The Mists of Avalon

Book Three. The King Stag

1

At this season in Lothian, it seemed the sun hardly went to rest; queen Morgause wakened as the light began to steal through the hangings, yet it was so early the gulls were hardly astir. But there was already light enough to make out the hairy, well-muscled body of the young man who slept at her side ... a privilege he had enjoyed most of the winter. He had been one of Lot's esquires, and had cast longing eyes on the queen even before Lot's death. And in the deathly darkness of this winter past, it was too much to ask that she should sleep alone in the king's cold chamber.

It was not that Lot had been so good a king, she thought, slotting her eyes against the growing light. But his reign had been long-he had reigned since before Uther Pendragon took the throne, and his people were used to him; there were people well into their middle years who had known no other king. He had been on the throne, she thought, when young Lochlann was born ... for that matter, so had she. But that thought was less comfortable, and she flinched away from it.

Gawaine would have succeeded his father, but Gawaine had hardly visited his native land since Arthur's crowning, and the people did not know him. Here in Lothian, the Tribes were quite content, since there was peace in the land, to be ruled by their queen, with her son Agravaine at hand should they need a leader in war. From time out of mind, a queen had ruled over the people, as a Goddess had ruled over the Gods, and they were content to have it so.

But Gawaine had not left Arthur's side ... not even when Lancelet had come north before Beltane-he said, to see that the lighthouses had been put in order on the coast so that ships would not be driven on to the rocks. But Morgause supposed, rather, that he came so that Arthur's eyes could see what went on in Lothian, whether there was anyone there at odds with the rule of the High King.

She had heard, then, of Igraine's death-before that, word had not come north to Lothian. She and Igraine had not been friends when she was younger; she had always envied her older sister her beauty, and had never forgiven her that Viviane had chosen her for Other Pendragon; she would have made a better High Queen than that ninny, so pliant and pious and loving. And when all was said and done, when the lamp was out, one man was not so different from any other, and all of them were ridiculously easy to manage, foolishly dependent on that thing a woman could offer to them. She had ruled well behind Lot's throne; she would have done better yet with Uther, for she would not have become so stupidly entangled with the priests.

Yet when she heard of Igraine's death she had mourned her sincerely and wished she had made the time to ride to Tintagel before she died. She had so few woman friends now ... .

Her waiting-women had mostly been chosen by Lot for their beauty or their availability to the king, and he cared most for such women as did not think very much or talk very intelligently; she was, he said once, quite enough in that line. He took her counsel in all things and respected her wit, but when she had borne him four royal sons, he went back to what he naturally preferred for his bed-pretty women with little of sense. Morgause had never begrudged him his pleasures and was just as well pleased to be spared further childbearing. And if she craved babes to play with, there was her fosterling Gwydion, and Lot's women had always been breeding -Gwydion had playmates enough of royal blood!

Lochlann stirred at her side, muttered, and sleepily drew her into his arms, and she gave over thinking for the moment. She had missed him- while Lancelet was at court she had sent Lochlann to sleep among the young men. Though for all the difference it had made to Lancelet, she might have kept Lochlann in her bed, or slept with the house dog! Well, he was here again; Lot had never begrudged her amusement, any more than she had begrudged him his women.

But when the excitement had subsided, and Lochlann had trundled down the stairs to the privy outside, Morgause thought suddenly that she missed Lot. Not that he had ever been particularly good at this kind of sport ... he had been old when she married him. But when that was done, he could talk with her intelligently, and she found that she missed the years when they would wake together, and lie in bed and talk of all that was to be done or what befell in the kingdom, or all of Britain.

By the time Lochlann came back, the sun was already strengthening and the air was alive with the crying of gulls. She could hear small sounds down the stairs, and somewhere there was a smell of bannock baking. She pulled him to her for a quick kiss and said, "You must be off, my dear. I want you out of here before Gwydion comes-he is a big boy now, he is beginning to notice things."

Lochlann chuckled. "That one, he has been noticing everything since he was out of his nurse's arms. While Lancelet was here he noticed every move he made-even at Beltane. But I do not think you have to worry -he's not old enough to think of that."

"I'm not so certain," Morgause said, and patted his cheek. Gwydion's way was to do nothing until he was sure he would not be laughed at as too young. Self-possessed as he was, he could never bear to be told he was too young for anything-even when he was four years old he had flown into a rage at being told he could not go birds-nesting on the cliffs, and had nearly fallen to his death trying to keep up with the older boys. She remembered that occasion, and other similar ones, when she had told him never to do so or so again, and he had set his small dark face and told her, "Aye, but I shall, and you cannot stop me." Her only reply to that had had to be, "You shall not, or I will myself beat you." Not that it mattered whether she beat him or not-it only made him more defiant, unless she was prepared to beat him insensible; and once, losing her temper, she had frightened herself with how hard she had struck the harmless child. None of her own sons, even the strong-willed Gareth, had ever been so defiant. Gwydion took his own way and did what he would, and so as he got older she had taken to subtler methods: "You shall not, or I shall have your nurse take off your breeks and beat you with a heather switch before all the house folk as if you were a babe of four or five." That had been effective, for a time-very conscious of his dignity was young Gwydion. But now he did as he would and there was no stopping him; it would have taken a harsh man to thrash him as hard as was needful, and he had a way of making anyone who offended him sorry for it, soon or late.

She supposed that he would be more vulnerable when he began to care what the maidens thought of him. Fairy-born he was and dark, like Morgaine, but handsome enough, even as Lancelet was handsome. And it might be that his outward indifference to the maidens would be the same as Lancelet's. She thought about that for a moment, knowing the sting of humiliation. Lancelet ... there was the handsomest man she had seen in many a long year, and she had made it clear to him that even the queen was not beyond his reach ... but Lancelet had professed not to understand, had meticulously called her "Aunt" early and late-one would have thought from Lancelet's manner that she was elderly indeed, Viviane's twin, not young enough to be Viviane's daughter!

She had begun taking her breakfast in bed while she talked with her women about what must be done that day. While she lingered, propped up on the cushions-they had brought her some of the fresh hot bannock, and there was, at this time of year, plenty of butter from the dairy-Gwydion came into the room.

"Good morning, foster-mother," he said. "I have been out and brought you some berries. And there is cream in the pantry. If you want it, I will run down and fetch it for you."

She looked at the berries, dew-fresh in a wooden bowl. "That was thoughtful of you, foster-son," she said, and sat up in bed to take him close in a great hug. When he was only a little younger he had crawled in beside her into the blankets at such occasions, while she fed him hot bannock and honey, and in winter snuggled him into her furs, like any pampered youngest; she missed the feel of the small warm body burrowing against her, but she supposed he was really too old now.

He straightened himself, smoothing his hair into place-he hated to be mussed. Like Morgaine, who had always been a tidy little thing.

"You are out early, my love," she said, "and you did all this just for your old foster-mother? No, I do not want any cream. You do not want me fat as the old sow, do you?"

He tilted his head to one side like a small precise bird and looked, considering, at Morgause. "It wouldn't matter," he said. "You would still be beautiful even if you were fat. There are women at this court-Mara, for instance-she is no bigger than you, but all the other women, and the men, call her Fat Mara. But somehow you do not look as big as you are, because when anyone looks at you, all they see is that you are beautiful. So have the cream if you want it, foster-mother."

So precise an answer for a child! But after all he was beginning to grow into a man. Though he would be like Agravaine, never very tall-one of the Old People, a throwback. And of course, next to the giant Gareth he would always look like a child, even when he was twenty! He had washed his face and brushed his hair very carefully; yes, and it had been trimmed freshly too.

"How nice you look, my love," she said, as his small fingers swooped precisely to appropriate a berry from the dish. "Did you cut your hair yourself?"

"No," he said, "I made the steward do it; I said I was tired of looking like the house dog. Lot was always clean-trimmed and clean-shaven, and so was Lancelet all the time he stayed here. I like to look like a gentleman."

"And so you always do, my dear," she said, looking at the small dark hand holding the berry. It was bramble-scratched and the knuckles grimed and grubby like any active boy's hand, but she noted, too, that he had scrubbed it long and hard and that the nails were not dirty and broken but carefully pared short. "But why have you put on your holiday tunic this morning?"

"Did I put on my holiday tunic?" he asked, his small dark face innocent. "Yes, I suppose I did. Well-" He paused, and she knew that whatever his reason, and of course he would have a good one, she would never know it. At last he said calmly, "I soaked my other one in the dew picking your berries, madam." Then, suddenly, he said, "I thought I should hate sir Lancelet, Mother. Gareth talked of him early and late as if he were a God," and Morgause remembered that, though he would not weep before her, Gwydion had been heartbroken when Gareth had gone south to King Arthur's court. Morgause had missed him too-Gareth had been the only person alive who had real influence with Gwydion and could make him do as he would with only a light word. Since Gareth had gone there was no one alive to whose counsel Gwydion would listen.

"I thought he would be a fool full of his own importance," Gwydion said, "but he is nothing of the sort. He told me more about lighthouses than even Lot knew, I think. And he said when I was older I should come to Arthur's court and be made a knight, if I was good and honorable." His deep-set dark eyes considered that. "All the women said I look like him- and they asked, and I was angry that I did not know how to answer them. Foster-mother"-he leaned forward, his dark, soft hair falling loose over his forehead, lending the composed small face an unusual vulnerability- "tell me true-is Lancelet my father? I thought that might be why Gareth was so fond of him ... ."

And you are not the first to ask that question, my love, she thought, stroking the boy's soft hair. The unusual childishness in his face as he asked made her voice gentler than usual.

"No, my little one. Of all the men in the kingdom, Lancelet could not be your father-I made it my business to ask. All that year you were begotten, Lancelet was in Less Britain, fighting at the side of his father, King Ban. I thought so too, but you look like him because Lancelet is your mother's nephew, as he is mine."

Gwydion surveyed her skeptically, and Morgause could almost read his thoughts; that she had told him exactly what she would have told him if she had known Lancelet was his father. He said at last, "Perhaps one day I shall go to Avalon, rather than to Arthur's court. Does my mother dwell now in Avalon, foster-mother?"

"I know not." Morgause frowned ... once again, this oddly adult foster-son of hers had led her on to speak to him as if he were a grown man; he did that so often. It came to her that now Lot was gone, Gwydion was the only person in this household with whom she spoke from time to time as one adult to another! Oh, yes, Lochlann was man enough in bed at night, but he never had much more to say than one of the shepherds or even the housemaids!

"Go out now, Gwydion my love, I am going to be dressed-"

"Why should I go?" he asked. "I have known well enough what you look like, ever since I was five years old."

"But you are older now," she said, with that old sense of helplessness. "It is not fitting you should be here while I dress,"

"Do you care that much what is fitting, foster-mother?" he said ingenuously, his eyes resting on the depression in the cushion where Lochlann had lain, and Morgause felt the sudden upward rush of frustration and wrath-he could entangle her in these arguments as if he were a grown man and a Druid! She said sharply, "I need not account to you for my doings, Gwydion!"

"Did I say you must?" His eyes were all injured innocence. "But if I am older, then I will need to know more about women than I did when I was a baby, will I not? I want to stay and talk."

"Oh, stay, stay if you want to," she said, "but turn your back, I'll not have you staring at me, sir Impudence!" Obediently he turned away, but as she rose and signalled her woman to bring her gown, he said, "No, put on your blue gown, foster-mother, the new one from the looms, and your saffron cloak."

"And now you will be giving me advice on what I should wear? What's this, what's this?"

"I like to see you dressed like a fine lady and a queen," he said, persuasively. "And tell them to dress your hair high with your gold coil, will you not, foster-mother? To please me?"

"Why, you would have me fine as a Midsummer feast, so that I should sit and card wool in all my best gear-my women would laugh, child!"

"Let them laugh," Gwydion coaxed. "Will you not dress in your finest to please me? And who knows what may happen before the day is done? You might be glad of it."

Morgause, laughing, gave way. "Oh, as you wish-if you will have it that I dress myself for a festival, let it be so ... we will have our own festival here, then! And now I suppose the kitchen must bake honey cakes for this imaginary festival-"

A child, after all, she thought, he thinks in this way to tease for sweets. But then, he brought me berries, why not? "Well, Gwydion, shall I have them bake a honey cake for supper?"

He turned around. Her gown was still unlaced, and she saw his eyes linger for a moment on her white breasts. Not such a child, then. But he said, "I am always happy to have a honey cake, but perhaps there will be some fish to bake, too, for dinner."

"If we are to have fish," she said, "you will have to change your tunic again and go fishing for it yourself. The men are busy with the sowing."

He answered quickly, "I will ask Lochlann to go-it will be like a holiday for him. He deserves one, doesn't he, foster-mother, you are pleased with him, aren't you?"

Idiotic! Morgause thought. I will not blush before a boy his age! "If you would like to send Lochlann fishing, love, do so. He can be spared today, I suppose."

And she thought, she would like well to know what was really in Gwydion's mind, with his holiday tunic and his insistence that she should wear her finest gown and provide a good dinner. She called her housekeeper and said, "Master Gwydion would like a honey cake. See to it."

"He shall have his cake," said the housekeeper, with an indulgent look at the boy. "Look at his sweet face, like one of those angels, he is."

Angel. That is the last thing I would call him, thought Morgause; but she directed her woman to do her hair up with the gold coil. She would probably never learn what was on Gwydion's mind.

The day wore slowly along in its accustomed way. Morgause had wondered at times whether Gwydion had the Sight, but he had never shown any of the signs, and when once she asked him point-blank he had acted as if he did not know what she was talking about. And if he had, she thought, at least once she would have caught him bragging of it.

Ah, well. For some obscure child's reason, Gwydion had wanted a festival and had coaxed her into it. No doubt, with Gareth gone, he was lonely all the time-he had little in common with Lot's other sons. Nor did he have Gareth's passion for arms and knightly things, nor so far as she could tell, Morgaine's gift for music, though his voice was clear, and sometimes he would bring out a little set of pipes like those the shepherd lads played and make strange, mournful-sounding music. But it was not a passion as it had been with Morgaine, who would have sat happy all day at her harp if she could.

Still, he had a quick and retentive mind. For three years, Lot had sent for a learned priest from Iona to dwell in their house and teach the boy to read; he had said the priest was to teach Gareth too while he was about it, but Gareth had no mind to his book. He struggled obediently with letters and Latin, but no more than Gawaine-nor Morgause herself, for that matter-could he keep his mind fixed on written symbols or the mysterious tongue of those old Romans. Agravaine was quick enough-he kept all the tallies and accounts of the estate, he had a gift for numbering things; but Gwydion soaked up every bit of learning, it seemed, as quickly as it was put before him. Within a year he could read as well as the priest himself and speak in Latin as if he were one of those old Caesars reborn, so that for the first time Morgause wondered might there not be something, after all, in what the Druids said-that we were reborn again and again, learning more and more in each life.

He is such a son as should make his father proud, Morgause thought. And Arthur has no son at all by his queen. One day-yes, one day, I shall have a secret to tell Arthur, and then I can hold the King's conscience in my hand. The thought amused her vastly. She was surprised Morgaine had never used that hold she had on Arthur-she could have forced him to negotiate a marriage for her with the richest of his subject kings, could have had jewels, or power ... but Morgaine cared nothing for such things, only for her harp and for the nonsense the Druids talked. At least she, Morgause, would make better use of this unexpected power thrust into her hand.

She sat in her hall, dressed in her unaccustomed finery, carding the wool from the spring shearing, and making decisions: Gwydion must have a new cloak-he grew so fast, his old one was about his knees already and no good to him in the winter cold, and no doubt he would grow faster yet this year. Should she, perhaps, give him Agravaine's cloak, cut down a little, and make a new one for Agravaine? Gwydion, in his saffron holiday tunic, came and sniffed appreciatively as the scent of the honey cake, rich with spices, began to drift through the room, but he did not hang about to tease that it should be cut and that he should have a slice early, as he would have done only a few months ago. At midday he said, "Mother, I will have a piece of bread and cheese in my hand and I will be off to walk the boundaries -Agravaine said I should go and see if all the fences are in good order."

"Not in your holiday shoes," said Morgause.

"Certainly not. I will go barefoot," Gwydion said, unfastening his sandals and leaving them beside her near the hearth; he tucked up his tunic through his belt so that it was well above his knees, took up a stout stick, and was off, while Morgause frowned after him-this was not a task Gwydion ever took upon himself, no matter what Agravaine wanted! What was with the lad this day?

Lochlann came back after midday with a fine large fish, so heavy Morgause could not lift if, she surveyed it with pleasure-it would feed everyone who ate at the high table and there would be cold baked fish for three days. Cleaned, scented with herbs, it lay ready for the baking oven when Gwydion came in, his feet and hands scrubbed clean, his hair combed, and slipped his feet into his sandals again. He looked at the fish and smiled.

"Yes, indeed, it will be like a festival," he said with satisfaction.

"Have you done walking all the fences, foster-brother?" Agravaine asked, coming in from one of the barns where he had been doctoring a sick pony.

"I have, and they are mostly in good order," said Gwydion, "but at the very top of the north fells where we had the ewes last fall, there is a great hole in the fences where all the stones have fallen down. You must send men to fix it before you put any sheep to pasture there, and as for goats, they'd be away before you could speak to them!"

"You went all the way up there alone?" Morgause frowned at him in dismay. "You are not a goat-you could have fallen and broken a leg in the ravine and no one would have known for days! I have told you and told you, if you go up on the fells, take one of the shepherd lads with you!"

"I had my reasons for going alone," retorted Gwydion, with that stubborn set of his mouth, "and I saw what I wanted to see."

"What could you possibly see that would be worth risking some injury and lying there all alone for days?" demanded Agravaine crossly.

"I have never fallen yet," Gwydion said, "and if I did, it is I who would suffer for it. What is it to you, if I take my own risks?"

"I am your elder brother and ruler in this house," said Agravaine, "and you will show me some respect or I will knock it into you!"

"Perhaps if you knocked your head open, you could shove some sense inside it," Gwydion said pertly, "for sure, it will never grow there on its own-"

"You wretched little-"

"Aye, say it," Gwydion shouted, "mock me with my birth, you-I do not know my father's name, but I know who fathered you, and between the two I would rather be in my situation!"

Agravaine took a heavy step toward him, but Morgause quickly rose and thrust Gwydion behind her. "Don't tease the boy, Agravaine."

"If he always runs to hide behind your skirts, Mother, is it any wonder I cannot teach him to obey?" demanded Agravaine.

"It would take a better man than you to teach me that," Gwydion said, and Morgause drew back at the bitterness in his voice.

"Hush, hush, child-don't speak so to your brother," she admonished, and Gwydion said, "I am sorry, Agravaine-I should not have been rude to you."

He smiled up, his eyes big and lovely under dark lashes, the picture of a contrite child. Agravaine grumbled, "I am only thinking of your welfare, you young rascal-do you think I want you to break every bone in your body? And why would you take it into your head to climb the fells alone?"

"Well," said Gwydion, "otherwise you would not have known of the hole in the fences, and you might have pastured sheep there or even goats, and lost all of them. And I never tear my clothes-do I, Mother?"

Morgause chuckled, for it was true-Gwydion was easy on his clothes. There were some boys like that. Gareth had only to put on a tunic and it was crumpled, stained, and dirty before he had worn it an hour, while Gwydion had climbed the high fells in his saffron holiday tunic and it looked as if he had that moment taken it from the washing-woman. Gwydion looked at Agravaine in his working smock and said, "But you are not fit to sit at table with Mother in her fine clothes. Go and put on your fine tunic, brother. Would you sit down to dinner in your old smock like a farmer?"

"I won't be ruled by a young knave like you," Agravaine growled, but he did go off toward his chamber, and Gwydion smiled with secret satisfaction. He said, "Agravaine should have a wife, Mother. He is bad-tempered as a bull in spring, and besides, you should not have to weave his clothes and mend them."

Morgause was amused. "No doubt you are right. But I want no other queen beneath this roof. No house is big enough for the rule of two women."

"Then you should find him a wife who is not too well-born and very stupid," said Gwydion, "so that she will be glad you can tell her what to do, because she will be afraid of making a mistake among gentlefolk. The daughter of Niall would be about right-she is very pretty, and Niall's folk are rich but not too rich, because so many of their cattle and sheep died in the bad winter six years ago. She would have a good dowry, because Niall is afraid she will not marry. The girl had the measles when she was six years old, and her eyesight is not good, and she is not too broad in the wit, either. She can spin and weave well enough, but she has neither the eyesight nor the cleverness for much more, so she will not mind much if Agravaine keeps her always breeding."

"Well, well, well, what a statesman you are already," said Morgause caustically. "Agravaine should appoint you one of his councillors, you are so wise." But she thought, aye, he is right, I will speak to Niall tomorrow.

"He could do worse," said Gwydion seriously, "but I shall not be here for that, Mother. I meant to tell you, when I went up on the fells, I saw -no, but here is Donil the hunter, he can tell you." And indeed, the big hunter was already coming into the hall, bending low before Morgause.

"My lady," he said, "there are riders on the road, nearing the great house-a sedan chair draped like the Avalon barge, and with them a hunchbacked man with a harp, and servants in the garb of Avalon. They will be here in half an hour."

Avalon! Then Morgause saw Gwydion's secret smile and knew that he had been ready for this. But he has never spoken of having the Sight! What child would not brag of it, if he did? And suddenly, the thought that he could conceal it, enjoy it yet more that his knowledge was secret, seemed uncanny to her, so that for a moment she shrank away, almost afraid of her foster-son. And she knew he saw it, and was not displeased.

All he said was, "Now isn't it lucky that we have a honey cake, and baked fish, and that we have all dressed in our best clothing, so we may do honor to Avalon, Mother?"

"Yes," Morgause said, staring at her foster-son. "Very lucky indeed, Gwydion."

AS SHE stood in the front yard to welcome the riders, she found herself remembering a day when Viviane and Taliesin had come to the faraway castle of Tintagel. Taliesin, she supposed, was long past such journeys, even if he was still alive. She would have heard if he had died. And Viviane rode no longer in boots and breeches like a man, travelling at speed, a law unto herself.

Gwydion stood quietly at her side. In his saffron tunic, his dark hair neatly combed from his face, he looked very like Lancelet.

"Who are these visitors, Mother?"

"I suppose it is the Lady of the Lake," Morgause said, "and the Merlin of Britain, the Messenger of the Gods."

"You told me my own mother was a priestess of Avalon," said Gwydion. "Does their coming have anything to do with me?"

"Well, well, do not tell me there is anything you do not know!" said Morgause sharply, then relented. "I do not know why they have come, my dear; I have not the Sight. But it may well be. I want you to hand the wine about, and to listen and to learn, but not to speak unless you are spoken to."

That, she thought, would have been hard for her own sons-Gawaine, Gaheris, and Gareth were noisy and inquisitive, and it had been difficult to school them to courtly manners. They were, she thought, great friendly dogs, while Gwydion was like a cat, silent, sleek, fastidious, and watchful. Morgaine as a child had been like that. .. Viviane did not well when she cast Morgaine aside, even if she was angry with her for bearing a child ... and why should it matter to her? She herself bore children, including that damnable Lancelet, who has set Arthur's kingdom so much at havoc that even here we have heard how the Queen favors him.

And then she wondered, why did she assume that Viviane had not wanted Morgaine to bear this child? Morgaine had quarrelled with Avalon, but perhaps that had been Morgaine's doing and not the Lady's.

She was deep in thought; and Gwydion touched her arm and murmured in an undertone, "Your guests, Mother."

Morgause sank in a deep curtsey before Viviane, who seemed to have shrunk. Always before this, she had been ageless, but now she looked withered, her face lined, her eyes sunk into her face. But she had the same lovely smile, and her voice was low and sweet as ever.

"Ah, it is good to see you, little sister," she said, drawing Morgause into an embrace. "How long has it been? I like not to think of the years! How young you look, Morgause! Such pretty teeth, and your hair as bright as ever. You met Kevin Harper at Arthur's wedding, before he was the Merlin of Britain."

It seemed that Kevin too had grown older, stooped and gnarled, like an ancient oak tree; well, that was fitting, she thought, for one of those who consorted with oaks, and felt her mouth move in a little ripple of secret mirth. "You are welcome, Master Harper-Lord Merlin, I should say. How is it with the noble Taliesin? Is he yet in the land of the living?"

"He lives," said Viviane as another woman stepped from the sedan chair. "But he is old and fragile now, he will not make such a journey as this again." And then she said, "This is a daughter of Taliesin, a child of the oak groves-Niniane. So she is your half-sister, Morgause."

Morgause was a little dismayed as the younger woman stepped forward and embraced her, saying in a sweet voice, "I am glad to know my sister." Niniane seemed so young! She had fair reddish-gold hair and blue eyes beneath silky long lashes. Viviane said, "Niniane travels with me, now I am old. She is the only one except myself dwelling upon Avalon who is of the old royal blood." Niniane was dressed as a priestess; her fair hair was braided low across her forehead, but the blue crescent mark of a priestess, freshly painted with blue dye, could be clearly seen. She spoke with the trained voice of a priestess, filled with power; but she herself seemed young and powerless as she stood next to Viviane.

Morgause sought to recapture her sense that she was hostess and these were her guests; she felt like a kitchen girl before the two priestesses and the Druid. Then she reminded herself angrily that both these women were her own half-sisters, and as for the Merlin, he was only an old hunchback! "Be welcome to Lothian and to my hall. This is my son Agravaine, who reigns here while Gawaine is away at Arthur's court. And this is my foster-son, Gwydion."

The boy bowed gracefully to the distinguished guests, but made only a polite murmur of acknowledgment.

"He is a handsome lad and well grown," said Kevin. "This, then, is Morgaine's son?"

Morgause lifted her eyebrows. "Would it avail anything to deny it to one who has the Sight, sir?"

"Morgaine herself told me, when she heard that I rode north to Lothian," Kevin said, and a shadow crossed his face.

"Then Morgaine dwells again in Avalon?" asked Morgause, and Kevin shook his head. Morgause saw that Viviane too looked distressed.

"Morgaine is at Arthur's court," said Kevin. Viviane said, pressing her lips together, "She has work to do in the world outside. But she will return to Avalon at the appointed time. There is a place awaiting her which she must take."

Gwydion asked softly, "Is it of my mother that you speak, Lady?"

Viviane looked straight at Gwydion and suddenly she seemed tall and imposing-the old priestess-trick, thought Morgause, but Gwydion had never seen it before. And the Lady said, her voice suddenly filling the courtyard, "Why do you ask me, child, when you already know the answer perfectly well? Would you mock at the Sight, Gwydion? Take care. I know you better than you think, and there are still a few things in this world that you do not know!"

Gwydion backed away, his mouth open, suddenly only a precocious child again. Morgause raised her eyebrows; so there was still someone and something which could frighten him! For once he did not try to excuse or explain himself in his usual glib manner.

She took the initiative again, saying, "Come in. All things are prepared to welcome you, my sisters, Lord Merlin." And as she looked at the red cloth she had set upon the high table, the goblets and fine ware standing there, she thought, Even here at the end of the world, our court is no pigsty! She conducted Viviane to her own high seat and set Kevin Harper next to her. As Niniane was stepping up on the dais she stumbled, and Gwydion was swiftly there, with a ready hand and a polite word.

Well, well, at last our Gwydion is beginning to take notice of a pretty woman. Or is it just good manners or a wish to ingratiate himself because Viviane chided him? She was perfectly well aware that she would never know the answer.

The fish was baked to perfection, the red fish flaking lightly away from the bones, and there was enough of the honey cake for most of the house people to have some; and she had sent for extra barley beer so that each of the people in the lower hall might have something extra to their meal as well. There was plenty of fresh-baked bread and an abundance of milk and butter, as well as cheese made with ewe's milk. Viviane ate as sparingly as ever, but she was ready in praise of the food.

"You set a queenly table indeed. I would not be better guested in Camelot. I had not looked for such welcome, coming without warning as I did," she said.

"Have you been to Camelot? Have you seen my sons?" Morgause asked, but Viviane shook her head and her forehead ridged in a scowl.

"No, not yet. Though I shall go thither at what Arthur now calls Pentecost, like to the church fathers themselves," she said, and for some reason Morgause felt a slight icing of her back; but with her guests she had no leisure to think of it.

Kevin said, "I saw your sons at court, lady. Gawaine had a small wound at Mount Badon, but it healed clean and is hidden by his beard ... he has begun wearing a small beard like to the Saxons, not because he wishes to be like them, but he cannot shave daily without slicing the top from the scar. He may start a new fashion at court! I saw not Gaheris-he is away to the south, fortifying the coast. Gareth is to be made a Companion at Arthur's high feast at Pentecost. He is one of the biggest, and one of the trustiest men at court, though sir Cai still bullies him and calls him 'Handsome' for his pretty face."

"He should have been made one of Arthur's Companions already!" said Gwydion jealously, and Kevin looked more kindly on the boy. "So, you are jealous for your kinsman's honor, my lad? Indeed he well deserves to be a Companion, and he is treated as one now his rank is known. But Arthur wished to show him honor at his first high feast in Camelot, so he will be made Companion with all the ceremony the King can manage. Rest you content, Gwydion, Arthur well knows his worth, even as he knows Gawaine's. And he is one of Arthur's youngest Companions."

Then, even more shyly, Gwydion asked, "Know you my mother, Master Harper? The lady M-Morgaine?"

"Aye, lad, I know her well," said Kevin gently, and Morgause thought that the ugly little man had at least a speaking voice that was rich and beautiful. "She is one of the fairest ladies at Arthur's court, and one of the most gracious, and she plays the harp as well as a bard."

"Come, come," said Morgause, her lips crinkling up in a smile, and amused at the obvious devotion in the harper's voice. "It is well to tell a tale to amuse a child, but truth must be served too. Morgaine, fair? She is plain as a raven! Igraine was beautiful when she was young, all men knew that, but Morgaine resembles her not at all."

Kevin's voice was respectful but also amused. "There is an old saying in the wisdom of the Druids ... beauty is not all in a fair face, but lies within. Morgaine is indeed very beautiful, Queen Morgause, though her beauty resembles yours no more than a willow tree resembles a daffodil. And she is the only person at court to whose hands I will ever trust My Lady." He gestured to his harp which had been unwrapped and set at his side, and picking up her cue, Morgause asked Kevin if he would favor them with a song.

He took up the harp and sang, and for a time the hall was perfectly still except for the harp notes and the bard's voice, and as he sang, the people in the lower hall crept as close as they could to listen to the music. But when he had done, and Morgause had dismissed the house-folk-although she allowed Lochlann to stay, sitting quietly near the fire-she said, "I too love music well, Master Harper, and you have given us a pleasure I shall long remember. But you did not travel all this long journey from Avalon to the Northlands so that I might have feasting with a harper. I beg of you, tell me why you come here so unexpectedly."

"Not so unexpected," said Viviane, with a little smile, "for I found you all dressed in your best and ready to greet us with wine and baked fish and honey cakes. You had warning of my coming, and since you had never more than a glimmering of the Sight, I can only imagine it was another not far from here who warned you." She cast an ironic glance at Gwydion, and Morgause nodded.

"But he told me not why, only bade me prepare all things for a festival, and I thought it was a child's whim, no more."

Gwydion was hanging over Kevin's seat as he began to wrap his harp, and he asked, putting his hand out hesitantly, "May I touch the strings?"

"You may," said Kevin mildly, and Gwydion plucked a string or two, saying, "I have never seen so fine a harp."

"Nor will you ever. I think there is no finer one here, nor even in Wales, where there is a whole college of bards," said Kevin. "My Lady was a king's gift to me, and she never leaves my side. And like many women," he added, with a courtly bow to Viviane, "she grows but more beautiful with the years."

"Would that my voice had grown sweeter as I grew old," said Viviane good-humoredly, "but the Dark Mother has not willed it so. Only her immortal children sing more sweetly as the years grow longer. May My Lady never sing less beautifully than now."

"Are you fond of music, master Gwydion? Have you learned anything of the harp?"

"I have not a harp to play," said Gwydion. "Coll, who is the only harper at court, has now such stiff fingers that he seldom touches the strings. We have had no music for two years now. I play a little upon the small pipe, though, and Aran-he that was Lot's piper at war-taught me to play a little upon the pipe of elk-horn ... it hangs yonder. He went with King Lot to Mount Badon, and like Lot, he came not back."

"Bring me the pipe," said Kevin, and when Gwydion brought it from where it hung on the wall, he rubbed it clean with a cloth, blew the dust from inside it, then put it to his lips and set his twisted fingers to the neat row of holes bored in the horn. He played a little dancing tune, then set it aside, saying, "I have small skill for this-my fingers are not quick enough. Well, Gwydion, if you love music, they will teach you at Avalon -let me hear you play a little upon this horn."

Gwydion's mouth was dry-Morgause saw him wet his lips with his tongue-but he took the wood-and-horn thing in his hands and blew carefully into it. Then he began to play a slow melody, and Kevin, after a moment, nodded.

"That will do," he said. "You are Morgaine's son, after all-it would be strange if you had no gift at all. We may be able to teach you much. You may have the makings of a bard, but more likely of a priest and Druid."

Gwydion blinked and almost let the pipe fall from his hand; he caught it in the skirt of his tunic.

"Of a bard-what do you mean? Tell me clear!"

Viviane looked straight at him, "It is the appointed time, Gwydion. You are Druid-born, and of two royal lines. You are to be given the ancient teachings and the secret wisdom in Avalon, that one day you may bear the dragon."

He swallowed-Morgause could see him absorbing this. She could well imagine that the thought of secret wisdom would attract Gwydion more than anything else they might have offered. He stammered, "You said -two royal lines-"

Viviane shook her head faintly when Niniane would have answered, so Niniane said only, "All things will be made clear to you when the proper time comes, Gwydion. If you are to be a Druid, the first thing you must learn is when to be silent and ask no questions."

He looked up at her mutely, and Morgause thought, It was worth all the trouble of this day to see Gwydion for once impressed even to speechlessness! Well, she was not surprised; Niniane was beautiful-she looked very much as Igraine had looked as a young girl, or she herself, only with fair hair rather than red.

Viviane said quietly, "This much I can tell you at once-the mother of your mother's mother was the Lady of the Lake, and from a long line of priestesses. Igraine and Morgause also bear the blood of the noble Taliesin, and so do you. Many of the royal lines of these islands, among the Druids, have been preserved in you, and if you are worthy, a great destiny awaits you. But you must be worthy-royal blood alone makes not a king, but courage, and wisdom, and farsightedness. I tell you, Gwydion, that he who wears the dragon may be more of a king than he who sits on a throne, for the throne may be won by force of arms, or by craft, or as Lot won it, by being born in the right bed and begot by the right king. But the Great Dragon can be won only by one's own efforts, not in this life alone, but those which have gone before. I tell you a mystery."

Gwydion said, "I-I do not understand!"

"Of course you do not!" Viviane's voice was sharp. "Even as I said

-it is a mystery, and wise Druids have sometimes studied for many lifetimes to understand less than that. I did not mean that you should understand, but that you should listen and hear, and learn to obey."

Gwydion swallowed and lowered his head. Morgause saw Niniane smile at him, and he drew a long breath, as if reprieved, and sat down at her feet, listening quietly, for once without trying to make any pert answer or explanation. Morgause thought, Perhaps the training of the Druids is what he needs!

"So you have come to tell me I have fostered Morgaine's son long enough, and the time is come when he shall be taken to Avalon and schooled in the learning of the Druids. But you would not have travelled yourself by this long road to tell me that-you could have sent any lesser Druid to take the boy into his custody. I have known for years that it would not befit Morgaine's son to end his days among shepherds and fisherfolk. And where else than Avalon would his destiny be laid? I beg you, tell me the rest- oh, yes, there is more, I see in your faces that there is more."

Kevin opened his mouth to speak, but Viviane said sharply, "Why should I tell you all my thoughts, Morgause, when you seek to turn all things to your advantage and that of your own sons? Even now, Gawaine is nearest the High King's throne not only because of blood, but also in Arthur's love. And I foresaw when Arthur was wedded to Gwenhwyfar that she would bear no child. I thought it only likely that she might die in breeding, so I wished not to meddle with what happiness Arthur might have -then could we have found him, afterward, a more suitable wife. But I let it go on too long, and now he will not put her away, even though she is barren-and you see in that no more than an opportunity for your own son's advancement."

"You should not assume she is barren, Viviane." Kevin's face was set in bitter lines. "She was pregnant before Mount Badon, and she carried this child a full five months-she might well have brought it to birth. I think she miscarried because of the heat, and the close confinement in the castle, and her own fear of the Saxons ... and it was pity for her, I think, which caused Arthur to betray Avalon and put aside the dragon banner."

Niniane said, "So it was not only her childlessness, Queen Morgause, by which Gwenhwyfar did Arthur such great harm. She is a creature of the priests, and already she has influenced him too well. If some day it should happen that she bear a child that might live to grow up ... that would be the worst of all."

Morgause felt as if she would stifle. "Gawaine-"

Viviane said harshly, "Gawaine is Christian as Arthur. He longs only to please Arthur in all things!"

Kevin said, "I know not whether Arthur has any great commitment to the Christian God or whether it is all Gwenhwyfar's doing, to please her and pity her-"

Morgause said scornfully, "Is that man fit to rule who would forswear his oath for a woman's sake? Is Arthur forsworn, then?"

Kevin said, "I heard him say that since Christ and Mary the Virgin gave him the victory at Mount Badon, he will not put them aside now. And I heard him say more, when he spoke with Taliesin-that Mary the Virgin was even as the Great Goddess, and it was she had given him the victory to save this land ... and that the banner of the Pendragon was that of his father Uther, and not his own ... ."

"Still," said Niniane, "he had no right to cast it all aside. We in Avalon set Arthur on his throne, and he owes it to us-"

Morgause said impatiently, "What matters it what banner flies over a king's troops? The soldiers need something to inspire their imagination-"

"As usual, you ignore the point," said Viviane. "It is what lives in their dreams and imagination that we must control from Avalon, or this struggle with Christ will be lost and their souls lie in slavery to a false faith! The symbol of the dragon should be always before them, that mankind seek to accomplish, not to think of sin and do penance!"

Kevin said slowly, "I know not-perhaps it would be as well that there should be these lesser mysteries for the fools, and then could the wise be shown the inner teaching. Perhaps it has been made all too easy for mankind to come to Avalon, and so they value it not."

Viviane said, "Would you have it that I should sit by and see Avalon go further into the mists, even as the fairy country?"

"I am saying, Lady," said Kevin, deferentially, but firmly, "that it may even now be too late to prevent it-Avalon will always be there for all men to find if they can seek the way thither, throughout all the ages past the ages. If they cannot find the way to Avalon, it is a sign, perhaps, that they are not ready."

"Still," said Viviane, in that hard voice, "I shall keep Avalon within the world, or die in attempting it!"

There was a silence in the hall, and Morgause realized that she was icy cold. She said, "Build up the fire, Gwydion-" and passed the wine. "Drink, will you not, sister? And you, Master Harper?"

Niniane poured the wine, but Gwydion sat still, as if dreaming or entranced. Morgause said, "Gwydion, do as I bade you-" but Kevin put out a hand and bade her be still. He said, in a whisper, "The boy's in trance. Gwydion, speak-"

"It is all blood-" he whispered, "blood, poured out like the blood of sacrifice on the ancient altars, blood spilt on the throne-"

Niniane stumbled and tripped, and the rest of the wine, blood red, went cascading over Gwydion where he sat, and across Viviane's lap. She rose, startled, and Gwydion blinked and shook himself like a puppy. He said, confused, "What-I am sorry-let me help you," and took the wineskin from Niniane's hand. "Ugh, it looks like spilt blood, let me fetch a cloth from the kitchens," and streaked away like any active lad.

"Well, there's your blood," said Morgause with disgust. "Is my Gwydion, too, to be lost in dreams and sickly visions?"

Mopping the sticky wine from her gown, Viviane said, "Disparage not another's gift because you have not the Sight, Morgause!"

Gwydion came back with the cloth, but as he bent to mop it away, he faltered, and Morgause took the cloth from his hand and beckoned one of the serving-women to come and dry the table and the hearth. He looked ill, but where normally he would have tried to make more of it for her attention, she saw that he turned quickly away as if ashamed. She ached to take him in her arms and rock him, this child who had been her last baby when the others were grown and gone, but she knew he would not thank her for it and held her peace, staring down at her linked hands. Niniane put out a hand to him, too, but it was Viviane who beckoned him, her eyes stern and unflinching.

"Speak the truth to me: how long have you had the Sight?"

He lowered his eyes and said, "I know not-I did not know what to call it." He fidgeted, refusing to look at her.

She said quietly, "And you concealed it for pride and love of power, did you not? Now it has mastered you, and you must master it in turn. We came none too soon here-I hope we have not come too late. Are you unsteady on your feet? Sit here, then, and be still."

To Morgause's astonishment, Gwydion sank down quietly at the feet of the two priestesses. After a moment Niniane put her hand on his head and he leaned against her.

Viviane turned again to Morgause and said, "As I told you before, Gwenhwyfar will bear Arthur no son, but he will not put her aside. All the more because she is a Christian, and their religion forbids a man to put his wife away-"

Morgause shrugged and said, "What of that? She has miscarried once, or it may be, more than once. And she is not so young a woman, not now. Life is uncertain for women."

"Aye, Morgause," said Viviane, "once before you sought to trade on that uncertainty of life, so that your son might stand near to the throne- did you not? I warn you, my sister-meddle not in what the Gods have decreed!"

Morgause smiled. "I thought, Viviane, that you lectured me long- or was it Taliesin?-that nothing comes about save by the will of the Gods. If Arthur had died ere he came to Uther's throne, why then, I doubt not the Gods would have found another to serve their turn."

"I came not here to argue theology, you miserable girl," said Viviane angrily. "Do you think, if I had my will, that I would have entrusted you with life or death for the royal line of Avalon?"

Morgause said with silky wrath, "But the Goddess willed it not that you should do your own will, so it seems to me, Viviane. I am weary of this talk of old prophecy ... if there be any Gods at all, of which I am not even certain, I cannot believe they would stoop to meddle in the affairs of men. Nor will I wait upon the Gods to do what I see clearly must be done-who's to say that the Goddess cannot work through my hand as well as another." She saw that Niniane was shocked-aye, she was another such ninny as Igraine, believing all this talk of Gods. "As for the royal line of Avalon, you see I have fostered it well."

"He seems strong and well, a healthy boy," said Viviane, "but can you swear you have not flawed him within, Morgause?"

Gwydion raised his head and said sharply, "My foster-mother has been good to me. The lady Morgaine cared not much for the fostering of her son-not once has she come hither to ask whether I lived or died!"

Kevin said severely, "You were bade speak only when spoken to, Gwydion. And you know nothing of Morgaine's reasons or purposes."

Morgause looked sharply at the crippled little bard. Has Morgaine confided in this wretched abortion, when I had to force her secret from her by spells and the Sight? She felt a surge of wrath, but Viviane said, "Enough. You fostered him well while it suited you, Morgause, but I mark you have not forgotten he stands one step nearer the throne than did Arthur at his age, and two steps nearer than your own son Gawaine! As for Gwenhwyfar, I have seen that she is to play some part in the fate of Avalon-she cannot be wholly without the Sight or the vision, for once she broke through the mists and stood upon the shores of Avalon. Perhaps if she were given a son, and it was made clear that it was by Avalon's arts and will-" She glanced at Niniane. "She is capable of conception-with a strong sorceress at her side to keep her from casting forth the child."

"It is too late for that," Kevin said. "It was all her doing that Arthur betrayed Avalon and set aside the dragon banner. The truth is, I suppose, that her wits are not in the right place."

"The truth is," said Niniane, "that you bear her a grudge, Kevin. Why?"

The harper cast his eyes down and stared at his scarred and twisted hands. He said at last, "True. I cannot even in my thoughts deal fair with Gwenhwyfar-I am no more than human. But even if I loved her well, I would say she is no queen for a king who must rule from Avalon. I would not grieve, should she suffer some accident or mischance. For if she gave Arthur a son, she would think it only the goodness of Christ, though the Lady of the Lake herself stood by her bed. I cannot help but pray she has no such good fortune."

Morgause smiled her cat smile. "Gwenhwyfar may seek to be more Christian than Christ's self," she said, "but I know something of their Scriptures, for Lot had a priest here from Iona to teach the lads. The Holy Writ runs thus, that he is damned who shall put his wife away save for adultery. And even here in Lothian we have heard-the Queen is hardly so chaste as all that. Arthur is away often at the wars, and all men know how she looks with favor upon your son, Viviane."

"You do not know Gwenhwyfar," Kevin said. "She is pious more than reason, and Lancelet is so much Arthur's friend that I think Arthur would not move against them unless he took the two of them together in his bed before all of the court."

"Even that might be arranged," said Morgause. "Gwenhwyfar is too beautiful to think that other women would love her much. Surely someone around her could make an open scandal, to force Arthur's hand-"

Viviane made a grimace of distaste. "What woman would betray a fellow woman like that?"

Morgause said, "I would, if I were convinced it was for the good of the kingdom."

"I would not so," said Niniane, "and Lancelet is honorable, and Arthur's closest friend. I doubt he would betray Arthur for Gwenhwyfar. If we wish Gwenhwyfar set aside, we must look elsewhere."

"And there is this," said Viviane, and she sounded tired. "Gwenhwyfar has done nothing wrong that we know-we cannot set her down from Arthur's side while she keeps the bargain she has made, to be a dutiful wife to Arthur. If a scandal is made, there must be truth in it. Avalon is sworn to uphold the truth."

"But if there were a true scandal?" Kevin said.

"Then she must take her chances," Viviane said, "but I will not be party to any false accusations."

"Yet she has at least one other enemy," said Kevin thoughtfully. "Leodegranz of the Summer Country has just died, and his young wife and her last child with her, Gwenhwyfar is queen there now; but Leodegranz had a kinsman-he claims to be a son, but I believe it not-and I think he would like it well if he could claim to be king in the old manner of the Tribes, by bedding with the queen."

Gwydion said, "It is well they have no such custom at Lot's most Christian court, is it not?" But he spoke softly, so that they could affect not to hear him. And Morgause thought: He is angry because he is being ignored, that is all. Am I to be angry because a puppy bites me with his little teeth?

"By the old custom," said Niniane, her pretty brow ridging into little lines, "Gwenhwyfar is not wedded to any unless she has borne him a son, and if another man can take her from Arthur-"

"Aye, there's the question," said Viviane, laughing. "Arthur can keep his wife by force of arms. And he would do it, too, I doubt not." Then she sobered. "The one thing we can be certain of is that Gwenhwyfar shall remain barren. Should she conceive again, there are spells to make certain she carries not the child to birth, or past the first few weeks. As for Arthur's heir ..." She paused, and looked at Gwydion, still sitting like a sleepy child, his head resting on Niniane's lap. "There sits a son of the royal line of Avalon-and son to the Great Dragon."

Morgause caught her breath. Never once, in all these years, had it occurred to her that it was anything other than the gravest mischance that Morgaine had gotten herself with child by her half-brother. Now she saw the complexity of Viviane's plan and was awe-stricken by the audacity of it-to set a child of Avalon and of Arthur on the throne after his father.

What of the King Stag when the young stag is grown... ? For a moment Morgause did not know whether the thought had been her own or had come into her head as an echo from one of the two Avalon priestesses before her; always she had had these disturbing, incomplete moments of the Sight, though she could never control when they would come or go, and, truth to tell, had not cared to do so.

Gwydion's eyes were wide; he leaned forward, his mouth open. "Lady-" he said breathlessly, "is it true-that I, I am the son of the-of the High King?"

"Aye," said Viviane, her mouth tight, "though the priests will never acknowledge it. To them it would be sin of all sins, that a son should get a son on his mother's daughter. They have set themselves up holier than the Goddess herself, who is mother to us all. But it is so."

Kevin turned; slowly, painfully, with his crippled body, he knelt down before Gwydion.

"My prince and my lord," he said, "child of the royal line of Avalon, and son to the son of the Great Dragon, we have come to take you to Avalon, where you may be prepared for your destiny. On the morrow you must be ready to depart."

2

"On the morrow you must be ready to depart. ..."

It was like to the terror of a dream that they should speak thus openly of what I had kept secret all these years, even during that time when none thought I could live after his birth ... . I could have gone to my death with none knowing I had borne a child to my own brother. But Morgause had got the secret from me, and Viviane knew ... it was an old saying, three could keep a secret if but two of them lay in their graves ... . Viviane had planned this, she had used me as she had used Igraine!

But the dream was beginning to break up now and shift and ripple as if it were all underwater. I fought to keep it, to hear, but it seemed that Arthur was there and he drew a sword and advanced on Gwydion, and the child caught Excalibur from its scabbard ... .

Morgaine sat bolt upright in her room at Camelot, catching at the blanket. No, she told herself, no, it was a dream, only a dream. I do not even know who sits next to Viviane in Avalon, no doubt it is Raven, not this fair-haired woman so like to my mother that I have seen again and again in my dreams. And who knows if such a woman walks the face of this earth or Avalon, or whether she is a confused dream of my mother? I do not remember anyone even a little like her in the House of Maidens ... .

I should be there. It is I should be at Viviane's side, and I cast it away of my free will ... .

"Look," Elaine called from the window. "Already there are riders coming in, and it is three full days till Arthur's great feast!"

The other women in the chamber crowded around Elaine, looking down at the field before Camelot; already there were tents and pavilions pitched there. Elaine said, "I see my father's banner. There he rides, with my brother, Lamorak, at his side-he is old enough to be one of Arthur's Companions now. I wonder if Arthur will choose him as one."

"He was not old enough to fight at Mount Badon, was he?" Morgaine asked.

"He was not old enough, but he fought nevertheless, as did every man old enough to hold a sword, and every young boy too," said Elaine proudly.

"Then I doubt not that Arthur will make him one of his Companions, if only to please Pellinore," said Morgaine. The great battle of Mount Badon had been fought a year ago on the day of Pentecost, and Arthur had vowed always to keep this day as a time of high feasting and to greet all his old Companions; on Pentecost, too, he would welcome all petitioners and give out justice. And all the subject kings from the outlying kingdoms would come before the High King to renew their allegiance.

"You must go to the Queen and help her dress," Morgaine said to Elaine, "and I must be off as well. I have much to do if there is to be a great feast in only three days!"

"Sir Cai will see to all that," Elaine remonstrated.

"Aye, he will see to the feeding and housing of the multitudes," said Morgaine cheerfully, "but it is I must provide flowers for the hall, and see to the polishing of the silver cups, and it is likely I must make the almond cakes and sweets too-Gwenhwyfar will have other things on her mind."

And indeed, Morgaine was glad to have so much to do for the three days of feasting; it took her mind away from the dread and terror of her dream. In these days, whenever Avalon came into her mind in a dream, she shut it out with desperation ... she had not known that Kevin rode north to Lothian. No, she told herself, and I do not know it now, it was only a dream. But once during that day, when she encountered the elderly Taliesin in the courtyard, she bowed to him, and when he put out a hand to bless her, she said shyly, "Father-"

"Yes, dear child?"

Ten years ago, Morgaine thought, I would have been angry that Taliesin speaks to me always as if I were still a child of seven who might crawl into his lap and tug at his beard. Now, obscurely, it comforted her. "Is Kevin the Merlin bound here for Pentecost?"

"Why, I know not, child," said Taliesin, with a kindly smile. "He has ridden north to Lothian. But I know that he loves you well and that he will return to you when he can. I think nothing would keep him from this court while you were here, little Morgaine."

Does everyone at this court know that we have been lovers? Surely I have been more discreet than that. Morgaine said waspishly, "Is it common gossip at this court that Kevin the Harper comes and goes at my bidding-when it is not even true?"

Taliesin smiled again and said, "Dear child, never be ashamed to love. And it has meant everything to Kevin, that one so kindly and gracious and beautiful as you-"

"Do you mock me, Grandsire?"

"Why should I so, little one? You are the daughter of my dear daughter, and I love you well, and you know I think you the most beautiful and gifted of women. And Kevin, I have no doubt, thinks you so even more, and you are the only one at this court save myself, and the only woman ever, who can speak to him of music in his own language. If you know not that for Kevin the sun rises and sets where you come and go, then you are the only one at this court who knows it not. You deserve it well that he should turn to you as the starshine of his days and nights. It is not even forbidden to the Merlin of Britain that he should marry, if he chooses. Royal he is not, but he is noble in heart, and will one day be High Druid if his courage fails him not. And on the day when he seeks your hand, I do not think either Arthur or myself would say him no."

Morgaine lowered her face and stared at the ground. Ah, she thought, how fitting it would be if I could care so for Kevin as he for me. I value him, I love him well, I take pleasure even in sharing his bed, but marriage? No, she thought, no, no, not for all his devotion. "I have no mind to be married, Grandsire."

"Well, you must do your own will, child," Taliesin said gently. "You are lady and priestess. But you are not so young, either, and since you have forsaken Avalon-no, I do not reproach you, but I thought it might well be that you wished to marry and have a home of your own. I would not see you spend all your days as Gwenhwyfar's waiting-woman. As for Kevin the Harper, no doubt he will be here if he can, but he cannot ride as swiftly as other men. It is good that you do not despise him for his body's infirmity, dear child."

When Taliesin had gone, Morgaine went on toward the brew house, thinking deeply. She wished she could indeed love Kevin as Taliesin thought she did.

Why am I cursed with this feeling for Lancelet? All the time she prepared scented rose water for washing guests' hands and flavoring confections, she thought about that. Well, when Kevin was here, at least she had no reason to desire Lancelet-not that it would do her any good, she thought wryly, to desire him. Desire must go two ways or it is worthless. She resolved that when Kevin came back again to court, she would give him such a welcome as he could wish.

No doubt, I could do worse than wed with him ... Avalon is lost to me ... I will think of it. And indeed my dream saw true so far, that he was in Lothian ... and I thought the Sight had forsaken me ... .

KEVIN RETURNED to Camelot on the eve of Pentecost; all that day folk had been streaming into Camelot and the surrounding country, as if it were twice over harvest fair and spring-trading fair. It was the greatest festival ever to be held in this countryside. Morgaine welcomed Kevin with a kiss and embrace which made the harper's eyes glow, and led him to a guest chamber, where she took his cloak and travelling shoes and sent them with one of the boys to be cleaned, and brought him ribbons to make his harp fine.

"Why, My Lady will be brave as the Queen," said Kevin, laughing at her. "Do you not bear grudge to your only rival, Morgaine, love?"

He had never called her so before, and she came and stood close to him, her arm around his waist. He said softly, "I have missed you," and laid his face for a moment against her breast.

"And I you, my dear," she said, "and when all have gone to rest this night, I shall prove it to you ... why, do you think, have I arranged that you shall have a guest chamber to yourself, when even Arthur's dearest Companions have had to be housed four to a room and sometimes two to a bed?"

He said, "I thought it was so that none other need share quarters with me."

"And so it shall be for the dignity of Avalon," said Morgaine, "though even Taliesin shares his chamber with the bishop-"

"I do not admire his taste," said Kevin. "I would sooner be housed in the stable with the other donkeys!"

"I would have it that the Merlin of Britain should be lodged in a chamber to himself, even if it is no bigger than a stall for one of those donkeys," said Morgaine. "But it is large enough for you and for My Lady, and"-she smiled and looked pointedly at the bed-"and for me, I dare say."

"You will always be welcome, and if My Lady is jealous I will turn her face to the wall." He kissed her, holding her tight for a moment with all the strength in his wiry arms. Then, letting her go, he said, "I thought you would like to hear-I rode with your son to Avalon. He is a well-grown lad, and a clever one, and has some of your gift for music."

"I dreamed of him the other night," she said. "In my dream, I think he played on a pipe-like Gawaine's."

"Then you dreamed truly," said Kevin. "I like him well, and he has the Sight. He will be schooled in Avalon for a Druid."

"And then?"

"Then? Ah, my dear," said Kevin, "things must go as they will. But I doubt not he will make a bard and a notable wise man-you need have no fear for him upon Avalon." He touched her shoulder gently. "He has your eyes."

She would have liked to ask more, but turned to something else. "The feast will not be till tomorrow," she said, "but tonight the closest of Arthur's friends and Companions have been bidden to dine. Gareth is to be made a knight upon the morrow, and Arthur, who loves Gawaine like a brother, has chosen to honor him at a family party."

"Gareth is a good man and a good knight," said Kevin, "and I will gladly do him honor. I like not Queen Morgause greatly, but her sons are fine men and good friends to Arthur."

Even though it was a family party, there were many close kinsmen to sit at Arthur's table here on the eve of Pentecost: Gwenhwyfar and her kinswoman Elaine, and Elaine's father, King Pellinore, and her brother, Lamorak; Taliesin and Lancelet, and three of Lancelet's half-brothers- Balan, son of the Lady of the Lake, and Bors and Lionel, both of whom were sons of Ban of Less Britain. Gareth was there, and as always, Gawaine stood behind Arthur at table. Arthur had protested, as they came into the hall. "Sit here beside us tonight, Gawaine-you are my kinsman, and king in your own right in Orkney, and I like it not that you should stand like a serving-man behind my place!"

Gawaine said roughly, "I am proud to stand and serve my lord and king, sir," and Arthur bent his head.

"You make me feel like those old Caesars," he complained. "Need I be guarded night and day even in my own hall?"

"For the dignity of your throne, sir, you are even as those Caesars, and more," insisted Gawaine, and Arthur laughed helplessly.

"I can deny nothing to those of you who were my Companions."

"So," Kevin said in an undertone to Morgaine, where they sat side by side, "it is not hubris then or arrogance, but he wishes only to please his Companions-"

"I think, truly, it is so," Morgaine said in an undertone. "This he loves best, I think, to sit in his own hall and look upon the peace he has wrought; whatever his faults, Arthur truly loves the rule of order and the kingdom of law."

Later, Arthur gestured them all to silence, calling young Gareth to him. "Tonight you will watch in the church by your arms," he said, "and in the morning before mass, whichever knight you choose shall make you one of my Companions. You have served me well and honorably, young as you are. If you wish for it, I will myself make you knight, but I will understand if you wish that your brother should give you this honor."

Gareth wore a white tunic; his hair was like a golden halo curling around his face. He looked almost like a child, a tall child towering to a good six feet high, with shoulders like a young bull. His face was fuzzy with soft golden down too fine to be shaven. He said, stammering a little in his eagerness, "Sir, I beg you-I mean no offense to you nor to my brother, but I-if he will-could I be made knight by Lancelot, my lord and my king?"

Arthur smiled. "Why, if Lancelet will have it so, I have no objection."

Morgaine remembered a little child prattling of Lancelet to a painted wooden knight she had carved for him. How many people, she wondered, saw such a childhood dream come true? Lancelet said gravely, "I should be honored, cousin," and Gareth's face lighted as if a torch had been set to it. Then Lancelet turned to Gawaine and said, with punctilious courtesy, "But it is for you to give me leave, cousin-you stand in a father's place to this lad, and I would not usurp your right-"

Gawaine looked awkwardly from one to the other of them, and Morgaine saw Gareth bite his lip-only now, perhaps, did he understand that this might be seen as an offense to his brother, and that the King had done him the honor of offering to make him a knight-an honor he had refused. What a child he was, despite his great strength and height and precocious skill at arms!

Gawaine said gruffly, "Who would be made knight by me when Lancelet would consent to do it?"

Lancelet flung an exuberant arm around each of them. "You do me too much honor, both of you. Well, go, lad," he said, releasing Gareth, "go to your arms, I will come and watch with you after midnight."

Gawaine watched as the boy loped away, with his long awkward stride, and then said, "You should be one of those old Greeks, as it was told in that saga we read when we were boys. How was he called-Achilles- whose true love was the young knight Patroclus, and neither cared anything for all the fine dames of the court of Troy-God knows every lad in this court worships you as their hero. Pity you have no mind to the Greek fashion in love!"

Lancelet's face turned dusky red. "You are my cousin, Gawaine, and can say such things to me-I would not hear such things from any other, even in jest."

Gawaine laughed loudly again. "Aye, a jest-for one who professes devotion only to our most chaste Queen-"

"You dare!" Lancelet began, turning on him, and gripped his arm with strength enough to break his wrist. Gawaine struggled, but Lancelet, though he was the smaller man, bent his arm backward, growling with rage like an angry wolf.

"Here! No brawling in the King's hall!" Cai thrust himself awkwardly between them, and Morgaine said quickly, "Why, Gawaine, what then will you say to all those priests who profess devotion to Mary the Virgin beyond all things on earth? Would you have it they all have a scandalous carnal devotion to their Christ? And indeed, we hear of the Lord Jesus that he never married, and that even among his chosen twelve there was one who leaned on his bosom at supper-"

Gwenhwyfar gave a shocked cry. "Morgaine, hush! Such a blasphemous jest!" Lancelet let go of Gawaine's arm; Gawaine stood rubbing the bruise, and Arthur turned and frowned at them.

"You are like children, cousins, squabbling and bickering-shall I send you to be beaten by Cai in the kitchens? Come now, be friends again! I heard not the jest, but whatever it was, Lance, it cannot have been so serious as all that!"

Gawaine laughed roughly and said, "I jested, Lance-all too many women pursue you, I know, for what I said to have anything at all of truth," and Lancelet shrugged and smiled, like a bird with ruffled feathers.

Cai chuckled. "Every man at court envies you your handsome face, Lance." He rubbed the scar that pulled his mouth up tight into a sneer, and said, "But it may not be all that much of a blessing, eh, cousin?"

It dissolved into good-natured laughter, but later Morgaine, crossing the court, saw Lancelet still pacing, troubled, feathers still ruffled.

"What is it, kinsman, what ails you?"

He sighed. "I would that I might leave this court."

"But my lady will not let you go."

"Even to you, Morgaine, I will not talk of the Queen," he said stiffly, and it was Morgaine's turn to sigh.

"I am not the keeper of your conscience, Lancelet. If Arthur does not chide you, who am I to speak a word of reproach?"

"You don't understand!" he said fiercely. "She was given to Arthur like something bought at market, part of a purchase in horses because her father would have kinship with the High King as part of the price! Yet she is too loyal to murmur-"

"I spoke no word against her, Lancelet," Morgaine reminded him. "You hear accusations from yourself, not from my lips."

She thought, I could make him desire me, but the knowledge was like a mouthful of dust. Once she had played that game, and beneath the desire he had feared her, as he feared Viviane herself; feared her to the edge of hatred because of that desire. If his king commanded he would have her, but would soon come to hate.

He managed to look directly at her. "You cursed me, and-and believe me, I am cursed."

And suddenly the old anger and contempt melted. He was as he was. She clasped his hand between her own. "Cousin, don't trouble yourself about that. It was many, many years ago, and I don't think there is any God or Goddess who would listen to the words of an angry young girl who thought herself scorned. And I was no more than that."

He drew a long breath and began to pace again. At last he said, "I could have killed Gawaine tonight. I am glad you stopped us, even with that blasphemous jesting. I-I have had to deal with that, all my life. When I was a boy at Ban's court, I was prettier than Gareth is now, and in the court of Less Britain, and like enough in other places, such a boy must guard himself more carefully than any maiden. But no man sees or believes any such thing unless it touches him, and thinks it only a slightly vulgar joke made about other people. There was a time when I thought it so too, and then a time when I thought I could never be otherwise ... ."

There was a long silence, while he stared grimly at the flagstones of the courtyard.

"And so I flung myself into experiment with women, any woman- God help me, even with you who were my own mother's fosterling and pledged maiden to the Goddess-but there were few women who could rouse me even a little, till I saw-her." Morgaine was glad he did not speak Gwenhwyfar's name. "And since that moment there has been no other. With her, I know myself all man."

Morgaine said, "But she is Arthur's wife-"

"God! God!" Lancelet turned and struck his hand against the wall. "Do you think that does not torment me? He is my friend; if Gwenhwyfar were wedded to any other man who dwells this earth, I would have had her away with me and to my own place-" Morgaine saw the muscles of his throat move as he tried to swallow. "I do not know what will become of us. And Arthur must have an heir to his kingdom. The fate of all Britain is more important than our love. I love them both-and I am tormented, Morgaine, tormented!"

His eyes were wild; for a moment it seemed to Morgaine that she saw some hint of madness. Ever after, she wondered, Was there anything, anything I could have said or done that night?

"Tomorrow," Lancelet said, "I shall beg Arthur to send me out on some difficult quests-to go and make an end forever of Pellinore's dragon, to conquer the wild Northmen beyond the Roman wall-I care not what, Morgaine, anything, anything to take me away from here-" and for a moment, hearing in his voice a sadness beyond tears, Morgaine wanted to hold him in her arms and rock him at her breast like a babe.

I think I came near to killing Gawaine tonight, had you not stopped us," Lancelet said. "Yet he was only jesting, he would have died with horror if he knew-" Lancelet turned his eyes away and at last said in a whisper, "I know not if what he said is true. I should take Gwenhwyfar and be gone from here, before it becomes a scandal to all the courts of the world, that I love the wife of my king, and yet ... yet it is Arthur I cannot leave ... I know not but what I love her only because I come close, thus, to him."

Morgaine put out her hand to stop him. There were things she could not bear to know. But Lancelet did not even see.

"No, no, I must tell someone or I shall die of it-Morgaine, know you how first I came to lie with the Queen? I had loved her long, since first I saw her on Avalon, but I thought I would live and die with that passion unspent-Arthur was my friend and I would not betray him," he said. "And she, she-you must never think that she tempted me! But-but it was Arthur's will," he said. "It came about at Beltane-" and then he told her, while Morgaine stood frozen, thinking only, So this is how the charm worked ... I would that the Goddess had stricken me with leprosy before ever I gave it to Gwenhwyfar!

"But you do not know all," he whispered. "As we lay together- never, never had anything so-so-" He swallowed and fumbled to put into words what Morgaine could not bear to hear. "I-I touched Arthur -I touched him. I love her, oh, God, I love her, mistake me not, but had she not been Arthur's wife, had it not been for-I doubt even she-" He choked and could not finish his sentence, while Morgaine stood utterly still, appalled beyond speech. Was this then the revenge of the Goddess-that she who loved this man without hope, should become the confidante of both him and the woman he loved, that she should be the repository of all the secret fears he could speak to no one else, the incomprehensible passions within his soul?

"Lancelet, you should not say these things to me, not to me. Some man -Taliesin-a priest-"

"What can a priest know of this?" he demanded in despair. "No man, I think, has ever felt such-God knows I hear enough of what men desire, they talk of nothing else, and now and then some man reveals something strange he may desire, but never, never, nothing so strange and evil as this! I am damned," he cried out. "This is my punishment for desiring the wife of my king, that I should be held in this terrible bondage -even Arthur, if he knew, would hate and despise me. He knows I love Gwenhwyfar, but this not even he could forgive, and Gwenhwyfar-who knows if she, even she, would not hate and despise me-" His voice choked into silence.

Morgaine could only say the words she had been taught in Avalon. "The Goddess knows what is in the hearts of men, Lancelet. She will comfort you."

"But this is to spurn the Goddess," Lancelet whispered, in frozen horror. "And what of the man who sees that same Goddess in the face of the mother who bore him ... I cannot turn to her.... Almost I am tempted to go and throw myself at the feet of the Christ. His priests say he can forgive any sin, however damnable, as he spoke words of forgiveness to those who crucified him ... ."

Morgaine said sharply that she had never seen any sign that his priests were so tender and forgiving with sinners.

"Aye, no doubt you are right," said Lancelet, staring bleakly at the flagstones. "There is no help anywhere, till I am slain in battle or ride forth from here to throw myself in the path of a dragon ... ." He poked with his shoe at a little clump of grass that was growing up through the stones in the courtyard. "And no doubt sin and good and evil are all lies told by priests and men, and the truth is only that we grow and die and wither even as this grass here." He turned on his heel. "Well, I will go and share Gareth's vigil, as I promised him ... he at least loves me in all innocence, like a younger brother or my son. I should fear to kneel before that altar, if I believed one word of what their priests say, damned as I am. And yet- how I wish there were such a God as could forgive me and let me know myself forgiven ... ."

He turned to go, but Morgaine caught at the embroidered sleeve of the festival gown he had put on. "Wait. What is this of a vigil in the church? I knew not that Arthur's Companions had grown so pious."

"Arthur thinks often of his kingmaking on Dragon Island," said Lancelet, "and he said once that the Romans with their many Gods, and the old pagan folk, had something which was needed in life, that when men took on some great obligation, they should do it prayerfully, and be in mind of its great meaning and dedication. And so he spoke with the priests, and they have made it so in ritual, that when any new Companion, not seasoned by battle-where he is tried by the very confrontation with death-when an unblooded man joins with the Companions, there is this special testing, that he shall watch and pray all night by his arms, and in the morning confess all his sins and be shriven, and then be made knight."

"Why, then, it is a kind of initiation into the Mysteries that he would give them. But he is no maker of Mysteries, he has no right to confer the Mysteries on another or give initiation, and all garbled in the name of their Christ God. In the name of the Mother, will they even take over the Mysteries?"

Lancelet answered defensively, "He consulted with Taliesin, who gave countenance to it," and Morgaine was startled that one of the highest Druids would so compromise the Mysteries. Yet there had been a time, so Taliesin said, when Christian and Druid worshipped in common.

"It is what happens in the soul of the man," said Lancelet, "not whether it is Christian or pagan or Druid. If Gareth faces the mystery in his heart, and it makes him a better man in his soul, does it matter whence it comes, from the Goddess or from Christ or from that Name the Druids may not speak-or from the very goodness within himself?"

"Why, you argue like Taliesin's very self!" said Morgaine sourly.

"Aye, I know the words." His mouth twisted with terrible bitterness. "Would to God-any God-I could find something in my heart which believed them, or some such comfort as that!"

Morgaine could only say, "I would that you might, cousin. I will pray for you."

"But to whom?" Lancelet asked and went away, leaving Morgaine sorely troubled.

It was not yet midnight. In the church she could see the lights where Gareth and now Lancelet kept vigil. She bent her head, remembering the night when she herself had kept watch, her hand automatically going to her side for the touch of a little crescent knife that had not hung there for many years.

And I cast it away. Who am I to speak of profaning the Mysteries?

Then the air suddenly stirred and swirled like a whirlpool before her, and she felt she would sink down where she stood, for Viviane stood before her in the moonlight.

She was older and thinner. Her eyes were like great burning coals set beneath her level brows, her hair almost all white now. She looked on Morgaine, it seemed, with sorrow and tenderness.

"Mother-" she stammered, not knowing whether she spoke to Viviane or to the Goddess. And then the image wavered and Morgaine knew that Viviane was not there; a Sending, no more.

"Why have you come? What do you want of me?" Morgaine whispered, kneeling, feeling the stir of Viviane's robes in the night wind. About her brow was a crown of wicker-withes like to the crown of the queen of the fairy country. The apparition stretched forth her hand, and Morgaine could feel the faded crescent burning on her brow.

The night watchman strode through the court, the light of his lantern flaring; Morgaine knelt alone, staring at nothing. Hastily she scrambled to her feet before the man could see.

She had lost, suddenly, all desire to go to Kevin's bed. He would be waiting for her, but if she did not come, he would never think of reproaching her. She stole quietly through the hallways to the room she shared with Gwenhwyfar's unmarried maidens, and into the bed she shared with young Elaine.

I thought the Sight forever gone from me. Yet Viviane came to me and stretched out her hand. Is it that Avalon has need of me? Or does it mean that I, like Lancelet, am going mad?

3

When Morgaine woke, all around her the castle was already waking to the noise and confusion of a holiday. Pentecost. In the courtyard there were banners flying, and people were streaming in and out of the gates, servants were setting up lists for the games, pavilions were sprouting all over Camelot and on the slopes of the hill like strange and beautiful flowers. There was no time for dreams and visions. Gwenhwyfar sent for her to dress her hair-no woman in all Camelot was so deft with her hands as Morgaine, and Morgaine had promised her that this morning she would braid the Queen's hair in the special plaits with four strands which she herself used on high festivals. While she was combing out and separating Gwenhwyfar's fine silky hair for braiding, Morgaine glanced sidewise at the bed from which her sister-in-law had risen. Arthur had already been dressed by his servants and gone out. The pages and chamberlains were spreading the covers, taking away soiled clothes to be cleaned and washed, laying out fresh gowns for Gwenhwyfar's approval.

Morgaine thought: They shared that bed, all three of them, Lancelet, Gwenhwyfar, Arthur-no, such a thing was not wholly unknown; she remembered something in the fairy country that would not come clear in her mind. Lancelet was tormented, and she could have no idea how Arthur regarded all this. As her small quick hands moved on Gwenhwyfar's hair, she wondered what her sister-in-law felt. Suddenly her own mind was flooded with erotic images, memory of that day on Dragon Island when Arthur, waking, had drawn her into his arms, of the night she had lain in Lancelet's arms in the field. She lowered her eyes and went on twisting the fine hair.

"You are pulling it too tight," Gwenhwyfar complained, and Morgaine said stiffly, "I am sorry," and forced her hands to relax. Arthur had been only a boy then, and she a maiden. Lancelet-did he give to Gwenhwyfar what he had withheld from her, or was the Queen content with those childish caresses? Try as Morgaine would, she could not turn her mind from the hateful pictures that haunted it, but she went on calmly braiding, her face a mask.

"There, that will hold-hand me the silver pin," she said, fastening up the braids. Gwenhwyfar surveyed herself, delighted, in the copper mirror which was one of her treasures. "It is beautiful, dear sister-thank you so much," she said, turning and impulsively embracing Morgaine, who stiffened in her arms.

"You owe me no thanks-it is easier to do on another's head than my own," Morgaine said. "Wait, that pin is slipping-" and she refastened it. Gwenhwyfar was glowing, beautiful-and Morgaine put her arms around her, laying her cheek for a moment against Gwenhwyfar's. It seemed enough, for a moment, to touch that beauty, as if something of it could penetrate her and give her some of that glow and loveliness. Then she remembered again what Lancelet had told her, and thought, I am no better than he. I too nurse all manner of strange and perverse desires, and who am I to mock at any?

She envied the Queen, laughing happily as she directed Elaine to go to her chests and seek out cups for prizes for the winners of the games. Gwenhwyfar was simple and open, she was never tortured by these dark thoughts; Gwenhwyfar's griefs were simple, the griefs and troubles of any woman, fear for her husband's safety, grief over her childlessness-for all the charm's working, there had been no sign of pregnancy. If one man could not get her with child, it is likely that two could not, Morgaine thought wickedly.

Gwenhwyfar was smiling. "Shall we go down? I have not greeted the guests-King Uriens is here from North Wales, with his grown son. How would you like to be Queen of Wales, Morgaine? I have heard that Uriens will ask the King for a wife among his wards-"

Morgaine laughed. "You think I would make him a good queen because I am not likely to give him a son to challenge Avalloch's claim to the throne?"

"It is true you would be old to bear a first child," Gwenhwyfar said, "yet I still have hope that I may give my lord and king an heir." Gwenhwyfar did not know that Morgaine had a child, and she should never know.

Yet it nagged at her.

Arthur should know that he has a son. He blames himself that he can give Gwenhwyfar no child-for his own peace of mind he should know. And if it should come to pass that Gwenhwyfar never bears a child, then at least the King has a son. None need know that it is his own sister's. And Gwydion bears the royal line of Avalon. And now he is old enough to be sent to Avalon and be made a Druid. Truly I should have gone to look upon his face, long before this day ... .

"Listen," said Elaine, "the trumpets are blowing in the courtyard- someone important is here, and we must make haste-they will serve mass in the church this morning."

"And Gareth is to be knighted," said Gwenhwyfar. "It is a pity Lot did not live to see his youngest son made knight-"

Morgaine shrugged. "He took no great joy in Arthur's company, nor Arthur in his." So, she thought, Lancelet's protege would be made one of the Companions; and then she remembered what Lancelet had told her about the ritual watch and vigil of knighthood-the mockery of the Mysteries. Is it my task to speak to Arthur about his duty to Avalon? He bore the image of the Virgin into battle at Mount Badon; he laid aside the dragon banner; and now he has turned one of the greater Mysteries over to the Christian priests. I will seek counsel of Taliesin ... .

"We must go down," said Gwenhwyfar, and tied on her pockets at her waist, fastening her keys to her girdle. She looked fine and stately with the braided headdress, in her gown of saffron color; Elaine wore a dress dyed green, and Morgaine her red gown. They went down the stair, gathering before the church. Gawaine saluted Morgaine, saying, "Kinswoman," and bowed to the Queen. Beyond him she saw a familiar face, and frowned a little, trying to remember where she had seen that knight before: tall, burly, bearded, almost as blond as a Saxon or a Northman, then she remembered, Balan's foster-brother Balin. She bowed to him coldly. He was a stupid, narrow-minded fool, yet even so he was bound by the sacred ties of foster-kin to Viviane, who was her nearest and dearest kinswoman.

"I greet you, sir Balin."

He scowled a little but remembered his manners. He was wearing a frayed and ragged surcoat; clearly he had been travelling long and had not yet had time to dress and refresh himself. "Are you going to mass, lady Morgaine? Have you renounced the fiends of Avalon and left that evil place, and accepted our Lord and Saviour Christ, lady?"

Morgaine found the question an offense, but did not say so. With a careful smile, she said, "I am going to mass to see our kinsman Gareth knighted." As she hoped, it changed Balin's direction.

"Gawaine's little brother. Balan and I knew him less well than the others," he said. "It is hard to think of him as a man-in my mind he is always the little lad who frightened the horses at Arthur's wedding, and came near to having Galahad killed." Morgaine recalled that was Lancelet's real name-no doubt the pious Balin was too proud to use any other. Balin bowed to her and went on into the church; Morgaine, following with Gwenhwyfar, watched him, frowning. There was the light of fanaticism about his face, and she was just as well pleased that Viviane was not here, although both the Lady's sons were here-Lancelet and Balan-and they could certainly prevent any real trouble.

The church had been decorated with flowers, and the people too, in their brilliant holiday dress, looked like massed flowers. Gareth had been dressed in a white linen robe, and Lancelet, in crimson, knelt beside him, beautiful and grave, Morgaine thought, the fair and the dark, the white and the crimson-and then another comparison occurred to her: Gareth happy and innocent, joyous at this initiation, and Lancelet sorrowful and tormented. Yet as he knelt, listening to the priest reading the Pentecost story, he looked calm and altogether unlike the tortured man who had poured out his soul to her.

"... and when the day of Pentecost was done, they were all gathered together in one place; and suddenly out of the sky came the sound of a violent wind, which filled the whole house where they were staying. And there appeared tongues as of fire, which divided and sat on them, one to each. And they all were filled with the Holy Breath, and they began to speak in other languages, as the Spirit gave them to utter. Now there were living in Jerusalem Jews of the strict observance, from every race under the sky; and when this sound happened, the whole multitude came together and were confused, because every one of them heard these men speaking in his own language. And they were as men driven out of their minds, saying to one another, 'Look! Are all these preachers not Galileans? And how are we hearing them, each one of us, in our own native languages? Parthians and Medes and Elamites and men out of Mesopotamia, both Judea and Cappadocia, Asia, both Phrygia and Pamphylia, and visitors from Rome, Jews and Cretans and Arabs; but we all hear them talking in our own languages.' And they were all astounded, asking one another, 'What does this mean?' But others said, mockingly, 'These men have drunk too much of sweet new wine, so early in the day.' Then Peter the Apostle raised his voice and said to them, 'Men of Judea, and all of you, listen to my words; these men are not drunk as you imagine, since it is only the third hour; but it is as the prophet Joel has written; God says, in the last days of the world, I will send out my Spirit into all flesh, and your daughters shall prophesy, and your young men shall see visions and your old men shall dream dreams.' "

Morgaine, kneeling quietly in her place, thought, Why, it was the Sight that came upon them and they did not understand it. Nor had they cared to understand; to them it only proved that their God was greater than other Gods. Now the priest was talking of the last days of the world, how God would pour out his gifts of vision and prophecy, but she wondered if any of these Christians knew how commonplace all these gifts were, after all? Anyone could master these powers when he had demonstrated that he could use them suitably. But that did not include trying to astonish the common people with silly miracles! The Druids used their powers to do good privately, not to collect crowds!

When the faithful approached the rail for their shared bread and wine in commemoration, Morgaine shook her head and stepped back, though Gwenhwyfar tried to draw her forward; she was not a Christian and she would not pretend.

Afterward, outside the church, she watched the ceremony where Lancelet drew his sword and touched Gareth with it, his strong and musical voice clear and solemn. "Arise now, Gareth, Companion of Arthur, and brother now to all of us here, and to every knight of this company. Forget not to defend your king, and to live at peace with all knights of Arthur and all peaceful people everywhere, but remember always to make war against evil and to defend those who are in need of protection."

Morgaine recalled Arthur receiving Excalibur at the hands of the Lady. She glanced at him and wondered if he remembered too, and if this was why he had instituted this solemn pledge and ceremonial, so that the young men made knights in his company might have some such rite to remember. Perhaps this was not, after all, a mockery of the holy Mysteries, but an attempt to preserve them as best he could ... but why must it take place in the church? Would a day come when he would refuse it to any who were not pledged Christian? During the service, Gareth and his cousin and sponsor Lancelet had been first to receive holy communion, even before the King. Was this not putting this order of knighthood into the church as a Christian rite, one of their sacraments? Lancelet had no right to do this; he was not himself qualified to confer the Mysteries on any other. Was this a profanation or an honest attempt to bring the Mysteries into the hearts and souls of all the court? Morgaine did not know.

After the service, there was an interval before the games. Morgaine greeted Gareth and gave him her gift, a fine dyed-leather belt on which he could carry sword and dagger. He bent down to kiss her.

"Ah, you have grown, little one-I doubt if your mother would know you!"

"It happens to all of us, dear cousin," Gareth said, smiling. "I doubt you would know your own son!" Then he was surrounded by the other knights, jostling and crowding to welcome and congratulate him; Arthur clasped his hands and spoke to him in a way that made Gareth's fair skin glow.

Morgaine saw that Gwenhwyfar was watching her sharply. "Morgaine -what was it Gareth said-your son?"

Morgaine said sharply, "If I have never told you, sister-in-law, it is because I respected your religion. I bore a son to the Goddess, from the Beltane rites. He is being fostered at Lot's court; I have not seen him since he was weaned. Are you content, or will you spread my secret everywhere?"

"No," said Gwenhwyfar, turning pale. "What sorrow for you, to be parted from your babe! I am sorry, Morgaine; and I will not tell even Arthur -he is Christian too and he would be shocked."

You do not know how shocked he would be, Morgaine thought grimly. Her heart was pounding. Could Gwenhwyfar be trusted with her secret? There were too many now who knew it!

The trumpet had been blown for the beginning of the games; Arthur had agreed not to take the lists, for no one wanted to attack his king, but one side of the mock battle was to be led by Lancelet as the King's champion and the other fell by lot to Uriens of North Wales, a hearty man well past middle age, but still strong and muscular. At his side was his second son, Accolon. Morgaine noted that as Accolon drew on his gloves his wrists were revealed; around them coiled blue tattooed serpents. He was an initiate of Dragon Island!

Gwenhwyfar had been jesting, no doubt, about marrying her to old Uriens. But Accolon-there was a proper man; perhaps, except for Lancelet, the handsomest young man on the field. Morgaine found herself admiring his skill at arms. Agile and well built, he moved with the natural ease of a man to whom such exercises come readily and who has been handling weapons since boyhood. Sooner or later, Arthur would wish to give her in marriage; if he should offer her to Accolon, would she say no?

After a time her attention began to wander. Most of the other women had long since lost interest and were gossiping about feats of prowess they had heard of; some were playing at dice in their sheltered seats; a few were watching with animation, having wagered ribbons or pins or small coins on their husbands or brothers or sweethearts.

"It is hardly worth wagering," said one discontentedly, "for we all know that Lancelet will win the day-he always does."

"Are you saying he does so unfairly?" Elaine asked with a flare of resentment, and the strange woman said, "By no means. But he should, at these games, stay on the sidelines, since no one can stand against him."

Morgaine laughed. "I have seen young Gareth there, Gawaine's brother, throw him ass-over-head in the dirt," she said, "and he took that in good part, too. But if you want sport, I will wager you a crimson silk ribbon that Accolon wins a prize, even over Lancelet."

"Done," said the woman, and Morgaine rose in her seat. She said, "I have no taste for watching men batter each other for sport-there has been enough of fighting that I am weary even of the sound of it." She nodded to Gwenhwyfar. "Sister, may I go back to the hall and see that all is in order for the feasting?"

Gwenhwyfar nodded permission, and Morgaine slid down at the back of the seats and made her way toward the main courtyard. The great gates were open and guarded only by a few who had no wish to attend the mock battles. Morgaine started toward the castle and never knew what intuition it was that sent her back toward the gates, or why she stood watching a pair of approaching riders who were arriving late for the first festivities. But as they came nearer, her skin began to prickle with foreboding, and then she began to run, as they rode through the gates, and now she was weeping. "Viviane," she cried out, and then stopped, afraid to throw herself into her kinswoman's arms; instead she knelt on the dusty ground and bent her head.

The soft, familiar voice, unchanged, just as she had heard it in dreams, said gently, "Morgaine, my darling child, it is you! How I have longed to meet with you all these years. Come, come, darling, you need not ever kneel to me."

Morgaine raised her face, but she was trembling too hard to rise. Viviane, her face shrouded in grey veils, was bending over her; she put out a hand, and Morgaine kissed it, and then Viviane pulled her close into an embrace. "Darling, it has been so long-" she said, and Morgaine struggled helplessly not to cry.

"I have been so troubled about you," Viviane said, holding tight to Morgaine's hand as they walked toward the entrance. "From time to time I would see you, a little, in the pool-but I am old, I can use the Sight but seldom. Yet I knew you lived, you were not dead in childbirth, nor far over the seas ... I longed to look on your face, little one." Her voice was as tender as if there had never been any quarrel between them, and Morgaine was flooded by the old affection.

"All the people of the court are at the games. Morgause's youngest son was made knight and Companion this morning," she said. "I think I must have known that you were coming-" and then she recalled the moment of the Sight, last night; indeed, she had known. "Why have you come here, Mother?"

"I thought you had heard how Arthur betrayed Avalon," Viviane said. "Kevin has spoken to him in my name, but without avail. So I have come to stand here before his throne and demand justice. In Arthur's name the lesser kings are forbidding the old worship, sacred groves have been despoiled, even on the land where Arthur's queen rules by inheritance, and Arthur has done nothing-"

"Gwenhwyfar is overpious," Morgaine murmured, and felt her lip cruel in disdain; so pious, yet taking her husband's cousin and champion to her bed, with the sanction of that too-pious King! But a priestess of Avalon did not babble the secrets of the bedchamber if they came into her keeping. It seemed that Viviane read her thoughts, for she said, "Nay, Morgaine, but a time might come when some secret knowledge might give me a weapon to force Arthur to his sworn duty. One hold, indeed, I have over him, though for your sake, child, I would not use it before his court. Tell me-" She glanced around. "No, not here. Take me where we may talk together in secret, and let me refresh myself and make myself seemly to stand before Arthur at his great feast."

Morgaine took her to the room she shared with Gwenhwyfar's ladies, who were all at the games; the servants were gone too, so she herself fetched Viviane water for washing, and wine to drink, and helped her to change her dusty, travel-worn clothing.

"I met with your son in Lothian," Viviane said. "Kevin told me." The old pain clutched at her heart-so Viviane had gotten what she wanted of her, after all: a son of the doubled royal lines, for Avalon. "Will you make him a Druid, then, for Avalon?"

"It is too soon to know what stuff he has in him," said Viviane. "Too long, I fear, was he left in Morgause's keeping. But whether or no, he must be reared in Avalon, and loyal to the old Gods, so that if Arthur is false to his oath, we may remind him that there is a son of the Pendragon's blood to take his place-we will have no king turned apostate and tyrant, forcing that god of slaves and sin and shame down the throats of our people! We set him on Uther's throne, we can bring him down if we must, and all the more readily if there is one of the old royal line of Avalon, a son of the Goddess, to take his place. Arthur is a good king, I would be reluctant to make such threats; but if I must, I will-the Goddess orders my actions." Morgaine shuddered; would her child be the instrument of his father's death? She turned her face resolutely from the Sight. "I do not think Arthur will be this false to Avalon."

"The Goddess grant he may not," Viviane said, "but even so, the Christians would not accept a son gotten in that rite. We must keep a place near the throne for Gwydion, so that he may be his father's heir, and one day we will have a king born of Avalon again. The Christians, mark you, Morgaine, would think your son born out of sin; but before the Goddess he is of the purest royalty of all, mother and father born of her lineage- sacred, not evil. And he must come to think himself so, not be contaminated by priests who would tell him his begetting and birth were shameful." She looked Morgaine straight in the eye. "You still think it shameful?"

Morgaine lowered her head. "Always you could read my heart, kinswoman."

"Igraine's is the fault," said Viviane, "and mine, that I left you at Uther's court seven years. The day I knew you priestess-born, I should have had you from there. You are priestess of Avalon, darling child, why came you never back?" She turned, the comb in her hand, her long faded hair falling along her face.

Morgaine whispered, tears forcing themselves through the barrier of her tight eyes, "I cannot. I cannot, Viviane. I tried-I could not find the way." And all the humiliation and shame of that washed over her, and she wept.

Viviane put down the comb and caught Morgaine to her breast, holding her, rocking and soothing her like a child. "Darling, my own darling girl, do not cry, do not cry ... if I had known, child, I would have come to you. Don't cry now-I shall myself take you back, we will go together when I have given Arthur my message. I will take you with me and go, before he gets it into his head to marry you off to some braying Christian ass ... yes, yes, child, you shall come back to Avalon ... we will go together ... ." She wiped Morgaine's wet face on her own veil. "Come, now, help me to dress myself to stand before my kinsman the High King-"

Morgaine drew a deep breath. "Yes, let me braid your hair, Mother." She tried to laugh. "This morning I did the Queen's hair."

Viviane held her away and said, in great anger, "Has Arthur put you, priestess of Avalon and princess in your own right, to waiting hand and foot on his queen?"

"No, no," said Morgaine quickly, "I am honored as high as the Queen herself-I dressed Gwenhwyfar's hair this day out of friendship; she is as likely to do mine, or to lace my gown, as sisters do."

Viviane sighed with relief. "I would not have you dishonored. You are the mother of Arthur's son. He must learn to honor you as such, and so must the daughter of Leodegranz-"

"No!" Morgaine cried. "No, I beg of you-Arthur must not know, not before the whole court-listen to me, Mother," she pleaded, "all these folk are Christian. Would you have me shamed before them all?"

Viviane said implacably, "They must learn not to think shame of holy things!"

"But the Christians have power over all this land," Morgaine said, "and you cannot change their thinking with a few words-" And in her heart she wondered, had advancing age driven Viviane out of her wits? There was no way simply to proclaim that the old laws of Avalon should be set up again and two hundred years of Christianity be overthrown. The priests would drive her out of the court as a madwoman and go on as before. Viviane must know enough of practical ruling to know this! And indeed, Viviane nodded and said, "You are right, we must work slowly. But Arthur at least must be reminded of his promise to protect Avalon, and I will speak to him in secret, one day, about the child. We cannot proclaim it aloud among the ignorant."

Then Morgaine helped Viviane to arrange her hair and to dress herself in the stately robes of a priestess of Avalon, dressed for high ceremonial. And it was not long before they heard sounds telling them that the mock games were over. No doubt the prizes would be given indoors this time, at the feast; she wondered if Lancelet had won them all again in honor of his king. Or, she thought sourly, his queen? And could one call that honor?

They turned to leave the chamber, and as they left the room, Viviane touched her hand gently. "You will return to Avalon with me, will you not, dear child?"

"If Arthur will let me go ... "

"Morgaine, you are a priestess of Avalon, and you need not ask leave, even of the High King, to come and go as it pleases you. A High King is a leader in battle-he does not own the lives of his subjects, or even of his subject kings, as if he were one of those Eastern tyrants who thinks the world is his and the life of every man and woman in it. I will tell him I have need of you in Avalon and we will see what he answers to that."

Morgaine felt herself choking with unshed tears. Oh, to return to Avalon, to go home ... but even as she held Viviane's hand she could not believe she was truly to go there after this day. Later she was to say, I knew, I knew, and recognize the despair and foreboding that struck her at the words, but at the moment she was certain it was only her own fear, the sense that she was not worthy of what she had cast away.

Then they went down into Arthur's great hall for the Pentecost feasting.

It was Camelot, Morgaine thought, as she had never seen it before, and perhaps would never see it again. The great Round Table, Leodegranz's wedding gift, was now set in a hall worthy of its majesty; the halls had been hung with silks and banners, and a trick of the arrangement made it so that all eyes were drawn to where Arthur sat, at the high seat at the far end of the hall. For this day he had brought Gareth to sit beside him and his queen, and all the knights and Companions were ringed together, the Companions in fine clothing, their weapons gleaming, the ladies garbed brightly as flowers. One after another, the petty kings came, knelt before Arthur and brought him gifts; Morgaine watched Arthur's face, grave, solemn, gentle. She looked sidewise at Viviane-surely she must see that Arthur had grown into a good king, not one to be lightly judged, even by Avalon or the Druids. But who was she to weigh causes between Arthur and Avalon? She felt the old tremor of disquiet, as in the old days at Avalon when she was being taught to open her mind to the Sight that would use her as its instrument, and found herself wishing, without understanding why, Would that Viviane were a hundred leagues from here!

She looked around the Companions-Gawaine, sandy and bulldog-strong, smiling at his newly knighted brother; Gareth, shining somehow like new-minted gold. Lancelet looked dark and beautiful, and as if his thoughts were somewhere at the other end of the world. Pellinore, greying and gentle, his daughter, Elaine, waiting on him.

And now one came to Arthur's throne who was not one of the Companions. Morgaine had not seen him before, but she saw that Gwenhwyfar recognized him and shrank away.

"I am the only living son of King Leodegranz," he said, "and brother to your queen, Arthur. I demand that you recognize my claim to the Summer Country."

Arthur said mildly, "You do not make demands in this court, Meleagrant. I will consider your request and take counsel of my queen, and it may be that I will consent to name you her regent. But I cannot deliver you judgment now."

"Then it may be I shall not wait for your judgment!" shouted Meleagrant. He was a big man, who had come to the feast wearing not only sword and dagger, but a great bronze battle-axe; he was dressed in ill-tanned furs and skins, and looked savage and grim as any Saxon bandit. His two men-at-arms looked even more ruffianly than he did himself. "I am the only surviving son of Leodegranz."

Gwenhwyfar leaned forward and whispered to Arthur. The King said, "My lady tells me that her father always denied he had begotten you. Rest assured, we shall have this matter looked into, and if your claim is good we will allow it. For the moment, sir Meleagrant, I ask you to trust to my justice, and join me in feasting. We will take this up with our councillors and do you such justice as we can."

"Feasting be damned!" said Meleagrant angrily. "I came not here to eat comfits and look at ladies and watch grown men making sport like boys! I tell you, Arthur, I am king of that country, and if you dare dispute my claim it will be the worse for you-and for your lady!"

He laid his hand on the hilt of his great battle-axe, but Cai and Gareth were immediately there, pinioning his arms behind him.

"No steel's to be drawn in die King's hall," said Cai roughly, while Gareth twisted the axe out of his hand and set it at the foot of Arthur's chair. "Go to your seat, man, and eat your meat. We'll have order at the Round Table, and when our king has said he'll do you justice, you'll wait on his good pleasure!"

They spun him roughly round, but Meleagrant struggled free of their hands and said, "To hell with your feast and to hell with your justice, then! And to hell with your Round Table and all your Companions!" He left the axe and turned his back, stamping down all the length of the hall. Cai took a step after him, and Gawaine half rose, but Arthur motioned him to sit down again.

"Let him go," he said. "We will deal with him at the proper time. Lancelet, as my lady's champion, it may well fall to you to deal with that usurping churl."

"It will be my pleasure, my king," said Lancelet, starting up as if he had been half asleep, but Morgaine suspected he had not the slightest idea what he had agreed to. The heralds at the door were still proclaiming that all men should draw near for the King's justice; there was a brief, comical interlude, when a farmer came in and told how he and his neighbor had quarreled over a small windmill on the borders of their property.

"And we couldn't agree, sir," he said, twisting his rough woolen hat between his hands, "so him and me, we made it out that the King had made all this country safe to have a windmill in, and so I said I'd come here, sir, and see what you say and we'd listen to it."

Amid good-natured laughter, the matter was settled; but Morgaine noticed that Arthur alone did not laugh, but listened seriously, gave judgment, and when the man had thanked him and gone away, with many bows and thanks, only then did he let his face break into a smile. "Cai, see that they give the fellow something to eat in the kitchens before he goes home, he had a long walk here." He sighed. "Who is next to ask justice? God grant it be something fitter my solving-will they come next to ask my advice in horse breeding, or something of that sort?"

"It shows what they think of their king, Arthur," said Taliesin. "But you should make it known that they should go to their local lord, and see that your subjects are also responsible for justice in your name." He raised his head to see the next petitioner. "But this may be more worthy of the King's attention after all, for it is a woman, and, I doubt not, in some trouble."

Arthur motioned her forward: a young woman, self-assured, haughty, reared to courtly ways. She had no attendant except for a small and ugly dwarf, no taller than three feet, but with broad shoulders and well muscled, carrying a short and powerful axe.

She bowed to the King and told her story. She served a lady who had been left, as had so many others after the years of war, alone in the world; her estate was northward, near to the old Roman wall which stretched mile after mile, with ruined forts and mile-castles, mostly now decrepit and falling down. But a gang of five brothers, ruffians all, had refortified five of the castles and were laying the whole countryside to waste. And now one of them, who had a fancy to call himself the Red Knight of Red Lands, was laying siege to her lady; and his brothers were worse than he was.

"Red Knight, hah!" said Gawaine. "I know that gentleman. I fought with him when I came southward from my last visit to Lot's country, and I barely got away with my life. Arthur, it might be well to send an army to clean out those fellows-there's no law in that part of the world."

Arthur frowned and nodded, but young Gareth rose from his seat.

"My lord Arthur, that is on the fringes of my father's country. You promised me a quest-keep the promise, my king, and send me to help this lady defend her countryside against these evil fellows!"

The young woman looked at Gareth, his shining beardless face and the white silk robe he had put on for his knighting, and she broke into laughter. "You? Why, you're a child. I didn't know the great High King was taking overgrown children to serve at his table!" Gareth blushed like a child. He had indeed handed Arthur's cup to the King-it was a service young well-born boys, fostered at court, all performed at high feasts. Gareth had not yet remembered it was no longer his duty, and Arthur, who liked the boy, had not reproved him.

The woman drew herself up. "My lord and king, I came to ask for one or more of your great knights with a reputation in battle which would daunt this Red Knight-Gawaine, or Lancelet, or Balin, one of those who is known as a great fighter against the Saxons. Are you going to let your very kitchen boys mock me, sire?"

Arthur said, "My Companion Gareth is no kitchen boy, madam. He is brother to sir Gawaine, and he promises to be as good a knight as his brother, or better. I did indeed promise him the first quest that I could honorably give him, and I will send him with you. Gareth," he said gently, "I charge you to ride with this lady, to guard her against the dangers of the road, and when you come to her country, to help her lady to organize her country in defense against these villains. If you need help, you may send me a messenger, but no doubt she has fighting men enough-they need only someone with knowledge and skill at strategy, and this you have learned from Cai and Gawaine. Madam, I give you a good man to help you." She did not quite dare to answer the King, but she scowled at Gareth fiercely. He said formally, "Thank you, my lord Arthur. I will put the fear of God into these rascals who are troubling the countryside there." He bowed to Arthur and turned to the lady, but she had turned her back and stormed out of the hall.

Lancelet said in a low voice, "He is young for all that, sir. Shouldn't you send Balan, or Balin, or someone more experienced?"

Arthur shook his head. "I truly think Gareth can do it, and I prefer that no one of my Companions is favored over another-it should be enough for the lady to know that one of them is coming to help her people."

Arthur leaned back and signalled to Cai to serve his plate. "Giving justice is hungry work. Are there no more petitioners?"

"There is one, my lord Arthur," said Viviane quietly, and rose from her place among the Queen's ladies. Morgaine began to rise and attend her, but Viviane gestured her back. She looked taller than she was, because she held herself so straight. And part of it was glamour, the glamour of Avalon ... her hair, all white, was braided high on her head; at her side hung the little sickle-shaped knife, the knife of a priestess, and on her brow blazed the mark of the Goddess, the shining crescent moon.

Arthur looked at her for a moment, in surprise, then recognized her and gestured her to come forward.

"Lady of Avalon, it is long since you honored this court with your presence. Come sit beside me, kinswoman, and tell me how I may best serve you."

"By showing honor to Avalon, as you are sworn to do," said Viviane. Her voice was very clear and low, but, the trained voice of a priestess, it could be heard to the farthest comers of the hall. "My king, I bid you look now on that sword you bear, and think on those who laid it in your hand, and what you swore-"

In later years when all that had befallen that day was talked of far and wide, no two of the hundreds in that hall could agree on what had happened first. Morgaine saw Balin rise in his place and rush forward, she saw a hand snatch up the great axe Meleagrant had left leaning against the throne, then there was a scuffle and a cry, and she heard her own scream as the great axe came whirling down. But she did not see the blow, only Viviane's white hair suddenly red with blood as she crumpled and fell without even a cry.

Then the hall was full of shouts and screams; Lancelet and Gawaine had Balin, struggling in their grasp; Morgaine had her own dagger in her hand and rushed forward, but Kevin gripped at her hard, his twisted fingers clutching at her wrist.

"Morgaine. Morgaine, no, it is too late-" he said, and his voice was roughened with sobs. "Ceridwen! Mother Goddess-! No, no, look not on her now, Morgaine-"

He tried to turn her away, but Morgaine stood frozen, as if turned to stone, listening to Balin howling obscenities at the top of his voice.

Cai said abruptly, "Look to the lord Taliesin!" The old man had slithered down fainting in his seat. Cai bent and steadied him, then, murmuring a word of apology to Arthur, seized the King's own cup and poured the wine down the old man's throat. Kevin let Morgaine go and stumbled awkwardly to the side of the ancient Druid, bending over him. Morgaine thought, I should go to him, but it was as if her feet were frozen to the floor, she could not take a single step. She stared at the fainting old man so that she need not look back at that horrible red-stained pool on the floor, soaking through robes and hair and long cloak. In that last instant Viviane had seized her own small sickle knife. Her hand lay on it now, stained with her own blood-there was so much blood, so much. Her skull-her skull had been cloven in half, and there was blood, blood on the throne poured out like an animal for sacrifice, here at the foot of Arthur's throne ... .

Arthur finally found his voice. "You wretched man," he said hoarsely, "what have you done? This is murder, cold murder before the very throne of your king ... ."

"Murder, you say?" Balin said in his thick, harsh voice. "Yes, she was the most foul murderess in this kingdom, she deserved death twice over- I have rid your kingdom of a wicked and evil sorceress, my king!"

Arthur looked more angry than grieved. "The Lady of the Lake was my friend and my benefactor! How dare you speak so of my kinswoman, she who helped to set me on my throne?"

"I call the lord Lancelet himself to witness if she did not compass the death of my mother," Balin said, "a good and pious Christian woman, Priscilla by name, and foster-mother to your own brother Balan! And she murdered my mother, I tell you she murdered her by her evil sorceries-" His face worked; the big man was weeping like a child. "She murdered my mother, I tell you, and I have avenged her as a knight should do!"

Lancelet closed his eyes in horror, his face contorted, but he did not weep. "My lord Arthur, this man's life belongs to me! Let me here take vengeance for my mother-"

"And my mother's sister," said Gawaine.

"And mine-" Gaheris added.

Morgaine's frozen trance broke. She cried, "No, Arthur! Let me have him! He has murdered the Lady before your throne, let a woman of Avalon avenge the blood of Avalon-look yonder how the lord Taliesin lies stricken, it is like that he has murdered our grandsire too-"

"Sister, sister-" Arthur held out his hand to Morgaine. "No, no, sister -no, give me your dagger-"

Morgaine stood shaking her head, her dagger still in her hand. Taliesin suddenly rose to take it from her with his own trembling old fingers. "No, Morgaine. No more bloodshed here-the Goddess knows, it is enough- her blood has been spilled as sacrifice to Avalon in this hall-"

"Sacrificed! Yes, sacrificed to God, as God shall strike down all these evil sorceresses and their Gods!" cried Balin in a frenzy. "Let me have that one too, my lord Arthur, purge this court of all their evil wizard line-" He struggled so violently that Lancelet and Gawaine could hardly hold him and signalled to Cai, who came and helped them cast Balin down, struggling still, before the throne.

"Quiet!" Lancelet said, jerking his head around. "I warn you, one hand laid on the Merlin or Morgaine, and I'll have your head whatever Arthur may say-yes, my lord Arthur, and die at your hands for it afterward if you will have it so!" His face was drawn with anguish and despair.

"My lord King," Balin howled, "I beg you, let me strike down all these wizards and sorcerers in the name of the Christ who hates them all-"

Lancelet struck Balin heavily across the mouth; the man gasped and was silent, blood streaming from a broken lip.

"By your leave, my lord." Lancelet unfastened his rich cloak and gently covered the ghastly, drained corpse of his mother.

Arthur seemed to breathe easier now that the corpse was out of sight. Only Morgaine went on staring wide-eyed at the lifeless huddle now covered with the crimson cloak Lancelet had worn for the holiday.

Blood. Blood on the foot of the King's throne. Blood, poured out on the hearth ... Somewhere it seemed to Morgaine that she could hear Raven shrieking.

Arthur said quietly, "Look to the lady Morgaine, she will faint," and Morgaine felt hands gently helping her into a seat and someone holding a cup to her lips. She started to push it away, and then it seemed she heard Viviane's voice saying, Drink it. A priestess must keep her strength and will. Obediently she drank, hearing Arthur's voice, stern and solemn.

"Balin, whatever your reasons-no, no more, I heard what you said -not a word-you are either a madman, or a cold-blooded murderer. Whatever you may say, you have slain my kinswoman and drawn steel before your High King at Pentecost. Still, I will not have you murdered where you stand-Lancelet, put up your sword."

Lancelet slid his sword back into its scabbard. "I will do your will, my lord. But if you do not punish this murder, then I beg leave to depart from your court."

"Oh, I will punish it." Arthur's face was grim. "Balin, are you sane enough to listen to me? Then this is your doom: I banish you forever from this court. Let this lady's body be made ready and put on a horse bier, and I charge you to take it to Glastonbury, and tell all your tale to the Archbishop and do such penance as he shall lay on you. You spoke but now of God and Christ, but no Christian king allows private vengeance to be taken by the sword before his throne of justice. Do you hear what I say, Balin, once my knight and Companion?"

Balin bent his head. His nose had been broken by Lancelet's blow; his mouth was streaming blood, and he spoke thickly through a broken tooth. "I hear you, my lord King. I will go." He sat with his head bowed.

Arthur gestured to the servants. "I beg you, bring someone to remove her poor body-"

Morgaine broke away from the hands that held her and knelt beside Viviane. "My lord, I beg you, allow me to ready her for burial-" and struggled to hold back the tears she dared not shed. This was not Viviane, this broken dead thing, the hand like a shrunken claw still clutching the sickle dagger of Avalon. She took up the dagger, kissed it, and slid it into her own belt. This, and only this, would she keep.

Great merciful Mother, I knew we could never go together to Avalon ... .

She would not weep. She felt Lancelet close beside her. He muttered, "God's mercy Balan is not here-to lose mother and foster-brother in one moment of madness-but if Balan had been here it might not have happened! Is there any God or any mercy?"

Her heart ached for Lancelet's anguish. He had feared and hated his mother, but he had worshipped her, too, as the very face of the Goddess. A part of her wanted to pull Lancelet into her arms, comfort him, let him weep; yet there was rage too. He had defied his mother, how dared he grieve for her now?

Taliesin was kneeling beside them, and he said, in his broken old voice, "Let me help you, children. It is my right-" and they moved aside as he bowed his head to murmur an ancient prayer of passage.

Arthur rose in his place. "There will be no more feasting this day. We have had too much tragedy for a feast. Those of you who are hungry, finish your meal and go quietly." He came slowly down to where the body lay. His hand rested gently on Morgaine's shoulder; she felt it there, through her numb misery. She could hear the other guests quietly leaving the hall, one after another, and through the rustle she heard, softly, the sound of a harp; only one pair of hands in Britain played such a harp. And at last she melted and tears streamed from her eyes as Kevin's harp played the dirge for the Lady, and to that sound, Viviane, priestess of Avalon, was slowly borne from the great hall of Camelot. Morgaine, walking beside the bier, looked back only once at the great hall and the Round Table, and the solitary, bowed figure of Arthur, standing alone beside the harper. And through all her grief and despair, she thought, Viviane never gave to Arthur the message of Avalon. This is the hall of a Christian king, and now there is no one who will say otherwise. How Gwenhwyfar would rejoice if she knew.

His hands were outstretched; she did not know, perhaps he was praying. She saw the serpents tattooed about his wrists and thought of the young stag and the new-made king who had come to her with the blood of the King Stag on his hands and face, and for a moment it seemed to her that she could hear the mocking voice of the fairy queen. And then there was no sound but the anguished lamenting of Kevin's harp and Lancelet weeping at her side as they bore Viviane forth to rest.

MORGAINE SPEAKS ...

I followed the body of Viviane from the great hall of the Round Table, weeping for only the second time that I could remember.

And yet later that night I quarrelled with Kevin.

Working with the Queen's women, I prepared Viviane 3 body for burial. Gwenhwyfar sent her women, and she sent linen and spices and a velvet pall, but she did not come herself. That was just as well. A priestess of Avalon should be laid to rest by attendant priestesses. I longed for my sisters from the House of Maidens; but at least no Christian hands should touch her. When I was done, Kevin came to watch by the body.

"I have sent Taliesin to rest. I have that authority now, as the Merlin of Britain; he is very old and very feeble-it is a miracle that his heart did not fail this day. I fear he will not long outlive her. Balin is quiet now," he added. "I think perhaps he knows what he did-but it is sure that it was done in a fit of madness. He is ready to ride with her body to Glastonbury, and serve such penance as the Archbishop shall decree."

I stared at him in outrage. "And you will have it so? That she shall fall into the hands of the church? I care not what happens to that murderer," I said, "but Viviane must be taken to Avalon." I swallowed hard so that I would not weep again. We should have ridden together to Avalon ... .

"Arthur has decreed," said Kevin quietly, "that she shall be buried before the church at Glastonbury, where all can see."

I shook my head, unbelieving. Were all men mad this day? "Viviane must lie in Avalon," I said, "where all the priestesses of the Mother have been buried since time began. And she was Lady of the Lake!"

"She was also Arthur's friend and benefactor," said Kevin, "and he will have it that her tomb shall be made a place of pilgrimage." He put out his hand that I should not speak. "No, hear me, Morgaine-there is reason in what he says. Never has there been so grave a crime in Arthur's reign. He cannot hide away her burial place out of sight and out of mind. She must be buried where all men may know of the King's justice, and the justice of the church."

"And you will allow this!"

"Morgaine, my dearest," he said gently, "it is not for me to allow or to refuse. Arthur is the High King, and it is his will that is done in this realm."

"And Taliesin holds his peace? Or is this why you have sent him to his rest, so that he might be out of the way while you do this blasphemy with the King's connivance? Will you have Viviane buried with Christian burial and Christian rites, she who was Lady of the Lake-buried by these folk who imprison their God within stone walls? Viviane chose me after her to be Lady of the Lake, and I forbid it, I forbid it, do you hear me?"

Kevin said quietly, "Morgaine. No, listen to me, my dear. Viviane died without naming her successor-"

"You were there that day she said she had chosen me-"

"But you were not in Avalon when she died, and you have renounced that place," Kevin said, and his words fell on my head like cold rain, so that I shivered. He stared at the bier and Viviane's body which lay covered there; nothing I could do could make that face fit to be seen in death. "Viviane died with no successor named to her place, and so it falls to me, as the Merlin of Britain, to declare what will be done. And if this is Arthur's will, only the Lady of the Lake-and, forgive me, my dear, that I say it, but there is now no Lady in Avalon-could speak out against what I say. I can see that the King has reason for what he wishes. Viviane spent all her life to bring about a peaceful rule of law in this land. ..."

"She came to reprove Arthur that he had forsaken Avalon!" I cried in despair. "She died with her mission unfinished, and now you would have it that she should lie in Christian ground within the sound of church bells, so that they should triumph over her in death as in life?"

"Morgaine, Morgaine, my poor girl!" Kevin held out his hands to me, the misshapen hands which had so often caressed me. "I loved her too, believe me! But she is dead. She was a great woman, she spent her life for this land-do you think it matters to her where her empty shell shall lie? She has gone to whatever awaits her beyond death, and, knowing her, I know that it can only be good that awaits her. Do you think she would grudge it, that her body should lie where it can best serve those purposes she spent her life to accomplish-that the King's justice should triumph over all the evil in this land?"

His rich, caressing, musical voice was so eloquent that I hesitated for a moment. Viviane was gone; it was only those same Christians who made much of consecrated or unconsecrated ground, as if all the earth which is the breast of the Mother was not holy. I wanted to fall into his arms and weep there for the only mother I had ever known, for the wreck of my own hopes that I might return to Avalon at her side, weep for all I had cast away and the breaking of my own life ... .

But what he said then made me start away in horror.

"Viviane was old," he said, "and she had dwelt in Avalon, sheltered from the real world. I have had to live, with Arthur, in the world where battles are won and real decisions made. Morgaine, my dearest, listen to me. It is too late to demand that Arthur keep his pledge to Avalon in that same form he gave it. Time passes, the sound of church bells covers this land, and the people are content to have it so. Who are we to say that this is not the will of the Gods that lie behind the Gods? Whether we wish it or no, my dearest love, this is a Christian land, and we who honor Viviane's memory will do her no good by making it known to all men that she came hither to make impossible demands of the King."

"Impossible demands?" I wrenched my hands away. "How dare you?"

"Morgaine, listen to reason-"

"Not reason but treason! If Taliesin heard this-"

"I speak as I have heard Taliesin himself speak," he said gently. "Viviane did not live in order to undo what she has done, to create a land at peace-whether it is called Christian or Druid does not matter; the will of the Goddess will be done over all, whatever name men may call her. Who are you to say that it was not the will of the Goddess that Viviane was struck down before she could spread strife again in a land that has come to peace and successful compromise? I tell you, it shall not be torn again by strife, and if Viviane had not been struck down by Balin, I would myself have spoken against what she asked--and I think Taliesin would have said as much."

"How dare you speak for Taliesin?"

"Taliesin himself named me the Merlin of Britain," said Kevin, "and he must therefore have trusted me to act for him when he could not speak for himself."

"Next you will say you have become a Christian! Why wear you not beads and a crucifix?"

He said, in such a gentle voice that I could have wept, "Do you truly think it would make such a great difference, Morgaine, if I did so?"

I knelt before him, as I had done a year ago, pressed his broken hand to my breast. "Kevin, I have loved you. For that I beg you-be faithful now to Avalon and to Viviane's memory! Come with me now, tonight. Do not this travesty, but accompany me to Avalon, where the Lady of the Lake shall lie with the other priestesses of the Goddess. ..."

He bent over me; I could feel the anguished tenderness in his misshapen hands. "Morgaine, I cannot. My dearest, will you not be calm and listen to the voice of reason in what I am saying?"

I stood up, flinging off his weak grip, and raising my arms, summoned the power of the Goddess. I heard my voice thrumming with the power of a priestess. "Kevin! In her name who came to you, in the name of the manhood she has given you, I lay obedience on you! Your allegiance is not to Arthur nor to Britain, but only to the Goddess and to your vows! Come now, leave this place! Come with me to Avalon, bearing her body!"

I could see in the shadows the very glow of the Goddess around me; for a moment Kevin knelt shuddering, and I know that in another moment he would have obeyed. And then, I know not what happened-perhaps it crossed my mind, No, I am not worthy, I have no right ... I have forsaken Avalon, I cast it away, by what right then do I command the Merlin of Britain? The spell broke; Kevin made a harsh, abrupt gesture, awkwardly rising to his feet.

"Woman, you do not command me! You who have renounced Avalon, by what right do you presume to give orders to the Merlin? Rather should you kneel before me!" He thrust me away with both hands. "Tempt me no more!"

He turned his back and limped away, the shadows making wavering misshapen movements on the wall as he moved from the room; I watched him go, too stricken even to weep.

And four days later Viviane was buried, with all the rites of the church, on the Holy Isle in Glastonbury. But I did not go thither.

Never, I swore, should I step foot upon that Isle of the Priests.

Arthur mourned her sincerely, and built for her a great tomb and a cairn, swearing that one day he and Gwenhwyfar should lie there at her side.

As for Balin, the Archbishop Patricius laid it upon him that he should make a pilgrimage to Rome and the Holy Lands; but before he could go into exile, Balan heard the tale from Lancelet and hunted him down, and the foster-brothers fought, one with another, and Balin was killed at once with a single stroke; but Balan took cold in his wounds and did not survive him a whole day. So Viviane-so they said when a song was made of it-was avenged; but what of that, when she lay in a Christian tomb?

And I... I did not even know whom they had chosen as Lady of the Lake in her place, for I could not return to Avalon.

... I was not worthy of Lancelet, I was not worthy even of Kevin ... I could not tempt him to do his true duty to Avalon ... .

... I should have gone to Taliesin and begged him, even on my knees, to take me back to Avalon, that I might atone for all my faults and return again to the shrine of the Goddess ... .

But before the summer was ended, Taliesin was gone too; I think he never knew for certain that Viviane was dead, because even after she was buried, he spoke as if she would come soon and return with him to Avalon; and he spoke of my mother, too, as if she lived and was a little girl in the House of Maidens. And at summer's end he died peacefully and was buried at Camelot, and even the bishop mourned him as a wise and learned man.

And in the winter after that, we heard that Meleagrant had set himself up to rule as king in the Summer Country. But when spring came, Arthur was away on a mission to the South, and Lancelet too had ridden out to see to the King's castle at Caerleon, when Meleagrant sent a messenger under a flag of truce, begging that his sister Gwenhwyfar should come and speak with him about the rule of that country over which they both had a claim.

4

"I would feel safer, and I think my lord the king would like it better, if Lancelet were here to ride with you," Cai said soberly. "At Pentecost yonder fellow would have drawn steel in this hall before his king, and he would not await the King's justice. Brother of yours or no, I like it not that you ride alone with only your lady and your chamberlain."

"He is not my brother," Gwenhwyfar said. "His mother was the king's mistress for a time, but he put her away because he found her with another man. She claimed, and perhaps told her son, that Leodegranz was his father. The king never acknowledged it. If he were an honorable man, and such as my lord would trust, perhaps he could be regent for me as well as any other. But I will not allow him to profit by such a lie."

"Will you trust yourself then in his hands, Gwenhwyfar?" asked Morgaine quietly.

Gwenhwyfar looked at Cai and Morgaine, shaking her head. Why did Morgaine look so calm and unafraid? Was Morgaine never afraid of anything, never touched by any emotion behind that cool, unreadable face? Rationally she knew that Morgaine, like all mortal flesh, must sometimes suffer from pain, fear, grief, anger-yet only twice had she actually seen emotion in Morgaine, and that long ago; once when Morgaine had fallen into trance and dreamed of blood on the hearth-then she had cried out in fear-and once when Viviane was slain here before her eyes and she had sunk down fainting.

Gwenhwyfar said, "I trust him not at all, except to be the greedy impostor he is. But think, Morgaine. All his claim is based upon the fact that he is my brother. Should he offer me the slightest insult, or treat me as anything less than his honored sister, his claim is proved a lie. So he dares do nothing else than welcome me as his honored sister and queen, do you see?"

Morgaine shrugged. "I would not trust him even so far as that."

"No doubt, like the Merlin, you have sorcery to give you knowledge of what may come if I do."

Morgaine said indifferently, "It needs no sorcery to know that a villain is a villain, and no supernatural wisdom that bids me not let the nearest rogue hold my wallet for me."

Whatever Morgaine said, Gwenhwyfar always felt compelled to do precisely other; always she felt that Morgaine thought her a fool without the wit to lace her own shoes. Did Morgaine think that she, Gwenhwyfar, could not settle a matter of state when Arthur was absent? Yet she had hardly been able to face Morgaine since that ill-starred Beltane a year ago when she had begged her sister-in-law for a charm against her barrenness. Morgaine had told her that charms often work as you would not have them work ... now whenever she looked on Morgaine, she thought her sister-in-law must be remembering it, too.

God punishes me; perhaps for meddling with sorcery, perhaps for that wicked night. And as always when she allowed the faintest memory of that time to come into her mind, she felt her whole body flushing with mingled delight and shame. Ah, it was easy to say they had all three been drunken, or to excuse herself that what was done that night was done with Arthur's consent, indeed, at his urging. Still it was grievous sin, adultery.

And since that night she had hungered for Lancelet, night and day; yet they had hardly been able to face each other. She could not look him in the eyes. Did he hate her as a shameful, adulterous woman? He must despise her. Yet she longed for him with terrible despair.

After that Pentecost, Lancelet had hardly been at court. She had never thought he had cared so much for his mother, nor yet for his brother Balan, yet he had mourned them both deeply. He had been away from court all this time.

"I wish," said Cai, "that Lancelet were here. Who should accompany the Queen on a mission of this sort, except that knight Arthur has named as his queen's champion and protector?"

"If Lancelet were here," said Morgaine, "many of our troubles would be over, for he would settle Meleagrant with a few words. But there is no good talking of what cannot be. Gwenhwyfar, shall I ride with you and protect you?"

"In God's name," said Gwenhwyfar, "I am not a child who cannot stir forth without a nurse! I will take my chamberlain, sir Lucan, and I will take Bracca to dress my hair and lace my gown if I am there for more than a night, and to sleep at the foot of my bed; what do I need more than that?"

"Still, Gwenhwyfar, you must have an escort fitting your rank. There are still some of Arthur's Companions here at court."

"I will take Ectorius," said Gwenhwyfar. "He is Arthur's foster-father, and nobly born, and a veteran of many of Arthur's wars."

Morgaine shook her head impatiently. "Old Ectorius, and Lucan who lost an arm at Mount Badon-why do you not take Cai and the Merlin with you as well, so that you may have all the old and the lame? You should have an escort of good fighting men who can protect you, Gwenhwyfar, in case it is in this man's mind to hold the Queen to ransom, or worse."

Gwenhwyfar repeated patiently, "If he does not treat me as his sister, then his claim is worthless. And what man would offer any threat to his sister?"

"I do not know if Meleagrant is so good a Christian as all that," Morgaine said, "but if you are not afraid of him, Gwenhwyfar, you know him better than I do. No doubt you can find an escort of old bumbling veterans to ride with you-so be it. You might offer to wed him to your kinswoman Elaine, to make his claim of kinship even more valid, and set him as regent in your place-"

Gwenhwyfar shuddered, remembering the great coarse man dressed in ill-tanned skins and furs. "Elaine is a gently reared lady; I would not give her to such a one," she said. "I will talk with him-if he seems to me an honest fighting man and such a one as will keep the peace in this kingdom, then if he will swear loyalty to my lord Arthur, he may reign upon the island-I like not all of Arthur's Companions either, but a man may be an honest king without being a good one to sit with ladies and talk in hall."

"I marvel to hear you say so," said Morgaine. "To hear you sing my kinsman Lancelet's praises, I thought you believed no man could be a good knight unless he were handsome and full of this kind of courtly matters."

Gwenhwyfar would not quarrel again with Morgaine. "Come, sister, I love Gawaine well, yet he is a rough Northman who trips over his own feet and has hardly a word to say to any woman. For all I know, Meleagrant too may be such a jewel in the wrappings of a knucklebone, and that is why I go thither-to judge for myself."

So the next morning Gwenhwyfar set forth, with her escort of six knights, Ectorius, the veteran Lucan, her waiting-woman, and a nine-year-old page boy. She had not visited her childhood home since that day she left it with Igraine, to be married to Arthur. It was not far: a few leagues down the hill, and to the shores of the lake, which at this season was drying up into boggy marshes, with cattle grazing in the summer fields and lush grasses filled with buttercup and dandelion and primrose. At the shore two boats were waiting, hung with her father's banners. This was arrogance, that Meleagrant should bear these unpermitted, but after all, it was possible that the man genuinely believed himself Leodegranz's heir. It might even be true; perhaps her father had lied about it.

She had landed at these very shores, bound for Caerleon, so many years ago ... how young she had been, and how innocent! Lancelet had been at her side, but fate had given her to Arthur-God knows, she had tried to be a good wife to him, though God had denied her children. And then despair washed over her again as she looked at the waiting boats. She might give her husband three or five or seven sons, and a year might come of plague, or smallpox, or the throat fever, and all her sons would be gone ... such things had happened. Her own mother had borne four sons, yet none of them had lived to be as much as five years old, and Alienor's son had died with her. Morgaine ... Morgaine had borne a son to their evil God of witches, and for all she knew, that son lived and thrived, while she, a faithful Christian wife, could not bear any child, and now she might soon be too old.

Meleagrant himself was at the landing, bowing, welcoming her as his honored sister, gesturing her toward his own boat, the smaller of the two. Gwenhwyfar never knew even afterward how it had happened that she was separated from all of her escort except for the little page. "My lady's servants may go in the other boat, I myself will be your escort here," said Meleagrant, taking her arm with an overfamiliarity she did not like; but after all, she must bear herself with diplomacy and not anger him. At the last moment, with a momentary sense of panic, she gestured to sir Ec-torius.

"I will have my chamberlain with me, as well," she insisted, and Meleagrant smiled, his great coarse face reddening.

"As my sister and queen desires," he said, and let Ectorius and Lucan step on to the smaller boat with her. He fussed about spreading a rug for her to sit on, and the oarsmen pulled out into the lake. It was shallow, grown heavily with weeds; in some seasons it was dry here. And suddenly, as Meleagrant seated himself beside her, Gwenhwyfar was seized with an attack of the old terror; her stomach heaved, and for a moment she thought she would vomit. She clung to the seat with both hands. Meleagrant was too near her; she moved as far away as the dimensions of the seat would allow. She would have felt more comfortable if Ectorius had been near; his presence was serene and fatherly. She noted the great axe Meleagrant wore through his belt-it was like the one he had left near the throne, the one Balin had seized to murder Viviane ... . Meleagrant said, leaning so close that his heavy breath sickened her, "Is my sister faint? Surely the motion of the boat does not trouble you, it is so calm-"

She edged away from him, struggling for self-control. She was alone here except for two old men, and she was out in the middle of the lake, with nothing around her but weed and water and the reedy horizon ... why had she come? Why was she not in her own walled garden at home, in Camelot? There was no safety here, she was out under the wide-open sky, so that she felt sick and naked and exposed ... .

"We will be on shore soon," Meleagrant said, "and if you wish to rest before we conduct our business, sister, I have had the queen's apartments prepared for you-"

The boat scraped on shore. The old path was still there, she noted, the narrow winding way up to the castle, and the old wall, where she had sat that afternoon watching Lancelet run among the horses. She felt confused, as if it might have been only the day before and she was that shy young girl. She reached out surreptitiously and touched the wall, feeling it firm and solid, and stepped through the gate with relief.

The old hall seemed smaller than when she had lived there; she had grown used to great spaces in Caerleon and later at Camelot. Her father's old high seat was spread with skins like those Meleagrant wore, and a great black bearskin lay at the foot of the seat. The whole looked uncared-for, the skins ragged and greasy, the hall unswept, with a sour, sweaty smell; she wrinkled her nose, but it was so much a relief to be within walls that she did not care. She wondered where her escort had gone.

"Will you rest and refresh yourself, sister? Shall I show you to your apartments?"

She smiled and said, "I shall hardly be here long enough to call them mine, though it is true I would like to wash the dust off my hands and take off my cloak. Will you send someone to find my serving-woman? You should have a wife if you are to think of being regent here, Meleagrant."

"There is time enough for that," he said, "but I will show you to the apartments I have prepared for my queen." He led the way up the old stairs. They were also ill-kept and neglected; Gwenhwyfar, frowning, thought less well of choosing him as regent. If he had moved into the castle and restored it, had installed a wife and good servants to keep it well, with fresh hangings and good cleaning, and smart men-at-arms, well-but his soldiers looked more villainous than he did himself, and she had not yet seen any woman about the place. A faint qualm was beginning to steal over her; maybe she had not been too wise to come here alone, not to insist on her escort accompanying her every step of the way-

She turned on the stairs and said, "I will have my chamberlain accompany me, if you please, and I want my woman sent for at once!"

"As my lady wishes." He grinned. His teeth seemed very long, yellow and stained. She thought, He is like a wild beast ... and edged against the wall in terror. Yet it was from some inner reserve of strength she drew to say firmly, "Now, please. Call sir Ectorius, or I will go right down into the hall again until my serving-woman is here. It is not seemly for Arthur's queen to go alone with a strange man-"

"Not even with her brother?" asked Meleagrant, but Gwenhwyfar, ducking beneath his outstretched arm, saw that Ectorius had come into the hall after her and called, "Foster-father! Accompany me, if you will! And send sir Lucan to find my servant!"

The old man came slowly up the stairs after them, passing Meleagrant, and Gwenhwyfar put out her arm to lean on him. Meleagrant looked but ill pleased at this. They came to the head of the stairs, to the chamber where Alienor had once dwelt; Gwenhwyfar had been in a little room behind hers. Meleagrant opened the door. It smelled stale and dank inside, and Gwenhwyfar hesitated. Perhaps she should insist on going at once downstairs and to business; she could hardly refresh herself or rest well in a room as dirty and neglected as this-

"Not you, old man," said Meleagrant, turning suddenly and pushing Ectorius down the stairs hard. "My lady does not need your service now." Ectorius stumbled, off balance, and at that moment Meleagrant pushed her into the room and slammed the door hard behind her. She heard the bar thrown down and stumbled to her knees; by the time she got up she was alone in the room, and no amount of hammering on the door brought any sound at all.

So Morgaine's warning had been right. Had they murdered her escort? Had they killed Ectorius and Lucan? The room where Alienor had borne her children and lived and later died was cold and dank; there were only some old rags of linen sheets across the great bed, and the straw smelled foul. Alinor's old carved chest was there, but the wood carving was greasy and smeared with dirt, and it was empty. The hearth was clogged with ash as if there had been no fresh fire lighted there for years. Gwenhwyfar beat on the door and shouted until her hands and her throat were sore; she was hungry and exhausted, and sickened by the smell and the dirt of this place. But she could not budge the door, and the window was too small to climb out-and there was a twelve-foot drop outside. She was imprisoned. Through the window she could see only a neglected barnyard with a single mouldy-looking cow wandering and bellowing at intervals.

The hours dragged by. Gwenhwyfar had to accept two things, that she could not get out of the room by her own efforts, and that she could not attract the attention of any person who would be likely to come and let her out. Her escort was gone-dead or imprisoned, in any case unable to come to her aid. Her waiting-woman and page were probably dead, certainly well out of reach. She was here, and alone, at the mercy of a man who would probably use her as a hostage to exact some kind of concession from Arthur.

Her own person was probably safe from him. As she had pointed out to Morgaine, all his claim rested on the fact that he was the only surviving son of her father; bastard, but still of the royal blood. However, when she thought of his rapacious grin and huge presence, she was terrified; he might easily abuse her or try to force her to acknowledge him as regent of this country.

The day dragged on; the sun moved slowly from the small crack of window, across the room, and away again, and at last it began to grow dark. Gwenhwyfar went through into the little chamber behind Alienor's that had been her own when she was a child; once her mother had dwelt in Alienor's chamber. The dark confined space, no more than a closet, felt comfortingly secure; who could hurt her in here? No matter that it was dirty and stale, the bedstraw mildewed; she crept into the bed and wrapped herself in her cloak. Then she went back into the outer room and tried to shove Alienor's heavy carved chest against the door. She had discovered that she was very much afraid of Meleagrant, and even more afraid of his ruffianly men-at-arms.

Certainly he would not let them hurt her-the only bargaining power he had was her safety. Arthur would kill him, she told herself, Arthur would kill him if he offered her the slightest insult or harm.

But, she asked herself in her misery, would Arthur really care? Although he had been kind and loving to her all these years and treated her with all honor, still he might not be sorry to be quit of a wife who could not bear him a child-a wife who was, furthermore, in love with another man and could not conceal it from him.

If I were Arthur I would make no move against Meleagrant; I would tell him that now he had me, he might keep me, for all the good it would do him.

What did Meleagrant want? If she, Gwenhwyfar, were dead, there would be no one else with the shadow of a claim on the Summer Country's throne; there were some young nephews and nieces by her sisters, but they dwelt far away and probably did not know or care about this land. Perhaps he simply meant to murder her or leave her here to starve. The night dragged on. Once she heard some men and horses moving about in the barnyard below; she went to the small window and peered out, but she saw only a dim torch or two, and although she yelled and shouted through her sore throat, no one raised his eyes or took the slightest notice.

Once, far into the night, when she had fallen into a brief, nightmare-ridden doze, she started up, thinking she heard Morgaine calling her name; she sat bolt upright on the dirty straw of the bed, staring into the thick darkness, but she was alone.

Morgaine, Morgaine. If you can see me with your sorcery, say to my lord when he comes home that Meleagrant is false, that it was a trap ... and then she wondered, would God be angry with her for calling on Morgaine's sorcery to deliver her? And she fell to praying softly until the monotony of her prayers put her to sleep again.

She slept heavily, this time, without dreams, and when she woke, her mouth dry, she realized it was full day and she was still prisoner in the empty and filthy apartment. She was hungry and thirsty, and sickened with the smell of the place, not only the stale straw and mould, but the smells from one corner she had had to use as a latrine. How long were they going to leave her here alone. The morning wore away and Gwenhwyfar no longer even had the strength or courage to pray.

Was she being punished, then, for her guilt, for not valuing enough what she had had? She had been a faithful wife to Arthur, yet she had hungered after another man. She had meddled with Morgaine's sorcery. But, she thought in despair, if I am being punished for my adultery with Lancelet, for what was I being punished while I was yet a faithful wife to Arthur?

Even if Morgaine could see, with her magic, that she was imprisoned, would she trouble to help her? Morgaine had no reason to love her; indeed, Morgaine almost certainly despised her.

Was there anyone who really cared? Why should anyone care what happened to her?

It was past noon when at last she heard a step on the stairs. She sprang to her feet, wrapping herself tightly in her cloak, and backed away from the door. It was Meleagrant who came in, and at sight of him she drew back even farther.

"Why have you done this to me?" she demanded. "Where is my woman, my page, my chamberlain? What have you done with my escort? Do you think Arthur will allow you to rule this country when you have offered insult to his queen?"

"His queen no longer," Meleagrant said quietly. "When I am done with you, he will not have you back. In the old days, lady, the consort of the queen was king of the land, and if I hold you and get sons on you, no man will gainsay my right to rule."

"You will get no sons from me," Gwenhwyfar said with a mirthless laugh. "I am barren."

"Pah-you were married to a damned beardless boy," he said, and added something more, which Gwenhwyfar did not completely understand, only that it was unimaginably foul.

"Arthur will kill you," she said.

"Let him try. It is harder than you would think to attack an island," said Meleagrant, "and by that time, perhaps, he will not care to try, since he would have to take you back-"

She said, "I cannot marry you, I have a husband."

"No man in my kingdom will care one way or the other," said Meleagrant. "There were many who chafed at the rule of the priests, and I have cast forth every damned priest of them! I rule by the old laws, and I will make myself king by that law, which says your man rules here-'

She whispered, "No," and backed away, but he sprang at her and pulled her toward him.

"You're not to my taste," he said brutally. "Skinny, ugly, pale wenches -I like better a woman who's some flesh to her bones! But you're old Leodegranz's daughter, unless your mother had more blood to her than I think she could have had! And so-" He pulled her to him. She struggled, got her arm loose, and struck him hard across the face.

He shouted as her elbow struck his nose, grabbed her arm and shook her, hard; then hit her with his clenched fist across the jaw. She felt something snap and tasted blood bursting in her mouth. He hit her again and again with his fists; she put her arms up, terrified, to ward off his blows, but he went on beating her. "Now," he yelled, "there'll be no more of that, you'll find out who's your master-" He seized her wrist and wrenched at it.

"Oh, no-no-please, please, don't hurt me-Arthur, Arthur will kill you-"

He answered her only with an obscenity, wrenched at her wrist, flung her down on the dirty straw of the bed, knelt beside her, hauling at his clothing. She writhed, shrieking; he hit her again and she lay still, crouched on a corner of the bed.

"Take off your gown!" he ordered.

"No!" she cried, huddling her clothes about her. He reached out, twisting her wrist, and held her while he ripped her gown deliberately down to the waist.

"Now will you take it off, or shall I tear off every rag of it?"

Shaking, sobbing, with trembling fingers, Gwenhwyfar pulled her gown over her head, knowing that she should fight, but too terrified of his fists and blows to resist. When she had done he pulled her down, held her down on the dirty straw, pushing her legs open with a rough hand. She struggled only a little, frightened of his hands, sickened by his foul breath, his huge hairy body, the big meaty phallus that thrust painfully into her, pushing and pushing till she felt she would break in two.

"Don't pull away from me like that, damn you!" he shouted, thrusting violently; she cried out with pain and he hit her again. She lay still, sobbing, and let him do what he would. It seemed to go on forever, his big body straining and pumping on and on, till finally she felt him convulse, thrust agonizingly hard; then he was gone from her, rolled a little away, and she gasped for breath, struggling to pull her clothes around her. He stood up, wrenching at his belt, and gestured to her.

"Won't you let me go?," she begged. "I promise you-I promise you-"

He grinned fiercely. "Why should I?" he asked. "No, here you are and here you'll stay. Is there anything you need? A gown to put in the place of that one?"

She stood weeping, exhausted, shamed, sickened. At last she said shakily, "I-can I have some water, and-and something to eat? And"- She began to cry harder than ever, with shame-"and a chamber pot?"

"Whatever my lady desires," said Meleagrant sarcastically, and went away, locking her in again.

Later in the day a crook-backed old crone brought her some greasy roast meat and a hunk of barley bread, and jugs of water and beer. She also brought some blankets and a chamber pot.

Gwenhwyfar said, "If you will bear a message to my lord Arthur, I will give you this-" and she took the gold comb from her hair. The old woman's face brightened at the look of the gold, but then she looked away, scared, and sidled out of the room. Gwenhwyfar burst into tears again.

At last she regained some calm, ate and drank, and tried to wash herself a little. She felt sick and sore, but worse than that was the sense of being used, shamed, ineradicably dirtied.

Was it true what Meleagrant had said-that Arthur would not have her back now, that she had been spoilt beyond redemption? It might be so ... if she were a man she would not want anything Meleagrant had used either ... .

No, but it was not fair; this was not anything she had done wrong, she had been trapped and tricked, used against her will.

Oh, but it is no more than I deserve ... I who am not a faithful wife, but love another ... . She felt sick with guilt and shame. But after a time she began to recover her composure and to consider her predicament.

She was here in Meleagrant's castle-her father's old castle. She had been raped and was held captive, and Meleagrant had proclaimed his intention of holding this island kingdom by right of being her consort. It was not to be considered that Arthur would let him do so; no matter what he thought of her personally, for his own honor as High King he would have to make war on Meleagrant. It would not be easy, but it should not be impossible to recapture an island. She knew nothing of Meleagrant as a fighter-except, she thought with a rare flash of grim humor, against a helpless woman, whom he had beaten into submission. But it was not to be considered, either, that he could stand against the High King who had driven the Saxons into utter rout at Mount Badon.

And then she must face him and tell him what had happened to her. It might be simpler to kill herself. Come what might, she could not imagine herself facing Arthur, telling him how Meleagrant had treated her ... I should have fought against him harder; Arthur, in battle, has faced very death, once he took a great wound which kept him abed half a year, and I-I stopped fighting after a few slaps and blows ... . She wished she had some of Morgaine's sorcery; she would turn him into a pig! But Morgaine would never have fallen into his hands, she would have guessed it was a trap; and she would have used that little dagger of hers, too-she might not have killed him, but he would have lost his desire, and perhaps his ability, to ravish any woman!

She had eaten and drunk what she could, washed herself, and brushed her filthy dress clean.

Again the day had begun to wane. It could not be hoped for-that she would be missed, that anyone would come for her until Meleagrant began to boast of what he had done, proclaim himself the consort of King Leodegranz's daughter. She had gone of her own free will, and properly attended by two of Arthur's Companions. Not until Arthur returned from the Southern Shores, and perhaps not for a week or ten days after that, when she did not return at the appointed time, would he begin to suspect that all was not well.

Morgaine, why did I not listen to you? You warned me he was a villain ... . For a moment it seemed that she could see her sister-in-law's pale, passionless face-calm, slightly mocking-so clearly that she rubbed her eyes; Morgaine, laughing at her? No, it was a trick of the light, it was gone.

Would that she could see me through her magic ... perhaps she could send someone ... MO, she would not, she hates me, she would laugh at my ill fortune ... and then she remembered: Morgaine laughed and mocked, but when it was a real trouble, no one could be kinder. Morgaine had tended her when she miscarried; she had, against her own protest, been willing to try and help her with a charm. Perhaps Morgaine did not hate her after all. Perhaps all Morgaine's mockery was a defense against Gwenhwyfar's own pride, her scorn of the sorceresses of Avalon.

Twilight was beginning to blur the furniture in the room. She should have thought to ask for some sort of light. Now it seemed she would spend a second night as prisoner here, and it might be that Meleagrant would return ... and at the thought she felt sick again with terror; she was still sore from his brutal treatment, her mouth swollen, bruises darkening on her shoulders and, she supposed, on her face. And although, when she was alone here, she could think quite calmly about ways to fight him and perhaps drive him away, she knew, with a sick sinking of terror in her body, that when he touched her, she would shrink away in dread and let him do whatever he would, to avoid more blows ... she was so afraid, so afraid that he would hurt her again ... .

And how could Arthur forgive her for this, that she had not been beaten entirely into submission, but had given way like a coward, after the threat of a few blows and slaps ... how could he take her back as his queen and continue to love and honor her, when she had allowed another man to have her ... ?

He had not minded when she and Lancelet ... he had been a part of that ... if there was sin it was not all hers, she had done as her husband wished ... .

Oh, yes, but Lancelet was his kinsman and dearest friend ... .

There was a commotion in the courtyard; Gwenhwyfar went to the window, peering out, but she could see only that same corner of the barnyard, and that same bellowing cow. Somewhere there was noise, shouting and yelling and the clash of weapons, but she could not see and the sound was muffled by the walls and stairs; it might be no more than those villains of Meleagrant's, fighting or brawling in the courts, or even-oh, no! God forbid it!-murdering her escort. She tried to crane her neck so she could see further from the slit of window, but there was nothing to see.

There was a sound outside. The door flew open and Gwenhwyfar, turning apprehensively, saw Meleagrant, a naked sword in hand. He gestured with it. "Get within-into that inner chamber," he ordered. "In with you, and not a sound from you, madam, or it will be the worse for you."

Does this mean someone has come to rescue me? He looked desperate, and Gwenhwyfar knew that she could get no information from him. She backed away, slowly, into the little inner room. He followed her, his hand on the sword, and Gwenhwyfar flinched, her whole body cringing in anticipation of the stroke . .. would he kill her now, or hold her as hostage for his own escape?

She never knew his plan. Meleagrant's head suddenly exploded in a spray of blood and brains; he crumpled with a weird slowness, and Gwenhwyfar sank down, too, half fainting, but before she reached the floor, she was in Lancelet's arms.

"My lady, my queen-ah, my beloved-" He caught her against him, holding her, and then, half senseless, Gwenhwyfar knew he was covering her face with kisses. She made no protest; it was like a dream. Meleagrant lay in his blood on the floor, the sword lay where it had fallen. Lancelet had to lift her over the body before he could set her on her feet.

"How-how did you know?" she stammered.

"Morgaine," he said tersely. "When I came to Camelot, Morgaine said she had tried to bid you delay till I was there. She felt it was a trap-I took horse and came after you, with half a dozen men. I found your escort imprisoned in the woods near here, tied and gagged-once I had freed them, it was not hard-no doubt he thought himself secure." Now Lancelet let her go long enough to see the bruises on her face and body, her torn gown, the cut lip where it was swollen. He touched them with shaking fingers.

"Now do I regret he died so quickly," he said. "It would give me delight to make him suffer as you have suffered-ah, my poor love, my darling, you have been so cruelly used-"

"You don't know," she whispered, "you don't know-" and she was sobbing again, clinging to him. "You came, you came, I thought no one would come, that no one would want me now, that no one would ever touch me again-now when I am so shamed ... ."

He held her, kissing her again and again in a frenzy of tenderness. "Shamed? You? No, the shame is his, his, oh, and he has paid for it ... " he muttered through his kisses. "I thought I had lost you forever, he might have killed you, but Morgaine said no, you lived-"

Even then, Gwenhwyfar spared a moment of fear and resentment- did Morgaine know how she had been humiliated, violated? Ah, God, if only Morgaine need not have known! She could not bear it, that Morgaine should know of this!

"Sir Ectorius? Sir Lucan-"

"Lucan is well enough; Ectorius is not young, and he has suffered grave shock, but there is no reason to think he will not live," Lancelet said. "You must go down, my beloved, and show yourself to them; they must know that their queen lives."

Gwenhwyfar looked at her torn gown, touched her bruised face with hesitant hands. She said, her voice catching in her throat, "Can I not have a little time to make myself proper? I do not want them to see-" and she could not go on.

Lancelet hesitated, then nodded. He said, "Yes; let them think he dared offer you no insult. It is better that way. I came alone, knowing I could match Meleagrant; the others are downstairs. Let me look in the other chambers-a man of his kind would not dwell here without some woman or other." He left her for a moment, and she could barely endure to see him out of her sight. She edged away from the body of Meleagrant on the floor, looking down at the man as if he were a wolfs carcass killed by some shepherd, without even distate for the blood.

After a moment Lancelet returned. "There is a room yonder which is clean, and chests there with some garments laid away-I think it was the old king's room. There is even a mirror." He led her down the hall. This room had been swept, and the bed straw on the big bed was fresh arid clean, and there were sheets and blankets, and fur comforters-not too clean, but not disgusting, either. There was a carved chest she recognized, and inside it she found three gowns, one of which she had seen Alinor wear, and the others made for someone taller. Handling them, through a mist of tears, she thought, These must have been my own mother's. I wonder that my father never gave them to Alienor. And then she thought, I never knew my father well. I have no idea what manner of man he was, he was only my father. And that seemed so sad to her that she wanted to weep again.

"I will put this on," she said, and then she broke into a weak laugh. "If I can manage without a woman to dress me-"

Lancelet touched her face gently. "I will dress you, my lady." He began to help her off with her gown. And then his face twisted, and he lifted her up in his arms, half-dressed as she was.

"When I think of that-that animal, touching you-" he said, with his face muffled against her breast, "and I who love you barely dare to lay a hand on you-"

And for all her faithfulness, she had only come to this; God had rewarded her for her virtue and self-restraint by betraying her into Meleagrant's hands for rape and brutality! And Lancelet, who had offered her love and tenderness, who had scrupulously stepped aside that he might not betray his kinsman-he had to witness it! She turned in his arms, embracing him.

"Lancelet," she whispered, "my love, my dearest-take away from me the memory of what was done to me-let us not go from here yet for a little while-"

His eyes overflowed with tears; he laid her down gently on the bed, caressing her with shaking hands.

God did not reward me for virtue. What makes me think he could punish me? And then a thought which frightened her, perhaps there is no God at all, nor any of the Gods people believe in. Perhaps it is all a great lie of the priests, so that they may tell mankind what to do, what not to do, what to believe, give orders even to the King. She raised herself, pulling Lancelet down to her, her bruised mouth searching for his, her hands wandering all over the beloved body, this time without fear and without shame. She no longer cared, nor felt restraint. Arthur? Arthur had not protected her from ravishment. She had suffered what she had had to suffer, and now, at least, she would have this much. It had been by Arthur's doing that she had first lain with Lancelet, and now she would do what she would.

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

5

On the shores of Avalon the priestesses wound slowly along the reedy shore, torches in hand.. .. I should have been among them, but there was some reason I could not go ... . Viviane would have been angry with me that I was not there, yet I seemed to stand on afar shore, unable to speak the word that would have brought me to them ... .

Raven paced slowly, her paleface lined as I had never seen it, a long streak of white at the side of her temple... her hair was unbound; could it be that she was still maiden, untouched save by the God? Her white draperies moved in the same wind that made the torches flare. Where was Viviane, where was the Lady? The sacred boat stood at the shore of the eternal lands, but she would come no more to the place of the Goddess... and who was this in the veil and wreath of the Lady? I had never seen her before, save in dreams ... .

Thick, colorless hair, the color of ripe wheat, was braided in a low coronal over her brow; but hanging at her waist where the sickle knife of a priestess should have hung . .. ah, Goddess! Blasphemy! For at the side of her pale gown a silver crucifix hung; I struggled against invisible bonds to rush forward and tear away the blasphemous thing, but Kevin stepped between us and held my hands in his own, which twisted and writhed like misshapen serpents ... and then he was writhing between my hands ... and the serpents were tearing at me with their teeth ...

"Morgaine! What is it?" Elaine shook her bedfellow's shoulder. "What is it! You were crying out in your sleep-"

"Kevin," she muttered, and sat up, her unbound hair, raven-dark, moving about her like dark water. "No, no, it wasn't you-but she had fair hair like yours, and a crucifix-"

"You were dreaming, Morgaine," Elaine said. "Wake up!" Morgaine blinked and shuddered, then drew a long breath and looked up at Elaine with her customary composure. "I am sorry-an evil dream," she said, but her eyes still looked haunted. Elaine wondered what dreams pursued the King's sister; for sure they must be evil, for she had come here from that evil island of witches and sorceresses ....et somehow Morgaine had never seemed to her an evil woman. How could any woman be so good when she worshipped devils and refused Christ?

She turned away from Morgaine and said, "We must get up, cousin. The King will return this day, so last night's messenger said."

Morgaine nodded and got out of bed, pulling off her shift; Elaine modestly averted her eyes. Morgaine seemed to be without shame-had she never heard that all sin came into this world through the body of a woman? Now she stood shamelessly naked, rummaging in her chest for a holiday shift, and Elaine turned away and began to dress.

"Make haste, Morgaine, we must go to the Queen-"

Morgaine smiled. "Not too much haste, kinswoman, we must give Lancelet time to be well away. Gwenhwyfar would not thank you for making a scandal."

"Morgaine, how can you say such a thing? After what has happened, it is no more than reason that Gwenhwyfar should be afraid to be alone at night and should wish her champion to sleep at her very door... and indeed, it was fortunate Lancelet came in time to save her from worse-"

"Don't be more of a fool than you must, Elaine," said Morgaine with weary patience. "Do you believe that?"

"You, of course, know better by your magic," flared Elaine, so loudly that the other women who slept in the room turned their heads to hear what the Queen's cousin and the King's sister were quarrelling about. Morgaine lowered her voice and said, "Believe me, I want no scandal, no more than you. Gwenhwyfar is my sister-in-law and Lancelet is my kinsman too. God knows, Arthur should not chide Gwenhwyfar for what befell with Meleagrant-poor wretch, it was none of her doing, and no doubt it must be given out that Lancelet came in time to rescue her. But I have no doubt Gwenhwyfar will tell Arthur, at least in secret, how Meleagrant used her -no, Elaine, I saw how she was when Lancelet brought her back from the island, and I heard what she said, her terror that that damned hellhound might have managed to get her with child!"

Elaine's face went dead white. "But he is her brother," she whispered. "Is there any man alive would do such sin as that?"

"Oh, Elaine, in God's name, what a ninny you are!" Morgaine said. "Is that what you think the worst of it?"

"And you are saying-Lancelet has shared her bed while the King was away-"

"I am not surprised, nor do I think it the first time," said Morgaine. "Have sense, Elaine-do you begrudge it? After what Meleagrant did to her, I would not be surprised if Gwenhwyfar would never again wish any man to touch her, and for her sake I am glad, if Lancelet can heal that hurt for her. And now, perhaps, Arthur will put her away, so that he may get him a son somewhere."

Elaine said, staring at her, "Perhaps Gwenhwyfar will go into a convent-she told me once she was never happier than in her convent at Glastonbury. But would they have her, if she had been paramour to her husband's captain of horse? Oh, Morgaine, I am so ashamed of her!"

"It has nothing to do with you," Morgaine said. "Why should you care?"

Elaine said, surprising herself with her outburst, "Gwenhwyfar has a husband, she is wife to the High King, and her husband is the most honorable and kindly king ever to rule these lands! She has no need to look elsewhere for love! Yet how can Lancelet turn away to seek any other lady, if the Queen stretches out her hand?"

"Well," said Morgaine, "perhaps now she and Lancelet will go forth from this court. Lancelet has lands in Less Britain, and they have loved one another long, though I think that till this mishap, they had lived as Christian man and woman." Silently she absolved herself for the lie; what Lancelet had told her in his agony was to be held forever in the depths of her heart.

"But then would Arthur be the laughingstock of every Christian king in these islands," said Elaine shrewdly. "If his queen should flee out of his lands with his best friend and his captain of horse, they would call him cuckold or worse."

"I do not think Arthur will care what they say of him," Morgaine began, but Elaine shook her head.

"No, Morgaine, but he must care. The lesser kings must respect him so that they will rally to his standard when there is need. How can they do so when he allows his wife to live in open sin with Lancelet? Yes, I know you speak of these few days. But can we be certain it will stop at that? My father is Arthur's friend and vassal, but I think even he would mock at a king who could not rule his wife, and wonder how such a one could rule a kingdom."

Morgaine shrugged and said, "What can we do, short of murdering the guilty pair?"

"What talk!" said Elaine with a shudder. "No, but Lancelet must leave the court. You are his kinswoman, cannot you make him see that?"

"Alas," said Morgaine, "I fear I have but little influence with my kinsman in that way." And inside it was as if some cold thing seized her with its teeth.

"If Lancelet were married," said Elaine, and suddenly it seemed as if she wrenched at her own courage. "If he were married to me! Morgaine, you are wise in charms and spells, cannot you give me a charm which will turn Lancelet's eyes from Gwenhwyfar to me? I am a king's daughter too, and I am certainly as beautiful as Gwenhwyfar-and I at least have no husband!"

Morgaine laughed bitterly. "My spells, Elaine, can be worse than useless-ask Gwenhwyfar one day how such a spell rebounded upon her! But Elaine," she said, suddenly serious, "would you truly travel that road?"

"I think that if he married me," Elaine said, "he would come to see that I am no less worthy of love than Gwenhwyfar."

Morgaine put her hand under the young woman's chin and turned up her face. "Listen, my child," she began, and Elaine felt that the dark eyes of the sorceress were searching into her very soul. "Elaine, this would not be easy. You have said you love him, but love when a maiden speaks so is no more than a fancy. Do you truly know what kind of a man he is? Is this a fancy which could endure for all the years of a marriage? If you wanted only to lie with him-that I could arrange easily enough. But when the glamour of the spell had worn off, he might well hate you because you had tricked him. And what then?"

Elaine said, stammering, "Even that... even that I will risk. Morgaine, my father has offered me to other men, but he has promised me that he will never force my will. I tell you, if I cannot marry Lancelet, I shall go behind convent walls for all of my life, I swear it ... ." The girl's whole body trembled, but she did not weep. "But why should I turn to you, Morgaine? Like all of us, like Gwenhwyfar herself, you would have Lancelet, whether as husband or paramour, and the King's sister may choose for herself ... ."

Then, for a moment, Elaine thought her eyes tricked her, for in the cold eyes of the sorceress it seemed that tears gathered. Something in her voice made Elaine's eyes sting too. "Ah, no, child, Lancelet would not have me, even if Arthur bade him. Believe me, Elaine, you would have small happiness with Lancelet."

Elaine said, "I do not think women have ever much happiness in marriage-only young girls think so, and I am not so young. But a woman must marry some time or other, and I would rather have Lancelet." Then she burst out, "I do not think you can do anything of the sort! Why do you mock me? Are your charms and spells all moonlight rubbish, then?"

She had expected Morgaine to flare up at her, to defend her own craft, but Morgaine sighed and shook her head and said, "I put not much faith in love charms and spells, I told you that when first we spoke. They are for concentrating the will of the ignorant. The craft of Avalon is a very different thing, and not lightly to be invoked because a maiden would rather lie with one man than another."

"Oh, it is ever so with the craft of the wise," Elaine burst out scornfully. "I could do thus or thus, but I will not because it would not be right to meddle in the work of the Gods, or the stars are not right, or what have you ... ."

Morgaine sighed, a heavy sound. "Kinswoman, I can give you Lancelet for husband, if that is truly what you desire. I do not think it will make you happy, but you are so far wise, you have said that you expect not happiness in marriage ... believe me, Elaine, I want nothing more than to see Lancelet well wedded and away from this court and from the Queen. Arthur is my brother, and I would not see shame brought upon him, as soon or late it must be. But you are to remember that you asked me for this. See that you do not whimper when it turns to bitterness."

"I swear I will abide whatever comes, if I can have him for husband," Elaine said. "But why would you do this, Morgaine? Is it simply out of spite for Gwenhwyfar?"

"Believe that if you will, or believe I love Arthur too well to see scandal destroy what he has wrought here," Morgaine said steadily, "and bear in mind, Elaine, charms seldom work as you expect they will ... ." When the Gods had set their will, what did it matter what any mortal did, even with charms and spells? Viviane had set Arthur on the throne ... yet the Goddess had done her own will and not Viviane's, for she had denied Arthur any son by his queen. And when she, Morgaine, had sought to remedy what the Goddess had left undone, the rebound of that charm had thrown Gwenhwyfar and Lancelet together into this scandalous love. Well, that at least she could remedy, by making it sure that Lancelet made an honorable marriage. And Gwenhwyfar too was trapped; she would be glad, perhaps, of something to break this deadlock.

Her mouth twitched a little in something that was not quite a smile. "Beware, Elaine, there is a wise saying: Have a care what you pray for, it might be given you. I can give you Lancelet for husband, but I will ask a gift in return."

"What can I give you that you would value, Morgaine? You care not for jewels, that I have seen. , . ."

"I want neither jewels nor riches," Morgaine said, "only this. You will bear Lancelet children, for I have seen his son . .." and she stopped, feeling her skin prickle all the way up her spine, as when the Sight came upon her. Elaine's blue eyes were wide with wonder. She could almost hear Elaine's thought, So it is true then, and I will have Lancelet for husband and give him children ... .

Yes, it is true, though I did not know it until I spoke ... if I work within the Sight, then I am not meddling with what should be left to the Goddess, and so the way will be made clear for me.

"I will say nothing of your son," Morgaine said steadily. "He must do his own fate ... ." She shook her head to clear it of the strange darkness of the Sight. "I ask only that you give me your first daughter to be schooled at Avalon."

Elaine's eyes were wide. "In sorcery?"

"Lancelet's own mother was High Priestess of Avalon," Morgaine said. "I will bear no daughter for the Goddess. If through my doing you give Lancelet the son which every man craves, you must swear to me-swear by your own God-that you will send me your daughter for fostering."

The room seemed full of a ringing silence. At last Elaine said, "If all this comes to pass, and if I have Lancelet's son, then I swear you shall have his daughter for Avalon. I swear it by the name of Christ," she said, and made the sign of the cross.

Morgaine nodded. "And in turn I swear," she said, "that she shall be as the daughter I shall never bear to the Goddess, and that she shall avenge a great wrong ... ."

Elaine blinked. "A great wrong-Morgaine, what are you speaking of?"

Morgaine swayed a little; the ringing silence in the room was broken. She was aware of the sound of rain outside the windows, and of a chill in the chamber. She frowned and said, "I do not know-my mind wandered. Elaine, this thing cannot be done here. You must beg leave to go and see your father, and you must make certain that I am invited to go and bear you company. I will see to it that Lancelet is there." She drew a long breath, and turned to take up her gown. "And as for Lancelet, we must by now have given him time to be gone from the Queen's chamber. Come, Gwenhwyfar will be awaiting us."

And indeed when Elaine and Morgaine reached the Queen, there was no sign of the presence there of Lancelet, or any other man. But once, when Elaine was for a moment beyond earshot, Gwenhwyfar met Morgaine's eyes, and Morgaine thought she had never seen such awful bitterness.

"You despise me, do you not, Morgaine?"

For once, Morgaine thought, Gwenhwyfar has voiced the question that has been in her thoughts all these weeks. She felt like hurling back a sharp answer -If I do so, is it not because you have first despised me? But she said as gently as she could, "I am not your confessor, Gwenhwyfar, and you, not I, are the one who professes belief in a God who will damn you because you share your bed with a man who is not your husband. My Goddess is gentler with women."

"He should have been," Gwenhwyfar burst out, then stopped herself and said, "Arthur is your brother, in your eyes he can do no wrong-"

"I said not that." Morgaine could not bear the wretchedness in the younger woman's face. "Gwenhwyfar, my sister, none has accused you-"

But Gwenhwyfar turned away. She said between clenched teeth, "No, and I want not your pity either, Morgaine."

Want it, or want it not, it is yours, Morgaine thought, but she did not put the thought into words; she was not a healer, to probe old wounds and make them bleed. "Are you ready to break your fast, Gwenhwyfar? What will you choose to eat?"

More and more, in this court, since there is no war, it is as if I were her servant, and she nobler than I. It was, Morgaine thought dispassionately, a game they all played, and she did not begrudge it to Gwenhwyfar. But there were in this kingdom noblewomen who might; and she liked it not, either, that Arthur accepted this, that now there were no wars to be fought, Arthur assumed that his old Companions should now be his personal attendants, even though they might be kings or lords in their own right. At Avalon she had willingly served Viviane because the old woman was the living representative of the Goddess, and her wisdom and magical powers put her almost beyond the human. But she had known, too, that the same powers were available to her, if she would work seriously to attain them; and a day could come when she would have the reverence, too, if she took on the power of the Goddess.

But for a war leader of the land, or for his consort-no, such powers were not suitable except in war itself, and it angered her that Arthur should keep his court in such state, assuming a power which should belong only to the greatest Druids and priestesses. Arthur bears the sword of Avalon still, and if he keeps not his oath to Avalon, they will require it at his hands.

And then it seemed to Morgaine that the room grew still all around her and seemed to open itself out as if everything were very far away; she could still see Gwenhwyfar, her mouth half opened to speak, but at the same time it seemed she could see through the woman's body, as if she were in the fairy kingdom. Everything seemed, all at once, distant and small and looming over her, and there was a deep silence within her head. In that silence she saw the walls of a pavilion, and Arthur sleeping with Excalibur naked in his hand. And she bent over him-she could not take the sword, but with Viviane's little sickle knife she cut the strings that bound the scabbard to his waist; it was old now, the velvet frayed and the precious metal of the embroideries dulled and tarnished. Morgaine took the scabbard in her hand, and then she was on the shores of a great lake, with the sound of reeds washing around over her ... .

"I said, no, I do not want any wine, I am weary of wine for breakfast," Gwenhwyfar remarked. "Perhaps Elaine could find some new milk in the kitchens-Morgaine? Have you gone into a swoon?"

Morgaine blinked and stared at Gwenhwyfar. Slowly she came back, trying to focus her eyes. None of it was true, she was not riding madly along the shores of a lake with the scabbard in her hand ... yet all this place had the look of the fairy world, as if she saw everything through rippling water, and it was somehow like a dream she had had once, if she could only remember ... and even while she assured the other women that she was quite all right, promising to go herself to the dairy for fresh milk if there was none in the kitchen, still her mind led her through the labyrinths of the dream ... if she could only remember what it was that she had dreamed, all would be well ... .

But as she went down into the fresh air, cool even in summer, she felt no longer as if this world might melt at any moment into the world of fairy. Her head ached as if it had been split asunder, and all that day she was held captive by the strange spell of her waking dream. If only she could remember ... she had flung Excalibur into the Lake, that was it, so that the fairy queen might not have it ... no, that was not it, either ... and her mind would begin again to try and unreel the strange obsessive path of her dream.

But past noon, when the sun was falling toward evening, she heard the horns announcing Arthur's arrival, and felt the stir which ran all through Camelot. With the other women she ran out to the earthworks at the edge of the heights and watched the royal party riding toward them, banners flying. Gwenhwyfar was trembling at her side. She was taller than Morgaine, but somehow, with her slender pale hands and the fragility of her narrow shoulders, it seemed to Morgaine that Gwenhwyfar was only a child, a tall, lanky child, nervous at some imaginary mischief which must be punished. She touched Morgaine's sleeve with her trembling hand.

"Sister-must my lord know? It is done and Meleagrant is dead. There is no reason for Arthur to make war on anyone. Why should he not think that my lord Lancelet reached me in time-in time to prevent-" Her voice was only a thin treble, like a little girl's, and she could not speak the words. "Sister," said Morgaine, "it is for you to tell or not."

"But-if he heard it elsewhere-"

Morgaine sighed; could not Gwenhwyfar have said for once what she meant? "If Arthur hears aught to distress him, he will not hear it from me, and there is no other has the right to speak. But he cannot lay it to your charge that you were trapped and beaten into submission."

And then she knew, as if she had heard it, the voice of a priest speaking to the trembling Gwenhwyfar-was it now or when Gwenhwyfar was a child?-saying that no woman was ever ravished save she had tempted some man to it, as Eve led our first father Adam into sin; that the Holy Virgin martyrs of Rome had willingly died rather than lay down their chastity ... it was this made Gwenhwyfar tremble. Somewhere in her mind, dismiss it how she might or try to smother the knowledge in Lancelet's arms, she truly believed it was her fault, that she merited death for the sin of having lived to be ravaged. And since she had not died first, Arthur had the right to kill her for it ... no reassurances would ever quiet that voice in Gwenhwyfar's mind.

She feels this guilt over Meleagrant so that she need feel none for what she has done with Lancelet ... .

Gwenhwyfar was shivering at her side, despite the warm sun. "I would he were here, that we might go indoors. Look, there are hawks flying in the sky. I am afraid of hawks, always I am afraid they will swoop down on me ... ."

"They would find you too big and tough a mouthful, I am afraid, sister," Morgaine said amiably.

Servants were heaving at the great gates, opening them for the royal party to ride through. Sir Ectorius still limped heavily from the night he had spent imprisoned in the cold, but he came forward at Cai's side, and Cai, as keeper of his castle, bowed before Arthur.

"Welcome home, my lord and king."

Arthur dismounted and came to embrace Cai.

"This is an overly formal welcome to my home, Cai, you rascal-is all well here?"

"All is well here now, my lord," said Ectorius, "but once again you have cause to be grateful to your captain."

"True," said Gwenhwyfar, coming forward, her hand laid lightly in Lancelet's. "My lord and king, Lancelet saved me from a trap laid by a traitor, saved me from such a fate as no Christian woman should suffer."

Arthur laid one hand in his queen's and the other in that of his captain of horse. "I am, as always, grateful to you, my dear friend, and so is my wife. Come, we shall speak about this in private." And, moving between the two of them, he went up the steps into the castle.

"I wonder what manner of lies they will hurry to pour into his ears, that chaste queen and her finest of knights?" Morgaine heard the words, spoken low and very clear, from somewhere in the crowd; but she could not tell from where they came. She thought, Perhaps peace is not an unmixed blessing: without a war, there is nothing for them to do at court, with their usual occupation gone, but pass on every rumor and bit of scandal.

But if Lancelet were gone from the court, then would the scandal be quieted. And she resolved that whatever she could do to accomplish that end, would be done at once.

THAT NIGHT at supper Arthur asked Morgaine to bring her harp and sing to them. "It seems long since I heard your music, sister," he said, and drew her close and kissed her. He had not done this in a long time.

"I will sing gladly," she said, "but when will Kevin return to court?" She thought with bitterness of their quarrel; never, never should she forgive him his treason to Avalon! Yet, against her will, she missed him and thought regretfully of the time when they had been lovers.

I am weary of lying alone, that is all ... .

But this made her think of Arthur, and her son at Avalon ... if Gwenhwyfar should leave this court, then surely Arthur would marry again; but it looked not like that at this moment. And should Gwenhwyfar never bear a son, then should not their son be acknowledged as his father's heir? He was doubly of royal blood, the blood of the Pendragon and of Avalon ... Igraine was dead and the scandal could not harm her.

She sat on a carven and gilded stool near the throne, her harp on the floor at her feet; Arthur and Gwenhwyfar sat close together, hand in hand. Lancelet sprawled on the floor at Morgaine's side, watching the harp, but now and again she saw his eyes move to Gwenhwyfar and she quailed at the terrible longing there; how could he show his heart like this to any onlooker? And then Morgaine knew that only she could see his heart-to all other eyes he was only a courtier looking respectfully at his queen, laughing and jesting with her as a privileged friend of her husband.

And as her hands moved on the strings, the world again seemed to fall into the distance, very small and far and at the same time huge and strange, things losing their shapes so that her harp seemed at once a child's toy and something monstrous, a huge formless thing smothering her, and she was high on a throne somewhere peering through wandering shadows, looking down at a young man with dark hair, a narrow coronet around his brow, and as she looked on him, the sharp pain of desire ran down her body, she met his eyes and it was as if a hand touched her in her most private part, rousing her to hunger and longing ... . She felt her fingers falter on the strings, she had dreamed something ... a face wavering, a young man's smile at her, no, it was not Lancelet but some other ... no, it was all like shadows-

Gwenhwyfar's clear voice broke through. "See to the lady Morgaine," she said, "my sister is faint-!"

She felt Lancelet's arms supporting her and looked up into his dark eyes -it was like her dream, desire running through her, melting her ... no, but she had dreamed that. It was not real. She put her hand confusedly to her brows. "It was the smoke, the smoke from the hearth-"

"Here, sip this." Lancelet held a cup to her lips. What madness was this? He had barely touched her and she felt sick with desire for him; she thought she had long forgotten that, had had it burned out of her over the years ... and yet his touch, gentle and impersonal, roused her to fierce longing again. Had she dreamed about him, then?

He does not want me, he does not want any woman save the Queen, she thought, and stared past him at the hearth, where no fire burned in this summer season, and a wreath of green bay leaves twined to keep the empty fireplace from gaping too black and ugly. She sipped at the wine Lancelet held for her.

"I am sorry-I have been a little faint all the day," she said, remembering the morning. "Let some other take the harp, I cannot. ..."

Lancelet said, "By your leave, my lords, I will sing!" He took the harp and said, "This is a tale of Avalon, which I heard in my childhood. I think it was written by Taliesin himself, though he may have made it from an older song."

He began to sing an old ballad, of Arianrhod the queen, who had stepped over a stream and come away with child; and she had cursed her son when he was born, and said he should never have a name till she gave him one, and how he tricked her into giving him a name, and later how she cursed him and said he should never have a wife, whether of flesh and blood, nor yet of the fairy folk, and so he made him a woman of flowers ... .

Morgaine sat listening, still twined in her dream, and it seemed to her that Lancelet's dark face was filled with terrible suffering, and as he sang of the flower woman, Blodeuwedd, his eyes lingered for a moment on the queen. But then he turned to Elaine, and sang courteously of how the blossom woman's hair was made of fine golden lilies, and how her cheeks were like the petals of the apple blossom, and she was clad in all the colors of the flowers that bloom, blue and crimson and yellow, in the fields of summer ... .

Morgaine sat quietly in her place, cushioning her aching head in her hand. Later Gawaine brought out a pipe from his own northern country, and began to play a wild lament, filled with the cries of sea birds and sorrow. Lancelet came and sat near to Morgaine, taking her hand gently.

"Are you better now, kinswoman?"

"Oh, yes-it has happened before," Morgaine said. "It is as if I had fallen into a dream and saw all things through shadows-" And yet, she thought, it was not quite like that either.

"My mother said something like that to me once," said Lancelet, and Morgaine gauged his sorrow and weariness by that; never before had he spoken to her, nor to any other as far as she knew, of his mother or of his years at Avalon. "She seemed to think it was a thing which came of itself with the Sight. Once she said it was as if she were drawn into the fairy country and looking out from there as its prisoner, but I know not if she had ever been within the fairy country or if this was but a way of speaking. ..."

But I have, Morgaine thought, and it is not like that, not quite ... it is like trying to remember a dream that has faded ... .

"I myself have known it a little," Lancelet said. "It comes at a time when I cannot see clearly, but only as if all things were very far away and not real ... and I could not quite touch them but must first cross a weary distance ... perhaps it is something in the fairy blood we bear-" He sighed and rubbed his eyes. "I used to taunt you with that, when you were only a little maiden, do you recall, I called you Morgaine of the Fairies and it made you angry?"

She nodded. "I remember well, kinsman," she said, thinking that for all the weariness in his face, the new lines there, the touch of grey in the crisp curls of his hair, he was still more beautiful to her, more beloved, than any other man she had ever known. She blinked her eyes fiercely; so it was and so it must be: he loved her as kinswoman, no more.

Again it seemed to her that the world moved behind a barrier of shadows; it mattered nothing what she did. This world was no more real than the fairy kingdom. Even the music sounded faraway and distant- Gawaine had taken up the harp and was singing some tale he had heard among the Saxons, of a monster who dwelled in a lake and how one of their heroes had gone down into the lake and ripped off the monster's arm, then faced the monster's mother in her evil den ... .

"A grim and grisly tale," she said under her breath to Lancelet, and he smiled and said, "Most Saxon tales are so. War and bloodshed and heroes with skill in battle and not much else in their thick noddles. ..."

"And now we are to live at peace with them, it seems," Morgaine said.

"Aye. So it shall be. I can live with the Saxons, but not with what they call music ... though their tales are entertaining enough, I suppose, for a long evening by the hearth." He sighed, and said, almost inaudibly, "I think perhaps I was not born for sitting by a hearth, either-"

"You would like to be out in battle again?"

He shook his head. "No, but I am weary of the court." Morgaine saw his eyes go to where Gwenhwyfar sat beside Arthur, smiling as she listened to Gawaine's tale. Again he sighed, a sound that seemed ripped up from the very deeps of his soul.

"Lancelet," she said, quietly and urgently, "you must be gone from here or you will be destroyed."

"Aye, destroyed body and soul," he said, staring at the floor.

"About your soul I know nothing-you must ask a priest about that-"

"Would that I could!" said Lancelet with suppressed violence; he struck his fist softly on the floor beside her harp, so that the strings jangled a little. "Would that I could believe there is just such a God as the Christians claim ... ."

"You must go, cousin. Go on some quest like Gareth's, to kill ruffians who are holding the land to ransom, or to kill dragons, or what you will, but you must go!"

She saw his throat move as he swallowed. "And what of her?"

Morgaine said quietly, "Believe this or no, I am her friend too. Think you not, she has a soul to be saved as well?"

"Why, you give me counsel as good as any priest." His smile was bitter.

"It takes no priesthood to know when two men-and a woman as well -are trapped, and cannot escape from what has been," said Morgaine. "It would be easy to blame her for all. But I, too, know what it is to love where I cannot-" She stopped and looked away from him, feeling scalding heat rise in her face; she had not meant to say so much. The song had ended, and Gawaine yielded up the harp, saying, "After this grim tale we need something light-a song of love, perhaps, and I leave that to the gallant Lancelet-"

"I have sat too long at court singing songs of love," said Lancelet, rising and turning toward Arthur. "Now that you are here again, my lord, and can see to all things yourself, I beg you to send me forth from this court on some quest."

Arthur smiled at his friend. "Will you be gone so soon? I cannot keep you if you are longing to be away, but where would you go?"

Pellinore and his dragon. Morgaine, her eyes cast down, staring and seeing the flicker of the fire past her lids, formed the words in her mind with all the force she could manage, trying to thrust them into Arthur's mind. Lancelet said, "I had it in mind to go after a dragon-"

Arthur's eyes glinted with mischief. "It might be well, at that, to make an end of Pellinore's dragon. The tales grow daily greater, so that men are afraid to travel into that country! Gwenhwyfar tells me Elaine has asked for leave to visit her home. You may escort the lady thither, and I bid you not return until Pellinore's dragon is dead."

"Alas," protested Lancelet, laughing, "would you exile me from your court for all time? How can I kill a dragon who is but a dream?"

Arthur chuckled. "May you never meet a dragon worse than that, my friend! Well, I charge you to make an end for all time of that dragon, even if you must laugh it out of existence by making a ballad of it!"

Elaine rose and curtseyed to the King. "By your leave, my lord, may I ask that the lady Morgaine visit me for a time as well?"

Morgaine said, not looking at Lancelet, "I would like to go with Elaine, my brother, if your lady can spare me. There are herbs and simples in that country about which I know little, and I would learn of them from the country wives. I need them for medicines and charms."

"Well," said Arthur, "you may go if you will. But it will be lonely here without you all." He smiled his rare, gentle smile at Lancelet. "My court is not my court without my best of knights. But I would not hold you here against your will, and neither would my queen."

I am not so sure of that, Morgaine thought, watching Gwenhwyfar struggling to compose her face. Arthur had been long away; he was eager to be reunited with his wife. Would Gwenhwyfar tell him honestly that she loved another, or would she go meekly to his bed and pretend again?

And for a bizarre moment Morgaine saw herself as the Queen's shadow ... somehow her fate and mine have gotten all entangled ... she, Morgaine, had had Arthur and borne him a son, which Gwenhwyfar longed to do; Gwenhwyfar had had Lancelet's love for which Morgaine would willingly have given her soul ... it is just like the God of the Christians to make such blunders-he does not like lovers. Or is it the Goddess who jests cruelly with us?

Gwenhwyfar beckoned to Morgaine. "You look ill, sister. Are you still faint?"

Morgaine nodded. I must not hate her. She is as much victim as I. ... "I am still a little weary. I will go to rest soon."

"And tomorrow," Gwenhwyfar said, "you and Elaine are to take Lancelet from us." The words were spoken lightly, as a jest, but Morgaine seemed to see very deep into Gwenhwyfar, where the woman was fighting rage and despair like her own. Ah, our fates are entangled by the Goddess, and who can fight her will ... but she hardened her heart against the other woman's despair and said, "What is the good of a queen's champion, if he is not away fighting for what seems good to him? Would you hold him at court and away from the winning of honor, my sister?"

"Neither of us would want that," Arthur said, coming up behind Gwenhwyfar and laying his arm around her waist. "Since by the goodwill of my friend and champion, my queen is here and safe when I return. Good night to you, my sister."

Morgaine stood and watched them move away from her, and after a moment she felt Lancelet's hand on her shoulder. He did not speak, but stood silent, watching Arthur and Gwenhwyfar. And as she stood there, silent, she knew that if she made a single move, she could have Lancelet this night. In his despair, now when he saw the woman he loved returning to her husband, and that husband so dear to him that he could not lift a hand to take her, he would turn to Morgaine if she would have him.

And he is too honorable not to marry me afterward ... .

No. Elaine would have him, perhaps, on those terms, but not I. She is guileless; he will not come to hate her, as he would certainly come to hate me.

Gently she removed Lancelet's hand from her shoulder. "I am weary, my kinsman. I am also for my bed. Good night, my dear. Bless you." And, knowing the irony of it, said, "Sleep well," knowing he would not. Well, so much the better for the plan she had made.

But much of that night she too lay unsleeping, bitterly regretting her own foreknowledge. Pride, she thought drearily, was a cold bedfellow.

6

In Avalon the Tor rose, crowned with the ring stones, and on the night of the darkened moon, the procession wound slowly upward, with torches. At their head walked a woman, pale hair braided in a crown over a broad, low forehead; she was robed in white, the sickle knife hanging at her girdle. By the light of the flaring torches, it seemed that she sought out Morgaine where she stood in the shadows outside the circle, and her eyes demanded. Where are you, you who should stand here in my place? Why do you linger? Your place is here ... .

Arthur's kingdom is slipping from the Lady's grasp, and you are letting it go. Already he turns for all things to the priests, while you, who should stand in the place of the Goddess to him, will not move. He holds the sword of the Holy Regalia; is it you who will force him to live by it, or you who will take it from his hand and bring him down? Remember, Arthur has a son, and his son must grow to maturity in Avalon, that he may hand the kingdom of the Goddess down to his son ... .

And then it seemed that Avalon faded away and she saw Arthur in desperate battle, Excalibur in his hand, and he fell, run through by another sword, and he flung Excalibur into the Lake that it might not fall into the hands of his son...

Where is Morgaine, whom the Lady prepared for this day? Where is she who should stand in the place of the Goddess for this hour?

Where is the Great Raven? And suddenly it seemed to me that a flight of ravens wheeled overhead, diving and pecking at my eyes, circling down at me, crying aloud in Raven's own voice, "Morgaine! Morgaine, why have you deserted us, why did you betray me?"

"I cannot," I cried, "I do not know the way ..." but Raven's face melted into the accusing face of Viviane, and then into the shadow of the Old Deathcrone.

And Morgaine woke, knowing she lay in a sunlit room in Pellinore's house; the walls were white with plaster, painted in the old Roman fashion. Only outside the windows, far off and distant, she could hear the cry of a raven somewhere, and shivered.

Viviane had never scrupled to meddle with the lives of others, when it meant the good of Avalon or of the kingdom. Nor should she. Yet she herself had delayed as the sunny days sped by. Lancelet spent the days on the hills by the Lake, searching for the dragon-as if there actually were a dragon, Morgaine thought scornfully-and the evenings by the fire, exchanging songs and tales with Pellinore, singing to Elaine while sitting at her feet. Elaine was beautiful and innocent, and not unlike her cousin Gwenhwyfar, though five years younger. Morgaine let day after sunny day slide by, sure that they all must see the logic of it, that Lancelet and Elaine should marry.

No, she told herself bitterly, if any of them had had any wit to see logic or reason, then should Lancelet have married me years ago. Now it was time to act.

Elaine turned over in the bed they shared and opened her eyes; she smiled and curled up next to Morgaine. She trusts me, thought Morgaine painfully; she thinks I am helping her to win Lancelet out of friendship. If I hated her I could do her no worse harm. But she said quietly, "Now Lancelet has had enough time to feel the loss of Gwenhwyfar. Your time has come, Elaine."

"Will you give Lancelet a charm or a love potion ... ?"

Morgaine laughed. "I put small trust in love charms, though tonight he shall have something in his wine which will make him ready for any woman. Tonight you shall not sleep here, but in a pavilion near the woods, and Lancelet shall have a message that Gwenhwyfar has come and has sent for him. And so he will come to you, in the darkness. I can do no more than that-you must be ready for him-"

"And he will think I am Gwenhwyfar-" She blinked, swallowing hard. "Well, then-"

"He may think you are Gwenhwyfar for a short while," Morgaine said, steadily, "but he will know soon enough. You are a virgin, are you not, Elaine?"

The girl's face was crimson, but she nodded.

"Well, after the potion I have given him, he will not be able to stop himself," said Morgaine, "unless you should panic and try to fight him away from you-I warn you, it will not be all that much pleasure, since you are a virgin. Once I begin I cannot turn back, so say now whether you wish me to begin."

"I will have Lancelet for my husband, and God forbid I should ever turn back before I am honorably his wife."

Morgaine sighed. "So be it. Now-you know the scent Gwenhwyfar uses ... "

"I know it, but I do not like it much, it is too strong for me."

Morgaine nodded. "I make it for her-you know I am schooled in such things. When you go to bed in the pavilion, you must scent your body and your bedclothes with it. It will turn his mind to Gwenhwyfar and arouse him with that memory-"

The younger woman wrinkled her nose in distaste. "It seems unfair-"

"It is unfair," said Morgaine. "Make up your mind to that. What we are doing is dishonest, Elaine, but there's good to it too. Arthur's kingdom cannot long stand if the King is known a cuckold. When you are wedded a while, since you and Gwenhwyfar are so much alike, no doubt it will be put round that it was you Lancelet loved all this time." She gave Elaine the flask of scent. "Now, if you have a servant you can trust, have him put up the pavilion somewhere Lancelet will not see it till this night ... ."

Elaine said, "Even the priest would approve, I doubt it not, since I am taking him away from adultery with a married woman. I am free to marry ... ."

Morgaine felt her own smile thin and strained. "Well for you, if you can quiet your conscience so ... some priests say so, that the end is all, and whatever means be used, they are for the best ... "

She realized that Elaine was still standing, like a child at lessons, before her. "Well, go, Elaine," she said, "go and send Lancelet away another day to hunt the dragon. I must prepare my charm."

She watched them as they shared cup and plate at breakfast. Lancelet was fond of Elaine, she thought-fond as he might be of a friendly little dog. He would not be unkind to her when they were married.

Viviane had been just as ruthless as this, she had not scrupled to send a brother to the bed of his own sister ... . Morgaine worried the memory painfully, like a sore tooth. This too is for the good of the kingdom, she thought, and as she went to hunt out her herbs and medicines, to steep them in wine for the potion she would give Lancelet, she tried to form a prayer to the Goddess who joined man and women in love, or in simple lust like the rutting of beasts.

Goddess, I know enough of lust ... she thought, and steadied her hands, breaking the herbs and dropping them into the wine. I have felt his desire, though he would not give me what I would have had from him ... .

She sat watching the slow simmering of the herbs in the wine; small bubbles rose, lazily broke, and spat bittersweet essences which fumed around her. The world seemed very small and far away, her brazier but a child's toy, each bubble that rose in the wine large enough that she could have floated away inside it ... her whole body aching with a desire she knew would never be slaked. She could sense that she was moving into the state where powerful magic could be made ... .

It seemed she was both within and without the castle, that a part of her was out on the hills, following the Pendragon banner which Lancelet sometimes carried ... twisting, a great red dragon ... but there were no dragons, not this kind of dragon, and Pellinore's dragon, it was surely only a jest, a dream, as unreal as the banner which flew somewhere, far to the southward, over the walls of Camelot, a dragon invented by some artist for the banner, like the designs Elaine drew for her tapestry. And Lancelet surely knew this. Following the dragon, he was but enjoying a pleasant ride over the summer hills, following a dream and a fantasy, leaving him leisure for daydreaming of Gwenhwyfar's arms ... . Morgaine looked down at the bubbling liquid in her little brazier, drop by drop added a little more wine to the mixture, that it would not boil away. He would dream of Gwenhwyfar, and that night there would be a woman in his arms, wearing Gwenhwyfar's perfume. But first Morgaine would give him this potion which would put him at the mercy of the rut in him, so that he would not stop when he found he held not an experienced woman and his paramour, but a shrinking virgin ... . For a moment Morgaine stopped to pity Elaine, because what she was cold-bloodedly arranging was certainly something like rape. Much as Elaine longed for Lancelet, she was a virgin and had no real idea of the difference between her romantic dreams of his kisses, and what really awaited her-being taken by a man too drugged to know the difference. Whatever it was for Elaine, and however bravely she endured it, it would hardly be a romantic episode.

I gave up my maidenhood to the King Stag ... yet that was different. From childhood I had known what awaited me, and I had been taught and reared in the worship of that Goddess who brings man and woman together in love or in rut ... . Elaine was reared a Christian and taught to think of that very life force as the original sin for which mankind was doomed to death ... .

For a moment she thought she should seek out Elaine, try to prepare her, encourage her to think of this as the priestesses were taught to think of it: a great force of nature, clean and sinless, to be welcomed as a current of life, sweeping the participant into the torrent... but Elaine would think that even worse sin. Well, then, she must make of it what she would; perhaps her love for Lancelet would carry her through it undamaged.

Morgaine turned her thoughts back to simmering the herbs and the wine, and at the same time, somehow, it seemed she was riding on the hills ... neither was it a fair day for a ride; the sky was dark and clouded, a little wind blowing, the hills bleak and bare. Below the hills the long arm of the sea which was the lake looked grey and fathomless, like fresh-smithied metal; and the surface of the lake began to boil a little, or was it but the water in her brazier? Dark bubbles rose and spilled a foul stench, and then, slowly, rising from the lake, a long, narrow neck crowned with a horse's head and a horse's mane, a long sinuous body, writhing toward the shore ... rising, crawling, slithering its whole length onto the shore.

Lancelet's hounds were running about, darting down to the water, barking frenziedly. She heard him call out to them in exasperation; stop dead and look down toward the water, paralyzed, only half believing what he saw with his eyes, Then Pellinore blew his hunting horn to summon the others, and Lancelot put spurs to his horse, his spear braced on the saddle, and rode at a breakneck speed down the hill, charging. One of the hounds gave a pitiful scream; then silence, and Morgaine, from her strange distant watch, saw the curiously slimed trail where half the dog's broken body lay eaten away with the dark slime.

Pellinore was charging at it, and she heard Lancelot's shout to warn him back from riding directly at the great beast ... it was black and like a great worm, all but that mockery of a horse's head and mane. Lancelot rode at it, avoiding the weaving head, thrusting his long spear directly into the body. A wild howl shook the shore, a crazed banshee scream ... she saw the great head weaving wildly back and forth, back and forth ... Lancelot flung himself from his rearing, bucking horse, and ran on foot toward the monster. The head weaved down, and Morgaine flinched, as she saw the great mouth open. Then Lancelot's sword pierced the eye of the dragon, and there was a great gush of blood and some black foul stuff ... and it was all the bubbles rising from the wine ... .

Morgaine's heart jumped wildly. She lay back and sipped a little of the undiluted wine in the flask. Had it been an evil dream, or had she actually seen Lancelot kill the dragon in which she had never really believed? She rested there for some time, telling herself that she had dreamed, and then forced herself to rise, to add some sweet fennel to the mixture, for the strong sweetness would conceal the other herbs. And there should be strong salted beef for dinner, so that everyone should thirst and drink a great deal of the wine, especially Lancelot. Pellinore was a pious man-what would he think if all his castle folk went to rutting? No, she should make sure that only Lancelot drank the spiced mixture, and perhaps, in mercy, she should give some to Elaine too ... .

She poured the spiced wine into a flask and put it aside. Then she heard a cry, and Elaine rushed into her room.

"Oh, Morgaine, come at once, we need your work with simples- Father and Lancelot have slain the dragon, but they are both burned ... ."

"Burned? What nonsense is this? Do you believe truly that dragons fly and belch fire?"

"No, no," Elaine said impatiently, "but the creature spat some slime at them and it burns like fire-you must come and dress their wounds...."

Disbelieving, Morgaine glanced at the sky outside. The sun was hovering, a bare hand span above the western horizon; she had sat here most of the day. She went quickly, calling to the maids for bandage linen.

Pellinore had a great burn along one arm-yes, it looked very much like a burn; the fabric of his tunic was eaten away by it, and he roared with anguish as she poured healing salve on it. Lancelot's side was burned slightly, and on one leg the stuff had eaten through his boots, leaving the leather only a thin jellylike substance covering his leg. He said, "I should clean my sword well. If it can do that to the leather of a boot, think what it would have done to my leg ... " and shuddered.

"So much for all those who thought my dragon only a fantasy," said Pellinore, raising his head and sipping the wine his daughter gave him. "And thanks be to God that I had the wit to bathe my arm in the lake, or the slime would have eaten my arm as it dissolved my poor dog-did you see the corpse, Lancelet?"

"The dog? Yes," said Lancelet, "and hope never to see that kind of death again.... But you can confound them all when you hang the dragon's head over your gate-"

"I cannot," said Pellinore, crossing himself. "There was no proper bone to it at all, it was all soft like a grub or an earthworm ... and it has already withered away to slime. I tried to cut the head and the very air seemed to eat away at it. ... I do not think it was a proper beast at all, but something straight from hell!"

"Still it is dead," Elaine said, "and you have done what the King bade you, made an end once and for all of my father's dragon." She kissed her father, saying with tender apology, "Forgive me, sir, I thought, too, that your dragon was all fancy-"

"Would to God it had been," Pellinore said, crossing himself yet again. "I would rather be a mockery from here to Camelot than face any such thing again! I wish I thought there were no more such beasts ... Gawaine has told tales of what lives in the lochs yonder." He signaled to the potboy for more wine. "I think it would be well to get drunk this night, or I shall see that beast in nightmares for the next month!"

Would that be best? Morgaine wondered. No, if all about the castle were drunk, it would not fit her plans at all. She said, "You must listen to what I say, if I am to care for your wounds, sir Pellinore. You must drink no more, and you must let Elaine take you to bed with hot bricks at your feet. You have lost some blood, and you must have hot soup and possets, but no more wine."

He grumbled but he listened to her, and when Elaine had taken him away, with his body servants, Morgaine was left alone with Lancelet.

"So," she said, "how would you best celebrate your killing of your first dragon?"

He lifted his cup and said, "By praying that it will be my last. I truly thought my hour had come. I would rather face a whole horde of Saxons with no more than my axe!"

"The Goddess grant you have no more such encounters, indeed," Morgaine said, and filled his cup with the spiced wine. "I have made this for you, it is medicinal and will soothe your hurts. I must go and see that Elaine has Pellinore safely tucked away for the night-"

"But you will come back, kinswoman?" he said, holding her lightly by one wrist; she saw the wine beginning to burn in him. And more than the wine, she thought; an encounter with death sends a man ready for rutting ... .

"I will come back, I promise; now let me go," she said, and bitterness flooded her.

So, am I fallen so low that I would have him drugged, not knowing? Elaine will have him that way ... why is it better for her? But she wants him for husband, for better or worse. Not I. I am a priestess, and I know this thing that burns in me is not of the Goddess, but unholy ... am I so weak that I would have Gwenhwyfar's castoff garments and her castoff paramour also? And while her scorn cried no, the weakness through her whole body cried yes, so that she was sick with self-contempt as she went along the hall to the chamber of King Pellinore.

"How does your father, Elaine?" She wondered that her voice was so steady.

"He is quiet now, and I think he will sleep."

Morgaine nodded. "Now you must go to the pavilion, and sometime this night Lancelet will come to you. Forget not the scent Gwenhwyfar wears ... ."

Elaine was very pale, her blue eyes burning. Morgaine reached out and caught her by the arm; she held out a flask with some of the drugged wine in it. She said, and her own voice was shaking, "Drink this first, child." Elaine raised it to her lips and drank. "It is sweet with herbs ... is it a love potion?"

Morgaine's smile only stretched her mouth. "You may think it so, if you will."

"Strange, it burns my mouth, and burns me within ... . Morgaine, it is not poison? You do not-you do not hate me, Morgaine, because I will be Lancelet's wife?"

Morgaine drew the girl close and embraced and kissed her; the warm body in her arms somehow roused her, whether to desire or tenderness she could not tell. "Hate you? No, no, cousin, I swear it to you, I would not have sir Lancelet for husband if he begged me on his knees ... here, finish the wine, sweeting ... scent your body here, and here ....emember what he wants of you. It is you who can make him forget the Queen. Now go, child, wait for him in the pavilion there. ..." And again she drew Elaine close to her and kissed her. "The Goddess blesses you."

So like to Gwenhwyfar. Lancelet is already half in love with her, I think, and I but complete the work ... .

She drew a long, shaking breath, composing herself to return to the hall and to Lancelot. He had not hesitated to pour himself more of the drugged wine, and raised fuddled eyes as she came in.

"Ah, Morgaine-kinswoman-" He drew her down beside him. "Drink with me ... "

"No, not now. Listen to me, Lancelet, I bear a message for you ... ."

"A message, Morgaine?"

"Yes," she said. "Queen Gwenhwyfar has come hither to visit her kinswoman, and she sleeps in the pavilion beyond the lawns." She took his wrist and drew him along to the door. "And she has sent you a message: she does not wish to disturb her women, so you must go to her very quietly where she is in bed. Will you do that?"

She could see the haze of drunkenness and passion in his dark eyes. "I saw no messenger-Morgaine, I did not know you wished me well ... ."

"You do not know how well I wish you, cousin."

I wish that you may marry well and cease this hopeless, wretched love for a woman who can only bring you to dishonor and despair ... .

"Go," she said gently, "your queen awaits you. If you doubt me, this token was sent you." She held out a kerchief; it was Elaine's, but one kerchief is like to another, and it had been all but drenched in the scent associated with Gwenhwyfar.

He pressed it to his lips. "Gwenhwyfar," he whispered. "Where, Morgaine, where?"

"In the pavilion. Finish the wine-"

"Will you drink to me?"

"Later," she said with a smile. His steps faltered a little; he caught at her for support, and his arms went round her. His touch roused her, light as it was. Lust, she told herself fiercely, animal rut, this is nothing blessed by the Goddess ... . She struggled for calm. He was drugged like an animal, he would not care, he would take her now mindlessly, as he would have taken Gwenhwyfar, Elaine ... . "Go, Lancelet, you must not keep your queen waiting."

She saw him disappear in the shadows near the pavilion. He would go in quietly. Elaine would be lying there, the lamp falling on her golden hair so like the Queen's, but so dim he could not distinguish her features, her body and bed smelling of Gwenhwyfar's scent. She tormented herself by imagining, as she turned to pace the long empty room, how his slender naked body would slide under the covers, how he would take Elaine in his arms and cover her with kisses. If the little fool has but the wit to keep her mouth shut and say nothing till he is done ... .

Goddess! Shut away the Sight from me, let me not see Elaine in his arms ... writhing, racked, Morgaine did not know whether it was her own imagination or the Sight that tortured her with the awareness of Lancelet's naked body, of the touch of his hands ... how clearly she felt them in memory ... . She went back into the hall where the servants were clearing the tables and said roughly, "Give me some wine."

Startled, the man poured her a cup. Now they will think me a sot as well as a witch. She did not care. She drank down the wine and asked for more. Somehow it cut away the Sight, freed her from her awareness of Elaine, frightened and ecstatic, pinned down under his rough, demanding body ... .

Restlessly, like a prowling cat, she paced the hall, flickers of the Sight coming and going. When she judged the time was ripe, she drew a long breath, steeling herself for what she knew she must do now. The body servant who slept across the king's door started awake as Morgaine bent to rouse him.

"Madam, you cannot disturb the king at this hour-" "It concerns his daughter's honor." Morgaine took a torch from the wall bracket and held it aloft; she could sense how she looked to him, tall and terrible, feeling herself merge into the commanding form of the Goddess. He drew aside in terror, and she moved smoothly past.

Pellinore lay in his high bed, tossing restlessly in pain from his bandaged wound. He, too, started awake, looking up at Morgaine's pale face, the torch held high.

"You must come quickly, my lord," she said, her voice smooth and taut with her own controlled passion. "This is betrayal of hospitality ... I felt it right that you must know. Elaine-" "Elaine? What-"

"She is not asleep in our bed," Morgaine said. "Come quickly, my lord." She had been wise not to let him drink; she could not have roused him had he slept heavily with wine. Pellinore, startled, incredulous, threw on a garment, shouting for his daughter's women. It seemed to Morgaine that they followed her down the stairs and out the doors as smoothly as the writhing of a dragon, a procession with herself and Pellinore at the serpent's head, and she thrust back the silken flap of the pavilion, holding the torch high and watching with cruel triumph as Pellinore's outraged face was lighted by the torch. Elaine lay with her arms wound around Lancelet's neck, smiling and blissful; Lancelet, coming awake in the torchlight, stared around in shock and awareness, and his face was agonized with betrayal. But he did not say a word.

Pellinore shouted, "Now you will make amends, you lecherous wretch, you who have betrayed my daughter-"

Lancelet buried his face in his hands. He said through them, strangled, "I will-make amends-my lord Pellinore." Then he raised his face and looked straight into Morgaine's eyes. She met them, unflinching; but it was like a sword through her body. Before this, at least, he had loved her as a kinswoman.

Well, better that he should hate her. She would try to hate him, too. But before Elaine's face, shamed and yet smiling, she wanted to cry instead, and beg for them to pardon her.

MORGAINE SPEAKS ...

Lancelet was married to Elaine on Transfiguration; I remember little of the ceremony save Elaine's face, joyous and smiling. By the time Pellinore had arranged the wedding, she knew already that she bore Lancelet's son in her belly, and although he looked wretched, thin and pallid with despair, he was tender with Elaine, and proud of her swelling body. I remember Gwenhwyfar too, her face drawn with long weeping, and the look of ineradicable hatred that she turned on me.

"Can you swear that this was not your doing, Morgaine?"

I looked her straight in the eye.

"Do you begrudge your kinswoman a husband of her own, as you have one?"

She could not face me at that. And again I told myself, fiercely: Had she and Lancelet been honest with Arthur, had they fled from the court together, to live beyond Arthur's kingdom, so that Arthur could have taken him another wife to get an heir for the kingdom, then I would not have meddled.

But from that day, Gwenhwyfar hated me; and that I regretted most, for in a strange way I had loved her. Gwenhwyfar never seemed to hate her kinswoman; she sent Elaine a rich gift and a silver cup when her son was born, and when Elaine had the boy christened Galahad, for his father, she named herself his godmother and swore that he should be heir to the kingdom if she did not give Arthur a son. Sometime that year she indeed announced she was pregnant, but nothing came of it, and I think, indeed, it was only her desire for a child, and her fancy.

The marriage was no worse than most. That year Arthur had to face war on the northern coast, and Lancelet spent little time at home. Like many husbands, he spent his time at war, coming home two or three times a year to see to their lands-Pellinore had given them a castle near his own-to receive the new cloaks and shirts Elaine wove and embroidered for him-after he married Elaine, Lancelet always dressed as fine as the King himself-to kiss his son, and later his daughters, to sleep with his wife once, or maybe twice, and then he was off again.

Elaine always seemed happy. I do not know whether she was truly happy, being one of those women who can find their best happiness in home and babes, or whether she longed for more than this and yet abode bravely by the bargain she had made.

As for me, I dwelt at court for two more years. And then, at Pentecost of the second year, when Elaine was pregnant with her second child, Gwenhwyfar had her revenge.

7

As with every year, the day of Pentecost was Arthur's high festival. Gwenhwyfar had been awake since earliest daylight. On this day, all of those Companions who had fought at Arthur's side should be at court, and this year Lancelet would be here too ...

... last year he had not come. Word had been sent that he was in Less Britain, answering a call from his father, King Ban, who sought to settle trouble in his kingdom; but Gwenhwyfar knew in her heart why Lancelet had not come, why he had chosen to stay apart.

It was not that she could not forgive his marriage to Elaine. Morgaine and her spite had brought that about-Morgaine, who would have had Lancelet for herself and would stop at nothing to part him from the one he truly loved. Rather than see him in Gwenhwyfar's arms, Gwenhwyfar supposed, Morgaine would have seen him in hell, or in his grave.

Arthur, too, missed Lancelet sorely, that she had seen. Although he sat in his high seat at Camelot, and dealt justice to all manner of men-he was loved, loved far more than any king Gwenhwyfar had heard tell of before this-she could see that always he looked back to the days of battle and conquest; she supposed all men were like that. Arthur would bear to his grave the scars of the wounds he had taken in his great battles. When they had fought year after year to bring peace to the land, he had spoken as if he wished for nothing more than leisure to sit at home in Camelot and enjoy his castle. Now he was never so happy as when he could get some of his old Companions about him, and fall to talking of those old evil days when there were Saxons and Jutes and wild Northmen on every hand.

She looked at Arthur where he lay sleeping. Yes, and he was still the handsomest and goodliest of all his old Companions; at times she thought he was fairer of face and better to look at even than Lancelet, though it was unfair to compare them, one so dark, one so blond. And after all they were cousins, they were of one blood ... how, she wondered, had Morgaine come into that kindred? Perhaps indeed she was a changeling, nothing human at all, but left by the evil fairy folk to do wickedness among mankind ... a sorceress schooled in un-Christian ways. Arthur too was tainted by that background, though she had gotten him to go often to mass and to speak of himself as Christian. Morgaine liked not that, either.

Well, she would fight to the last to save Arthur's soul! She loved him well, he was the best husband a woman could ever have had, even had he been no High King but a simple knight. Surely the madness that had seized her was long gone. It was right and fitting she should think kindly of her husband's cousin. Why, it was at Arthur's own will that she had first lain in Lancelet's arms. And now it was all past and over, and she had confessed it and been absolved; her priest had told her it was as if the sin had never been, and now she must strive to forget it.

Yet she could not help remembering, a little, on this morning when Lancelet would be coming to court with his wife and son ... he was a married man, married to her own cousin. Now he was not only her husband's kinsman but her own kinsman as well. She could greet him with a kiss, and it would be no sin.

Arthur turned over, as if her thoughts could disturb him, and smiled at her.

"It is Pentecost day, sweetheart," he said, "and all of our kinfolk and friends will be here. Let me see you smile."

She smiled at him and he drew her down against him, kissing her and letting his fingers circle her breasts.

"You are certain what we do this day will not offend you? I would not have anyone think you were less to me," he said anxiously. "You are not old, God may yet bless us with children if it is his will. But the lesser kings have demanded it of me-life is never certain, so I must name an heir. When our first son is born, sweet, then it will be as if this day had never been, and I am sure young Galahad will not begrudge the throne to his cousin, but serve and honor him as Gawaine has done for me ... ."

It might yet be true, Gwenhwyfar thought, surrendering herself to her husband's gentle caresses. There were such things told of in the Bible: the mother of John the Baptizer, who had been cousin to the Virgin-God had opened her womb long after she was past the age of bearing, and she, Gwenhwyfar, was not yet thirty ... why, Lancelet had said once that his mother was older than this when he was born. Perhaps this time, after all these years, she would arise from her husband's bed bearing again the seed of his son in her body. And now that she had learned not only to submit to him as a good wife must, but to take pleasure in his touch, his manhood filling her, surely she was softened and all the more ready to conceive and bear ... .

No doubt it was all for the best, when for a time three years ago she had thought she bore Lancelet's child, but something had gone amiss ... three months she had not had her moon-blood and she had told one or two of her ladies that she was with child; and then, after three more months, when she should have felt the first quickening, it had proved to be nothing after all... but now, surely, with this new warmth she had known since she had been all wakened, this time it would come about as she wished. And Elaine would not gloat and triumph over her again ... . She might, for a little time, have been the mother of the King's heir, but Gwenhwyfar would be the mother of the King's son ... .

She said something like that later, when they were dressing, and Arthur looked at her, troubled. "Is Lancelet's wife unkind or scornful to you, Gwen? I had thought you and your cousin were good friends ... ."

"Oh, we are," said Gwenhwyfar, blinking back tears, "but it is always so with women ... those women who have sons think ever they are the betters of any woman who is barren. The wife of the swineherd, in her childbed, no doubt thinks with scorn and pity of the Queen who cannot give her lord so much as a single son."

Arthur came and kissed the back of her neck. "Don't, sweeting, don't cry. I would rather have you than another woman who could have given me a dozen sons already."

"Truly?" Gwenhwyfar said, a hint of scorn in her voice. "Yet I was only something my father gave you with a hundred horsemen, just a part of the bargain-and you took me dutifully to get the horses-but I was a bad bargain-"

He raised his eyes and stared at her with a blue incredulous gaze. "Have you been thinking of that and holding it against me all these years, my Gwen? But surely you must know that since the first moment that I looked on your face, no one could be dearer to me than you!" he said and wound his arms around her. She was rigid, blinking back tears, and he kissed her at the corner of her eye. "Gwenhwyfar, Gwenhwyfar, could you think- you are my wife, beloved, my own dear wife, and nothing on earth could part us. If I wanted only a brood mare to get me sons, God knows I could have had enough of them!"

"But you have not," she said, still stiff and cold in his arms. "I would willingly take your son to foster, and bring him up as your heir. But you thought me not worthy to foster your son ... and it was you who pushed me into Lancelet's arms-"

"Oh, my Gwen," he said, and his face was rueful like a punished child. "Do you hold it against me, that old madness? I was drunk, and it seemed to me that you loved Lancelet well... I thought to give you pleasure, and if it might truly be so, that it was my fault you did not bear, then you could have a child by one so close to me that I could in good conscience call whatever child came of that night, my own heir. But mostly it was that I was drunk-"

"At times," she said, her face set like stone, "it has seemed to me that you loved Lancelet more than me. Can you say in truth that it was to give me pleasure, or was it for the pleasure of him you loved best of all-?"

He dropped his arm from her neck as if he were stung. "Is it a sin, then, to love my kinsman and think, too, of his pleasure? It is true, I love you both-"

"In Holy Writ it speaks of that city that was destroyed for such sins," said Gwenhwyfar.

Arthur was as white as his shirt. "I love my kinsman Lancelet with all honor, Gwen; King David himself wrote of his cousin and kinsman Jonathan, Thy love to me was wonderful, passing the love of woman, and God smote him not. It is so with comrades in battle. Dare you to say that such a love is a sin, Gwenhwyfar? I will avow it before the throne of God-" He stopped, unable to force further sound through his dry throat.

Gwenhwyfar heard her own voice cracking with hysteria.

"Can you swear that when you brought him to our bed ... I saw it then, you touched him with more love than ever you have given the woman my father forced on you-when you led me into this sin, can you swear it was not your own sin, and all your fine talk no more than a cover for that very sin that brought down fire from Heaven on the city of Sodom?"

He stared at her, still deathly white. "You are certainly mad, my lady. On that night you speak of-I was drunk, I know not what you may have thought you saw. It was Beltane, and the force of the Goddess was with us all. I think all your prayers and thoughts of sin have turned your mind, my Gwen."

"No Christian man would say so!"

"And that is one reason why I like not to call myself a Christian!" he shouted back at her, losing patience at last. "I am tired of all this talk of sin! If I had put you away from me-aye, and I was counselled to do so, and would not because I loved you too well-and taken another woman-"

"No! Rather would you share me with Lancelet, and have him too-"

"Say that again," he said very low, "and wife or no, love or no, I will kill you, my Gwenhwyfar!"

But she was sobbing hysterically now and could not stop herself. "You say you wished for a son, and so you led me into such sin as God cannot pardon-if I have sinned, and God has punished me with barrenness, was it not you who led me into that sin? And even now, it is Lancelet's son is your heir. Can you dare say it is not Lancelet you love best, when you make his son your heir and not your own son, when you will not give me your son to foster for you-"

"Let me call your women, Gwenhwyfar," he said, with a deep breath. "You are beside yourself. I swear to you, I have no son, or if I do, it is some chance-gotten child from my days in battle, and the woman knew me not, nor who I was. No woman anywhere near my own station has ever come to me and said she bore my child. Priests or no, sin or no, I cannot believe any woman would be ashamed to admit that she had borne the son of a childless High King. I have taken no unwilling woman, nor played at adultery with any man's wife. What is this mad talk of a son of mine you would foster as my heir? I tell you, I have none. I have often wondered if some sickness in boyhood, or that wound I took, might have gelded me ... I have no son."

"No, but that is a lie!" Gwenhwyfar said angrily. "Morgaine bade me not speak of it, but long ago I went to her, I begged her for a charm to help my barrenness. I was in despair, I said I would give myself to another man, since it was likely you could not father a son. And at that time Morgaine swore to me that you could father a child, that she had seen a son of yours, fostered at the court of Lot of Lothian, but she made me promise not to speak of it-"

"Fostered at the court of Lothian ..." said Arthur, and then he caught at his chest, as if in dreadful pain there. "Ah, merciful God!" he said in a whisper, "and I never knew ... ."

Gwenhwyfar felt sudden terror striking through her. "No, no, Arthur, Morgaine is a liar! No doubt it was but her malice, it was she who contrived Lancelet's marriage to Elaine, because she was jealous ... no doubt she was lying to plague me ... ."

Arthur said in a distant voice, "Morgaine is a priestess of Avalon. She does not lie. I think, Gwenhwyfar, that we must ask of this. Send for Morgaine-"

"No, no," Gwenhwyfar begged. "I am sorry I spoke-I was beside myself and raving as you said-oh, my dear lord and husband, my king and my lord, I am sorry for every word I said! I beg you to forgive me-I beg you."

He put his arms around her. "There is need for you to forgive me too, my dear lady. I see now I have done you great wrong. But when you have unloosed the winds, then must you abide by their blowing, whatever they may tear down. ..." He kissed her very gently on the forehead. "Send for Morgaine."

"Oh, my lord, oh, Arthur, I beg you-I promised to her that I would never speak of it to you-"

"Well, then, you have broken your promise," Arthur said. "I besought you not to speak, but you would have it so, and now what has been said cannot be unsaid." He stepped to the door of the chamber and called to his chamberlain, "Go to the lady Morgaine and command that she attend me and my queen as quickly as she may."

When the man had gone, Arthur called Gwenhwyfar's servant, and Gwenhwyfar stood like a stone as the woman put on her holiday robe and braided her hair. She sipped at a cup of hot water and wine, but her throat was tight. She had spoken the unforgivable.

But if it is true that this morning he has given me his child to bear ... and a strange pain struck inward through her body even into her womb. Could anything take root and grow in such bitterness?

After a time Morgaine came into the room in a dark-red gown, her hair braided with crimson silk ribbons; she had dressed well for the festival and looked alive and glowing.

And I am but a barren tree, Gwenhwyfar thought; Elaine has Lancelot's son; even Morgaine, who has no husband and no wish for one, has played the harlot and borne a son to somebody or other, and Arthur has fathered a son on some unknown woman, but I-I have none.

Morgaine came and kissed her; Gwenhwyfar stood rigid within her arms. Then Morgaine turned to Arthur and said, "You commanded me to come, my brother?"

Arthur said, "I am sorry to disturb you so early, sister. But, Gwenhwyfar," he said, "now must you repeat in my presence and Morgaine's what you have said. I will have no secret slanders repeated within my court."

Morgaine looked at Gwenhwyfar and saw the marks of tears around her reddened eyes. "Dear brother," she said, "your queen is ill. Is she pregnant again? As to whatever she has said, well, it's a true saying, hard words break no bones."

Arthur looked coldly at Gwenhwyfar, and Morgaine drew back; this was not the brother she knew well, this was the stern face of the High King as he sat in his hall to dispense justice.

"Gwenhwyfar," he said, "not only as your husband, but as your king, I command you: Repeat before Morgaine's face what you have said behind her back, and what she told you, that I had a son in fosterage at the court of Lothian-"

It is true, Gwenhwyfar thought in that split second. Never before, save when Viviane was murdered before her eyes, have I seen Morgaine's face other than calm, serene, the face of a priestess ... . It is true, and somehow it touches her deeply ... but why?

"Morgaine," Arthur said. "Tell me-is this true? Have I a son?"

What is it to Morgaine? Why should she wish it to be concealed, even from Arthur? She might wish her own harlotries to be hidden, but why should she conceal it from Arthur that he has a son? And then some inkling of the truth struck her, and she gasped aloud.

Morgaine thought: A priestess of Avalon does not lie. But I am cast out of Avalon, and for this, and unless it is all to be for nothing, I must lie, and lie well and quickly ... .

"Who was it?" demanded Gwenhwyfar angrily. "One of the whore priestesses of Avalon who lies with men in sin and lustfulness at their demon festivals?"

"You know nothing of Avalon," said Morgaine, fighting to keep her voice steady. "Your words are like the wind, without meaning-"

Arthur took her by the arm. He said, "Morgaine-my sister-" and she thought that in another moment she would weep ... as he had wept in her arms, that morning when first he knew how Viviane had trapped them both. ...

Her mouth was dry and her eyes burned. She said, "I spoke-of your son-only to comfort Gwenhwyfar, Arthur. She feared you could not give her a child-"

"Would you had spoken so to comfort me," said Arthur, but his smile was only a grimace stretching his mouth. "All these years have I thought I could beget no son, even to save my kingdom-Morgaine, now you must tell me the truth."

Morgaine drew a long breath. In the dead silence inside the room she could hear a dog barking somewhere beyond the windows, and some small insect chirping somewhere. At last she said, "In the name of the Goddess, Arthur, since you will have it said at last-I bore a son to the King Stag, ten moons after your kingmaking on Dragon Island. Morgause has him in her keeping, and she swore to me that you should never hear it from her lips. Now you have had it from mine. Let it end here."

Arthur was white as death. He caught her into his arms, and she could feel how he was trembling. Tears were streaming down his face and he made no effort to check them or wipe them away. "Ah, Morgaine, Morgaine, my poor sister-I knew I had done you a great wrong, but I dreamed never that it was so great a wrong as this-"

"You mean this is true?" Gwenhwyfar cried out. "That this unchaste harlot of a sister of yours, she is such a one as would practice her whore's arts on her own brother-!"

Arthur swung round to her, his arm still around Morgaine. He said in a voice she had never heard before, "Be silent! Speak not one word against my sister-it was neither her doing nor her fault!" He drew a long, shaking breath, and Gwenhwyfar had time to hear the echo of her own ugly words. "My poor sister," Arthur said again. "And you have borne this burden alone, nor ever laid the fault rightly at my door-no, Gwenhwyfar," he said earnestly, turning to her again, "it is not what you think. It was at my kingmaking, and neither of us knew the other-it was dark, and we had not seen one another since I was so small that Morgaine could carry me about in her arms. She was to me no more than the priestess of the Mother, and I was no more to her than the Horned One, and when we knew one another, it was too late and the harm was done," he said, and it was as if he forced his voice past tears. And he held Morgaine close to him, crying out, "Morgaine, Morgaine, you should have told me!"

"And again you think only of her!" Gwenhwyfar cried. "Not of your own greatest of all sins-she is your own sister, the child of your own mother's womb, and for such a thing as this God will punish you-"

"He has punished me indeed," said Arthur, holding Morgaine close. "But the sin was unknowing, with no desire to do evil."

"Maybe it is for this," Gwenhwyfar faltered, "that he has punished you with barrenness, and even now, if you repent and do penance-"

Morgaine pulled herself gently free of Arthur. Gwenhwyfar watched, with a rage she could not speak, as Morgaine dried his tears with her own kerchief, almost an absentminded gesture, the gesture of a mother or older sister, with nothing in it of the harlotry she wished to see. She said, "Gwenhwyfar, you think too much of sin. We did no sin, Arthur and I. Sin is in the wish to do harm. We came together by the will of the Goddess, for the forces of life, and if a child came to birth, then it was made in love, whatever brought us together. Arthur cannot acknowledge a son begotten on his sister's body, it is true. But he is not the first king to have a bastard son whose very existence he cannot admit. The boy is healthy and well, and safe in Avalon. The Goddess-for that matter, your God-is not a vindictive demon, looking about to punish somebody for some imagined sin. What happened between Arthur and me, it should not have happened, neither he nor I would have sought it, but done is done-the Goddess would not punish you with childlessness for the sins of another. Can you blame your own childlessness on Arthur, Gwen?"

Gwenhwyfar cried, "I do so! He has sinned, and God has punished him -for incest, for fathering a son on his own sister- for serving the Goddess, that fiend of foul abominations and lechery ... . Arthur," she cried, "tell me you will do penance, that you will go on this holy day and tell the bishop how you have sinned, and do such penance as he may lay on you, and then perhaps God will forgive you and he will cease to punish us both!"

Arthur, troubled, looked from Morgaine to Gwenhwyfar. Morgaine said, "Penance? Sin? Do you truly believe that your God is an evil-minded old man, who snoops around to see who lies in bed with another's wife?"

"I have confessed my sins," Gwenhwyfar cried, "I have done penance and been absolved, it is not for my sins that God punishes us I Say you will do so too, Arthur! When God gave you the victory at Mount Badon, you swore to put aside the old dragon banner, and rule as a Christian king, but you left this sin unconfessed. Now do penance for this too, and let God give you the victory of this day as he did at Mount Badon-and be freed of your sins, and give me a son who can rule after you at Camelot!"

Arthur turned and leaned against the wall, covering his face with his hands. Morgaine would have moved toward him again, but Gwenhwyfar cried, "Keep away from him, you-! Would you tempt him into sin further than this? Have you not done enough, you and that foul demon you call your Goddess, you and that evil old witch whom Balin rightly killed for her heathen sorceries-?"

Morgaine shut her eyes, and her face looked as if she were about to weep. Then she sighed and said, "I cannot listen to you curse at my religion, Gwenhwyfar. I cursed not yours, remember that. God is God, however called, and always good. I think it sin to believe God can be cruel or vindictive, and you would make him meaner than the worst of his priests. I beg you to consider well what you do before you put Arthur into the hands of his priests with this." She turned, her crimson draperies moving silently around her, and left the room.

Arthur turned back to Gwenhwyfar as he heard Morgaine go. At last he said, more gently than he had ever spoken to her, even when they lay in each other's arms, "My dearest love-"

"Can you call me so?" she said bitterly, and turned away. He followed her, laying a hand on her shoulder and turning her round to face him. "My dearest lady and queen-have I done you such a wrong?"

"Even now," she said shaking, "even now all you can think of is the wrong you have done to Morgaine-"

"Should I be happy at the thought of what I have brought on my own sister? I swear to you, I knew her not until the thing was done, and then, when I recognized her, it was she who comforted me, as if I had been the little boy who used to sit in her lap. ... I think if she had turned on me and accused me, as she had every right to do, I would have gone away and drowned myself in the Lake. But I never thought what might come to her ... I was so young, and there were all the Saxons and all the battles-" He spread his hands helplessly. "I tried to do as she bade me-put it behind us, remember that what we had done was done in ignorance. Oh, I suppose it was sin, but I did not choose to sin ... ."

He looked so wretched that for a moment Gwenhwyfar was tempted to say what he wanted to hear, that indeed he had done no wrong; to take him in her arms and comfort him. But she did not move. Never, never had Arthur come to her for comfort, never had he acknowledged that he had done her any wrong; even now, all he could do was to insist that the sin which had kept them childless was no sin; his concern was only for the wrong he had done that damned sorceress of a sister of his! She said, crying again and furious because she knew he would think she wept from sorrow and not from rage, "You think it is only Morgaine you have wronged?"

"I cannot see I have harmed any other," he said stubbornly. "Gwenhwyfar, it was before ever I set eyes on you!"

"But you married me with this great sin unconfessed, and even now you cling to your sin when you might be shriven and do penance, and freed of your punishment-"

He said wearily, "Gwenhwyfar mine, if your God is such a one as would punish a man for a sin he knew not he committed, would he then abate that punishment because I tell a priest, and mouth such prayers as he gives me, and I know not what all-eat bread and water for a space, or what have you-?"

"If you truly repent-"

"Oh, God, do you think I have not repented?" Arthur burst out. "I have repented it every time I looked on Morgaine, these twelve years past! Would it make my repentance stronger to avow it before one of these priests who wants nothing more than to have power over a king?"

"You think only of your pride," Gwenhwyfar said angrily, "and pride too is a sin. Would you but humble yourself, God would forgive you!"

"If your God is such a God as that, I want not his forgiveness!" Arthur's fists were clenched. "I must rule this kingdom, my Gwen, and I cannot do that if I kneel before some priest and accept whatever he chooses to lay on me for penance! And there is Morgaine to think of-already they call her sorceress, harlot, witch! I have no right to confess to a sin which will call down scorn and public shame to my sister!"

"Morgaine too has a soul to be saved," said Gwenhwyfar, "and if the people of this land see that their king can put aside his pride and take thought for his soul, repent humbly for his sins, then it will help them to save their souls too, and it will be to his credit even in Heaven."

He said, sighing, "Why, you argue as well as any councillor, Gwenhwyfar. I am not a priest, and I am not concerned with the souls of my people-"

"How dare you say so?" she cried. "As a king is above all his people and their lives are in his hand, so are their souls too! You should be foremost in piety as you are in bravery on the battlefield! How would you think of a king who sent his soldiers out to fight, and sat safe out of sight and watched them from afar?"

"Not well," said Arthur, and Gwenhwyfar, knowing she had him now, said, "Then what would you think of a king who saw his people pursue ways of piety and virtue, and said he need have no thought to his own sins?

Arthur sighed. "Why should you care so much, Gwenhwyfar?"

"Because I cannot bear to think that you will suffer hellfire ... and because if you free yourself of your sin, God may cease to punish us with childlessness."

She choked at last and began to cry again. He put his arms around her and stood with her head against his shoulder. He said gently, "Believe you this truly, my queen?"

She remembered; once before, when he had first refused to bear the banner of the Virgin into the battle, he had spoken to her like this. And then she had triumphed and brought him to Christ, and God had given him the victory. But then she had not known he had this sin unconfessed on his soul. She nodded against him and heard him sigh.

"Then I have done you wrong too, and I must somehow amend it. But I cannot see how it is right that Morgaine should suffer shame for this."

"Always Morgaine," said Gwenhwyfar, in a blaze of white rage. "You will not have her suffer, she is perfect in your eyes-tell me then, is it right that I should suffer for the sin that she has done, or you? Do you love her so much better than me that you will let me go childless all my days so that sin may be kept secret?"

"Even if I have done wrong, my Gwen, Morgaine is blameless-"

"Nay, that she is not," Gwenhwyfar flared, "for she follows that ancient Goddess, and the priests say that their Goddess is that same old serpent of evil whom our Lord drove from the Garden of Eden! Even now Morgaine clings to those filthy and heathenish rituals of hers-God tells us, yes, that those heathen who have not heard the word of the Lord may be saved, but what of Morgaine, who was brought up in a Christian household, and afterward turned to the filthy sorcerous ways of Avalon? And all these years at this court, she has heard the word of Christ, and do they not say that those who hear the word of Christ and do not repent and believe in him, they shall surely be damned? And women especially have need of repentance, since through a woman sin came first into the world-" Gwenhwyfar was sobbing so hard that she could hardly speak.

At last Arthur said, "What do you want me to do, my Gwenhwyfar?"

"This is the holy day of Pentecost," she said, wiping her eyes and trying to control her sobs, "when the spirit of God came down to Man. Will you go to the mass and take the sacrament with this great sin on your soul?"

"I suppose-I suppose I cannot," said Arthur, his voice breaking. "If truly you believe this, Gwenhwyfar, I will not deny it to you. I will repent as far as it is in me to repent for something I cannot think a sin, and I will do what penance the bishop lays on me." His smile was only a thin, harried grimace. "I hope, for your sake, my love, that you are right about God's will."

And Gwenhwyfar, even as she put her arms around him, crying with thankfulness, had a moment of shattering fear and doubt. She remembered when she had stood in the house of Meleagrant, and known that all her prayers could not save her. God had not rewarded her for her virtue, and when Lancelet came to her, had she not sworn to herself that never again would she hide or repent, because a God who had not rewarded her virtue would surely not punish her sin. God could not care either way ... .

But God had punished her indeed; God had taken Lancelet from her and given him to Elaine, so for all that perilling of her soul she had won nothing ... she had confessed and done penance, but God punished her still. And now she knew it might not be all her fault, but that she was bearing the weight of Arthur's sin too, the sin he had done with his sister. But if they were both freed of sin, if he did penance for that great sin unconfessed, and humbled himself, then no doubt God would forgive him too ... .

Arthur kissed the top of her head and stroked her hair. Then he moved away, and she felt cold and lost when he took his arms away from her, as if she were not safely within walls but out under the huge open sky, bewildering, huge, filled with terror. She moved toward him again, to take refuge in his arms, but he had dropped into a chair and sat there, exhausted, beaten, a thousand leagues away from her.

At last he raised his head, and said, with a sigh that seemed ripped from the very depths of his being, "Send for Father Patricius."

8

When Morgaine left Arthur and Gwenhwyfar in their chamber, she snatched a cloak and fled out into the weather, uncaring of the rain. She went to the high battlements and walked there, alone; the tents of Arthur's followers and Companions, of the lesser kings and the guests, crowded the level space at the brow of the hill that was Camelot, and even in the rain, all the banners and flags fluttered brightly. But the sky was dark, and thick low clouds almost touched the brow of the hill; pacing, restless, Morgaine thought that the Holy Ghost could have chosen a finer day to descend on his people-and especially on Arthur.

Oh, yes. Gwenhwyfar would give him no peace until he had given himself into the hands of the priests. And what of his vow to Avalon?

And yet if it should be Gwydion's fate that one day he should sit on his father's throne, if that was what the Merlin planned ... no man could escape fate. Morgaine thought mirthlessly, No woman either. Taliesin, who knew all manner of music and old tales, had once told her a story from the ancients who dwelt to the south in the Holy Land or somewhere near to there, of a man who was born under a curse that he should slay his father and wed with his mother. So the parents listened to the curse and cast him out to die, and he was reared by strangers, and one day, meeting with his father, unknowing, he quarrelled with him, killed him, and wedded with his widow; so that the very means they had taken to prevent the falling of the curse had brought it to pass-had he been reared in his father's house, he would not have done what he did in ignorance. ...

She and Arthur had done what they did in ignorance, too, yet the fairy woman had cursed her son: Cast forth your babe, or kill it as it comes from the womb; what of the King Stag when the young stag is grown? And it seemed to her that all round her the world grew grey and strange, as if she had wandered into the mists of Avalon, and there was a strange humming in her brain.

There seemed a terrible clanging and banging in the air all round her, deafening her ... no, it was the church bells, ringing for the mass. She had heard, too, that the fairy folk could not abide the sound of the church bells, and it was for that reason they had taken to the far hills and hollows ... it seemed to her that she could not go and sit quietly, as she usually did, listening with polite attention because the Queen's waiting-women should set an example to all the others. She thought that the walls would stifle her and the mumbling of the priests and the smoke of the incense would drive her mad; better to stay out here in the clean rain. Now she thought to draw up the hood of the woolen cloak over her head; the ribbons in her hair were all wet, likely they were spoilt. She fumbled with them and the red came off on her fingers; poorly dyed they were, for materials so costly.

But the rain was slowing a little, and people were beginning to move about in the spaces between the tents.

"There will be no mock battle games today," said a voice behind her, "or I would ask you for one of those ribbons you are casting about, and carry it into battle as a flag of honor, lady Morgaine."

Morgaine blinked, trying to collect herself. A young man, slender and dark-haired, with dark eyes; something familiar about him, but she could not quite remember ... .

"You do not remember me, lady?" he said reproachfully. "And I was told you had wagered a ribbon on my success in just such a mock battle a year or two ago-or was it three?"

Now she remembered him; he was the son of King Uriens of North Wales. Accolon, that was his name; and she had wagered with one of the Queen's ladies who claimed that no man could stand in the field against Lancelot ... . She had never known how her wager came off; that was the Pentecost when Viviane had been murdered.

"Indeed I remember you, sir Accolon, but that Pentecost feast, you may remember, ended in such brutal murder, and it was my foster-mother who was slain-"

He was at once contrite. "Then I must beg your pardon for calling such a sad occasion to your mind. And I suppose there will be enough mock battles and combats before we leave here again, now that there is no war in the land-my lord Arthur wishes to know that his legions are still skilled to defend us all."

"The need seems not too likely," she said, "even the wild Northmen turn elsewhere these days. Do you miss the days of battle and glory?"

He had, she thought, a nice smile. "I fought at Mount Badon," he said. "It was my first battle, and came near to being my last. I think I prefer mock battles and tourneys. I will fight if I must, but it is better to fight in play against friends who have no real desire to kill, with pretty ladies looking down and admiring us-in real battle, lady, there is none to admire gallantry, and indeed, little of gallantry, for all they talk of courage. ..."

They had moved, as they spoke, nearer to the church; and now the sound of the bells nearly drowned his voice-a pleasant, musical voice, she thought. She wondered if he played upon the harp. She turned abruptly away from the sound of the bells.

"Are you not going to the holy day mass, lady Morgaine?"

She smiled and looked down at his wrists, where the serpents twined. She ran a light finger over one of them. "Are you?"

"I do not know. I thought I might go to see the faces of my friends -no, I think not," he said, smiling at her, "when there is a lady to talk to ... ."

She said, tingeing her voice with irony, "Do you not fear for your soul?"

"Oh, my father is pious enough for both of us ... he has no wife now, and no doubt he wishes to study out the land and see how it lies for his next conquest. He has listened well to the Apostle and knows it is better to marry than to burn, and he burns oftener than I would think dignified for a man of his years. ..."

"You have lost your mother, sir Accolon?"

"Aye, before I was weaned; and my stepmothers one, two, and three," Accolon said. "My father has three sons living, and it is certain he can have no further need of heirs, but he is too pious only to take a woman to his bed, so he must marry again. And even my oldest brother is married, and has a son."

"You were the son of his old age?"

"Of his middle age," Accolon said, "and I am not so young as all that. If there had not been war when I was younger, I might have been destined for Avalon and the lore of the priests. But my father has grown Christian in his old age."

"Yet you wear the serpents."

He nodded. "And know something of their wisdom, yet not enough to content me. In these days there is not much for a younger son to do. My father told me he would also seek a wife for me at this gathering," he said with a smile. "I would that you were the daughter of some lesser man, lady."

Morgaine felt herself blushing like a girl. "Oh, I am too old for you," she said, "and I am only the King's half-sister by his mother's first marriage. My father was Duke Gorlois, the first man Uther Pendragon killed as a traitor ... ."

There was a brief silence before Accolon said, "In these days it is dangerous, perhaps, to wear the serpents-or will be, if the priests grow more powerful. When Arthur came to the throne, I heard he had the support of Avalon, that the Merlin gave him the sword of the Holy Regalia. But now he has made this so Christian a court ... my father told me that he feared Arthur would move this land back to the Druid rule, but it seems he has not. ..."

"True," she said, and for a moment anger stifled her. "Yet still he wears the Druid sword ... ."

He looked at her closely. "And you bear the crescent of Avalon." Morgaine blushed. All the people had gone into the church now, and the doors were shut. "It has begun to rain harder-lady Morgaine, you will be drenched, you will take cold. You must go inside. But will you come and sit beside me at the feast this day?"

She hesitated, smiling. It was certain that Arthur and Gwenhwyfar would not seek her company at the high table this day of all days.

She who must remember what it was like to fall prey to Meleagrant's lust ... should she blame me, she that comforted herself in the arms of her husband's dearest friend? Oh, no, it was not rape, nothing like to it, but still I was given to the Horned One without anyone's asking if it was what I wished ... it was not desire brought me to my brother's bed, but obedience to the will of the Goddess ... .

Accolon was still waiting for her answer, his face turned to her, eagerly. If I willed it, he would kiss me, he would beg me for the favor of a single touch. She knew it and the thought was healing to her pride. She smiled at him, a smile that dazzled him.

"I will indeed, if we can sit far off from your father." And it struck her suddenly: Arthur had looked at her like that. That is what Gwenhwyfar fears. She knows what I did not know, that if I stretched my hand to Arthur, I could make him ignore anything she said; Arthur loves me best. I have no desire for Arthur, I would have him only as a dear brother, but she does not know that. She fears that I will beckon with my hand, and with the secret arts of Avalon I will seduce him to my bed again.

"I beg you, go inside and change your-your gown," said Accolon earnestly, and Morgaine smiled at him again and pressed his hand in her own.

"I will see you at the feast."

ALL THROUGH the holy day service, Gwenhwyfar had sat alone, striving to compose herself. The Archbishop had preached the usual Pentecost sermon, telling of the descent of the Holy Spirit, and she thought, If Arthur has at last repented all his sins and become a Christian, then I must give thanks to the Holy Spirit for coming on us both today. She let her fingers stray unseen to her belly; today they had lain together, it might be that at Candlemas she would hold in her arms the heir to the kingdom ... she looked across the church to where Lancelet knelt at Elaine's side. She could see, jealously, that Elaine's waist was already swelling again. Another son, or a daughter. And now Elaine flaunts herself, beside the man I loved so long and so well with the son I should have borne ... well, I must bend my head and be humble a while, it will not hurt me to pretend that I believe her son will follow Arthur on his throne ... . Ah, I am a sinful woman, I spoke to Arthur of humbling his pride, and I am full of pride.

The church was crowded, as always at this holy day mass. Arthur looked pale and subdued; he had spoken with the bishop, but there had been no time for extended talk before the mass. She knelt beside him and felt that he was a stranger, far more of a stranger than when she had first lain in his bed, terrified of the unknown things ahead of her.

I should have held my peace with Morgaine ... .

Why do I feel guilty? It was Morgaine who sinned ... I have repented my sins and confessed them and been absolved ... .

Morgaine was not in the church; no doubt, she had not had the brazenness to come unshriven to holy services when she had been exposed for what she was-incestuous, heathen, witch, sorceress.

The service seemed to last forever, but at last the blessing was given and the people began to move out of the church. Once for a moment she found herself crushed against Elaine and Lancelet; he had his arm protectively around his wife, that she should not be jostled. Gwenhwyfar raised her eyes to them, so that she need not look at Elaine's swollen belly.

"It is long since we have seen you at court," she said.

"Ah, there is much to do in the North," Lancelet said.

"No more dragons, I trust?" Arthur asked.

"God be thanked, no," Lancelet said, smiling. "My first sight of a dragon was like to be my last.... God forgive me that I mocked at Pellinore when he spoke of the beast! And now that there are no more Saxons to slay, I suppose our Companions must go against dragons and bandits and reavers, and all manner of ill things that plague the people."

Elaine smiled shyly at Gwenhwyfar. "My husband is like to all men -they would rather go into battle, even against dragons, than stay home and enjoy that peace they fought so hard to win! Is Arthur so?"

"I think he has battle enough, here at court where all men come to him for justice," said Gwenhwyfar, dismissing that. "When will this one come?" she added, looking at Elaine's swelling body. "Do you think it will be another son, or a daughter?"

"I hope it is another son, I do not want a daughter," Elaine said, "but it shall be as God wills. Where is Morgaine? Did she not come to church? Is she ill?"

Gwenhwyfar smiled scornfully. "I think you know how good a Christian Morgaine is."

"But she is my friend," Elaine said, "and no matter how bad a Christian she may be, I love her and I will pray for her."

Well you might, thought Gwenhwyfar bitterly. She had you married to spite me. It seemed that Elaine's sweet blue eyes were cloying, her voice false. It seemed to her that if she stood there a moment more listening to Elaine she would turn on her and strangle her. She made an excuse, and after a moment Arthur followed her.

He said, "I had hoped we would have Lancelet with us for some weeks, but he would be off to the North again. But he said Elaine might stay, if you would like to have her. She is near enough to her confinement that he would rather she did not return alone. Perhaps Morgaine is lonely for her friend, too. Well, you women must arrange that among yourselves-" He turned, and his face was bleak as he looked down at her. "I must go to the Archbishop. He said he would speak with me immediately after mass."

She wanted to clutch at him, keep him back, hold him with her by both hands, but it had gone too far for that.

"Morgaine was not in church," he said. "Tell me, Gwenhwyfar, did you say anything to her-"

"I spoke not one word to her, good or bad," she said shrilly. "As for where she is, I care not-I wish she were in hell!"

He opened his mouth and for a moment she thought he would chide her, and in a perverse way she longed for his wrath. But he only sighed and lowered his head. She could not bear to see him so beaten, like a whipped dog. "Gwen, I beg you, do not quarrel further with Morgaine. She has been hurt enough already-" And then, as if he was ashamed of his pleading, he turned abruptly and went away from her, toward where the Archbishop was standing and greeting his flock. As Arthur came toward him he bowed, spoke a few words of excuse to the others, and the King and the Archbishop moved away together through the crowds.

Inside the castle there was much to do-welcoming guests to the hall, speaking to men who had been Arthur's Companions in years gone by, explaining to them that Arthur had business with one of his councillors- that was no lie, Patricius was indeed one of Arthur's advisers-and would be late. For a time everyone was so busy greeting old friends, exchanging stories of what had befallen in their homes and villages, of what marriages had been made and daughters betrothed and sons grown to manhood, of what babies had been born and robbers slain and roads built, that the time went on and the absence of King Arthur was hardly noticed. But at last even reminiscences palled, and the people in the hall began to murmur. The food would be cold, Gwenhwyfar knew; but you could not start the King's feast unless the King was there. She gave orders for wine and beer and cider to be served, knowing that by the time the food was served now, many of the guests would be too drunk to care. She saw Morgaine far down the table, laughing and talking with a man she did not recognize, save that he had the serpents of Avalon around his wrist; would she practice her priestess-harlotries to seduce him too, as she had seduced Lancelet before him, and the Merlin? Morgaine's whorish ways were so great, she could not let any man slip beyond her grasp.

When Arthur finally came, walking slowly and heavily, she was overwhelmed with distress; she had never seen him look like that except when he was wounded and near to death. She felt suddenly that he had taken a deeper wound than she could know, in his very soul, and for a moment wondered, had Morgaine been right to spare him this knowledge? No. As his devoted wife, what she had done was to secure the health of his soul and his eventual salvation; what was a little humiliation against that?

He had taken off his holiday gown and wore a simple tunic, unadorned; nor had he put on the coronet he wore on such occasions. His golden hair looked dull and greyed. As they saw him enter, all his Companions had broken into wild applause and cheering; he stood solemnly, accepting it, smiling, then finally raised a hand.

"I am sorry to have kept you all waiting," he said. "I beg you forgive me, and go to your meat." He sat down at his place, sighing. The servants began to go around with the smoking pots and platters, the carvers to wield their knives. Gwenhwyfar let one of the butlers lay some slices of roast duck on her plate, but she only played with her food. After a time she dared to raise her eyes and look toward Arthur. Among the abundance of festival meats, he had nothing on his plate but a bit of bread, without even butter, and in his cup was only water.

She remonstrated, "But you are eating nothing-"

His smile was wry. "It is no insult to the food. I am sure it is fine as always, my love."

"It is not well done, to fast on a feast day-"

He grimaced. "Well, if you must have it," he said impatiently, "the bishop would have it that my sin was so grievous that he cannot absolve it with ordinary penance, and since that was what you wished of me, well-" He spread his hands wearily. "And so I come to Pentecost holiday in my shirt and without my fine clothing, and I have many fastings and prayers till I have done full penance-but you have had your wish, Gwenhwyfar." He picked up his cup and drank water, resolutely, and she knew he did not want her to say more.

But she had not wanted it like this ... . Gwenhwyfar tightened her whole body so that she would not weep again; all eyes were on them, and surely it was scandal enough that the King sat fasting at his own highest festival. Outside the rain beat and battered on the roof. There was a strange silence in the hall. At last Arthur raised his head and called for music.

"Let Morgaine sing for us-she is better than any minstrel!"

Morgaine! Morgaine! Always Morgaine! But what could she do? Morgaine, she noticed, had put off the bright gown she had worn that morning and was wearing dark sober stuff like a nun's. She looked not so much like a harlot, now, without her bright ribbons; she came and took the harp, and sat near the King's table to sing.

Because it seemed to be what Arthur wished, there was some laughing and gaiety, and when Morgaine had finished, another took the harp, and another. There was much moving from table to table, talking, singing, drinking.

Lancelet came toward them and Arthur gestured to him to sit beside them, as in the old days, on the bench. The servants were bringing great plates of sweets and fruit, baked apples in cream and wine, all manner of delicate and subtle pastries. They sat talking of nothing in particular, and Gwenhwyfar felt happy for a moment: it was like old times, when they had all been friends, when there was love among them all ... why could it not always have stayed like that?

After some time, Arthur rose and said, "I think I will go and talk to some of the older Companions ... my legs are young, and some of them are getting so old and grey. Pellinore-he looks not as if he could fight a dragon. I think a good stiff fight with Elaine's little lapdog would be hard for him now!"

Lancelet said, "Since Elaine is married, it is as if he has nothing more to do in life. Such men often die soon after they have decided such a thing. I hope it may not be so with him-I love Pellinore and hope he will be long with us." He smiled shyly. "I never felt I had a father-though Ban was good to me in his way-and now, for the first time, I have a kinsman who treats me as a son. Brothers I had not either, till I was grown and Ban's sons Lionel and Bors came to the court. I grew to manhood hardly speaking their language. And Balan had other concerns."

Arthur had hardly smiled since he had come from the bishop's rooms, but he was smiling now. "Does a cousin count for so much less than a brother, then, Galahad?"

Lancelet reached out and gripped his wrist. "God strike me if I could forget that, Gwydion-" He raised his eyes to Arthur, and for a moment, Gwenhwyfar thought Arthur would embrace him; but then Arthur drew back and let his hand drop. Lancelet gazed at him, startled, but Arthur got quickly to his feet.

"There is Uriens, and Marcus of Cornwall-he too grows old ... . They shall see that their king is not too proud to come and speak to them today. Stay here by Gwenhwyfar, Lance, let it be like old times today."

Lancelet did as he was asked, sitting on the bench beside Gwenhwyfar. At last he asked, "Is Arthur ill?"

Gwenhwyfar shook her head. "I think he has penance to do and is brooding about it."

"Well, surely Arthur can have no great sin on his soul," Lancelet said, "he is one of the most spotless men I know. I am proud that he is still my friend-I do not deserve it, I know, Gwen." He looked at her so sadly that again Gwenhwyfar almost wept. Why could she not have loved the two of them without sin, why had God ordained that a woman must have only one husband? She was grown as bad as Morgaine, that she could think such a thing!

She touched his hand. "Are you happy with Elaine, Lancelet?"

"Happy? What man alive is happy? I do as best I can."

She looked down at her hands. For a moment she forgot that this man had been her lover and remembered only that he had been her friend. "I want you to be happy. Truly, I do."

His hand closed for a moment over hers. "I know, my dear. I did not want to come here today. I love you, and I love Arthur-but the day is past when I can be content to be his captain of horse and-" His voice broke. "And the champion of the Queen."

She said suddenly, looking up, her hand in his, "Does it seem sometimes to you that we are no longer young, Lancelet?"

He nodded and sighed. "Aye-it does so."

Morgaine had taken the harp again and was singing. Lancelet said, "Her voice is as sweet as ever. I am put in memory of my mother singing-she sang not so well as Morgaine, but she had the same soft, low voice-"

"Morgaine is as young as ever," said Gwenhwyfar jealously.

"It is so with those of the old blood, they seem ever young until the day they are suddenly old," Lancelet said; then, bending down to touch her cheek in a light kiss, he said abruptly, "Never think you are less beautiful than Morgaine, my Gwen. It is a different beauty, that is all."

"Why do you say this?"

"Love, I cannot bear it if you are unhappy ... ."

She said, "I do not think I know what it means, to be happy."

How is Morgaine so untouched? That which wrecked my life and Arthur's, it lies lightly on her, there she sits laughing and singing, and yonder knight with the serpents about his wrists, is glamoured by her.

Soon after, Lancelet said he must go back to Elaine, and left her; and when Arthur returned, there were Companions and old followers coming to him for concessions, to give him gifts and recall their service. After a time Uriens of North Wales came, portly now and greying, but he still had all his own teeth, and he led his men into the field when he must.

He said, "I have come to ask you a favor, Arthur. I want to marry again, and I would like to be allied with your house. I have heard that Lot of Lothian is dead, and I ask your permission to marry his widow, Morgause."

Arthur had to stifle a laugh. "Ah, for that, my friend, you must ask leave of sir Gawaine. Lothian is his now, and no doubt he would be glad to marry his mother away, but no doubt, the lady is old enough to have a mind of her own. I cannot order her to marry-it would be like ordering my mother to marry!"

Gwenhwyfar was struck by sudden inspiration. This would be the perfect solution-Arthur himself had said that if it became known at court, Morgaine could be scorned or shamed. She reached out and touched Arthur's sleeve. She said in a low voice, "Arthur, Uriens is a valuable ally. You have told me that the mines of Wales are valuable as they were to the Romans, for iron and lead ... and you have a kinswoman whose marriage is in your keeping."

He looked at her, startled. "Uriens is so old!"

"Morgaine is older than you," she said, "and since he has grown sons and grandsons, he will not mind too much if Morgaine does not give him children."

"That is true," said Arthur with a frown, "and this seems a good match." He raised his head to Uriens and said, "I cannot order lady Morgause to marry again, but my sister, the Duchess of Cornwall, is not married."

Uriens bowed. "I could not presume to ask so high, my king, but if your sister would be queen in my country-"

"I will compel no woman to marry unwilling," said Arthur, "but I will ask her." He beckoned one of the pages. "Ask the lady Morgaine if she will come to me when she has finished singing."

Uriens' eyes were on Morgaine where she sat, her dark gown lending fairness to her skin. "She is very beautiful, your sister. Any man would think himself fortunate to have such a wife."

As Uriens went to his seat, Arthur said thoughtfully, watching Morgaine come toward them, "She is long unmarried-she must wish for a home of her own where she will be mistress, rather than serving another woman always. And she is too learned for many young men. But Uriens will be glad that she is gracious and will rule his home well. I wish, though, that he were not quite so old ... ."

"I think she will be happier with an older man," Gwenhwyfar said. "She is not a giddy young thing."

Morgaine came and curtseyed to them. Always, in public, she was smiling and impassive, and Gwenhwyfar was for once glad of it.

"Sister," said Arthur, "I have had an offer of marriage for you. And after this morning"-he lowered his voice-"I think it well you should not live at court for a time."

"Indeed I would be glad to be gone from here, brother."

"Why, then-" Arthur said, "how would you like to live in North Wales? I hear it is desolate there, but no more than Tintagel, surely-"

To Gwenhwyfar's surprise, Morgaine blushed like a girl of fifteen. "I will not try to pretend I am as surprised as all that, brother."

Arthur chuckled. "Why, he did not tell me he had spoken to you, the sly fellow."

Morgaine colored and played with the end of her braid. She did not, Gwenhwyfar thought, look anywhere near her age. "You may tell him I should be happy to live in North Wales."

Arthur said gently, "Does the difference in age not bother you?"

Her face was rosy. "If it does not bother him, it does not bother me."

"So be it," said Arthur, and beckoned to Uriens, who came, beaming. "My sister has told me that she would like it well to be Queen of North Wales, my friend. I see no reason we cannot have the wedding with all speed, perhaps on Sunday." He raised his cup and called out to the assembled company, "Drink to a wedding, my friends-a wedding between the lady Morgaine of Cornwall, my dear sister, and my good friend King Uriens of North Wales!"

For the first time that day it sounded like a proper Pentecost feasting, as the applause, cries of congratulation, acclaim, all stormed up. Morgaine stood still as a stone.

But she agreed to this, she said he had spoken to her ... Gwenhwyfar thought, and then she remembered the young man who had been flirting with Morgaine. Was that not Uriens' son-Accolon, Accolon, that was it. But surely she could not have expected him to offer for her; Morgaine was older than he was! It must have been Accolon-will she make a scene? Gwenhwyfar wondered.

And then, with another surge of hatred, Now let Morgaine see what it is like to be given in marriage to a man she does not love!

"So you will be a queen, too, my sister," she said, taking Morgaine's hand. "I shall be your bride-woman."

But for all her sweet words, Morgaine looked her straight in the eye, and Gwenhwyfar knew that she had not been deceived.

So be it. We will at least be rid of one another. And no more pretense of friendship between us.

MORGAINE SPEAKS ...

For a marriage destined to end as mine did, it began well enough, I suppose. Gwenhwyfar gave me a fine wedding, considering how she hated me; I had six bride-women and four of them were queens. Arthur gave me some fine and costly jewelry-I had never cared a great deal for jewelry, having not been accustomed to wear it in Avalon and never having learned since, though I had a few pieces that had been Igraine's. Now he gave me many more of our mother's gems, and some that had been plunder of the Saxons. I would have protested, but Gwenhwyfar reminded me that Uriens would expect to see his wife finely dressed as befitted a queen, and I shrugged and let her deck me out like a child's doll. One piece, an amber necklace, I remembered seeing Igraine wear when I was very young but never since; once I had seen it in her jewel chest when I was but small, and she said Gorlois had given it her and one day it should be mine, but before I was old enough to wear it I was priestess in Avalon and had no need of jewels. Now it was mine, with so many other things that I protested I would never wear them.

The one thing I asked of them-to delay the wedding till I could send for Morgause, who was my only living kinswoman-they would not do. Perhaps they thought I might come to my senses and protest that when I agreed to marry into North Wales, I had Accolon in mind, not the old king. I am sure Gwenhwyfar knew, at least. I wondered what Accolon would think of me; I had all but pledged myself to him, and before that night fell I had been publicly promised to his father! I had no chance to ask.

But after all, I suppose Accolon would want a bride of fifteen, not one of four-and-thirty. A woman past thirty-so women mostly said-must content herself with a man who had been often married and wanted her for her family connections, or for her beauty or possessions, or perhaps as a mother for his children. Well, my family connections could hardly be better. As for the rest-I had jewels enough, but I could hardly imagine myself as a mother to Accolon and whatever other children the old man might have. Grandmother to his son's children perhaps. I reminded myself with a start that Viviane's mother had been a grandmother younger than I was now; she had borne Viviane at thirteen, and Viviane's own daughter had been born before Viviane was fourteen.

I spoke but once alone with Uriens, in the three days which elapsed between Pentecost and our bridal. Perhaps I hoped that he, a Christian king, would refuse when he knew; or perhaps even now he wanted a young wife who could give him children. Nor did I want him to take me under false pretenses and reproach me later, and I knew what a great thing these Christians made of an untouched wife; I suppose they had it from the Romans, with their pride of family and worship of virginity.

"I am long past thirty years old, Uriens," I said, "and I am no maiden." I knew no gracious or polite way to say such things.

He reached forward and touched the small blue crescent between my brows. It was fading now; I could see it in the mirror which had been one of Gwenhwyfar's gifts. Viviane's had faded, too, when I came to Avalon, but she had used to paint it with blue dye.

'"You were priestess of Avalon, one of the maidens of the Lady of the Lake, and you went as a maiden to the God, is it so?"

I assented.

Uriens said, "Some of my people still do so, and I make no great effort to put it down. The peasants feel that it is all very well for kings and great folk, who can afford to pay priests and the like to pray them out of Hell, to follow the way of Christ, but it would be hard on them if the Old Ones, who had been worshipped in our hills since time out of mind, should not have their due. Accolon thinks much the same, but now so much of power is going into the hands of the priests, it is needful I too must not offend them. As for me, I care not what God sits on the throne in Heaven, or what God is worshipped by my people, so that my kingdom is at peace. But once I wore the antlers. I swear I will never reproach you, lady Morgaine."

Ah, Mother Goddess, I thought, this is grotesque, this is madness, you jest with me ... I might well have made a happy marriage with Accolon, after all. But Accolon was young and would wish for a young wife ... . I said to Uriens, "One more thing you must know. I bore a child to the Horned One. ..."

"I have said I will not reproach you with anything that is past, lady Morgaine-"

"You do not understand. It went so ill with me when that child was born that I will certainly never bear another." A king, I thought, a king would want a fertile bride, even more than his younger son ... .

He patted my hand. I think he actually meant to comfort me. "I have sons enough," he said. "I have no need of others. Children are a fine thing, but I have had my share and more."

I thought: He is foolish, he is old, ... but he is kind. If he had professed a madness of desire for me, I would have been sickened by him, but kindness I can live with.

"Do you grieve for your son, Morgaine? If you wish, you may send for him and have him fostered at my court, and I swear to you that neither he nor you shall ever hear a word of reproach, and he shall be decently reared as befits the son of the Duchess of Cornwall and the Queen of North Wales."

This kindness brought tears to my eyes. "You are very kind," I said, "but he is well where he is, in Avalon."

"Well, if you decide otherwise, tell me," he said. "I would be glad of another boy about the house, and he would be the right age, I suppose, for a playmate to my youngest son, Uwaine."

"I thought Accolon was your youngest, sir."

"No, no, Uwaine is only nine years old. His mother died when he was born ... you wouldn't think an old fellow like me could have a boy as young as nine, would you?"

Why, yes, I would, I thought with an ironic smile, men are as proud of their ability to father sons as if it took a great skill. As if any tomcat could not do the same! At least a woman must bear a child in her body for most of a year and suffer to bring it forth, and so she has some reason for pride; but men accomplish their trick with no thought or trouble at all!

But I said, trying to make a jest of it, "When I was a young girl, sir, there was a saying in my country: a husband of forty may not become a father, but a husband of sixty surely will do so."

I had done this deliberately. If he had gone stiff and offended by the ribaldry of that, I would have known how I must treat him in the future, and taken great care always to speak him modest and quiet. Instead he laughed heartily and said, "I think you and I may agree well enough, my dear. I have had enough of being married to young girls who don't know how to laugh. I hope you will be content, marrying an old fellow like me. My sons laugh at me because I married again after Uwaine was born, but to tell the truth, lady Morgaine, a man gets used to being married, and I do not like living alone. And when my last wife died of the summer fever-well, it is true that I wished to be akin by marriage to your brother, but also, I am lonely. And it comes to me that you, who are unmarried so many years beyond the women of your age, you may not like it so ill to have a home and a husband, even if he is not young and handsome. I know you were not consulted about this marriage-but I hope you will not be too unhappy."

At least, I thought, he does not expect me to be madly excited about the great honor of being married to him. I could have said that it would be no change- I had not truly been happy since I left Avalon, and since I would be unhappy wherever I was, at least it would be better to be away from Gwenhwyfar's malice. I could no longer make pretense to be her loyal kinswoman and friend, and that saddened me somewhat, because there had been a time when we had truly been friends, and it was not I who had changed. I certainly had no wish to rob her of Lancelet; but how could I explain to her that, though I had once desired him, I despised him, too, and would not have had him for husband as a gift. Oh, yes, if Arthur had married its to each other before he was wed to Gwenhwyfar-but even then it was too late. It was always too late after that afternoon beneath the ring stones. If I had let him take me then, none of this would have come about ... but done is done, and I had not known what other plans Viviane had had for me; and they had brought me in the end to this wedding with Uriens.

Our first bedding was about what I expected. He stroked me and fussed and pumped away atop me for a little while, snorting and breathing hard, and then was suddenly done and away from me and asleep. Having expected no better, I was not disappointed, nor particularly sorry to curl up in the curve of his arm; he liked having me there, and although after the first few weeks he lay with me but seldom, still he liked having me in his bed and would sometimes hold me in his arms for hours, talking of this and that, and what was more, listening to what I said. Unlike the Romans of the South, these men of the Tribes never scorned to listen to a woman's advice, and for that, at least, I was grateful, that he would hear what I said and never put it aside as being but a woman's counsel.

North Wales was a beautiful country, great hills and mountains that reminded me of the country of Lothian. But where Lothian was high and barren, Uriens' country was all green and fertile, lush with trees and flowers, and the soil was rich and the crops good. Uriens had built his castle in one of the finer valleys. His son Avalloch, and Avalloch's wife and children, deferred to me in all things, and his youngest son, Uwaine, called me "Mother." I came to know what it might have been to have a son to bring up, to look after all the little daily concerns of a growing child, climbing trees and breaking bones, outgrowing his clothes or tearing them in the woods, being rude to his tutors or taking dog's leave to go hunting when he should have been at his book; the priest who taught Uwaine his letters despaired, but he was the pride and joy of the arms master. Troublesome as he was, I loved him well; he waited on me at dinner, and often sat in hall to listen to me when I played the harp-like all the folk of that country he had an ear for music and a clear and tuneful voice; and like all of that court, Uriens'family would rather make music themselves than listen to paid minstrels. After a year or two I began to think of Uwaine as my own son, and of course he could not remember his own mother. Wild as he was, he was always gentle with me; boys that age are not easy to control, but there were endearing moments, after days of rudeness or sullenness, when he would suddenly come and sit by me in the hall and sing to my harp, or bring me wild flowers or a clumsily tanned hareskin, and once or twice, awkward and shy as a young stork, he would bend and brush my cheek with his mouth. Often I wished, then, that I had had children of my own that I could rear myself. There was little enough else to do at this quiet court, far away from the wars and troubles to the south.

And then, when I had been married to Uriens for a year, Accolon came home.

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 .....e 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.....wydion 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 Uther Pendragon succeeded Ambrosius Aurelianus when there were no Romans to aid us in our death struggle against the Saxons, and I, Arthur, succeeded my father Uther, and my nephew Galahad will succeed me on the throne of Britain. There is none who can lawfully lay claim to the purple of the emperor-the Roman Empire rules no more in Britain. If Lucius wishes to rule in his native Gaul and the people there accept him as king, I will surely not come to contest his claim; but if he lays claim to a single inch of Britain or Less Britain, then he shall have nothing from us but three dozen good British arrowheads where they will do him most good."

Castor, pale with fury, said, "My emperor foresaw some such impudent answer as this, and this is what he bade me say: that Less Britain is already in his hands, and he has imprisoned King Ban's son Bors, in his own castle. And when the Emperor Lucius has laid all of Less Britain waste, then he will come to Britain, as did the Emperor Claudius of old, and conquer that country again, in despite of all your painted savage chiefs smeared with woad!"

"Tell your emperor," said Arthur, "that my offer of three dozen British arrowheads holds good, only now will I raise my offer to three hundred, and he gets no tribute from me but one of them through his heart. Tell him, too, that if he harms a single hair on the head of my Companion sir Bors, I shall give him to Lancelet and Lionel, who are Bors's brothers, to skin him alive and hang his flayed corpse from the castle walls. Now go back to your emperor and give him that message. No, Cai, don't let anyone lay a hand on him-a messenger is sacred to his Gods."

There was an appalled silence as the legionaries strode out of the hall, turning crisply on their heels and letting their mailed boots stamp and ring on the stones. When they had gone a clamor arose, but Arthur raised his hand and quiet fell again.

"There will be no mock battles on the morrow, for we will have real ones soon," he said, "and for prizes I can offer the plunder of this self-styled emperor. Companions, I would have you ready to ride at daybreak for the coast. Cai, you can handle the provisioning. Lancelet"-a faint smile as he looked at his friend-"I would leave you here to guard the Queen, but since your brother is prisoned, I know you will wish to ride with us. I shall ask the priest to say holy service for those of you who wish to be shriven of any sins before you ride into battle, tomorrow at dawn. Sir Uwaine"-his eyes sought out his newest Companion where he sat among the younger knights-"now I can offer you glory in battle instead of war games. I beg you, as my sister's son, to ride at my side and cover my back against treachery."

"I am honored, m-my king," Uwaine stammered, his face glowing, and in that moment Morgaine saw something of how Arthur had inspired such great devotion.

"Uriens, my good brother-in-law," said Arthur, "I leave the Queen in your care-remain at Camelot and guard her till I return." He bent to kiss Gwenhwyfar's hand. "My lady, I beg you to excuse us from further feasting-there is war upon us again."

Gwenhwyfar was white as her shift. "And you know it is welcome to you, my lord. God keep you, dear husband." And she leaned forward to kiss him. He rose and went down from the dais, beckoning.

"Gawaine, Lionel, Gareth-all of you-Companions, attend me!"

Lancelet delayed for a moment before following him. "Bid me also God's blessing as I ride, my queen."

"Oh, God-Lancelet-" Gwenhwyfar said, and, regardless of the eyes on her, she flung herself into his arms. He held her, gently, speaking so softly that Morgaine could not hear, but Morgaine saw that she was weeping. But when she raised her head her face was dry and tearless. "God speed you, my dearest love."

"And God keep you, love of my heart," Lancelet said very softly. "Whether I return or no, may he bless you." He turned to Morgaine. "Now indeed do I rejoice that you are to pay a visit to Elaine. You must bear my greetings to my dear wife, and tell her I have gone with Arthur to the rescue of my kinsman Bors from this knave who calls himself the Emperor Lucius. Tell her I pray God to keep her and care for her, and send my love to our children."

He stood for a moment silent, and for a moment Morgaine thought he would kiss her too; instead, smiling, he laid his hand against her cheek. "God bless you too, Morgaine-whether or no you want his blessing." He turned to join Arthur where the Companions were gathering in the lower hall.

Uriens came to the dais and bowed to Gwenhwyfar. "I am at your service, my lady."

If she laughs at the old man, Morgaine thought with a sudden, fierce protectiveness, I will slap her! Uriens meant well, and the duty was no more than ceremonial, a minor tribute to kinship; Camelot would be very well in the hands of Cai and Lucan, as always. But Gwenhwyfar was accustomed to diplomacy at court. She said gravely, "I thank you, sir Uriens. You are most welcome here. Morgaine is my dear friend and sister, and I will be happy to have her near me at court again."

Oh, Gwenhwyfar, Gwenhwyfar, what a liar you are! Morgaine said sweetly, "But I must ride forth and visit my kinswoman Elaine. Lancelet charged me to bear his news."

"You are always kind," said Uriens, "and since the war is not in our countryside, but across the channel, you shall go when you wish. I would ask Accolon to escort you, but it is likely he must ride with Arthur to the coast."

He really would leave me in Accolon's care; he thinks good of everyone, Morgaine thought, and kissed her husband with real warmth. "When I have paid my visit to Elaine, my lord, may I have leave to visit my kinswoman in Avalon?"

"You may do your own will, my lady," said Uriens, "but before you go, will you unpack my things? My valet can never do it so well as you. And will you leave some of your herbal salves and medicines for me?"

"To be sure," she said, and as she went to make all ready for her journey, she thought with resignation that no doubt, before they parted, he would want to sleep with her this night. Well, she had endured it before this, she could do so again.

What a whore I have grown!

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 ....s 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.