine round, and the ale, and we will have our first round of drinking shame and confusion to that stinking louse who tried to spoil our feast. Will we let him? Come! Drink to King Arthur and his lady!"
A thin cheer went up, which grew to a genuine cry of appreciation as Arthur and Gwenhwyfar bowed to them all. The feasters seated themselves, and Arthur said, "Now bring before me any petitioners."
Morgause watched as they brought up some man with a complaint which seemed stupid, about a boundary. Then came an overlord who complained that his vassal had taken a deer on his lands.
Morgause was near Gwenhwyfar; she leaned over and murmured to the Queen, "Why does Arthur hear these cases himself? Any of his bailiffs could handle this and not waste his time."
Gwenhwyfar murmured, "So I once thought. But he hears a case or two like this, every year at Pentecost, so that the common folk may not think he cares only for the great nobles or his own Companions."
Well, Morgause thought, that was wise enough. There were two or three more small petitions, then as the meat was brought round, jugglers and acrobats entertained the company, and a man did some conjuring trick of bringing small birds and eggs from the most unlikely places. Morgause thought that Gwenhwyfar seemed calm now, and wondered if they would ever catch the author of the drawings. One portrayed Morgaine as a harlot and that was bad enough; but the other, it seemed, was more serious- showing Lancelet trampling on both King and Queen. Something had happened today beyond a public humiliation for the Queen's champion, Morgause reflected. That could have been dispelled by the graciousness he had shown to young Gwydion-no, Mordred-and the obvious lack of any grudge between them after. But despite Lancelet's popularity with King and Companions, there were, no doubt, some who detested Gwenhwyfar's obvious partiality to her champion.
"What is happening now?" she asked Gwenhwyfar.
The Queen smiled; whatever it was, as the horns blew outside the hall, it was something which pleased her.
The doors were flung open; horns blared again, the crude horns of the Saxons. Then three great Saxons, wearing gold torques and bracelets about their arms, clad in garments of fur and leather, bearing great swords and their horned helmets and with circlets of gold about their heads, strode into the hall of the Round Table, each with his retinue.
"My lord Arthur," called out one of them, "I am Adelric, lord of Kent and Anglia, and these are my brother kings. We have come to ask that we may give tribute to you, most Christian of kings, and make permanent treaty with you and your court forever!"
"Lot would be turning in his grave," remarked Morgause, "but Viv-iane would be pleased at this day." But Morgaine did not answer.
Bishop Patricius rose and came toward the Saxon kings, welcoming them. He said to Arthur, "My lord, after the long wars, this gives me great joy. I urge you to welcome these men as your subject kings and take their oath, in token that all Christian kings should be brothers."
Morgaine was deathly white. She started to rise and speak, but Uriens looked at her with a stern frown and she sank back at his side. Morgause said good-naturedly, "I remember when the bishops refused even to send anyone to Christianize these barbarians. Lot told me they had vowed they would not meet with the Saxons in fellowship even in Heaven, and that they would not send missions to them-they felt it right that the Saxons should all end up in Hell. But, well, that is thirty years gone!"
Arthur said, "Since I came to my throne, I have longed for an end to the wars which have ravaged this land. We have dwelt in peace for many years, Lord Bishop, and now I welcome you, good sirs, to my court and to my company."
"It is our custom," said one of the Saxons-not Adelric, Morgause noticed, for this one was wearing some kind of blue cloak, and Adelric's had been brown-"to take oath on steel. May we take oath on the cross of your sword, Lord Arthur, in token that we meet as Christian kings under One God who rules us all?"
"Be it so," said Arthur quietly, and came down from the dais to stand before them. In the light of the many torches and lamps, Excalibur flashed like lightning as he drew it. He set it upright before him and a great wavering shadow, the shadow of a cross, fell all the length of the hall, as the kings knelt.
Gwenhwyfar looked pleased; Galahad was flushed with joy. But Morgaine was white with rage, and Morgause heard her whisper to Uriens. "He has dared to put the sacred sword of Avalon to such uses! I will not, as priestess of Avalon, sit and witness it in silence!" She began to rise, but Uriens gripped her wrist. She struggled silently, but old as Uriens was, he was a warrior, and Morgaine a little woman; for a moment Morgause thought he would break the small bones of Morgaine's wrist, but she did not cry out or whimper. She set her teeth, and managed to wrench her wrist away. She said, loud enough that Gwenhwyfar could certainly hear, "Viviane died with her work unfinished. And I have sat idle while children unconceived grew to manhood and were knighted, and Arthur fell into the hands of the priests!"
"Lady," said Accolon, leaning over her chair, "even you cannot disrupt this holy day, or they will serve you as the Romans served the Druids. Speak in private with Arthur, remonstrate with him there if you must-I am sure the Merlin will help you!"
Morgaine lowered her eyes. Her teeth bit into her lip.
Arthur embraced the Saxon kings one by one, welcoming them and leading them to seats near his throne. "Your sons, if they show themselves worthy, will be welcome among my Companions," he said, and had his servants bring gifts-swords and fine daggers, a rich cloak for Adelric. Morgause took up a cake, sticky with honey, and put it between Morgaine's clenched lips.
"You are too fond of fasting, Morgaine," she said. "Eat this! You are pale, you will swoon where you sit!"
"It is not hunger that makes me pale," said Morgaine, but she took the cake in her mouth. She drank a little wine too, and Morgause could see that her hands were shaking. On one wrist there were dark bruises left by Uriens' fingers.
Then Morgaine rose. She said quietly to Uriens, "Do not worry, my most beloved husband. I will say nothing to offend you or our king." Then, turning to Arthur, she said loudly, "My lord and brother! May I ask a favor of you?"
"My sister and the wife of my loyal subject king Uriens may ask what she will," said Arthur genially.
"The least of your subjects, sir, may ask for audience. I ask that you will grant me such an audience," she said. Arthur raised his eyebrows, but took his formal tone from her.
"Tonight before I sleep, if you will. I will receive you in my own room, with your husband if you wish."
I wish, thought Morgause, that I could be a fly on the wall at that audience!