The Mists of Avalon

Book Four. The Prisoner in the Oak

1

In far hills of North Wales, rain had been falling day after day, and the castle of King Uriens seemed to swim in fog and damp. The roads were ankle-deep mud, the fords swollen as rivers rushed down in spate from the mountains, and damp chill gripped the countryside. Morgaine, wrapped in cloak and heavy shawl, felt her fingers stiffening and slowing on the shuttle as she sent it through the loom; suddenly she started upright, the shuttle falling from her cold hands.

"What is it, Mother?" Maline asked, blinking at the sharp sound in the quiet hall.

"There is a rider on the road," Morgaine said. "We must make ready to welcome him." And then, observing her daughter-in-law's troubled look, she cursed herself; again she had let herself slip into the half-trance which women's work always brought upon her nowadays. She had long ago ceased to spin, but weaving, which she enjoyed, had seemed safe if she kept her wits about her and didn't succumb to the drowsy trancelike monotony of it.

And Maline was looking at her in the half-wary, half-exasperated way which Morgaine's unexpected seeings always evoked. Not that Maline believed there was anything wicked or even magical about them-it was just her mother-in-law's queer way. But Maline would speak of them to the priest, and he would come again and try to be subtle about asking her whence they came, and she would have to put on a meek-woman face and pretend she didn't know what he was talking about. Someday she would be too weary or too unguarded to care, and she would speak her mind to the priest. Then he would really have something to talk about ... .

Well, done was done, and could not be helped now. She got along well enough with Father Eian, who had been Uwaine's tutor-he was an educated man for a priest. "Tell the Father that his pupil will be here at dinnertime," Morgaine said, and once again realized that her tongue had slipped; she had known Maline had been thinking of the priest and had responded to Maline's thought, not her words. She went out of the room leaving the younger woman staring.

All the winter, which had been heavy with rain and snow and repeated storms, not a single traveller had come. She dared not spin; it opened the gates too quickly to trance. Now, weaving was likely to do the same. She sewed industriously at making clothes for all the folk of the household, from Uriens down to Maline's newest baby, but it was hard on her eyes to do fine needlework; in the winter she had no access to fresh herbs and plants, and could do little with brewing simples and medicines. She had no companion-her waiting-women were the wives of Uriens' men-at-arms and duller than Maline; not one of them could spell out so much as a verse in the Bible and were shocked that Morgaine could read and write and knew some Latin and Greek. And she could not sit always at her harp. So she had spent the winter in a frenzy of boredom and impatience ...

... the worse, she thought, because the temptation was always there to sit and spin and dream, letting her mind slide away, to follow Arthur at Camelot, or Accolon on quest-it had come to her, three years ago, that Accolon should spend enough time at court that Arthur should know him well and trust him. Accolon bore the serpents of Avalon, and that might prove a valuable bond with Arthur. She missed Accolon like a constant ache; in his presence she was what he always saw her-high priestess, confident of her goals and herself. But that was secret between them. In the long, lonely seasons, Morgaine experienced recurrent doubts and dreads; was she then no more than Uriens thought her, a solitary queen growing old, body and mind and soul drying and withering?

Still, she kept her hand firmly on this household, over countryfolk and castlefolk alike, so that all should turn to her for counsel and wisdom. They said in the country around: The queen is wise. Even the king does nothing without her consent. The Tribesmen and the Old Ones, she knew, came near to worshipping her; though she dared not appear too often at the ancient worship.

Now in the kitchen house she made arrangements for a festal dinner -or as near to it as they could come at the end of a long winter when the roads were closed. Morgaine gave from the locked cupboards some of her hoarded store of raisins and dried fruits, and a few spices for cooking the last of the bacon. Maline would tell Father Eian that Uwaine was expected at the hall for dinner. She herself should bear the tidings to Uriens.

She went up to his chamber, where he was lazily playing at dice with one of his men-at-arms; the room smelled frowsty and unaired, stale and old. At least his long siege with the lung fever this winter has meant I need not be expected to share his bed. It has been just as well, Morgaine thought dispassionately, that Accolon has spent this winter in Camelot with Arthur; we might have taken dangerous chances and been discovered.

Uriens set down the dice cup and looked up at her. He was thinner, wasted by his long struggle with the fever. There had been a few days when Morgaine thought he could not live, and she had fought hard for his life; partly because, in spite of everything, she was fond of him and did not want to see him die, partly because Avalloch would have succeeded to his throne the moment he died.

"I have not seen you all day. I have been lonely, Morgaine," Uriens said, with a fretful note of reproach. "Huw, here, is not half so good to look at."

"Why," Morgaine said, tuning her voice to the broad jesting Uriens liked, "I have left you purposely alone, thinking that in your old age you had taken a taste for handsome young men ... if you do not want him, husband, does that mean that I can have him?"

Uriens chuckled. "You are making the poor man blush," he said, smiling with broad good nature. "But if you leave me alone all day, why, what am I to do but moon and make sheep's eyes at him, or at the dog."

"Well, I have come to give you good news. You shall be carried down to the hall for dinner tonight-Uwaine is riding hither and will be here before suppertime."

"Now God be thanked," Uriens said. "I thought this winter that I should die without seeing either of my sons again."

"I suppose Accolon will return for the Midsummer festivals." In her body Morgaine felt a stab of hunger so great that it was pain as she thought of the Beltane fires, now only two months away.

"Father Eian has been at me again to forbid the rites," Uriens said peevishly. "I am tired of hearing his complaints. He has it in mind that if we cut down the grove, then the folk would be content with his blessing of the fields, and not turn away to the Beltane fires. It is true that there seems more and more of the old worship every year-I had thought that as the old folk died off, year by year, it would grow ever less. I was willing to let it die out with the Old People who could not accustom themselves to new ways. But if the young people now are turning back to heathen ways, then we must do something-perhaps, even, cut down the grove."

If you do, I shall do murder, Morgaine thought, but schooled her voice to gentleness and reason. "That would be wrong. The oaks give pig food and food for the country people-even here we have had to use acorn flour in a bad season. And the grove has been there for hundreds of years-the trees are sacred-"

"You sound too much a pagan yourself, Morgaine."

"Can you say the oak grove is not the work of God?" she retorted. "Why should we punish the harmless trees because foolish men make a use of them dial Father Eian does not like? I thought you loved your land."

"Well, and so I do," said Uriens fretfully, "but Avalloch, too, says I should cut it down, so that the pagans should have no place of resort. We might build a church or chapel there."

"But the Old Ones are your subjects too," Morgaine said, "and in your youth you made the Great Marriage with the land. Would you deprive the Old People of the grove that is their food and shelter, and their own chapel built by the very hands of God and not of man? Would you then condemn them to die or starve as they have done in some of the cleared lands?"

Uriens looked down at his gnarled old wrists. The blue tattoos there had almost faded and were no more than pale stains. "Well are you called Morgaine of the Fairies-the Old People could have no better advocate. Since you plead for their shelter, my lady, I will spare the grove while I live, but after me, Avalloch must do as he will. Will you fetch me my shoes and robe, so that I may dine in hall like a king, and not an old dodderer in bedgown and slippers?"

"To be sure," said Morgaine, "but I cannot lift you now. Huw will have to dress you."

But when the man had finished his work, she combed Uriens' hair and summoned the other man-at-arms who awaited the king's call. The two men lifted him, making a chair between their arms, and carried him into the hall, where Morgaine placed cushions about his high seat and watched as the thin old body was deposited there.

By that time she could hear servants bustling about, and riders in the courtyard ... Uwaine, she thought, hardly raising her eyes as the young man was escorted into the hall.

It was hard to bear in mind that this tall young knight, with broad shoulders and a battle scar along one cheek, was the scrawny little boy who had come to her, like a wild animal tamed, in her first lonely, desperate year at Uriens' court. Uwaine kissed his father's hand, then bent before Morgaine.

"My father. Dear mother-"

"It's good to see you home again, lad," said Uriens, but Morgaine's eyes were on the other man who followed him into the hall. For a moment she did not believe it, it was like seeing a ghost-surely if he were really here I would have seen him with the Sight... and then she understood. I have been trying so hard not to think of Accolon, lest I go mad ...

Accolon was slenderer than his brother, and not quite so tall. His eyes darted to Morgaine, one swift furtive look as he knelt before his father, but his voice was wholly correct when he turned to her. "It is good to be home again, lady-"

"It is good to have you here," she said steadily, "both of you. Uwaine, tell us how you got that dreadful scar on your cheek. Since the defeat of Emperor Lucius, I thought all men had pledged to Arthur to make no further trouble!"

"The usual," said Uwaine lightly. "Some bandit who moved into a deserted fort and amused himself by preying on the countryside and calling himself a king. Lot's son Gawaine went with me and we made short work of him, and Gawaine got himself a wife out of it-the lady is a widow with rich lands. As for this-" He touched the scar lightly. "While Gawaine fought the master I took the man-an ugly bastard who fought left-handed and got through my guard. Clumsy, too-I'd rather fight a good swordsman than a bad, any day! If you'd been there, Mother, I wouldn't have quite such a scar-the surgeon who stitched it up for me had hands like cabbages! Has it spoilt my looks as much as that?"

Morgaine reached out and gently touched her stepson's slashed cheek. "You will always be handsome to me, my son. But perhaps I can still do something-there is festering there and swelling; before I sleep I will make you a poultice for it, so that it will heal better. It must pain you."

"It does," Uwaine admitted, "but I thought myself lucky not to get the lockjaw from it, which one of my men did. Ai, what a death!" He shuddered. "When the wound swelled, I thought I was for it, too, and my good friend Gawaine said, as long as I could drink wine I was in no danger -and he kept me well supplied, too. I swear I was drunk for a fortnight, Mother!" He guffawed. "I would have given all the plunder of that bandit's castle for some of your soup-I couldn't chew bread or dried meat, and I nearly starved to death. I did lose three teeth ... ."

She rose and peered at the wound. "Open your mouth. Yes," she said, and gestured to one of the servants. "Bring sir Uwaine some stew, and some stewed fruit, too," she said. "You must not even try to chew hard food for a while. After supper, I'll see to it."

"I won't say no to that, Mother. It still hurts like the devil, and besides, there's a girl at Arthur's court-I don't want her to shrink away as if I were a devil face." He chuckled. But for all the pain in his wound he ate hugely, telling tales of the court until they were all laughing. Morgaine dared not take her eyes from her stepson, but all through the meal she could feel Accolon's eyes on her, warming her as if she were standing in sunlight after the winter's chill.

It was a merry meal, but at last Uriens began to look weary and Morgaine summoned his body servants. "This is the first day you have left your bed, my husband-you must not weary yourself too much."

Uwaine rose and said, "Let me carry you, Father." He stooped and lifted the sick man as if he were a child. Morgaine, following, turned back before leaving the dining hall to say, "See to all things here, Maline-I will bandage Uwaine's cheek before I go to rest."

Soon Uriens was tucked into bed in his own chamber, Uwaine standing beside him while Morgaine went to the kitchens to brew a poultice for his cheek. She had to prod the cook awake and set him to heating more water over the kitchen fire ... she should have a brazier and a cauldron in her own rooms if she was going to do this kind of work, why had she never thought of it before? She went up and sat Uwaine down so that she could poultice his cheek with the hot cloths wrung in steaming herb brew, and the young man sighed with relief as the poultice began to draw out the soreness from the festered wound.

"Oh, but that's good, Mother-that girl at Arthur's court wouldn't know how to do this. When I marry her, Mother, will you teach her some of your craft? Her name is Shana, and she's from Cornwall. She was one of Queen Isotta's ladies-how is it that Marcus calls himself king in Cornwall, Mother? I thought Tintagel belonged to you."

"So it does, my son, from Igraine and Duke Gorlois. I knew not that Marcus thought to reign there," Morgaine said. "Does Marcus dare to claim Tintagel as his own?"

"No, for the last I heard he had no champion there," Uwaine said. "Sir Drustan has gone into exile in Brittany-"

"Why? Was he one of the Emperor Lucius' men?" asked Morgaine. This talk of the court was a breath of life in the deadness of this isolated place.

Uwaine shook his head. "No ... there was talk that he and Queen Isotta had been overfond of each other," he said. "One can hardly blame the poor lady ... Cornwall is the end of the world, and Duke Marcus is old and peevish and his chamberlains say he is impotent too-hard life for the poor lady, while Drustan is handsome and a harper, and the lady fond of music."

"Have you no gossip of court save of wickedness and other men's wives?" demanded Uriens, scowling, and Uwaine laughed. "Well, I told the lady Shana that her father might send a messenger to you, and I hope, dear father, that when he comes you will not refuse him. Shana is not rich, but I have no great need of a dowry, I won goods enough in Brittany-I shall show you some of my plunder, and I have gifts for my mother, too." He raised his hand to stroke Morgaine's cheek as she bent over him, changing the poultice for a fresh one. "Well I know you are not such a woman as that lady Isotta, to turn your back on my good old father and play the harlot."

Her cheeks stung; she bent over the kettle of steaming herbs, wrinkling her nose at the bitter scent. Uwaine thought her the best of women, and his trust was sweet to her, yet there was the bitterness of knowing it unmerited.

At least I have never made Uriens look a fool, nor yet flaunted any other lover in his face ... .

"But you should go to Cornwall, when my father is well enough to travel," Uwaine said seriously, flinching a little as the heat of the poultice touched a new spot on his festered cheek. "There should be a clear understanding, Mother, that Marcus cannot lay claim to what is yours. You have not shown your face in Tintagel for so long that the common people may forget they have a queen."

"I'm sure it will not come to that," said Uriens. "But if I am well again this summer, I will ask Arthur, when I ride to Pentecost, about this matter of Morgaine's lands."

"And if Uwaine marries into Cornwall," said Morgaine, "he shall keep Tintagel for me-would you like to be my castellan, Uwaine?"

"I would like nothing better," said Uwaine, "except, perhaps, to sleep tonight without forty separate toothaches in my jaw."

"Drink this," said Morgaine, pouring one of her medicines from a small flask into his wine, "and I can promise you sleep."

"I would sleep without it, I think, madam, I am so glad to be in my own home and my own bed, under my mother's care." Uwaine bent and embraced his father, and kissed Morgaine's hand. "But I will take your medicines willingly." He swallowed the medicined wine and beckoned to one of Uriens' men-at-arms to light him to his own room. Accolon came and embraced his father, and said, "I too am for my bed ... lady, are there pillows there, or is the room empty and bare? I have not been home in so long, I expect to find pigeons roosting in that old room where I used to sleep and Father Eian tried to beat Latin into my head through the seat of my breeches."

"I told Maline to be sure you had everything you needed," said Morgaine, "but I will come and see. Will you need me again this night, my lord," she asked, turning to Uriens, "or shall I too go to my rest?"

Only a soft snore answered her, and his man Huw, settling the old man on the pillows, answered, "Go, lady Morgaine. If he wakes in the night I'll look after him."

As they went out, Accolon asked, "What ails my father?"

"He had the lung fever this winter," said Morgaine, "and he is not young."

"And you have had all the weight of caring for him," Accolon said. "Poor Morgaine-" and he touched her hand; she bit her lip at his tender voice. Something hard and cold inside her, frozen there since the winter, was melting and she thought she would dissolve into weeping. She bent her head and did not look at him.

"And you, Morgaine-not a word or a look for me-?" He reached out and touched her, and she said between clenched teeth, "Wait."

She called a servant to fetch fresh bolsters, a blanket or two from the store. "Had I known you were coming, I would have had the best linens and blankets, and fresh bed straw."

He said in a whisper, "It is not fresh straw I want in my bed," but she refused to turn her face to him while the serving-women were making the bed up, bringing hot water and light, and hanging up his armor and outer garments.

When they were all away for a moment he whispered, "Later, may I come to your room, Morgaine?"

She shook her head and whispered back, "I will come to you-I can have some excuse for being out of my chamber in the middle of the night, but since your father has been ill, often they come to fetch me-you must not be found there-" and she gave him a quick, silent pressure of her fingers. It was as if his hand burned her. Then she went with the chamberlain on the last rounds of the castle to make sure that all was locked and secure.

"God give you a good night, lady," he said, bowing, and went away. She tiptoed through the hall where the men-at-arms slept, moving on noiseless feet; along the stairs, past the room where Avalloch slept with Maline and the younger children, the room where young Conn had slept with his tutor and his foster-brothers before the poor lad had succumbed to the lung fever. In the farther wing were Uriens' own chamber, one she now kept for herself, another room usually allotted to guests of importance, and at the far end, the room where she had left Accolon. She stole toward his room, her mouth dry, hoping he had had the sense to keep his door ajar ... the walls were old and thick and there would be no way he could hear her at his door.

She looked into her own room; went in, swiftly, and disarranged the bed clothing. Her own waiting-woman, Ruach, was old and deaf, and in the winter past Morgaine had cursed her for her deafness and stupidity, but now that would serve her ... even so, she must not wake in the morning and find Morgaine's bed untouched; even old Ruach knew that King Uriens was not well enough to share his bed with the queen.

How often have I told myself, I am not ashamed of what I do ... yet she must not bring scandal on her name, or she could accomplish nothing here. But she hated the need for secrecy and furtiveness.

He had left the door ajar. She slipped inside, her heart pounding, and pushed the door shut; felt herself seized in a hungry embrace that waked her body into fierce life. His mouth closed on hers as if he had starved for this as much as she ... it seemed as if the whole winter's desolation and pain fell away and that she was like melting ice, that she would flood and overflow ... . She pressed her body to Accolon's and fought to keep from crying.

All her resolve that Accolon was no more to her than priest of the Goddess, that she would not allow any personal tie between them, had gone for nothing in the face of this wild hunger in her. She had felt so much scorn for Gwenhwyfar, bringing the court to scandal and her king into contempt, because he could not keep his wife in order. But now, in Accolon's arms, all her resolve melted. She sank down in his embrace and let him carry her to his bed.

2

The night was far advanced when Morgaine slipped away from Accolon's side. He lay heavily asleep; she ran her fingers over his hair, kissed him softly, and stole from the room. She had not slept-she had feared to sleep too long and be surprised there by day. It was more than an hour before sunrise. Morgaine rubbed her burning eyes. Somewhere outside a dog barked, a child wailed and was hushed, birds chirped in the garden. Morgaine thought, looking out through a narrow slit in the stone wall, In another moon it will be full daylight at this hour. She leaned for a moment against the wall, overcome by memories of the night past.

I never knew, she thought, I have never known what it was to be only a woman. I have borne a child and I have been married for fourteen years and I have had lovers ... but I knew nothing, nothing ... .

She felt a sudden rough hand on her arm. Avalloch's hoarse voice said, "What are you doing sneaking around the house at this hour, girl?"

He had evidently mistaken her for one of the servant-women; some of them were small and dark with the blood of the Old Ones.

"Let me go, Avalloch," she said, looking at the dimly seen face of her older stepson. He was heavy and soft, his jowls blurred with fat, his eyes small and set close. Accolon and Uwaine were handsome men, and one could see that once Uriens had been good-looking in his own way. But not Avalloch.

"Well, my lady mother!" he said, stepping back and giving her an exaggerated bow. "I repeat, what were you doing at this hour?"

His hand remained on her arm; she picked it off as if it were a crawling bug. "Must I account for my movements to you? It is my house and I move in it as I will and that is my only answer." He dislikes me, she thought, almost as much as I dislike him.

"Don't play games with me, madam," said Avalloch. "Do you think I do not know in whose arms you spent the night?"

She said, contemptuously, "Now is it you who play with sorcery and the Sight?"

His voice dropped and took on a cozening sound. "Of course it must be dull for you, wed to a man old enough to be your father-but I would not hurt my father's feelings by telling him where his wife spends her nights, provided"-he put his arm round her and by main force drew her close to him. He bent his head and nibbled on her neck, his unshaven cheek scratching her-"provided you come and spend some of them with me."

She pulled away from him and tried to make her voice jocular. "Come now, Avalloch, why should you pursue your old stepmother when the Spring Maiden is yours, and all the pretty young maidens in the village-"

"But I have always looked on you as a beautiful woman," he said, and his hand stole out to caress her shoulder, sliding under the half-fastened front of her robe. She pulled away again and his face twisted into a snarl. "Why play the modest maiden with me? Was it Accolon or Uwaine, or both at once?"

She stared at him. "Uwaine is my son! I am the only mother he can remember!"

"Am I to think that would stop you, lady Morgaine? It was common talk at Arthur's court that you were Lancelet's paramour and tried to lure him from the Queen, and that you shared the Merlin's bed-that you had not stopped at making unlawful love to your own brother, and that was why the King sent you from court, that you might tempt him no more from Christian ways-why should you stop at your stepson? Does Uriens know what kind of incestuous harlot he took for his wife, madam?"

"Uriens knows everything about me that he has any need to know," said Morgaine, surprised that her voice was so steady. "As for the Merlin, we were then both unwed and neither of us cares anything for the laws of a Christian court. Your father knew and absolved me of that. None but he has any right to complain of my conduct since then, and when he does so I will answer to him, as I need not answer to you, sir Avalloch. And now I will go to my own room, and I bid you do the same."

"So you throw the pagan laws of Avalon at me," Avalloch said, his voice a sneering growl. "Harlot, how dare you claim you are so good-" He grabbed her; his mouth crushed hers. Morgaine stabbed her stiffened fingers into his belly; he grunted and let her go with a curse. She said angrily, "I claim nothing. I need not answer to you for my conduct, and if you speak to Uriens, I will tell him that you laid hands on me in a fashion unseemly for your father's wife, and we will see whom he will believe."

Avalloch snarled, "Let me tell you, lady, you may cozen my father as you will, but he is old, and on the day I am made king in this land, be sure there will be no more grace extended to those who have lived on because my father cannot forget that once he wore the serpents!"

"Oh, rare," said Morgaine scornfully. "First you make advances to your fadier's wife, and then you boast of how good a Christian you will be when your father's land is yours!"

"You first bewitched me-harlot!"

Morgaine could not keep back her laughter. "Bewitch you? And why? Avalloch, if all men save you vanished from the earth, I would sooner share my bed with one of the puppies! Your father may be old enough to be my grandsire, but I would sooner lie with him than you! Do you think I am jealous of Maline, when every time you go down to the village at harvest or spring-plowing festival she sings? If I made such an enchantment, it would not be to enjoy your manhood but to wither it! Now get your hands off me, and go back to whoever will have you, for if you touch me again with one fingertip I swear I will blast your manhood!"

He believed she could do it; that was clear from the way he shrank from her. But Father Eian would hear of this, and then he would question her, and he would question Accolon, and he would question the servants, and then he would be at Uriens again to cut down the sacred grove and put down the old worship. Avalloch would not stop until he had set this whole court by the ears.

I hate Avalloch! Morgaine was surprised that her rage was physical, a scalding pain beneath her breastbone, a shaking through her whole body. Once I was proud; a priestess ofAvalon does not lie. And now there is something about which I must auoid the truth. Even Uriens would see me as a treacherous wife, creeping in secret to Accolon's bed for her own lusts ... . She was weeping with rage, feeling Avalloch's hot hands again on her arm and her breast. Now, soon or late, she would be accused, and even if Uriens trusted her, she would be watched. Ah, I was happy for the first time in many years and now it is all spoilt ... .

Well, the sun was rising, soon the housefolk would be waking, and she must make arrangements for the work of the day. Had he been only guessing? Uriens must keep his bed, certainly Avalloch would not disturb his father this day. She must brew some more of the herb medicine for Uwaine's face wound, and the roots of one of his broken teeth must be dug out, too.

Uwaine loved her-surely he would not listen to any accusation Avalloch might make. And at that, she felt the flooding, surging fury again, remembering Avalloch's words: Was it Accolon or Uwaine, or both at once.... I am as much Uwaine's mother as if I had borne him! What kind of woman does he think me? But was that rumor indeed in Arthur's court, that she had committed incest with Arthur, himself? How, then, in the face of that, can I bring Arthur to acknowledge Gwydion his son? Galahad is Arthur's heir, but my son must be acknowledged, and the royal line of Avalon. But there must be no further scandal about me, certainly not any hint that I have committed incest with my stepson ... .

And she wondered a little at herself. She had flown into a desperate rage when she knew she was to bear Arthur's son and now it seemed trivial to her; after all, she and Arthur had not even known themselves brother and sister. But Uwaine-no blood kin to her-was far more her son than Gwydion; she had mothered Uwaine ... .

Well, there was nothing to be done about it now. Morgaine went to the kitchen and heard the cook complain that all the bacon was gone, and the storerooms were near enough empty to make it hard to feed all these homecomers.

"Well, we must send Avalloch to hunt today," said Morgaine, and stopped Maline on the stairs as she carried up her husband's morning drink of hot wine.

Maline said, "I saw you talking with Avalloch-what did he have to say to you?" She frowned a little, and Morgaine, reading her thoughts as it was easy to do with a woman as stupid as Maline, realized that her daughter-in-law feared and resented her; thought it unfair that Morgaine should still be slim-bodied and hard when she, Maline, was heavy and worn with childbearing, that Morgaine should have glossy dark hair when Maline herself, busied with babies, never had time to comb and plait her own, and make it shine.

Morgaine said truthfully, but also with a wish to spare her daughter-in-law's feelings, "We spoke of Accolon, and of Uwaine. But the storerooms are nearly empty, and Avalloch must go hunting for boar." And then what she must do flashed full-blown into her head, and for a moment she stood frozen, hearing Niniane say in mind and memory, Accolon must succeed his father, and her own voice replying ... . Maline was staring at her, waiting for her to finish what she was saying, and Morgaine quickly collected herself. "Tell him that he must go out after boar, today if he can, tomorrow at the latest, or we shall be eating the last of the flour too soon."

"Certainly I will tell him, Mother," said Maline. "He will be glad to have an excuse to be away." And through Maline's complaining voice, Morgaine knew the younger woman was relieved that it had been nothing worse.

Poor woman, married to that pig. She remembered, troubled, exactly what Avalloch had said, On the day I am made king in this land, there will be no more grace extended to those who have lived on because my father cannot forget that once he wore the serpents.

This, then, was her task: to make certain that Accolon should succeed his father, not for her own sake or for revenge, but for the sake of the old worship which she and Accolon had brought back to this land. If I had half an hour to tell Accolon all, he would go with Avalloch hunting, and I doubt not that would solve all. And she thought, with cold calculation, Shall I keep my hands clean of this, and leave it to Accolon?

Uriens was old; but he might live another year, or another five years. Now that Avalloch knew all, he would work with Father Eian to undermine any influence Accolon and Morgaine might have, and all that she had done would be undone again.

If Accolon wants this kingdom, perhaps it is he who should make certain of it. If Avalloch dies of poison, it is I who will die for a sorceress. Yet if she left it to Accolon-then would it be all too much like that old ballad, the one which began, Two brothers went a-hunting ... .

Shall I tell Accolon, and let him act in his rage? Troubled, still not certain what she would do, she went up to find Accolon in his father's room, and as she came in she heard him say, "Today Avalloch goes to hunt boar- the storeroom is near to empty. And I will ride with him. It is all too long since I have hunted in my own hills-"

"No," Morgaine said sharply. "Stay with your father today. He will need you, and Avalloch has all his huntsmen to help him."

She thought, Somehow I must tell him what I mean to do, and then she stopped herself. If he knew what she planned-though she was not yet sure herself what form her necessity would take-he would never accede to it, except perhaps in his first anger at hearing what Avalloch had said to her.

And if he did, she thought-though I thought I knew him better than that, still my own hunger for his body might have deceived me, and he may be less honorable than I think him-if he were such a one as would consent to be party to this, then he would be kin slayer and under that curse, and not such a one as I could trust for what lies before us. Avalloch is kin to me by marriage alone; there is no blood tie to dishonor. Only if I had borne Uriens a son would there be blood guilt on me. Now, she was glad she had given Uriens no son.

Accolon said, "Let Uwaine stay with father-if his cheek wound is being poulticed still, it is he that should stay indoors and keep to the fireside."

How can I make him understand? His hands must be clean; he must be here when the news comes ... what can I say to him to make him understand that this is important, perhaps the most important thing I shall ever ask of him? Urgency, and the impossibility of voicing her inner thoughts, made her voice sharp.

"Will you do as I ask you without argument, Accolon? If I am to tend Uwaine's wound too, I shall have no leisure to tend your father as well, and he has been left to serving-folk all too often of late!" And your father, if the Goddess is with me, shall have more need of you at his side than ever, before this day is ended ... .

She slurred her words, hoping Uriens would not understand what she was saying. "As your mother I ask it," she said, but what she was saying to Accolon, with all the force of her thoughts, was, From the Mother I command it.... "Obey me," she said and, turning a little away from Uriens, so that Accolon alone could see, she touched the faded blue crescent on her forehead. Accolon looked at her-puzzled, questioning-but she turned away, shaking her head slightly, hoping that at least he would understand why she could not speak more freely.

He said, frowning, "Certainly, if you wish it so much. It is no hardship to stay with my father."

Morgaine saw Avalloch ride out at midmorning with four huntsmen, and while Maline was in the lower hall, she slipped into their bedchamber, searching through the untidy room and through the discarded baby clothes and still unwashed napkins of the youngest. At last she found a small bronze arm ring she had seen Avalloch wear. There were some gold things too in Maline's chest, but she did not dare to take anything of value which might be missed when Maline's servant came to sort out the room. As it was, the serving-woman found her there and asked, "What did you want, lady?"

Morgaine feigned anger. "I will not live in a house that is kept like a pig's byre! Look at all these unwashed napkins, they stink of baby shit! Take them down now, and give them to the washwoman, and then sweep and air this room-must I put on a clout and do all the sweeping myself?"

"No, madam," said the servant, cringing, and took the fouled cloths that Morgaine heaped in her arms. Morgaine tucked the bronze ring inside her bodice and went down to have the cook heat water for Uwaine's wound; that must be done first, and somehow she must order things in this house so that she would be idle and alone this afternoon. ... She sent for the best surgeon to bring his tools and made Uwaine sit down and open his mouth so that she could help to find the broken root of his tooth. He endured the probing and pulling stoically (though the tooth broke off in his jaw and again had to be dug for; fortunately it was numb and swollen), and finally when all the tooth was out, she dropped some of her strongest numbing medicine into the wound and poulticed the sore swollen cheek again. Finally it was done and Uwaine sent to bed with a strong dram of liquor inside him; he protested, arguing that he had ridden and even fought when he was in worse case than this, but she firmly ordered him to go to his bed and let her medicines take their full effect. So Uwaine, too, was safely out of the way and beyond suspicion. And since she had sent the servants to do washing, there were none of these, either, so that Maline began to complain. "If we are to have new gowns for Pentecost, and if Avalloch is to have his cloak finished-you do not like to spin, Mother, but I must weave at Avalloch's cloak, and all the women are heating kettles of water for the washing and getting out their beating paddles-"

"Oh, dear, I had forgotten that," said Morgaine. "Well, there is no help for it, I must spin then-unless you would have me do the weaving." Better, she thought, even than the arm ring, a cloak made to his measure by his wife.

"Would you do that then, Mother? But you have the king's new cloak set up on the other loom-"

"Uriens does not need it so much as Avalloch," Morgaine said. "I will weave at Avalloch's cloak." And when I am done, she thought, a shudder running through her heart, he will never need a cloak anymore ... .

"Then I will spin," said Maline, "and I will be grateful to you, Mother -you weave better than I." She came and pressed her cheek to her mother-in-law's. "You are always kind to me, lady Morgaine."

But you do not know what I shall be weaving today, child.

Maline sat down and picked up the distaff. She paused for a moment, pressing her hands to her back.

"Are you not well, daughter-in-law?"

Maline said, "It is nothing-my courses are four days late. I am afraid I have gotten with child again, and I had hoped I could nurse the baby another year-" She sighed. "Avalloch has women enough in the village, but I think he never loses hope I will give him another son to take Conn's place! He doesn't care anything for the girls-he did not even weep when Maeva died last year, just before I was brought to bed with the baby, and when she was another girl, he was really angry with me. Morgaine, if you truly know any charms, could you give me a charm so that I would bear a son next time I am brought to bed?"

Morgaine smiled, putting the shuttle to the threads. She said, "Father Eian will not like it, if you ask me for charms. He would tell you to pray to the Virgin Mother for a son."

"Well, her son was a miracle, and I am beginning to think that if I ever have another son it would be another miracle," said Maline. "But perhaps it is only this dismal chilly weather."

"I will make you some tea for that," said Morgaine. "If you are truly with child, I swear it will not disturb you, but if it is only delay from a chill, it will bring on your courses."

"Is this one of your magical spells from Avalon, Mother?"

Morgaine shook her head. "It is herb lore, no more," she said, went to the kitchen and made up the brew over the fire. She brought it to Maline and said, "Drink it as hot as you can, and wrap up in your shawl while you spin, try to keep warm."

Maline drank up the brew, emptying the little pottery cup, and grimaced at the taste. "Ugh, foul!"

Morgaine said, smiling, "I should have put honey in it, as I do with the brews I make for the children when they have fever."

Maline sighed, taking up the spindle and distaff again. She said, "Gwyneth is old enough to spin-I could spin when I was five years old."

"So could I," said Morgaine, "but I beg you, defer the lesson another day, for if I am to weave in here I do not want noise and confusion."

"Well then, I will tell the nurse to keep all the children out in the gallery," said Maline, and Morgaine dismissed her from her mind, beginning to run the shuttle slowly through the cloth and making sure of the pattern. It was a pattern of green and brown checkered cloth, not very demanding for a good weaver; so long as she counted the threads automatically, she need not keep her mind on it very long ... spinning would have been better. But she had made her distaste for spinning so well known that if she volunteered to spin this day it would be remembered.

The shuttle slid through the cloth: green, brown, green, brown, picking up the other shuttle every tenth row, changing the color. She had taught Maline to dye this green color, which she had learned in Avalon ... green of the new leaves coming into the spring, brown of the earth and of the fallen leaves where the boar rooted in the forest for acorns... shuttle sliding through the cloth, the comb to tighten each row of threads, her hands moving automatically, in and out and across, slide down the bar, pick up the shuttle from the other side ... would that Avalloch's horse would slip and fall and he would break his neck and save me from what I must do ... . She felt cold and shivered, and willed herself to ignore it, concentrating on the shuttle sliding in and out of the threads, in and out, letting images rise and go at will, seeing Accolon in Uriens' chamber playing with his father at draughts, Uwaine asleep, tossing and turning with the pain in his cheek wound even through his slumber, but now it would heal cleanly ... would that a wild boar would fight back and Avalloch's huntsman be too slow to come to his aid ... .

I said to Niniane that I would not kill. Never name that well from which you will not drink... an image rose in her mind of the Holy Well of Avalon, the water rising from the spring, flooding into the fountain. The shuttle flickered in and out, green and brown, green and brown, like the sunlight falling through the green leaves onto the brown earth, where the spring tides rising within the forest ran with life, sap running in the brown wood ... the shuttle flashing now, faster and faster, the world beginning to blur before her eyes ... Goddess! Where you run in the forest with the running life of the deer ... all men are in your hands, and all the beasts ... .

Years ago she had been the Virgin Huntress, blessing the Horned One and sending him forth to run with the deer and to conquer or die as the Goddess might decree. He had come back to her ....ow she was no longer that Virgin, holding all the power of the Huntress. As the Mother, with all the power of fertility, she had woven spells to bring Lancelet to Elaine's bed. But motherhood for her had ended in the blood of Gwydion's birth. Now she sat here with her shuttle in her hand and wove death, like the shadow of the Old Death-crone. All men are in your hands to live or die, Mother ... .

The shuttle flickered, flashed in and out of her sight, green, brown, green like leaves and forest intertwined, where they ran, the beasts ... the wild boar snuffling and grunting and rooting with his long tusks, the sow with the piglets bounding behind her, in and out of a copse ... the shuttle raced in her hands and she saw nothing, only the snorting snuffle of the swine in the forest.

Ceridwen, Goddess, Mother, Death-crone, Great Raven ... Lady of death and life ... Great Sow, eater of your young ... I call you, I summon you ... if this is truly what you have decreed, it is for you to accomplish it ... time slid and shifted around her, she lay in the glade with the sun burning her back while she ran with the King Stag, she moved through the forest, softly, snuffling ... she sensed the life, the hunters trampling and shouting ... . Mother! Great Sow ...

Morgaine knew in a random corner of her mind that her hands continued to move, steadily, green and brown, brown and green, but beneath her lowered eyelids she saw nothing of the room or the threads, but only the new green springing beneath the trees, the mud and dead leaves brown from the winter, trampling, it was as if she rooted on all fours in the fragrant mud ... life of the Mother there beneath the trees ... behind her the little gruntings and squealings of the piglets, tusks tearing up the ground for hidden roots and acorns ... brown and green, green and brown ...

Like a shock to her nerves, as if it ripped through her body, she felt the sound of the trampling in the forest, the distant cries ... her body sat motionless before the loom, weaving brown threads and changing for green, shuttle after shuttle, only her fingers alive, but with the starting thrill of terror and rush of rage, she charged, letting the life of the swine rush through her ...

Goddess! Let not the innocent suffer ... the huntsmen are nothing to you. ... She could do nothing, she watched in dread, trembling, shuddering with the smell of blood, the smell of her mate's blood ... blood spilled from the great boar, but this was nothing to her, like the King Stag he must die ... when his time was come, then must his blood be shed on the earth ... behind her she heard the squeals of frenzied piglings and suddenly the life of the Great Goddess rushed through her, not knowing whether she was Morgaine or the Great Sow, heard her own high frenzied grunting-as when, in Avalon, she had raised her hands and brought down on her the mists of the Goddess, so she flung her head back, shivering, grunting, hearing the terror of her piglings, making short little rushes, flinging up her head, rushing in circles ... green and brown under her eyes, an irrelevant shuttle in automatic fingers, unnoticed ... then, maddened by the alien smells, blood, iron, strangeness, the enemy rising on two legs, steel and blood and death, she felt herself charge, heard cries, felt the hot stab of metal and red blurring her eyes through the brown and green of the forest, felt her tusks tearing, felt hot blood burst forth and gush as the life went out of her in searing pain and she fell and knew no more ... and the shuttle went on, leaden, weaving brown and green and brown over the agony in her belly and the red bursting through her eyes and her pounding heart, the screams still in her ears in the silent room where there was no sound but the whisper of shuttle and warp and spindle and distaff... she swung silent, in her trance, exhausted ... slumped forward at the loom and lay there, motionless. After a time she heard Maline speak, but she neither moved nor answered.

"Ah! Gwyneth, Morag-Mother, are you ill? Ah, heavens, she will weave, and always it brings these fits upon her-Uwaine! Accolon! Come, Mother has fallen at her loom-"

She felt the woman restlessly chafing her hands, calling her name, heard Accolon's voice, felt him lift and carry her. She did not, could not, move or speak-she let them lay her on her bed, bring wine to revive her, felt it trickle down her neck, and wanted to say, I am all right, let be, but she heard herself make a frightened little grunting sound and was still, agony ripping her, knowing that in death the Great Sow would release her, but first she must suffer the death throes ... and even as she lay there, blind, tranced, agonized, she heard the hunting horn sound and knew that they were bringing Avalloch home, dead on his horse, slain by the sow which had attacked him within moments after he had killed the boar ... and he in turn had slain the sow ... death and blood and rebirth and the flow of life in and out of the forest, like the winding in and out of the shuttle ... .

IT WAS hours later. She still could not move a muscle without griping, terrifying pain; almost she welcomed it. I should not go wholly free of this death, but Accolon's hands are clean ... . She looked up into his eyes. He was bending over her with concern and dread, and they were alone for a moment.

"Are you able to speak now, my love?" he whispered. "What happened?"

She shook her head and could not speak. But his hands on her were tender, welcome. Do you know what I have done for you, dear love?

He bent and kissed her. He would never know how close they had come to being exposed and defeated.

"I must go back to Father," he said gently, troubled. "He weeps and says, if I had gone, my brother would not have died-he will blame me always." His dark eyes rested on her, a shadow of disquiet in them. "It was you who commanded me not to go," he said. "Did you know this with your magic, beloved?"

She found a shred of voice through the soreness in her throat. "It was the will of the Goddess," she said, "that Avalloch should not destroy what we have done here." She managed, with great pain, to move her finger, tracing out the line of the tattooed serpent on the hand that touched her face.

His expression changed, grew suddenly fearful. "Morgaine! Had you any part in this?"

Ah, I should have known how he would look at me if he knew ...

"Can you ask?" she whispered. "I was weaving in the hall all this day in clear sight of Maline and the servants and the children ... it was her will and her doing, not mine."

"But you knew, you knew?"

Slowly, her eyes filling with tears, she nodded, and he bent and kissed her lips.

"Be it so. It was the will of the Goddess," he said, and he went away.

3

There was a place in the woods where a rushing stream broadened out between rocks into a deep pool; Morgaine sat there on a flat rock overlooking the water and made Accolon sit beside her. They would be unseen here, except by the little ancient folk, and they would never betray their queen.

"My dear, all these years we have worked together-tell me, Accolon, what is it you think we are doing?"

"Lady, I have been content to know you had a purpose," he said, "and not to ask questions of you. If you had sought only for a lover"-he raised his eyes to her and reached for her hand-"there would have been others than I for that, better suited to such games. ... I love you well, Morgaine, and I have been-glad and honored-that you turned to me, even for companionship and the touch of tenderness, but it was not that which called me to you, priest to priestess." He hesitated, and sat stirring the sand at his feet with a booted foot. Finally he said, "It has come to me, too, that there was more of purpose in this than the wish of a priestess to restore the rites in this country, or your need to draw down upon us the moon tides-glad I have been to aid you in this and share the worship with you, lady. Lady of this land you have been indeed, especially to the ancient folk who see in you the face of the Goddess. For a time I thought it was only that we had been called to restore the old worship here. But now it comes to me, I know not why"-he touched the serpents which twined about his wrists -"that by these, I am bound to this land, to suffer and perhaps to die if need be."

I have used him, Morgaine thought, as ruthlessly as ever Viviane did me. ...

He said, "I know it well-not once in a hundred years, now, is that old sacrifice exacted. Yet when these"- again he touched, with a brown fingertip, the serpents encircling his wrist-"were set here, it came to me that perhaps I should indeed be the one called by the Lady for that ancient sacrifice. In the years between, I had come to think of this as no more than a green boy's fancy. But if I am to die ... " and his voice faded, like the ripples in the dying pool. It was very still; they could hear some insect making a small dry noise in the grass. Morgaine spoke no word, though she could feel his fear. He must pass the barriers of fear unaided, even as had she ... or Arthur, or the Merlin, or any other facing that last testing. And if he was to face the final test he must go to it consenting.

At last he asked, "Is it exacted of me, then, lady, that I must die? I had thought-if blood sacrifice is demanded-then, when Avalloch fell prey to her . .." and she saw the muscles in his face move; he tightened his jaw and swallowed hard. Still she said nothing, though her heart ached in pity. For some reason she heard Viviane's voice in her mind, a time will come when you will hate me as much as you love me now ... and felt again the surge of love and pain. Still she hardened her heart; Accolon was older than Arthur had been when he faced his kingmaking. And while Avalloch had indeed been blood sacrifice, spilled to the Goddess, still another's blood could not redeem any other, nor could Avalloch's death free his brother of the obligation to face his own.

At last his breath went out in a harsh sigh. "So be it-I have faced death in battle often enough. I swore unto her, even to death, and I shall not be forsworn. Tell me her will, lady."

Then at last she stretched out her hand and clasped his. "I do not think it is death that will be demanded of you, and certainly not the altar of sacrifice. Still, testing is needed; and death lies always near to the doors of such testing. Would it reassure you to know that I too have faced death this way? Yet I am here at your side. Tell me: are you sworn, man to man, to Arthur?"

"I am not one of his Companions," Accolon said. "Uwaine you have seen sworn to him, but not I, though I have fought willingly enough among his men."

Morgaine was glad, though she knew that she would even have used the oath of a Companion against Arthur now. "Listen to me, my dear," she said. "Arthur has twice betrayed Avalon; and only from Avalon can a king reign over all this land. I have sought, again and again, to call to Arthur's mind that oath he gave. But he will not hear me, and he holds still, in his pride, the holy sword Excalibur, the sword of the Sacred Regalia, and with it the magical scabbard I fashioned for him."

She saw his face turn pale. "You mean it truly-that you will bring Arthur down?"

"Not so, not unless he refuses still to bring his oath to completion," Morgaine said. "I shall give him, still, every opportunity to become what he has sworn to be. And Arthur's son is not yet ripe to the challenge. You are no boy, Accolon, and you are trained to kingcraft, not Druid-craft, in spite of these-" and she laid a slender fingertip on the serpents encircling his wrist. "Say then, Accolon of Wales, if all other shifts fail, will you be champion of Avalon, and challenge the betrayer for that sword he holds by betrayal?"

Accolon drew a long breath. "To challenge Arthur? Fitly did you ask, Morgaine, if I am ready to die," he said. "And you speak to me in riddles. I knew not that Arthur had a son."

"His son is son to Avalon and to the spring fires," said Morgaine. She thought she had long outgrown shame for this-I am priestess, I need make no accounting to any man for what I must do-but she could not force herself to meet Accolon's eyes. "Listen, and I will tell you all."

He sat silent as she told him of the kingmaking on Dragon Island, and what had befallen after; but when she told how she had fled from Avalon and of Gwydion's birth, he put out his hand and encircled her small fingers in his own.

"He has passed his own testing," said Morgaine, "but he is young and untried: none thought that Arthur would betray his oath. Arthur was young too, but he came to his kingmaking when Uther was old and dying and men were seeking everywhere for a king of the Avalon line. Now Arthur's star is high and his renown great, and even with all the powers of Avalon at his back, Gwydion could never challenge Arthur for his throne."

"How is it that you think I can challenge Arthur and get the sword Excalibur from him and not be slain at once by his men?" said Accolon. "And there is nowhere in this world that I can challenge him where he goes not so guarded."

"That is true," Morgaine said, "but you need not challenge him in this world. There are other realms which are not within this world at all, and within one of these realms you may get from him the sword Excalibur, to which he has forfeited all shadow of right, and the magical scabbard which protects him from all harm. Once disarmed, he is no more than any other man. I have seen his Companions-Lancelet, Gawaine, Gareth-disarm him in play at their mock battles. Without his sword, Arthur is easy prey. He is not the greatest of warriors, nor, with that sword and scabbard, did he ever need to be. And Arthur once dead-"

She had to stop and steady her voice, knowing she incurred the curse of kin slayer, that same curse she had hesitated to bring on Accolon when Avalloch died.

"Arthur once dead," she repeated firmly at last, "I am nearest his throne, and his sister. I shall rule as Lady of Avalon, and you as my consort and duke of war. True, in your time you too will be challenged and brought down as King Stag ... but before that day comes you shall have your day as King at my side."

Accolon sighed. "I never thought to be King. But if you bid me, lady, I must do her will-and yours. Yet to challenge Arthur for his sword-"

"I did not mean that you shall do so without all the help I can give. For what else have I been schooled all these weary years in magic, and for what have I made you my priest? And there is one greater than I who shall help us both to your testing."

"Speak you of those magical realms?" Accolon asked her, almost in a whisper. "I do not understand you."

That surprises me not; I know not myself what I mean to do, nor what I say, Morgaine thought, but she recognized the strange dimness rising in her mind, clouding thought, as that state in which powerful magic was made. I must trust to the Goddess now, and let her lead me. Not I alone, but he who stands at my side, who will take up the sword from Arthur's hand.

"Trust me, and obey." She rose, moving through the woods on silent feet, looking for... what was she looking for? She asked, and heard her voice distant and strange, "Does hazelwood grow within this forest, Accolon?"

He nodded, and she followed him to the grove of trees, at this season just bursting into leaf and flower. The wild pigs who roamed here had eaten the last of the nuts; fragments of nut hulls lay scattered on the thick leaf mold of the forest floors. Yet new shoots were springing, too, toward the light, where new trees would rise, so that the life of the forest would never die.

Flower and fruits and seed. And all things return and grow and come to light and at the last give up their bodies into the keeping of the Lady again. But she who works, silently and alone, at the heart of nature, cannot work her magic without the strength of Him who runs with the deer and with the summer sun draws forth the richness of her womb. Beneath the hazel tree she looked across at Accolon, and while part of her mind was aware that this man was her lover, her chosen priest, she knew that now he had consented to a testing beyond what she alone could confer.

Before ever the Romans had come to these hills seeking for tin and lead, the hazel grove had been a sacred place. At the edge of the grove there was a pool, standing beneath three of the sacred trees, hazel and willow and alder-a magic older than the magic of the oak. The surface of the pool was somewhat obscured with dry sticks and leaves, but the water was clear and dark, brown with the clear brown of the forest, and she saw her own face reflected as she bent and dipped up the water in her hand, touching it to brow and lips. Before her eyes the reflected face shifted and changed, and she saw the strange deep eyes of the woman from that older world than this. And something in her crawled in terror at what she saw in those eyes.

The world had shifted subtly round them-she had believed this strange ancient land lay at the borders of Avalon, not here in the remote fastnesses of North Wales. Yet a voice said silently in her mind, I am everywhere, and where the hazel reflects in the sacred pool, there am I. She heard Accolon draw in a breath of wonder and awe, and turned to see that the lady of the fairy kingdom was with them, standing straight and silent in her shimmering garment, the crown of bare wicker-wither above her brow.

Was it she who spoke, or the lady?

There is other testing than the running of the deer ... and suddenly it was as if a horn rang out, far and eerie, through the hazel grove ... or was it the hazel grove? And then the leaves lifted and stirred, and there was the rushing of sudden winds, making the branches creak and sway, and a chill of fear rippled through Morgaine's body and blood.

He is coming ...

Slowly, reluctant, she turned and saw that they were not alone in the grove. There at the edge between the worlds, he was standing ...

Never did she ask Accolon what it was that he saw ... she saw only the shadow of the antler crown, the bright leaves of gold and crimson where they stood in a wood gilded with the first buds of spring, the dark eyes ... once she had lain with him on a forest floor like this, but he had not come for her this time, and she knew it. Now she, and even the lady, must step aside. His step, light on the leaves, still somehow raised the wind that kept thrusting floods of air through the grove, so that her hair blew about on her forehead and she felt her cloak flapping with it. He was tall and dark, and he seemed at once to be clothed in the richest garments, and in leaves, and at the same time she would have taken oath that his flesh gleamed smooth and naked before them. He gestured, raising one slender hand, and as if compelled, Accolon moved slowly forward, step by step ... and at the same time it was Accolon that she could see crowned and robed with leaves and antlers, glimmering in the strange motionless light of fairy. Morgaine felt herself buffeted, struck and battered by the wind; in the grove, she knew, were forms and faces she could not clearly see; this testing was not for her, but for the man at her side. It seemed that there were cries and horn-calls; were the riders within the air, or did the beating of their hooves drum on the forest floor with this great noise that drowned out thought? She knew Accolon was no longer at her side. She stood clasping the bark of the hazel tree, her face hidden; she did not know, she would never know, it was not for her to know what form Accolon's kingmaking should take ... that was not in her power to give or to know. She had invoked the powers of the Horned One through the Lady, and he had gone where she could not follow.

She never knew how long she stood there, clutching at the hazel bark, her brow pressed painfully against the bole of the tree ... and then the wind died and Accolon was with her. They stood together, alone in the hazel grove, hearing only the beat of thunder from a dark and cloudless sky where the sun's rim glared like hot metal behind the moon's dark eclipse disk, and the stars burned against the unfallen night. Accolon's arm was around her. He whispered, "What is it, what is it?"

"It is the eclipse." Her voice was steadier than she could have believed. She felt her heartbeat quieting to normal at the touch of his arms, warm and alive, holding her. The ground was quite steady under her feet again, the solid earth of the hazel grove, and when she looked down into the pool she saw fragments of broken boughs from the uncanny wind that had ravaged the grove. Somewhere a bird complained at the sudden dark, and at their feet a small pink piglet rooted in the dead leaf mold. Then the light began to steal so brightly that she saw the shadow passing away from the sun. She saw Accolon staring at the brightness and said sharply, "Turn away your eyes-you can be blinded now the darkness is gone!"

He swallowed and lowered his face to hers. His hair was awry with a wind that was not of this world, and clinging to his hair was a crimson leaf which made Morgaine shiver as they stood beneath the just unfolding buds of the hazel.

He said in a whisper, "He is gone ... and she ... or was it you? Morgaine, did it happen, was any of it real?"

Morgaine, looking into his dazzled face, saw something in his eyes, something that had never been there before-the touch of the nonhuman. She reached out and plucked the crimson leaf from his hair, holding it out to him. "You who bear the serpents ... need you question?"

"Ah-" She saw the shudder run right through him. He struck the crimson leaf from her hand with a savage gesture, letting it fall silent to the forest floor, and said, with a gasp, "It seemed that I rode high above the world and saw such things as come never to mortal man ... " and then he reached for her, with blind urgency tearing at her dress and pulling her down to the ground. She let him do as he would and lay stunned on the damp ground as he thrust blindly into her, driven by a force he hardly understood. It seemed to her, as she lay silent beneath that driving strength, that his face was shadowed again with antlers or with crimson leaves; she had no part in this, she was only the passive earth beneath rain and wind, thunder and lightning bolt, and it was as if the lightning struck through her into the earth beneath ...

Then the darkness receded and the strange stars shining forth by day were all gone, and Accolon's hands, tender and apologetic, were helping her to rise, to arrange her disordered dress; he bent to kiss her, to stammer some half-explanation, some word of excuse, but she smiled and laid her hand across his lips. "No, no-it is enough-" The grove was silent again, and around them were only the normal sounds of the quiet day.

She said calmly, "We must go back, my love. We will be missed, and everyone will be shouting and crying out about the eclipse, as if it were some strange marvel of nature ... " and smiled faintly; she had seen something far stranger than an eclipse this day. Accolon's hand was cold and solid in hers.

He whispered, as they walked, "I knew never that you ... you look like her, Morgaine ... ."

But I am she. However, Morgaine did not speak the words aloud. He was an initiate; he should have been better prepared, perhaps, for this testing. Yet he had faced it as he must, and he had been accepted by something beyond her own small powers.

Then cold struck at her heart and she turned to look at his smiling, beloved face. He had been accepted. But that did not mean he would triumph; it meant only that he might attempt the final testing for which this was only the beginning.

I felt not like this when as Spring Maiden I sent Arthur-whom I knew not to be Arthur-forth for his testing. Ah, Goddess, how young I was then, how young we both were ... mercifully young, for we knew not what we did. And now I am old enough to know what it is that I do, how shall I have courage to send him forth to face death?

4

On the eve of Pentecost, Arthur and his queen had bidden those guests with family ties to the throne to dine with them privately. Tomorrow would be the usual great banquet for all of Arthur's subject kings and his Companions, but Gwenhwyfar, dressing herself carefully, felt that this would be the greater ordeal. She had long accepted the inevitable. Her husband and lord would by his act tomorrow make public and irrevocable what had long been known. Tomorrow, Galahad would be made knight and Companion of the Round Table. Oh, she had known it for years, yes, but then Galahad had been only a fair-haired little boy growing up somewhere in King Pellinore's lands. When she had thought of it, she had even been pleased; Lancelet's son, by her own cousin Elaine-now dead in childbed -was a reasonable heir for the King. But now she felt him a living reproach to an aging queen whose life had been without fruit.

"You are distressed," said Arthur, watching her face as she set the coronet about her hair. "I am sorry, Gwenhwyfar-I thought it would be the way to get to know the lad, as I must if he is to have my throne. Shall I tell them that you are ill? You need not appear-you can meet him at some other time."

Gwenhwyfar tightened her mouth. "As well now as later."

He took her hand. "I do not see Lancelet very often anymore-it will be good to speak with him again."

Her mouth moved in something she knew was not the smile she had intended. "I wonder you will have it so-do you not hate him?"

Arthur smiled uneasily. "We were all so much younger then. It seems as if it all was in another world, and Lance no more than my dearest and oldest friend, almost my brother, as much as Cai."

"Cai is your brother too," said Gwenhwyfar, "and his son Arthur is one of your most loyal knights. It seems to me that he would make a better heir than Galahad ... ."

"Young Arthur is a good man and a trusty Companion. But Cai's blood is not royal. God knows, in all these years I have wished often enough that Ectorius had in truth been my own father... but he was not, and there's an end of it, Gwen." After a moment, hesitant-he had never spoken of this, not since that other dreadful Pentecost-he said, "I have heard that-the other lad, Morgaine's son-is in Avalon."

Gwenhwyfar put out a hand as if to avoid a blow. "No-!"

"I will arrange it so that you need never meet him," he said, not looking at her, "but royal blood is royal blood and something must be done for him. He cannot have my throne, the priests would not have it-"

"Oh," said Gwenhwyfar, "and if the priests would have it, I suppose you would proclaim Morgaine's son your heir-"

"There will be those who wonder that he is not," said Arthur. "Would you have me try to explain it to them?"

"Then you should keep him far from the court," said Gwenhwyfar, thinking, I did not know my voice was so harsh when I was angry. "What place at this court has one who has been reared in Avalon as a Druid?"

He said dryly, "The Merlin of Britain is one of my councillors and has always been so, Gwen. Those who look to Avalon are always my subjects too. It is written: Other sheep have I which are not of this fold. ..."

"A blasphemous jest," Gwenhwyfar observed, making her voice gentler, "and hardly suitable for the eve of Pentecost-"

Arthur said, "Before Pentecost there was always Midsummer, my love. At least, now there are no Midsummer fires lighted, not even on Dragon Island, or, so far as I know, anywhere within three days' ride of Camelot -except on Avalon itself."

"The priests have set wards on Glastonbury Island, I am sure," said Gwenhwyfar, "so that there shall be no coming and going from that land ... ."

"It would be a sad day if it should be lost forever," Arthur said. "As it is sad for the peasant folk to lose their own festivals... town folk, perhaps, have no need of the old rites. Oh yes, I know, there is only one name under Heaven by which we may be saved, but perhaps those who live in such close kinship with the earth need something more than salvation ... ."

Gwenhwyfar started to speak, then held her peace. Kevin was no more than a misshapen old cripple, and a Druid, and the day of the Druids now seemed to her as far away as the time of the Romans. And even Kevin was less known at court as the Merlin of Britain than as a superb harper. The priests did not hold him in reverence as a good and kindly man, as once with Taliesin; Kevin's tongue was quick and ungentle in debate. Yet Kevin's knowledge of all the old ways and the common law was greater even than Arthur's, and Arthur had come into the way of turning to him when it was a question of old law and custom which could not be set aside.

"If this were not so strictly a family party, I would command that the Merlin perform for us tonight."

Arthur smiled and said, "I can send to ask of him, if you will, but such music as his is not to be commanded, even by a king. I can bid him dine at our table, and beg him to honor us with a song."

She smiled back and said, "So the King begs of a subject, rather than the other way around?"

"There must be a balance in all things," he said. "It is one of the things I have learned in my rule-in some matters, a king cannot command but must sue. Perhaps that was why the Caesars fell, because they fell into what my tutor used to call hubris, thinking they could command outside the legitimate sphere of a king.....ell, my lady, our guests are waiting. Are you sufficiently beautiful?"

She said, "You are making fun of me again. You know how old I am."

"You are scarcely older than I," said Arthur, "and my chamberlain tells me I am a handsome man still."

"Oh, but that is different. Men do not age as women do." She looked at his face, which was only faintly lined with the years-a man in the prime of his life.

He said, taking her hand, "It would little beseem me to have a maiden at my side for my queen. You are suited to me." They moved toward the door; the chamberlain approached and spoke in a low voice, and Arthur turned to Gwenhwyfar. "There will be other guests at our table. Gawaine sent word that his mother has come, and so we cannot but invite Lamorak as well, since he is her consort and travelling companion," said Arthur. "I have not seen Morgause in many years, God knows, but she is my kinswoman too. And King Uriens and Morgaine with their sons ... "

"Then it will be a family party indeed."

"Yes, with Gareth and Gawaine-Gaheris is in Cornwall and Agravaine could not leave Lothian," said Arthur, and Gwenhwyfar felt pricked with an old grievance ... Lot of Lothian had so many sons. "Well, my dear, our guests are assembled in the little hall. Shall we go down to them?"

The great hall of the Round Table was Arthur's domain-a man's place, where warriors and kings met. But the little hall with the hangings she had ordered from Gaul and the trestle tables and benches-that was where Gwenhwyfar felt most a queen. She was growing daily more shortsighted; at first, though there was still plenty of light, she saw only stripes of color from the ladies' gowns and the brilliant indoor robes worn by the men. That huge figure there, well over six feet with a great shock of sandy hair, that was Gawaine-he came to bow before the King and then, rising, to embrace his cousin in a great bear hug. Gareth followed him, more modestly, and Cai came to clap Gareth on the shoulder, to call him Handsome in the old way, and to ask after his brood of children, still too young to come to court-the lady Lionors was, he said, still abed after their latest, and had stayed in their castle northward by the Roman wall. Was that eight now, or nine? Gwenhwyfar had seen the lady Lionors only twice, because always, according to Gareth, she was breeding or lying-in or still suckling her latest. Gareth was no longer pretty-faced, but good-looking as ever, and as Arthur and Gawaine and Gareth grew older, the resemblance between them all grew ever stronger. Now Gareth was being embraced by a slender man with dark curling hair streaked with grey, and Gwenhwyfar bit her lip; Lancelet changed not at all with the years, save to grow yet more handsome.

Uriens had none of that magical immunity to time. He looked at last really old, though he was still upright and strong. His hair was all white, and she heard him explaining to Arthur that he had but recently recovered from the lung fever, and had that spring buried his oldest son, savaged by a wild pig.

Arthur said, "So you will be King of North Wales one day, sir Accolon? Well, so it shall be-Ood giveth and taketh, so it says in Holy Writ."

Uriens would have bent to kiss Gwenhwyfar's hand, but she leaned instead to kiss the old man on the cheek. He was foppishly dressed in green, with a handsome cloak of green and brown.

"Our queen grows ever younger," he said, smiling with good humor. "One would think you had dwelled in the fairy country, kinswoman."

Gwenhwyfar laughed. "Perhaps I should paint lines in my face then, lest the bishops and priests think I have learned spells unseemly for a Christian woman-but such jesting is uncanny on the eve of a holy day. Well, Morgaine"-for once she could greet her sister-in-law with a jest- "you seem younger than I, and I know you are older. What is your magic?"

"No magic," said Morgaine in her rich low voice. "It is only that there is so little to occupy my mind, in that country at the end of the world, that it seems to me that time does not pass there, and so, perhaps, that is why I grow no older."

Now she looked closer, Gwenhwyfar could indeed see the small traces of time in Morgaine's face; her skin was still smooth and unmarred, but there were tiny creases around her eyes and the eyelids drooped a little. The hand she gave Gwenhwyfar was thin and bony, so that her rings hung loose. Gwenhwyfar thought, Morgaine is at least five years older than I. And suddenly it seemed to her that they were not women in middle life, but those two young girls who had met in Avalon.

Lancelet had come first to greet Morgaine. Gwenhwyfar would not have believed that she could still be torn with this raging passion of jealousy ... now Elaine is gone ... and Morgaine's husband is so old he surely cannot look to see another Christmas. She heard Lancelet speak some laughing compliment, heard Morgaine's low sweet laughter.

But she does not look at Lancelet like a lover ... her eyes turn to Prince Accolon-he is a goodly man too ... well, her husband is more than twice her age ... and Gwenhwyfar felt a stab of self-righteous disapproval.

"We should go to table," she said, beckoning to Cai. "Galahad must go at midnight to watch by his arms; and perhaps, like many young men, he would like to rest a little beforehand so he will not be sleepy-"

"I shall not be sleepy, lady," the young man said, and Gwenhwyfar felt again the pain. She would so gladly have had this fair young man as her son. He was tall now, broad-shouldered and big as Lancelet had never been. His face seemed to shine with scrubbing and with a calm happiness. "This is all so new to me-Camelot is such a beautiful city, I can hardly believe it is real! And I rode here with my father-all my life my mother spoke of him as if he were a king or a saint, quite beyond mortal men."

Morgaine said, "Oh, Lancelet is mortal enough, Galahad, and if you come to know him well enough, you will know it too."

Galahad bowed politely to Morgaine. He said, "I remember you. You came and took Nimue from us, and my mother wept-is my sister well, lady?"

"I have not seen her for some years," Morgaine said, "but if it was not well with her, I would have heard."

"I remember only that I was angry with you for telling me I was wrong about everything-you seemed very certain, and my mother-"

"No doubt your mother told you I am an evil sorceress." She smiled -smug as a cat, Gwenhwyfar thought-at the transparent blush that covered Galahad's face. "Well, Galahad, you are not the first to think me so." She smiled to Accolon too, who returned the smile so openly that Gwenhwyfar was shocked.

Galahad said bluntly, "And are you a sorceress, then, lady?"

"Well," said Morgaine, with that cat-claw smile again, "no doubt your mother had reason to think me so. Since now she is gone, I may tell you all-Lancelet, did Elaine never tell you how she begged and besought me for a charm that would turn your eyes on her?"

Lancelet turned to Morgaine, and it seemed to Gwenhwyfar that his face was stricken, tight with pain. "Why make jests about days that are long gone, kinswoman?"

"Oh, but I jest not," said Morgaine, and for a moment she raised her eyes to meet Gwenhwyfar's. "I thought it time you stopped breaking hearts all through the kingdoms of Britain and Gaul. So I made that marriage, and I do not regret it, for now you have a fine son who is heir to my brother's kingdom. If I had not meddled, you would have remained unwed, and still be breaking all our hearts-would he not, Gwen?" she added audaciously.

I knew it. But I did not know Morgaine would confess it so openly ... . But Gwenhwyfar took a queen's privilege to change the subject. "How does my namesake, your little Gwenhwyfar?"

"She is pledged in marriage to Lionel's son," Lancelet said, "and will be Queen of Less Britain, one day. The priest said the kinship was overdose but a dispensation could be had-I paid a great fee to the church for that to be set aside, and Lionel paid one, too-the girl is but nine and the wedding will not be for another six years."

"And your elder daughter?" asked Arthur.

"Sire, she is in a nunnery," Lancelet said.

"Is that what Elaine told you?" Morgaine asked, and again there was the flash of malice in her eyes. "She is in your own mother's place in Avalon, Lancelet. Did you not know?"

He said peacefully, "It is all one. The priestesses of the House of Maidens are much like to the nuns of holy church, living lives of chastity and prayer, and serving God in their own way." He turned quickly to Queen Morgause, who was approaching them. "Well, Aunt, I cannot say you are unchanged by time, but the years have treated you kindly indeed."

She looks so like Igraine! I have heard only the jests and have laughed at her, but now I can well believe that young Lamorak is beglamoured by her for love and not ambition! Morgause was a big woman, and tall, her hair was still rich and red, flowing in loose braids, over her green gown-a vast expanse of brocaded silk, embroidered with pearls and golden threads. A narrow coronet set with shining topaz twinkled in her hair. Gwenhwyfar held out her arms and embraced her kinswoman, saying, "You look much like Igraine, Queen Morgause. I loved her well, and still I think often of her."

"When I was younger that statement would have had me frantic with jealousy, Gwenhwyfar-I was maddened that my sister Igraine was more beautiful than I, and had so many kings and lords at her feet. Now I remember only that she was beautiful and kind, and I am glad to know I resemble her still." She turned to embrace Morgaine, and Gwenhwyfar saw that Morgaine was lost in the bigger woman's embrace, that Morgause towered over her ... . Why did I ever fear Morgaine? She is just a little thing after all, and the queen of an unregarded kingdom ... . Morgaine's dress was a simple dark wool, and she wore no ornament but a silver torque about her throat and some kind of silver bracelet about her arms. Her hair, dark and rich as ever, was simply braided and wound around her head.

Ardiur had come up to embrace his sister and his aunt. Gwenhwyfar took Galahad's hand in hers. "You shall sit by me, kinsman." Ah, yes, this was the son I should have borne to Lancelet-or to Arthur ... . She said, as they sat down, "And now you have come to know your father, have you discovered, as Morgaine said, that he is no saint but merely a very lovable man?"

"Ah, but what else is a saint?" asked Galahad, his eyes shining. "I cannot think of him as only a man, lady, he is surely more than that. He is the son of a king too, and I am sure that if they chose the best rather than the eldest son, he would reign in Less Britain. I think that man is happy whose father is also his hero," he said. "I had some time to speak with Gawaine-he despised his father and thought little of him, but no man has ever spoken of my father save with admiration!"

"I hope, then, that you see him always as a hero untarnished," said Gwenhwyfar. She had placed Galahad between herself and Arthur, as befitted the adopted heir to the kingdom; Arthur had chosen to seat Queen Morgause next to him, with Gawaine beyond, and next to him, Uwaine, who was Gawaine's friend and protege, as Gareth had been Lancelet's when they were younger.

At the table next to them were Morgaine and her husband, and other guests; they were all kin, but she could not see their faces clearly. She craned her neck and squinted to see, reproving herself-squinting would make her ugly-and rubbed at the right wrinkle beneath her brows. She wondered suddenly whereby her old fear of open spaces when she was a girl had simply come from being so shortsighted? Had she feared what the world was like only because she could not really see?

She asked Arthur across Galahad, who was eating with the hearty appetite of a healthy boy still growing, "Did you bid Kevin dine with us?"

"Aye, but he sent a message that he could not come. Since he could not be in Avalon, perhaps he keeps the holy day in his own fashion. I bid Bishop Patricias as well, but he keeps the vigil of Pentecost in the church -he will see you there at midnight, Galahad."

"I think that being made a king must be a little like being made a priest," said Galahad clearly; there was a lull in the conversation that made his young voice audible from one end of the table to another. "They are both sworn to serve man and God and to do what is right-"

Gareth said, "I felt something like that, lad. God grant you see it always so."

"I have always wanted my Companions to be men dedicated to the right." said Arthur. "I do not demand that they be godly men, Galahad, but I have hoped they would be good men."

Lancelet said to Arthur, "Perhaps these youngsters may live in a world where it is easier to be good," and it seemed to Gwenhwyfar that he sounded sad.

"But you are good, Father," said Galahad. "All up and down this land it is told that you are King Arthur's greatest knight."

Lancelet chuckled, embarrassed. "Aye-like that Saxon hero who tore the arm from the Lake monster. My works and deeds have been made into song because the true tale is not exciting enough to tell by the fireside in winter."

"But you did slay a dragon, did you not?" Galahad said.

"Oh, yes-and it was a fearful beast enough, I suppose. But your grandsire did as much as I in killing it," said Lancelet. "Gwenhwyfar, my lady, we dine never so well as at your table-"

"Too well," said Arthur cheerfully, patting his middle. "If feasts like this came often, I would be as fat as one of those beer-guzzling Saxon kings. And tomorrow is Pentecost, and another feast for even more folk-I do not know how my lady does it!"

Gwenhwyfar felt a small glow of pride. "This feast is mine, that of tomorrow is sir Cai's pride-for that one the beeves are already roasting in their pit. My lord Uriens, you are eating no meat ... "

Uriens shook his head. "A wing of one of those birds, perhaps. Since my son was slain, I have vowed never again to eat the flesh of swine."

"And your queen shares your vow?" said Arthur. "As always, Mor-gaine is all but fasting-no wonder you are so small and spare, my sister!"

"It is no hardship for me not to eat swine's flesh."

"Is your voice sweet as ever, my sister? Since Kevin could not join us, perhaps you would sing or play-"

"If you had told me you wished it, I would not have eaten so well. I cannot sing now. Later, perhaps."

"Then you, Lancelet," Arthur said.

Lancelet shrugged and gestured to a servant to bring the harp. "Kevin will sing this tomorrow-I am no match for him. I made the words from a Saxon poet. I said once I could live with the Saxons, but not with what they called music. Then, when I dwelt among them last year, I heard this song and wept when I heard it, and tried in my poor way to put it into our tongue." He left his seat to take the small harp. "It is for you, my king," he said, "for it speaks of what sorrow I knew when I dwelt far from court and from my lord-but the music is Saxon. I had thought, before this, that all their songs were of war and battle and fighting."

He began to play a soft, sorrowful melody; his fingers were not as skillful as those of Kevin, but the sad song had a power of its own, which gradually quieted them. He sang, in the husky voice of an untrained singer:

"What sorrow is like to the sorrow of one who is alone?

Once I dwelt in the company of the king I loved well,

And my arm was heavy with the weight of the rings he gave,

And my heart weighed down with the gold of his love.

The face of the king is like the sun to those who surround him,

But now my heart is empty

And I wander alone throughout the world.

The groves take on their blossoms,

The trees and meadows grow fair,

But the cuckoo, saddest of singers,

Cries forth the lonely sorrow of the exile,

And now my heart goes wandering,

In search of what I shall never see more;

All faces are alike to me if I cannot see the face of my king,

And all countries are alike to me

When I cannot see the fair fields and meadows of my home.

So I shall arise and follow my heart in its wandering

For what is the fair meadow of home to me

When I cannot see the face of my king

And the weight on my arm is but a band of gold

When the heart is empty of the weight of love.

And so I shall go roaming

Over the fishes' road

And the road of the great whale

And beyond the country of the wave

With none to bear me company

But the memory of those I loved

And the songs I sang out of a full heart,

And the cuckoo's cry in memory.

GWENHWYFAR BENT HER HEAD to hide tears. Arthur's head was lowered, his eyes covered by his hand. Morgaine was staring straight ahead and Gwenhwyfar could see the stripes of tears making wet streaks down her face. Arthur rose and came around the table; he put his arms round Lancelet and said in a voice that was not steady, "But you are again with your king and your friend, Galahad."

The old bitterness stabbed at Gwenhwyfar's heart. He sang of his king, not of his queen and his love. His love for me was never more than a part of his love for Arthur. She closed her eyes, unwilling to see them embrace.

"That was beautiful," said Morgause softly. "Who would ever think that a Saxon brute could write music like that-it must have been Lancelet, after all-"

Lancelet shook his head. "The music is theirs. And the words only a poor echo of their own ... ."

A voice that was like an echo of Lancelet's said gently, "But there are poets and musicians among the Saxons, as well as warriors, my lady," and Gwenhwyfar turned toward the voice. A young man in dark clothing, slender, dark-haired, a blur beyond her sight; but the voice, accented softly with the tones of the North country, still sounded like Lancelet's, the very pitch and timbre of his.

Arthur beckoned him forward. "There sits one at my table I do not know-and at a family party, that is not right. Queen Morgause-?"

She stood up in her place. "I had meant to present him to you before we went to table, but you were busy talking with old friends, my king. This is Morgaine's son, who was fostered at my court-Gwydion."

The youth came forward and bowed. "King Arthur," he said, in the warm voice that was like an echo of Lancelet's. For a moment a dizzied joy struck through Gwenhwyfar; this was Lancelet's son, surely, not Arthur's -and then she recalled that Morgaine's aunt, Viviane, was Lancelet's mother too.

Arthur embraced the youth. He said, in a voice too shaken to be audible three yards distant, "The son of my dearly beloved sister shall be received as a son at my own court, Gwydion. Come and sit beside me, lad."

Gwenhwyfar looked at Morgaine. She had spots of crimson on her cheek, as bright as if they were painted, and she was worrying her lower lip between her small, sharp teeth. Had Morgause not prepared her, then, to see her son presented to his father-no, to the King, Gwenhwyfar reminded herself sharply; there was no reason to think the boy had any idea who his father was. Though if he had ever looked in a mirror, no doubt he would come to believe, whatever anyone might say, that he was Lancelet's son.

Not a boy, after all. He must be near enough to five-and-twenty; he was a man.

"Your cousin, Galahad," Arthur said, and Galahad impulsively put out his hand.

"You are closer kin to the King than I, cousin-you have a better right than I to be where I am now," he said, with boyish spontaneity. "I wonder you don't hate me!"

Gwydion smiled and said, "How do you know I do not, cousin?" and for a moment Gwenhwyfar was jolted, until she saw the smile. Yes, he was Morgaine's son, he had the cat-smile she could show sometimes! Galahad blinked, then decided the words were meant as a jest. Gwenhwyfar could follow Galahad's transparent thoughts-Is this my father's son, is Gwydion my bastard brother by Queen Morgaine? He looked hurt, too, like a puppy whose playful proffer of friendship has been rebuffed.

"No, cousin," Gwydion said, "what you are thinking is not true." Gwenhwyfar thought, her breath catching in her throat, that he even had Lancelet's sudden breathtaking smile that transformed a rather dark and somber face into an overwhelming brilliance, as if a ray of sun had come out and transformed it.

Galahad said defensively, "I was not-I did not-"

"No," said Gwydion, kindly, "you did not say anything, but it is all too obvious what you are thinking, and what everyone in this room must be thinking." He raised his voice, just a little, that voice so like Lancelet's, although overlaid with the soft North-country accent: "In Avalon, cousin, we take our lineage from the line of the mother. I am of the old royal line of Avalon, and that is quite enough for me. It would be arrogance for any man to claim to be father to the child of a High Priestess of Avalon. But of course, like most men, I would like to know who fathered me, and what you thought has been said before-that I am the son of Lancelot. That likeness has been remarked upon before this-especially among the Saxons where I spent three years learning to be a warrior," he added. "Your reputation among them, lord Lancelet, is still much remembered there! I could not count how many men said to me that it was no disgrace to be the bastard son of a man like you, sir!" His low chuckle was like an eerie echo of the man he faced, and Lancelet looked uneasy too. "But in the end I always had to tell them that what they thought was not true. Of all the men in this kingdom who could have fathered me, one I know is not my father. And so, I must inform them that it is only a family likeness, no more. I am your cousin, Galahad, not your brother." He leaned lazily back in his chair. "Will it embarrass you too much-that everyone who sees us will think so? After all, we cannot go around telling everyone the truth!"

Galahad looked confused. "I would not have minded if you were truly my brother, Gwydion."

"But then I should have been your father's son and perhaps the King's heir, too," Gwydion said, and smiled-and it struck Gwenhwyfar suddenly that he actually took pleasure in the discomfort of the people around the table; that he was Morgaine's son, if only in that touch of malice.

Morgaine said, in that low voice which carried so clearly without being loud, "It would not have been displeasing to me, either, if Lancelet had fathered you, Gwydion."

"No, I suppose not, lady," Gwydion said. "Forgive me, lady Morgaine. Always I have called Queen Morgause my mother-"

Morgaine laughed. "If I seem an unlikely mother to you, Gwydion, you seem just as unlikely a son to me. I am grateful for this family party, Gwenhwyfar," she said. "I might have been confronted with my son tomorrow at the great feast, without warning."

Uriens said, "I think any woman would be proud of such a son, and as to your father, whoever he may have been, young Gwydion, it is his own loss that he did not claim you for his own."

"Oh, I don't think so," Gwydion said, and Gwenhwyfar thought, watching the small flicker of his eyes toward Arthur, He may say for some reason that he does not know who is his father, but he is lying. Somehow that made her uncomfortable. Yet how much more uncomfortable it would be if he were to face Arthur and demand to know why he, the son, was not also the heir.

Avalon, that accursed place! She wished it would sink into the sea like the lost land of Ys in the old tale, and never be heard of again!

"But this is Galahad's special night," Gwydion said, "and I am taking attention away from him. Are you to watch by your arms this night, cousin?"

Galahad nodded. "It is the custom for Arthur's Companions."

"I was the first," Gareth said, "and it is a good custom. I suppose it is the nearest a layman can come to being a priest, to take vows that he will always serve his king and his land and his God with his arms." He laughed and said, "What a fool of a boy I was-my lord Arthur, have you ever forgiven me, that I refused your offer to knight me with your own hands, and instead asked that Lancelet might do so?"

"Forgiven you, lad? I envied you," Arthur said, smiling. "Do you think I did not know Lancelet was the greater warrior of us two?"

Cai spoke for the first time, his somber scarred face twisting in a smile. "I told die lad then that he was a good fighter and would make a good knight, but he was certainly no courtier!"

"And so much the better," said Arthur heartily. "God knows I had enough of those!" He added, leaning forward, speaking directly to Galahad, "Would you prefer that your father should knight you, Galahad? He has knighted enough of my Companions ... ."

The boy bowed his head. "Sir, it is for my king to say. But it seems to me that this knighthood comes from God and it does not matter who bestows it. I-I do not mean that quite as it sounds, sir-I mean, the vow is made to you, but mostly to God-"

Arthur nodded, slowly. "I know what you mean, my boy. It is much the same with a king-he vows to rule over his people, but the vow is given not to the people but to God-"

"Or," said Morgaine, "to the Goddess, in her name, as token of the land the king shall rule." She looked directly at Arthur as she spoke and he shifted his eyes, and Gwenhwyfar bit her lip ... Morgaine reminding Arthur again dial his allegiance had been given to Avalon-damn her! But that was past and Arthur was a Christian king ... under no authority but that of God.

"We will all be praying for you, Galahad, that you make a good knight, and that one day, you will make a good king," said Gwenhwyfar.

"So, as you make your vows, Galahad," said Gwydion, "you are making, in some form, the same kind of Sacred Marriage to the land that the King used to make in the old days. But you will not, perhaps, be so hard tested."

The color rose in the younger boy's face. "My lord Arthur came to the throne proved in battle, cousin, but there is no way I can now be so tested."

"I could think of a way," said Morgaine softly, "and if you are to rule over Avalon as well as the Christian lands, one day you must come to that, too, Galahad."

He set his mouth firmly. "May that time be far-surely, my lord, you will live many, many years-and by then all those old folk who still believe they must give allegiance to the pagan ways will have gone."

"I trust not," said Accolon, speaking up for the first time in that company. "The sacred groves still stand, and in them, the old ways are done as they have been done from the beginning of the world. We do not anger the Goddess by denying her worship, lest she turn upon her people and blight the harvests and darken the very sun that gives us life."

Galahad was startled. "But this is a Christian land! Have no priests come to you to show you that the evil old Gods among whom the Devil had sway have no more power now? Bishop Patricius has told me that all the sacred groves have been cut down!"

"Not so," said Accolon, "nor will be while my father lives, or I after him."

Morgaine opened her mouth to speak, but Gwenhwyfar saw Accolon lay his hand on her wrist. She smiled at him and said nothing. It was Gwydion who said, "Nor yet in Avalon, while the Goddess lives. Kings come and kings go, but the Goddess shall endure forever."

What pity, Gwenhwyfar thought, that this handsome young man should be a pagan! Well, Galahad is a good and pious Christian knight, who will make a Christianfang! But as she reassured herself with that thought, a faint shiver went through her.

As if Gwenhwyfar's thoughts disturbed him, Arthur leaned forward to Gwydion, and his face was troubled. "Have you come to court to be one of my Companions, Gwydion? I need not tell you that the son of my sister is welcome among my knights."

"I admit I brought him here for that," said Morgause, "but I did not know that this was Galahad's great ceremonial. I would not steal the luster from this occasion. Surely another time will do as well for that."

Galahad said ingenuously, "I would not mind sharing my vigil and vows with my cousin."

Gwydion laughed. "You are too generous, kinsman," he said, "but you know little of kingcraft. The King's heir must be proclaimed without any to share that moment. If Arthur should knight us both at the same time, and I am so much the older, and resemble Lancelet so much more-well, there is gossip enough about my parentage; it should not shadow your knighthood as well. Nor," he added, laughing, "my own."

Morgaine shrugged. "They will gossip about the King's kin, whether or no, Gwydion. Let them have some morsel to chew on!"

"Yet another thing," Gwydion said lightly. "I have no intent ever to watch by my arms in any Christian church. I am of Avalon. If Arthur will admit me among his Companions for what I am, that will be well, and if not, that too will be well."

Uriens raised his knotty old arms so that the faded serpents could be seen. "I sit at the Round Table with no such Christian vow, step-son."

"Nor I," said Gawaine. "We won our knighthoods, all of us who fought in those days, and needed no such ceremonial. Some of us would have been hard put to it, had knighthood been fenced about by such courtly vows as now."

"Even I," Lancelet said, "would be somewhat reluctant to take such vows, such a sinful man as I am. But I am Arthur's man for life or death, and he knows it."

"God forbid I should ever doubt it," said Arthur, smiling with deep affection at his old friend. "You and Gawaine are the very pillars of my kingdom. If I should ever lose either of you, I think my throne would split and fall from the very top of Camelot!"

He raised his head as a door opened at the far end of the hall, and a priest in white robes, with two young men dressed in white, came in. Galahad rose, eagerly. "By your leave, my lord-"

Arthur rose too, and embraced his heir. "Bless you, Galahad. Go to keep your vigil."

The boy bowed and turned to embrace his father; Gwenhwyfar could not hear what Lancelet said to him. She reached out her hand and Galahad bent to kiss it. "Give me your blessing, lady."

"Always, Galahad," Gwenhwyfar said, and Arthur added, "We will see you to the church. You must keep your vigil alone, but we will come a little way with you."

"You do me too much honor, my king. Did you not keep vigil when you were crowned?"

"He did indeed," said Morgaine, smiling, "but it was far other than this."

AS THE WHOLE PARTY MOVED toward the church, Gwydion dropped back until he was walking at Morgaine's side. She looked up at her son-he was not as tall as Arthur, who had the height of the Pendragons, but at her side he seemed tall.

"I had not expected to see you here, Gwydion."

"I had not expected to be here, madam."

"I heard that you had been fighting in this war, among Arthur's Saxon allies. I knew not that you were a warrior,"

He shrugged. "You have had little opportunity to know much of me, lady."

Abruptly, not knowing what she was going to say until she heard herself saying it, she asked, "Do you hate me that I abandoned you, my son?"

He hesitated. "Perhaps-for a time when I was young," he said at last. "But I am a child of the Goddess, and this forced me to be so in truth, that I could look to no earthly parents. I bear you no grudge now, Lady of the Lake," he said.

For a moment the path blurred around her; it was as if the young Lancelet stood at her side ... her son steadied her gently with his arm.

"Take care, the path here is not smooth-"

She asked, "How is it with all in Avalon?"

"Niniane is well," he said. "I have few ties with any other there, not now."

"Have you seen Galahad's sister there, the maiden called Nimue?" She frowned, trying to remember how old Nimue would be now. Galahad was sixteen-Nimue would be at least fourteen, almost grown.

"I know her not," said Gwydion. "The old priestess of the oracles- Raven, is it?-has taken her into the silence and into seclusion. No man may look upon her face."

I wonder why Raven did that? A sudden shudder went through her, but she said only, "How does Raven, then? Is she well?"

"I have not heard that she was otherwise," said Gwydion, "though when I last saw her at the rites she seemed older than the very oaks. Still, her voice was sweet and young. But I have never had private speech from her."

Morgaine said, "Nor has any man living, Gwydion, and few women. Twelve years I spent there as a maiden, and I heard her voice but half a dozen times." She did not wish to speak or to think of Avalon and said, trying to keep her voice commonplace, "So you have had battle experience with the Saxons?"

"True, and in Brittany-I spent some time at Lionel's court. Lionel thought me Lancelet's son and would have had me call him Uncle and I told him nothing contrary. It will do Lancelet no harm to be thought capable of fathering a bastard or so. And, even as with the good Lancelet, the Saxons around Ceardig gave me a name. Elf-arrow they called him-any man who accomplishes anything gets a name from those folk. Mordred, they called me -it means in our tongue something like to 'Deadly counsel' or even 'Evil counsel,' and I think not that they meant it as compliment!"

"It takes not much craft in counsel to be wilier than a Saxon," she said, "but tell me, then, what prompted you to come hare before the time I had chosen?"

Gwydion shrugged. "I felt I might well see my rival."

Morgaine glanced fearfully around her. "Say that not aloud!"

"I have no reason to fear Galahad," he said quietly. "He looks not to me like one who will live long enough to rule."

"Is that the Sight?"

"I need not the Sight to tell me it would take one stronger than Galahad to sit on the throne of the Pendragon," Gwydion said. "But if it will ease your mind, lady, I will swear to you by the Sacred Well, Galahad will not die by my hand. Nor," he added after a moment, seeing her shiver, "by yours. If the Goddess does not want him on the throne of the new Avalon, I think we may leave it to her."

He laid his hand for a moment on Morgaine's; gentle as the touch was, she shivered again.

"Come," he said, and it seemed to Morgaine that his voice was as compassionate as a priest's giving absolution. "Let us go and see my cousin to his arms. It is not right that anything should spoil this great moment of his life. He may not have many more."

5

As often as Morgause of Lothian had come to Camelot, she never tired of the pageantry. Now, conscious that as one of Arthur's subject queens and the mother of three of his earliest Companions, she would have a favored place at the mock games which marked this day, she sat beside Morgaine in church; at the end of the service, Galahad would be knighted, and he knelt now beside Arthur and Gwenhwyfar, pale and serious and shining with excitement.

Bishop Patricius himself had come from Glastonbury to celebrate the Pentecost mass here in Camelot; he stood now before them in his white robes, intoning: "Unto thee have we offered this bread, the body of the Only-begotten ... ."

Morgause put a plump hand over her mouth, smothering a yawn. However often she attended Christian ceremonies, she never thought about them; they were not even as interesting as die rites at Avalon where she had spent her childhood, but she had thought, since she was fourteen or so, that all Gods and all religions were games which men and women played with their minds. None of them had anything to do with real life. Nevertheless, when she was at Pentecost, she dutifully attended mass, to please Gwenhwyfar-the woman was her hostess, and the High Queen, after all, and a close relative-and now, with the rest of the royal family, she went forward to receive the holy bread. Morgaine, attentive at her side, was the only one in the King's household who did not approach the communion table; Morgause thought lazily that Morgaine was a very great fool. Not only did she alienate the common people, but the more pious among the King's household called Morgaine witch and sorceress, and worse things, among themselves. And, after all, what difference did it make? One religious lie was as good as another, was it not? King Uriens, now, he had more sense of what was expedient; Morgause did not think Uriens had any more religion than Gwenhwyfar's pet house cat. She had seen the serpents of Avalon around his arms; yet, like his son Accolon, he went forward to take part.

But when the final prayer came, including one for the dead, she discovered that she had tears in her eyes. She missed Lot-his cynical cheerfulness, his steadfast loyalty to her; and he had, after all, given her four fine sons. Gawaine and Gareth knelt near her, among Arthur's own household-Gawaine, as always, close to Arthur; Gareth side by side with his young friend Uwaine-Morgaine's stepson; she had heard Uwaine call Morgaine mother, heard a genuine maternal note in Morgaine's voice when she spoke to him, something she had never thought Morgaine capable of.

With a rustle of gowns and the small chink of scabbarded swords and such gear, Arthur's household arose and moved to the church porch. Gwenhwyfar, though a little haggard, was still beautiful with the long bright golden braids over her shoulder and her fine gown belted in with a brilliant golden girdle. Arthur looked splendid, too. Excalibur hung in its scabbard at Arthur's side-the same old red velvet scabbard he had worn for more than twenty years now. She supposed that Gwenhwyfar could have embroidered him a handsomer one at any time in the past ten years.

Galahad knelt before the King; Arthur took from Gawaine a handsome sword and said, "For you, my dear kinsman and adopted son, this." He gestured to Gawaine, who belted it around the boy's slender waist. Galahad looked up with his boyish smile and said clearly, "I thank you, my king. May I bear it only and always in your service."

Arthur laid his hands on Galahad's head. He said, "I gladly receive you among the company of my Companions, Galahad, and confer on you the order of knighthood. Be always faithful and just, and serve the throne and the righteous cause always." He raised the youngster, embraced him and kissed him. Gwenhwyfar kissed him too, and the royal company went out toward the huge field, the others behind him.

Morgause found herself walking between Morgaine and Gwydion, with Uriens, Accolon, and Uwaine just behind them. The field had been decorated with green staves wound with ribbons and pennants, and the marshals of the games were pacing off the fighting areas. She saw Lancelet with Galahad, embracing him and giving him a plain white shield. Morgause said, "Will Lancelet fight today?"

Accolon said, "I think not-I heard he is to be master of the lists; he has won the field too many times. Between ourselves, he is no longer so young, and it would hardly suit the dignity of the Queen's champion to be unseated from his horse by some youth hardly made knight. I've heard that he's been beaten by Gareth more than once, and once by Lamorak-"

Morgause said smiling, "I think well of Lamorak that he forbore to boast of that conquest-few men could resist bragging that they had overcome Lancelet even in a mock battle!"

"No," said Morgaine quietly, "I think most young knights would be unhappy at the thought that Lancelet was no longer king of the field. He is their hero."

Gwydion chuckled. "Do you mean that the young stags forbear to challenge the knight who is King Stag among them?"

"I think none of the older knights would do so," said Accolon, "and of the young knights, there are few with enough strength or experience to challenge him. If they did, he would show them a trick or two still."

"I would not," said Uwaine quietly. "I think there is no knight at this court who does not love Lancelet. Gareth could overthrow him any time now, but he will not shame him at Pentecost, and he and Gawaine have always been evenly matched. Once at a Pentecost like this they fought for more than an hour, and once Gawaine knocked his sword from his hand. I do not know if I could best him in single combat, but he may stay champion while he lives, for all I will ever do to challenge it."

"Challenge him, someday," Accolon said, laughing, "I did so, and he took all the conceit out of me in five minutes! He may be old, but he has all his skill and strength."

He handed Morgaine and his father into the seats reserved for them. "By your leave, I will go and enter the lists before it is too late."

"And I," said Uwaine, bending to kiss his father's hand. He turned to Morgaine. "I have no lady, Mother. Will you give me a token to bear into the lists?"

Morgaine smiled indulgently and gave him a ribbon from her sleeve, which he tied about his arm, saying, "I have arranged to challenge Gawaine to a trial of strength."

Gwydion said with his charming smile, "Why, lady, you had better take back your favor-would you have your honor so easily disposed of as that?"

Morgaine laughed up at Accolon, and Morgause, watching her face come alight, thought, Uwaine is her son, far more than Gwydion; but Accolon, it is plain to see, is more than that. I wonder if the old king knows-or cares?

Lamorak was approaching them, and Morgause felt warmed and complimented-there were many pretty ladies on the field, he could have a favor from any of them, yet, before them all, before all Camelot, her dear young man would come and bow before her.

"My lady, may I wear a token into battle?"

"With pleasure, my dear." Morgause gave him the rose from the nosegay she wore at her bosom. He kissed the flower; she gave him her hand, pleasantly conscious that her young knight was one of the handsomest men there.

"Lamorak seems enchanted by you," said Morgaine, and although she had given her favor to him before the whole court, Morgause felt herself blush at Morgaine's detached voice.

"Do you think I have need of charms or spells, kinswoman?"

Morgaine laughed. "I should have used another word. Young men seem mostly to want a fair face and little more."

"Well, Morgaine, Accolon is younger than you, and you have certainly captivated him to the point where he has no desire for a younger woman-or a fairer one. I am not the one to reproach you, my dear. You were married against your will, and your husband could be your grandsire."

Morgaine shrugged. "Sometimes I think Uriens knows-perhaps he is glad that I have a lover who will not tempt me to leave him."

A little hesitantly-she had never asked Morgaine any personal question since Gwydion's birth-Morgause said, "You and Uriens are at odds, then?"

Morgaine gave again that indifferent shrug. "I think Uriens cares not enough for me to be at odds one way or the other."

"How like you Gwydion?" Morgause asked.

"He frightens me," said Morgaine. "Yet it would be hard not to be charmed by him."

"What do you expect? He has Lancelet's beauty and your powers of mind-and he is ambitious as well."

"How strange that you should know my son better than I do," Morgaine said, and there was so much bitterness in the words that Morgause, whose first instinct was to rap out a sharp reply-Morgaine had deserted her son, why should it surprise her?-patted the younger woman's hand and said, not unkindly, "Oh, my dear, once a son is grown out of your lap, I think anyone knows him better than his mother! I am sure that Arthur and his Companions, and even your Uwaine, all know Gawaine better than I do, and he is not even a hard man to understand-he's a perfectly simple man. If you had reared him from a babe you still would not understand Gwydion-I freely confess that I do not!"

Morgaine's only answer was an uneasy smile. She turned to look at the lists, where the first events were starting; Arthur's fools and clowns were dancing about in ridiculous mock battles, flapping pig's bladders for weapons and cloth banners, garishly painted, in the place of shields, until the watchers were guffawing at their capers. They bowed at last, and Gwenhwyfar, in an exaggerated parody of the gesture with which she would later bestow prizes to the real winners, flung them handfuls of sweets and cakes. They scrambled for them, to more laughter and applause, then capered away to the good dinner waiting for them in the kitchens.

One of the criers called out that the first match would be a trial combat between the Queen's champion, sir Lancelet of the Lake, and the King's, sir Gawaine of Lothian and the Isles. There was a tumult of applause as they came onto the field-Lancelet slender, dark, and still so handsome, despite the lines in his face and the grey in his hair, that Morgaine felt her breath catch.

Yes, thought Morgause, watching her younger kinswoman's face, she loves him still, despite the years. Perhaps she does not know it herself, but there it is.

The combat was like an elaborately choreographed dance, the two moving round one another, their swords and shields ringing loud. Morgause could not see that either of them had the slightest advantage, and when at last they lowered their swords, bowed to the King, and embraced each other, they were cheered impartially and applauded without the slightest favoritism.

Then came the horse games: demonstrations of fancy riding, a man riding an unbroken horse to master it-Morgause faintly remembered a time when Lancelet had done some such thing, perhaps at Arthur's wedding -it seemed very long ago. After that, there were individual duels on horseback, with blunted spears which could nevertheless unhorse a rider and give him a nasty spill into the field. One young rider fell twisted on his leg and was carried away screaming, the leg sticking out at an improbable angle. This was the only serious injury, but there were bruises, smashed fingers, men flung senseless to the ground, and one who barely escaped being kicked by a badly trained horse. Gwenhwyfar gave prizes at the end of all this, and Morgaine too was called by Arthur and asked to distribute several prizes.

Accolon had won one of the prizes for riding, and as he came to kneel and accept the prize from Morgaine's hands, Morgause was astonished to hear a low, but perceptible hiss of disapproval somewhere in the stands. Someone softly but audibly whispered, "Witch! Harlot!"

Morgaine colored, but her hands did not falter as she handed Accolon the cup. Arthur said in a low voice to one of his stewards, "Find out who that was!" and the man slipped away, but Morgause was sure that in such a crowd, the voice would never be recognized.

When Morgaine came back to her seat at the start of the second half of the entertainment, she looked pale and angry; her hands, Morgause noted, were shaking, and her breath coming fast in her throat.

"My dear, don't worry about it," said Morgause. "What do you think they call me, when it is a year of poor crops, or when someone has had justice done to him and would rather have gotten away with his villainy?"

"Do you think I care what that rabble think of me?" Morgaine said scornfully, but Morgause knew her indifference was pretended. "I am loved well enough in my own country."

The second half of the games began with some Saxon churls demonstrating the art of wrestling. They were huge hairy men, hair not only on their faces but all over their near-naked bodies; they grunted and strained and heaved, with hoarse cries, grappling and wrenching with bone-cracking strength. Morgause leaned forward, shamelessly enjoying the sight of their male strength; but Morgaine turned her eyes away in squeamish distaste.

"Oh, come, Morgaine, you are growing as prudish as the Queen. What a face!" Morgause shaded her eyes with her hand and glanced down to the field. "I think the mock battle is about to begin-Look! Is that Gwydion? What can he be doing?"

Gwydion had leaped into the field, and waving away the crier who hurried to him, called out in a strong, clear voice which could be heard clearly from one end of the field to another, "King Arthur!"

Morgause saw that Morgaine had sunk back, white as death, and was clutching the rails with both hands. What was the lad about? Was he going to make a scene here before half of Arthur's people, demanding the acknowledgment that was his?

Arthur rose, and Morgause thought that he too looked uneasy, but his voice was ringing clear.

"Yes, nephew?"

"I have heard that it is customary at these games to allow a challenge, if the King is willing. I ask now if sir Lancelet will meet me for a challenge fight!"

Lancelet had once said-Morgause remembered this-that such challenges were the bane of his existence; every young knight wanted to master the Queen's champion. Arthur's voice was grave. "It is customary, but I cannot speak for Lancelet. If he agrees to this match, I cannot refuse him, but you must challenge him directly and abide by his answer."

Morgause said, "Oh, damn the boy! I had no idea this was what he had in mind ... " but Morgaine somehow felt she was not so displeased, after all.

A wind had come up, and dust from the field was blowing, blurring the summer glare of the dry white clay of the field. Gwydion walked through the dust to the end of the lists, where Lancelet was sitting on a bench. Morgause could not hear what either of them said, but Gwydion turned angrily and shouted, "My lords! I heard always that a champion's duty is to meet with all comers! Sir, I demand that Lancelet now meet my challenge or yield up his high office to me! Does he hold his post because of his skill at arms, or for some other reason, my lord Arthur?"

"I wish," said Morgause, "that your son were still young enough to have his breeches well dusted, Morgaine!"

"Why blame him?" asked Morgaine. "Why not blame Gwenhwyfar for making her husband so vulnerable? Everyone in this kingdom knows she favors Lancelet, yet no one cries out 'witch' or 'harlot' when she comes before the people."

But Lancelet, below them, had risen and strode to Gwydion; he brought back his gloved hand and struck the younger man smartly across the mouth. "Now indeed you have given me cause to chastise your ungentle tongue, young Gwydion. We will see who refuses combat now!"

"I came here for that," said Gwydion, unmoved by blow or words, though there was a small trickle of blood on his face. "I will even grant you first blood, sir Lancelet. It is fitting that a man of your years should have some advantage."

Lancelet spoke to one of his marshals, who came to take his place as master of the lists. There was a considerable murmuring in the stands as Lancelet and Gwydion took swords and faced the King for the ritual bow which began the contest. Morgause thought, If there is a man in that crowd who does not believe that they are father and son, he must have poor eyesight.

The two men raised swords to each other, their faces now hidden by helmets. They were within an inch of the same height; the only difference between them was between Lancelet's battered old breastplate and armor, and Gwydion's newer, unstained gear. They circled one another slowly, then rushed in and for a moment Morgause lost track of the separate strokes, which were nearly too fast for the eye to follow. She could see that Lancelet was taking the younger man's measure, and after a moment he pressed hard and struck a mighty blow. Gwydion caught it on the side of his shield, but the force behind it was so enormous that he reeled, lost his balance, and measured his length on the field. He began to scramble up. Lancelet put his sword aside and went to help the young man to his feet. Morgause could not hear what he said, but the gesture was good-natured, something like, "Had enough, youngster?"

Gwydion pointed to the trickle of blood down Lancelet's wrist from a small cut he had managed to inflict. His voice was clearly audible.

"You drew first blood, sir, and I second. Shall we decide it with one more fall?"

There was a small storm of hissing and disapproval; first blood in these demonstration matches, since the contestants fought with sharp weapons, was supposed to end the fight.

King Arthur rose in his place. "This is a festival and a courtesy challenge, not a duel! I will have no settling of grudges here, unless you fight with fists or cudgels! Continue if you will, but I warn you, if there is a serious wounding, you will both be under my gravest displeasure!"

They bowed and moved apart, circling for their advantage; then they rushed together, and Morgause gasped, watching the fierceness of it. It seemed that at any moment one or the other might rush in under the shield and inflict a mortal wound! One of them had gone to his knees-a rain of blows on the shield, the swords locked together in a deadlock, and one was borne closer and closer to the ground ...

Gwenhwyfar rose and cried out, "I will have this go no further!"

Arthur cast his baton into the lists; by custom, a fight was instantly stopped when that happened, but neither man saw, and the marshals had to pull them apart. Gwydion stood fresh and erect, smiling as he pulled off his helmet. Lancelet's squire had to help the older man to his feet; he was breathing hard, sweat and blood pouring down his face. There was a perfect storm of hissing, even from the other knights on the field; Gwydion had added nothing to his popularity by shaming the hero of the people.

But he bowed to the older knight. "I am honored, sir Lancelet. I came to this court a stranger, not even one of Arthur's Companions, and I am grateful to you for a lesson in swordplay." His smile was the very reflection of Lancelet's own. "Thank you, sir."

Lancelet managed to summon from somewhere his old smile. It exaggerated the resemblance between them almost to the point of caricature. "You bore yourself most bravely, Gwydion."

"Then," said Gwydion, kneeling before him in the dust of the field, "I beg of you, sir, grant to me the order of knighthood."

Morgause caught her breath. Morgaine sat as if she had been turned to stone. But from where the Saxons sat there was a burst of cheering. "Crafty counsel indeed! Clever, clever-how can they refuse you now, lad, when you have stood up well to combat with their own champion!"

Lancelet glanced at Arthur. The King sat paralyzed, seeming frozen, but after a moment, he nodded. Lancelet gestured to his squire, who brought a sword. Lancelot took it and belted it around Gwydion's waist. "Bear this always in the service of your king, and of the righteous cause," said the old knight. He was deadly serious now. All the mockery and defiance had gone from Gwydion's face; he looked grave and sweet, his eyes raised to Lancelet, and Morgause saw that his lips were trembling.

Sudden sympathy for him rose in Morgause-bastard, not even an acknowledged one, he was even more of an outsider than Lancelet had been. Who could blame Gwydion for the ruse by which he had forced his kinsmen to notice him? She thought, We should have taken him long since to Arthur's court, had him privately acknowledged even if Arthur could not do so publicly. A king's son should not have to do this.

Lancelet laid his hands on Gwydion's brow. "I confer on you the honor of a Companion of the Round Table, by permission of our king. Serve him always, and since you have won this honor by craft rather than brute strength-though indeed you have shown that too, well enough-I name you among this company, not Gwydion, but Mordred. Rise, sir Mordred, and take your place among the Companions of Arthur."

Gwydion-no, Mordred, Morgause remembered; for the naming of a Companion was a rite not much less serious than baptism-rose and heartily returned Lancelet's embrace. He seemed deeply moved, almost unhearing the cheers and applause. His voice broke as he said, "Now I have won the prize of the day, whoever is judged winner in these games, my lord Lancelet."

"No," Morgaine said quietly at Morgause's side, "I do not understand him. That is the last thing I would have expected."

THERE WAS a long pause before the Companions ranged themselves for the final mock battle. Some went to drink water or swallow a hasty bite of bread; some gathered in little knots, arguing about which side they should take in the final games; others went to see to their horses. Morgause went down to the field where a few of the young men lingered, Gareth among them-he towered over the others by half a head, making him easy to pick out. She thought he was talking to Lancelet, but when she came closer she discovered her sight had deceived her; he was facing Gwydion, and his voice sounded angry. She caught only the last few words.

"-what harm has he ever done you? To make a fool of him before the whole field-"

Gwydion laughed and said, "If our cousin needs protection before a whole field of his friends, God help Lancelet when he falls among the Saxons or the Northmen! Come, foster-brother, I doubt not he can protect his own reputation! Is that all you have to say to me after all these years, brother, to chide me that I have distressed someone you love so well?"

Gareth laughed and caught Gwydion into a great hug. He said, "Same reckless young one, you are-what put it into your head to do that? Arthur would have made you knight, if you had asked him!"

Morgause remembered: Gareth did not know all the truth about Gwydion's parentage; no doubt, he meant only, because you are his sister's son.

Gwydion said, "I am sure of it- he is always kind to his kinsmen. He would have made you knight, Gareth, for Gawaine's sake, but you took not that road either, foster-brother." He chuckled. "And I think Lancelet owes me something for all those years I have walked about wearing his face!"

Gareth shrugged ruefully. "Well, it seems he bears you no grudge, so I suppose I too must forgive you. Now you, too, have seen how greathearted he is."

"Aye," said Gwydion softly, "he is so-" then raised his head and saw Morgause. "Mother, what do you here? How may I serve you?"

"I came only to greet Gareth, who has not spoken with me this day," said Morgause, and the big man bent to kiss his mother's hand. She asked him, "How will you fight in the mock battle?"

"As always," said Gareth, "I fight at Gawaine's side, in the King's men. You have a horse for fighting, do you not, Gwydion? Will you fight with the King's side, then? We can make a place for you."

Gwydion said, with his dark enigmatic smile, "Since Lancelet made me knight, I suppose I should fight with the army of sir Lancelet of the Lake, and at Accolon's side, for Avalon. But I will not take the field at all today, Gareth."

"Why not?" Gareth asked and laid his hand on the younger man's shoulder, looking down at him as he had always done-Morgause thought of a younger Gareth, smiling down at his little brother. "It is expected of those who have been made knight-Galahad will fight among us, you know."

"And which side will he take?" Gwydion asked. "His father Lancelet's, or that of the King who has made him heir to his kingdom? Is that not a cruel test of his loyalties?"

Gareth looked exasperated. "How then would you divide the armies for the mock battle, save by the two greatest knights among us? Do you think either Lancelet or Arthur believes it a test of loyalties? Arthur will not take the field himself, just so that no man will have to make the choice whether to strike at his king, but Gawaine has been his champion since he was crowned! Are you going to rake up old scandal? You?"

Gwydion shrugged. "Since I am not intending to join either force-"

"But what will they think of you? That you are cowardly, that you shrink from combat-"

"I have fought enough in Arthur's armies that I care not what they say," said Gwydion, "but if you wish, you may tell them that my horse is gone lame and I have no wish to risk more injury to him-that is an honorable excuse."

"I would lend you a horse of Gawaine," Gareth said, puzzled, "but if you wish for an honorable excuse, do what you will. But why, Gwydion? Or must I now call you Mordred?"

"You shall call me always what you will, foster-brother."

"But will you not tell me why you shirk the fight, Gwydion?"

"None other but you could speak that word unchallenged," said Gwydion, "but since you ask me, I will tell you. It is for your sake, brother."

Gareth scowled at him. "What, in God's name, do you mean?"

"I know little of God, or care to," said Gwydion, and stared down at his feet. "Since you will know, brother-you know from old-I have the Sight-"

"Aye, and what of it?" asked Gareth impatiently. "Have you had some ill dream that I will fall before your lance?"

"No, make not a jest of it," said Gwydion, and Morgause felt ice go through her veins as he turned up his face to Gareth. "It seemed to me-" He swallowed, as if his throat closed against the words he would speak. "It seemed to me that you lay dying-and I knelt at your side, and you would not speak to me-and I knew it was my doing you lay without the spark of life."

Gareth pursed his lips and whistled soundlessly. But then he clapped his foster-brother on the shoulder. "Nay, but I put small faith in dreams and visions, youngster. And fate, no man can escape. Did they not teach you that in Avalon?"

"Aye," Gwydion said softly. "And if you fell, even at my hand, in battle, fate then it would be ... but I will not tempt that fate in play, my brother. Some ill chance might guide my hand to strike amiss ... . Let it be, Gareth. I will not take the field this day, let them say what they will."

Gareth still looked distressed. "Well, do as you will, lad. Stay beside our mother, then, since Lamorak will take the field beside Lancelet." He bent to kiss his mother's hand, and went; Morgause, frowning, started to ask Gwydion what he had seen; but he was scowling, staring at the ground, and she forbore, saying only, "Well, if I am to have a young courtier to sit beside me, will you bring me a dipper of water before I go to my seat again?"

"Certainly, Mother," he said, and went off toward the water butts.

To Morgause, the final scrimmage battle was always something of a blur; her head had begun to ache with the sun and she was eager for it to be over. She was hungry, too, and could smell, from a distance, the meat roasting in the pits.

Gwydion sat beside her and explained it to her, though she knew little of the fine points of fighting, nor cared to. But she did note that Galahad acquitted himself well, unseating two riders; she was a little surprised, he seemed so gentle a boy. But then, Gareth too had seemed a gentle child to her, and he was the most fearsome of fighters. At the end, he took the prize on the King's side where Gawaine was at the head of the fighting. To no one's surprise, Galahad won the prize on Lancelet's side; this was customary for a young man who had been knighted that day, and she said so.

"You could have had a prize too, Gwydion," she said, but he laughed and shook his head. "I need it not, Mother. Why spoil this day for my cousin? And Galahad fought well-no one begrudges him the prize."

There were many smaller prizes, and when they were all given, the knights went to be sluiced with buckets of water from head to toe by their squires, and to put on fresh clothing. Morgause went with the ladies of the King's household to a room put at their disposal, where they could arrange their gowns and hair, and wash off the dust and sweat of the stands.

"How do you think?" Morgause asked. "Has Lancelet made himself an enemy?"

Morgaine said, "I think not. Did you see them embrace?"

"They looked like father and son," said Morgause. "Would that they were!"

But Morgaine's face was like stone. "It is many years too late to speak of that, Aunt."

Morgause reflected, Perhaps she has forgotten that I know whose son he really is. But before Morgaine's frozen calm she could only say, "Would you like me to help with your braids at the back?" and took up the comb as Morgaine turned. "Mordred," she said, as she worked. "Well, he showed crafty counsel here, God knows! Now he has won himself a place by valor and impudence, so he need not demand one from Arthur on the grounds of his parentage. The Saxons named him well. But I knew not he was so much of a fighter. He has certainly managed to carry away the luster of the day! Even though Galahad won the prize, no one will talk about anything but Mordred's daring gesture."

One of the Queen's ladies came up to them. "Lady Morgaine, is sir Mordred your son? I never knew you had a son-"

Morgaine said steadily, "I was very young when he was born, and Morgause fostered him. I had come near to forgetting it myself."

"How proud you must be of him! And isn't he handsome? As good-looking as Lancelet himself," the woman said, and her eyes glistened.

"He is, isn't he," agreed Morgaine, her tone so courteous that only Morgause, who knew her well, knew that she was angry. "It has been an embarrassment to them both, I dare say. But Lancelet and I are first cousins, and when I was a little girl, I was more like him than like my own brother. Our mother was tall and red-haired like Queen Morgause here, but Lady Viviane was of the old folk of Avalon."

"Who is his father, then?" asked the woman, and Morgause saw Morgaine's hands clench at her sides. But she said with a pleasant smile, "He is a Beltane child, and the God claims all children gotten in the groves. No doubt you remember that as a young girl I was one of the damsels of the Lady of the Lake."

Trying to be polite, the woman murmured, "I had forgotten-they still kept the old rites there, then?"

"As they do now," said Morgaine quietly. "And the Goddess grant they shall do so till the world end."

As she had intended, that silenced the woman, and Morgaine turned away, saying to Morgause, "Are you ready, kinswoman? Let us go down to the hall." As they left the room she drew a long breath of mingled exasperation and relief.

"Chattering fools-listen to them! Have they nothing better to do than gossip?"

"Probably not," said Morgause. "Their most Christian husbands and fathers make sure they shall have nothing else to occupy their minds."

The doors to the great chamber of the Round Table where the Pentecost feast would be held were shut, so that they might all enter at once.

"Arthur every year gives us more pageantry," said Morgause. "Now a grand procession and entrance, I suppose?"

"What do you expect?" Morgaine asked. "Now there are no wars, he must touch the imagination of his people somehow, and he is clever enough to do it by making great display for them-I have heard it was the Merlin who counselled him so. The common folk-yes, and the nobles too-like a fine show, and the Druids have known that since they lit the first Beltane fires. Gwenhwyfar has spent many years making this the greatest holiday anywhere in any Christian land." She gave the first real smile Morgause had seen on her face this day. "Even Arthur knows he cannot hold his people with a mass and a feast alone-if there is no great marvel to see, I doubt not Arthur and the Merlin will somehow arrange one! What a pity they could not arrange to hold the eclipse today!"

"Did you watch the eclipse in Wales? My folk were frightened," Morgause said, "and no doubt, those fools of Gwenhwyfar's ladies shrieked and shouted as if the world were coming to an end!"

"Gwenhwyfar has a passion for fools among her ladies," Morgaine said. "Yet she herself is not really a fool, though she likes to seem so. I wonder how she can tolerate it?"

"You should show more patience with them," Morgause warned, and Morgaine shrugged.

"I care not what fools think of me."

"I cannot imagine how you have dwelt in Uriens' kingdom as his queen so long, and not learned more of queencraft," said Morgause. "Whatever she is thought by men, a woman must depend on the goodwill of other women-what else did you learn at Avalon?"

Morgaine said, her voice hard, "The women in Avalon are not such fools." But Morgause knew her well enough to know that her angry tone concealed loneliness and suffering.

"Morgaine, why do you not return to Avalon?"

Morgaine bent her head, knowing that if Morgause spoke kindly again to her she would break and weep. "My time has not yet come. I have been ordered to stay with Uriens-"

"And Accolon?"

"Oh, aye, with Accolon," said Morgaine. "I might have known you would reproach me with that-"

"I am the last to speak," said Morgause. "But Uriens will not live long-"

Morgaine said, her face as frozen as her voice, "So I believed on that day years ago when we were wedded. He is like to live as long as Taliesin himself, and Taliesin was past ninety when he died."

Arthur and Gwenhwyfar had arrived and were slowly making their way to the head of the line-Arthur resplendently clad in white robes, Gwenhwyfar beside him, exquisite in white silk and jewels. The great doors were flung open, and they passed within, then Morgaine as the King's sister with her husband and his sons, Accolon and Uwaine; then Morgause with her household, as the King's aunt; then Lancelet and his household, and then the other knights one by one, proceeding around the Round Table to take their seats. A few years back, some craftsman had wrought in gold paint and crimson the name of every Companion over his customary chair. Now, as they entered, Morgause noticed that the seat nearest the King, reserved all these years for his heir, had been painted with the name Galahad. But she saw it only in a flicker of her eye. For at the great thrones where Arthur and Gwenhwyfar were to sit, two white banners, like the garish banners with which the battles of the clowns had been fought, had been draped, and across them were scrawled paintings, ugly caricatures-on one throne was a banner portraying a knight standing on the heads of two crowned figures, bearing a devilish likeness to Arthur and Gwenhwyfar; and across the other was a lewd painting which made even Morgause, who was by no means prudish, blush, for it depicted a small, dark-haired woman, stark naked, in the embrace of a huge horned devil, and all about her, accepting certain strange and disgusting sexual ministrations, were scrawled a group of naked men.

Gwenhwyfar cried out in a shrill scream, "God and Mary defend us!"

Arthur, stopped dead, turned on the servants in a voice of thunder. "How came this-this-" Words failed him and he waved his hand at the drawings. "-this here?"

"Sir-" the chamberlain stammered, "it was not here when we finished decking the hall-all was orderly, even to the flowers before the Queen's seat-"

"Who was last in this hall?" Arthur demanded.

Cai limped forward. "My lord and my brother, it was 1.1 came to be certain all was in good order, and I swear as God sees us all, everything was ready at that time to honor my king and his lady. And if ever I find the foul dog who sneaked in to put this thing here, I will have his head like this!" And he gestured as if he were wringing a chicken's neck.

"Look to your lady!" said Arthur sharply. The women were twittering and chattering as Gwenhwyfar began to sink down in a faint. Morgaine held her up, saying in a sharp, low voice, "Gwen, don't give them this satisfaction! You are a queen-what do you care what some fool scrawls on a banner? Control yourself!"

Gwenhwyfar was crying. "How can they-how could they-how could anyone hate me so?"

"There is no one alive who can live without offending some idiot or other," said Morgaine, and helped her toward her seat. But the more crudely sexual of the banners was still draped over it, and Gwenhwyfar shrank back as if she touched something filthy. Morgaine threw it on the floor. There were wine cups set; Morgaine gestured to one of Gwenhwyfar's waiting-women to fill one and give it to the Queen.

"Don't let it trouble you, Gwen-I imagine that one is meant for me," she said. "It is whispered indeed that I take devils to my bed, and what do I care?"

Arthur said, "Get this foulness out of here and burn it, and bring scented woods and incense to take away the stink of evil." Lackeys scurried to obey him, and Cai said, "We will find out who did this. No doubt it is some servant I dismissed, coming back to embarrass me because I had shown some pride in the decorations of the hall this year. Men, bring the wine round, and the ale, and we will have our first round of drinking shame and confusion to that stinking louse who tried to spoil our feast. Will we let him? Come! Drink to King Arthur and his lady!"

A thin cheer went up, which grew to a genuine cry of appreciation as Arthur and Gwenhwyfar bowed to them all. The feasters seated themselves, and Arthur said, "Now bring before me any petitioners."

Morgause watched as they brought up some man with a complaint which seemed stupid, about a boundary. Then came an overlord who complained that his vassal had taken a deer on his lands.

Morgause was near Gwenhwyfar; she leaned over and murmured to the Queen, "Why does Arthur hear these cases himself? Any of his bailiffs could handle this and not waste his time."

Gwenhwyfar murmured, "So I once thought. But he hears a case or two like this, every year at Pentecost, so that the common folk may not think he cares only for the great nobles or his own Companions."

Well, Morgause thought, that was wise enough. There were two or three more small petitions, then as the meat was brought round, jugglers and acrobats entertained the company, and a man did some conjuring trick of bringing small birds and eggs from the most unlikely places. Morgause thought that Gwenhwyfar seemed calm now, and wondered if they would ever catch the author of the drawings. One portrayed Morgaine as a harlot and that was bad enough; but the other, it seemed, was more serious- showing Lancelet trampling on both King and Queen. Something had happened today beyond a public humiliation for the Queen's champion, Morgause reflected. That could have been dispelled by the graciousness he had shown to young Gwydion-no, Mordred-and the obvious lack of any grudge between them after. But despite Lancelet's popularity with King and Companions, there were, no doubt, some who detested Gwenhwyfar's obvious partiality to her champion.

"What is happening now?" she asked Gwenhwyfar.

The Queen smiled; whatever it was, as the horns blew outside the hall, it was something which pleased her.

The doors were flung open; horns blared again, the crude horns of the Saxons. Then three great Saxons, wearing gold torques and bracelets about their arms, clad in garments of fur and leather, bearing great swords and their horned helmets and with circlets of gold about their heads, strode into the hall of the Round Table, each with his retinue.

"My lord Arthur," called out one of them, "I am Adelric, lord of Kent and Anglia, and these are my brother kings. We have come to ask that we may give tribute to you, most Christian of kings, and make permanent treaty with you and your court forever!"

"Lot would be turning in his grave," remarked Morgause, "but Viv-iane would be pleased at this day." But Morgaine did not answer.

Bishop Patricius rose and came toward the Saxon kings, welcoming them. He said to Arthur, "My lord, after the long wars, this gives me great joy. I urge you to welcome these men as your subject kings and take their oath, in token that all Christian kings should be brothers."

Morgaine was deathly white. She started to rise and speak, but Uriens looked at her with a stern frown and she sank back at his side. Morgause said good-naturedly, "I remember when the bishops refused even to send anyone to Christianize these barbarians. Lot told me they had vowed they would not meet with the Saxons in fellowship even in Heaven, and that they would not send missions to them-they felt it right that the Saxons should all end up in Hell. But, well, that is thirty years gone!"

Arthur said, "Since I came to my throne, I have longed for an end to the wars which have ravaged this land. We have dwelt in peace for many years, Lord Bishop, and now I welcome you, good sirs, to my court and to my company."

"It is our custom," said one of the Saxons-not Adelric, Morgause noticed, for this one was wearing some kind of blue cloak, and Adelric's had been brown-"to take oath on steel. May we take oath on the cross of your sword, Lord Arthur, in token that we meet as Christian kings under One God who rules us all?"

"Be it so," said Arthur quietly, and came down from the dais to stand before them. In the light of the many torches and lamps, Excalibur flashed like lightning as he drew it. He set it upright before him and a great wavering shadow, the shadow of a cross, fell all the length of the hall, as the kings knelt.

Gwenhwyfar looked pleased; Galahad was flushed with joy. But Morgaine was white with rage, and Morgause heard her whisper to Uriens. "He has dared to put the sacred sword of Avalon to such uses! I will not, as priestess of Avalon, sit and witness it in silence!" She began to rise, but Uriens gripped her wrist. She struggled silently, but old as Uriens was, he was a warrior, and Morgaine a little woman; for a moment Morgause thought he would break the small bones of Morgaine's wrist, but she did not cry out or whimper. She set her teeth, and managed to wrench her wrist away. She said, loud enough that Gwenhwyfar could certainly hear, "Viviane died with her work unfinished. And I have sat idle while children unconceived grew to manhood and were knighted, and Arthur fell into the hands of the priests!"

"Lady," said Accolon, leaning over her chair, "even you cannot disrupt this holy day, or they will serve you as the Romans served the Druids. Speak in private with Arthur, remonstrate with him there if you must-I am sure the Merlin will help you!"

Morgaine lowered her eyes. Her teeth bit into her lip.

Arthur embraced the Saxon kings one by one, welcoming them and leading them to seats near his throne. "Your sons, if they show themselves worthy, will be welcome among my Companions," he said, and had his servants bring gifts-swords and fine daggers, a rich cloak for Adelric. Morgause took up a cake, sticky with honey, and put it between Morgaine's clenched lips.

"You are too fond of fasting, Morgaine," she said. "Eat this! You are pale, you will swoon where you sit!"

"It is not hunger that makes me pale," said Morgaine, but she took the cake in her mouth. She drank a little wine too, and Morgause could see that her hands were shaking. On one wrist there were dark bruises left by Uriens' fingers.

Then Morgaine rose. She said quietly to Uriens, "Do not worry, my most beloved husband. I will say nothing to offend you or our king." Then, turning to Arthur, she said loudly, "My lord and brother! May I ask a favor of you?"

"My sister and the wife of my loyal subject king Uriens may ask what she will," said Arthur genially.

"The least of your subjects, sir, may ask for audience. I ask that you will grant me such an audience," she said. Arthur raised his eyebrows, but took his formal tone from her.

"Tonight before I sleep, if you will. I will receive you in my own room, with your husband if you wish."

I wish, thought Morgause, that I could be a fly on the wall at that audience!

6

In the chamber Gwenhwyfar had assigned King Uriens and his family, Morgaine combed her hair again with leaden fingers and had her waiting-woman lace her into a fresh gown. Uriens was complaining that he had eaten and drunk too well and was not looking forward to the audience.

"Go to bed then," she said. "It is I who has a thing to say to him, it has nothing to do with you."

"Not so," said Uriens. "I too was lessoned in Avalon. Do you think I take pleasure in seeing the holy things put to the service of the Christian God who would strip all other knowledge from the world? No, Morgaine, it is not you alone as priestess of Avalon who should show your outrage at this. It is the kingdom of North Wales, I myself as ruler, and Accolon, who is pledged to rule when I am gone."

"Father is right, madam." Accolon met her eyes as he said, "Our people trust us that we will not betray them, nor let church bells ring in their holy groves-" and for a moment it seemed, though she knew that neither she nor Accolon had moved, that they were standing together in one of the magical groves, joined before the Goddess. Uriens, of course, had seen nothing. He urged, "Let Arthur know, Morgaine, that the kingdom of North Wales will not fall meekly under the rule of the Christians."

Morgaine shrugged. "As you wish."

I was a fool, she thought. I was priestess at his kingmaking, I bore Arthur a son, I should have used that hold I had on the King's conscience-made myself, not Gwenhwyfar, the ruler behind the throne. While I hid like an animal licking wounds, I lost my hold on Arthur. Where, at one time, I could have commanded, now I must beg, without even the power of the Lady!

She had already turned toward the door when there was a knocking; a servant went to open it, and Gwydion came in. He was still wearing the Saxon sword that Lancelet had given him at his knighting, but he had taken off his armor and wore a rich gown of scarlet; she had not known he could look so fine.

He saw her eyes light on him. "Lancelet gave it me. We were drinking in the hall, and word came from Arthur that the King wished to see me in his chambers. ... I said that my only tunic was bedraggled and blood-soaked and he said we were of a size and he would lend me a gown. When I had it on, he said it became me better than it did him and I should keep it-that I had had few enough gifts at my knighting, while the King had given Galahad many rich presents. Does he know Arthur is my father, that he said that?"

Uriens blinked and looked surprised, but said nothing. Accolon shook his head. "No, stepbrother. Lancelet is the most generous of men, that is all. When Gareth came first to court, unknown to his own kinsmen, Lancelet gave him clothes and weapons, so that Gareth should be dressed according to his station. And if you should ask if Lancelet likes it overmuch, seeing his gifts on the bodies of handsome young men, well, that has been said too before now, though I know of no man at this court, young or old, who has ever had a word from Lancelet beyond knightly courtesy."

"Is it so?" Gwydion asked, and Morgaine could see him taking this piece of information and putting it away like gold in a miser's chest. "Now I recall," he said slowly, "a tale that went about of some feast at Lot's court when Lancelet was no more than a youth-something of a ballad made when they thrust a harp into his hand and bade him play, and he sang some lay of Rome or the days of Alexander, I know not what, of the love of knightly companions, and they jeered at him for it. Since then, his songs are all of the beauty of our queen, or knightly tales of adventure and dragons."

Morgaine felt she could not bear the scorn in his voice. She said, "If you came to claim a gift for your knighting, I will speak with you when I have seen Arthur, but not now."

Gwydion looked down at his shoes. It was the first time she had ever seen him less than self-assured and confident. "Mother, the King has sent for me too-may I go in your company?"

She liked him a little better, that he should confess his own vulnerability this way. "Arthur means you no harm, my son, but if it will please you to go with us before him, he can do no worse than send you away and say he would rather speak to you separately."

"Come, then, stepbrother," said Accolon, taking Gwydion's arm in such a way that the younger man could see the serpents tattooed on Accolon's wrists. "The King shall go first with his lady, and you and I will follow...."

Morgaine, at Uriens' side, thought that she liked it well that Accolon should befriend her son and acknowledge him brother. At the same time she felt herself shiver, and Uriens took her hand. "Are you cold, Morgaine? Take your cloak ... "

IN THE KING'S apartments a fire burned, and Morgaine heard the sound of a harp. Arthur sat in a wooden chair heaped with cushions. Gwenhwyfar was setting stitches in a narrow band which twinkled with gilt thread. The servant announced ceremoniously, "The King and Queen of North Wales, and their son Accolon, and sir Lancelet-"

Gwenhwyfar looked up at Lancelet's name, then laughed and said, "No, though he is very like. Sir Mordred, is it not, that we saw knighted this day?"

Gwydion bowed to the Queen but did not speak. But in this family gathering Arthur was not one to stand upon ceremony.

"Sit down, all of you-let me send for wine-"

Uriens said, "I have had enough wine this day, Arthur, to float a ship down to the shore! None for me, thank you-perhaps the young men have better heads for it."

Gwenhwyfar moved toward Morgaine, and Morgaine knew that if she did not speak now, Arthur would begin his parley with the men and she would be expected to sit in a corner with the Queen and keep silence, or talk in whispers of women's things-embroidery, servants, who at the court was breeding ...

She gestured to the servant with the wine. "I will have a cup," she said, remembering, like a pain within her, when as priestess of Avalon she had been proud to drink only of the Holy Well. She sipped and said, "I am deeply distressed at the welcome of the Saxon envoys, Arthur. No-" She silenced him as he would have spoken. "I do not speak as a woman meddling in affairs of state. I am Queen of North Wales, and Duchess of Cornwall, and what concerns the realm touches me too."

"Then you should be glad for peace," Arthur said. "I have worked all my lifetime, it seems, since I was old enough to hold a sword, to end the wars with the Saxons. At that time I believed the war would be ended by driving them back over the seas whence they came. But peace is peace, and if it comes by making treaty with them, let it be so. There are more ways to deal with a bull than roasting him for dinner. It is equally effective to geld him and make him pull your plow."

"Or save him to serve your cows at stud? Will you ask your subject kings to marry their daughters to Saxons, Arthur?"

"That too, perhaps," said Arthur. "Saxons are no more than men- do you call to mind that song Lancelet sang? They have the same longings for peace-they too have lived on lands ravaged and burned again and again. Will you say I should have fought on till the last of them was dead or driven out? I thought women longed for peace."

"I too long for peace, and welcome it, even with Saxons," Morgaine said, "but have you made them give up their Gods too, and accept your own, that you made them swear to you on the cross?"

Gwenhwyfar had been listening intently. "There are no other Gods, Morgaine. They have agreed to put aside the devils they worshipped and called Gods, that is all. Now they worship the one true God and the Christ sent in his name to save mankind."

Gwydion said, "If you truly believe that, my lady and queen, then for you it is truth-all the Gods are One God and all the Goddesses one Goddess. But would you presume to declare one truth for all of mankind throughout the world?"

"Call you that presumption? It is the one truth," Gwenhwyfar said, "and a day must come when all men everywhere will acknowledge it."

"I tremble for my people that you say so," said King Uriens. "I have pledged myself to protect the sacred groves, and my son after me."

"Why, I thought you a Christian, my lord of North Wales-"

"And so I am," said Uriens, "but I will not speak ill of another's God."

"But there are no such Gods," Gwenhwyfar began.

Morgaine opened her mouth to speak, but Arthur said, "Enough of this, enough-I did not bid you here to discuss theology! If you have the stomach for that, there are priests enough who will listen and argue. Go you and convert them if you must! What did you come here to say, Morgaine? Only that you are wary of the good faith of the Saxons, oaths on the cross or no?"

"No," Morgaine said, and as she spoke, she noted that Kevin was in the room, sitting in the shadows with his harp. Good; the Merlin of Britain could witness this protest in the name of Avalon! "I call the Merlin to witness, you had them swear an oath on the cross-and you transformed the holy sword of Avalon, Excalibur, the very sword of the Holy Regalia, into your cross for the oath! Lord Merlin, is this not blasphemy?"

Arthur said quickly, "It was only a gesture, to catch the imagination of everyone, Morgaine-such as the gesture Viviane made, when she bade me fight for peace in the name of Avalon with that selfsame sword."

The Merlin said in his rich low voice, "Morgaine, my dear, the cross is a symbol older than Christ and venerated before ever there were followers of the Nazarene. In Avalon there are priests brought here by the patriarch Joseph of Arimathea, who worship at the side of the Druids ... ."

"But they were priests who did not try to say that their God is the only God," Morgaine said angrily, "and I doubt not that Bishop Patricius would silence them if he could, and preach only his own brand of bigotry!"

"Bishop Patricius and his beliefs are not at issue here, Morgaine," said Kevin. "Let the uninitiated think that the Saxons swore on the cross of Christ's sacrifice and death. We too have a sacrificed God, whether we see him in the cross, or in the sheaf of barley which must die to the earth and be raised again from the dead-"

Gwenhwyfar said, "Your sacrificed Gods, Lord Merlin, were sent only that mankind might be ready when the Christ came to die for man's sins-"

Arthur moved his hand impatiently. "Be quiet, all of you! The Saxons swore to peace on a symbol meaningful to them-"

But Morgaine interrupted him. "It was from Avalon you received the sacred sword, and to Avalon that you swore an oath to preserve and guard the Holy Mysteries! And now you would make the sword of the Mysteries into the cross of death, the gallows for the dead! When Viviane came to court, she came to demand of you that you fullfil your oaths to Avalon. Then she was struck down! Now I am come to finish that work she left undone, and to demand from you that holy sword of Excalibur which you have presumed to twist into the service of your Christ!"

Gwenhwyfar said, "A day will come when all false Gods shall vanish and all pagan symbols shall be put to the service of the one true God and his Christ."

"I did not speak to you, you canting fool," said Morgaine furiously, "and that day will come over my corpse! You Christians have saints and martyrs-do you think Avalon will have none?" And as she spoke she shuddered, knowing that, unaware, she had spoken through the Sight, and there was the body of a knight, draped in black with a cross banner over his body.....he wanted to turn, as she could not do here in this company, and throw herself into Accolon's arms.

"How you exaggerate all things, Morgaine!" said Arthur with an uneasy laugh, and that laugh maddened her, driving away both the fear and the Sight. She drew herself up to her full height, and knew that for the first time in many years she spoke mantled in all the power and authority of a priestess of Avalon.

"Hear me, Arthur of Britain! As the force and power of Avalon set you on the throne, so the force and power of Avalon can bring you down into ruin! Think well how you desecrate the Holy Regalia! Think never to put it to the service of your Christian God, for every thing of Power carries its own curse-"

"Enough!" Arthur had risen from his chair, and his frown was like a storm. "Sister or no, do not presume to give orders to the King of all Britain."

"I do not speak to my brother," she retorted, "but to the King! Avalon set you on the throne, Arthur, Avalon gave you that sword you have misused, and in the name of Avalon I now call on you to render it back again to the Holy Regalia! If you wish to treat it only as a sword, then call your smiths to make you another!"

There was a dreadful silence, and it seemed to her for a moment that her words were falling into the great echoing empty spaces between the worlds, that far away in Avalon the Druids must wake, that even Raven must stir and cry out against Arthur's betrayal. But the first sound she heard was nervous laughter.

"What nonsense you are talking, Morgaine!" It was Gwenhwyfar who spoke. "You know Arthur cannot do that!"

"Do not interfere, Gwenhwyfar," Morgaine said, with deadly menace. "It has nothing to do with you, except that if it was you who bade Arthur break oath to Avalon, beware!"

"Uriens," said Gwenhwyfar, "will you stand idle and let your unruly wife speak so to the High King?"

Uriens coughed; his voice when he spoke sounded as nervous as Gwenhwyfar's. "Morgaine, perhaps you are being unreasonable ... Arthur made a dramatic gesture for political reasons, to catch the imagination of the crowd. If he did so with a sword of power, well, so much the better. The Gods can take care of their own worship, my dear-do you think the Goddess needs your help to protect her own?"

At that moment, if Morgaine had had a weapon, she would have struck Uriens down. He had come to support her, and now he deserted her this way?

Arthur said, "Morgaine, since you are so troubled, let me say this for your ears alone: I intended no desecration. If the sword of Avalon also serves as a cross for an oath, does it not mean that Avalon's powers are joined in the service of this land? So Kevin advised me-"

"Oh, aye, I knew him traitor when he had Viviane buried outside the Holy Isle-" Morgaine began.

"Be it so or otherwise," said Arthur, "I gave the Saxon kings the gesture they wanted, to swear on my sword!"

"But it is not your sword!" Morgaine retorted, at white heat. "It is the sword of Avalon! And if you bear it not as you have sworn, then shall it be given into the hands of one who will be true to his oath-"

"Sword of Avalon it may have been a generation ago," said Arthur, who was now as angry as Morgaine; he clenched his hand over the hilt of Excalibur, as if someone would take it from him that very moment. "A sword is his who uses it, and I have won the right to call it mine by driving forth all enemies from this land! I bore it in battle, and I won this land at Mount Badon-"

"And you have tried to subject it to the service of the Christian God," Morgaine retorted. "Now in the name of the Goddess I demand of you that it be returned to the shrine of the Lake!"

Arthur drew a long breath. Then he said in a voice of studied calm, "I refuse. If the Goddess wants this sword returned, then she herself will have to take it from my hands." Then his voice softened. "My dear sister, I beg of you, do not quarrel with me about the name by which we call our Gods. You yourself have said to me that all the Gods are the One God."

And he will never see why what he has said is wrong, Morgaine thought in despair. Yet he has called on the Goddess, if she wants his sword to come and take it. Be it so, then; Lady, may I be your hand. She bowed her head for a moment and said, "To the Goddess, then, I leave the disposal of her sword." And when she has done with you, Arthur, you will wish you had chosen to deal with me instead ... . And she went to sit beside Gwenhwyfar. Arthur beckoned to Gwydion.

"Sir Mordred," he said, "I would have made you one of my Companions at any time you asked it of me. I would have done so for Morgaine's sake and for my own-you needed not to force knighthood from me by a trick."

"I thought if you made me knight without some good excuse such as this," Gwydion said, "there might be talk of a kind you did not wish. Will you forgive me the trick, then, sir?"

"If Lancelet has forgiven you, I have no reason to bear you any grudge," said Arthur, "and since he has gifted you richly, it would seem he cherishes no wrath. I wish it lay in my power to acknowledge you my son, Mordred. Until a few years ago, I knew not that you existed- Morgaine told me not what came of that kingmaking. You do know, I suppose, that to the priests and bishops, your very existence is sign of something unholy."

"Do you believe that, sir?"

Arthur looked his son directly in the eye. "Oh-times I believe one thing, times another, like all men. It does not matter what I believe. The facts are thus-I cannot acknowledge you before all men, though you are such a son as any man, let alone a childless king, would be glad and proud to own. Galahad must inherit my throne."

"If he lives," said Gwydion, and at Arthur's shocked look, added quietly, "No, sir, I am not making a threat to his life. I will swear any oath you will, by cross or oak, by the Sacred Well or by these serpents I bear" -he thrust out his wrists-"which you bore before me: may the Goddess send living serpents like these to take my life if ever I raise a hand against my cousin Galahad. But I have seen it-he will die, honorably, for the cross he worships."

"God save us from evil!" cried out Gwenhwyfar.

"Indeed, lady. But if he does not live to ascend your throne-my father and my king, he is a warrior and a knight, and no more than mortal, and you may live to be older than King Uriens. What then?"

"Should Galahad die before he comes to my throne-God stand between him and harm-" said Arthur, "I will have no choice. Royal blood is royal blood, and yours is royal, from the Pendragon and from Avalon. Should such an evil day come, I suppose even the bishops would rather see you on the throne than leave this land to such chaos as they feared when Uther died."

He rose and stood with his two hands on his son's shoulders, looking into his eyes. "Would that I could say more, my son. But done is done. I will say only that-I wish with all my heart that you had been the son of my queen."

"And so do I," said Gwenhwyfar, rising to embrace him.

"Still, I will not treat you as a baseborn churl," said Arthur. "You are Morgaine's son. Mordred, Duke of Cornwall, Companion of the Round Table, you shall go to be the voice of the Round Table among the Saxon kings. You shall have the right to do the King's justice, and to collect my taxes and revenues, keeping a suitable portion to maintain such a household as the King's chancellor should have. And, if you wish it, I give you permission to marry the daughter of one of the Saxon kings, which will give you a throne of your own, even if you come never to mine."

Gwydion bowed and said, "You are generous, sir."

Yes, Morgaine thought, and this would keep Gwydion well out of the way, until and unless there was need of him. Arthur was skilled at kingcraft! She raised her head and said, "You have been so generous to my son, Arthur, may I trespass again on your kindness?"

Arthur looked wary, but he said, "Ask me something I can grant, my sister, and it will be my pleasure to give it."

"You have made my son Duke of Cornwall, but he knows little of Cornwall's land as yet. I have heard that Duke Marcus now claims all that country. Will you come with me to Tintagel, and investigate this matter and this claim?"

Arthur's face relaxed; had he been braced for her to raise the matter of the sword Excalibur again? No, my brother, not ever again before this court; when again I stretch forth my hand for Excalibur, it will be in my own country and in the place of the Goddess.

"I have not been in Cornwall for more years than I can reckon," Arthur said, "and I cannot leave Camelot until Midsummer is past. But remain here in Camelot as my guest, and then we will go together to Tintagel, and see if Duke Marcus, or any other man God ever made, will dispute the claim of Arthur and of Morgaine, Duchess of Cornwall." He turned to Kevin. "And now enough of high matters-my lord Merlin, I would not command you to sing for me before my entire court, but in private within my own chambers, and in the company of my family alone, may I entreat you for a song?"

"It will be my pleasure," said Kevin, "if the lady Gwenhwyfar does not object." He glanced at the Queen, but she was silent, and so he set his harp to his shoulder and began to play.

Morgaine sat quietly beside Uriens, listening to the music. A royal gift indeed Arthur had commanded for his family, Kevin's music. Gwydion listened, his hands clasped about his knees, silent and spellbound; she thought, In that at least he is my son. Uriens listened with polite attention. Morgaine looked up for a moment, meeting Accolon's eyes, and thought; Somehow this night we must manage to meet, even if I must give Uriens a sleeping potion; there is much I must say to him ... and then she cast down her eyes. She was no better than Gwenhwyfar ... .

Uriens was holding her hand, fondling her fingers and wrists; she felt him touch the bruises he had made that day, and through the pain, she felt revulsion. She must go to his bed if he desired it; here in this Christian court she was his property, like a horse or dog he could fondle or beat at his own will!

Arthur had betrayed both her and Avalon; Uriens had played her false as well. Kevin, too, had betrayed her ... .

But Accolon would not fail her. Accolon should rule for Avalon, the King Viviane had foreseen would come; and after Accolon, Gwydion, Druid King, King of Avalon and all Britain.

And behind the King, the Queen, ruling for the Goddess as in the days of old ... .

Kevin raised his head and met her eyes, and Morgaine shivered, knowing she must conceal her thoughts. He has the Sight, and he is Arthur's man. He is the Merlin of Britain, and nevertheless he is my enemy!

But Kevin said mildly, "Since this is a family party, and I too would wish to hear music made, may I ask as my fee that the lady Morgaine will sing?" and Morgaine went to take his place, feeling the power of the harp in her hands.

I must charm them, she thought, so they think no harm, and set her hands to the strings.

7

Uriens said, when they were alone in their chamber, "I knew not that your claim to Tintagel was being disputed again."

"The things you do not know, my husband, are as many as acorns in a pig meadow," she said impatiently. How had she ever thought she could suffer this fool? Kind, yes, he had never been unkind to her, but his stupidity grated on her like a rasp. She wanted to be alone, to consider her plans, to confer with Accolon, and instead she must placate this old idiot!

"I should know what you are planning." Uriens' voice was sullen. "I am angry that you did not consult with me if you were displeased at what was happening in Tintagel-I am your husband and you should have told me rather than appealing to Arthur!" The sulkiness in his voice held a hint of jealousy too, and she remembered now, stricken, that it had been brought out what she had concealed all these years-who had fathered her son. But could Uriens really think that after a quarter of a century she still held power of that sort over her brother, because of something only fools and Christians would think a sin? Well, if he has not wit enough to see what is happening before his eyes, why should I explain it to him word by word like a child's lesson?

She said, still impatient, "Arthur is displeased with me because he thinks a woman should not contend with him this way. Therefore I asked his help, so that he will not believe I am in rebellion against him." She said no more. She was priestess of Avalon, she would not lie, but there was no need to speak more truth than she wished. Let Uriens think, if he would, that she only wished to make up her quarrel with Arthur.

"How clever you are, Morgaine," he said, patting her wrist. She thought, flinching, that already he had forgotten that it was he who had inflicted the injury. She felt her lips trembling as if she were a child, thinking, I want Accolon, I want to lie in his arms and be cherished and comforted, but in this place how can we contrive even to meet and speak in secret? She blinked away angry tears. Strength was her only safety now; strength and concealment.

Uriens had gone out to relieve himself, and came back, yawning. "I heard the watchman cry midnight," he said. "We must to bed, lady." He began to take off his festal robe. "Are you very weary, dear one?"

She did not answer, knowing that if she did she would weep. He took her silence for consent and drew her close, nuzzling at her throat, then pulled her toward the bed. She endured him, wondering if she could remember some charm or herb to put an end to the old man's too-enduring virility -damn him, he should be long past this by his age, no one would even think it the result of sorcery. She lay wondering, afterward, why she could not simply turn to him with indifference, let him have her without even thinking, as she had done so often in these long years... what did it matter, why should she notice him any more than a stray animal sniffing round her skirts?

She slept fitfully, dreaming of a child she had found somewhere and must suckle, though her breasts were dry and ached terribly ... she woke with the pain still in them. Uriens had gone to hunt with some of Arthur's men-it had been arranged days ago. She felt sick and queasy. I ate more, she thought, than I usually do in three days, no wonder I am sick. But when she went to fasten her gown, her breasts were still sore and aching. It seemed to her that the nipples, brown and small, looked pink and swollen.

She let herself collapse on the bed as if her knees had been broken. She was barren! She knew she was barren, they had told her after Gwydion's birth that she would probably never bear a child again, and in all the years since, never once from any man had she gotten with child. More than that, she was near to nine-and-forty, long past the childbearing years. But for all that, she was certainly pregnant now. She had thought herself long past the possibility. Her courses had grown irregular and were absent for months at a time, she had thought herself coming to the end of them. Her first reaction was fear; she had come so near to death when Gwydion was born ... .

Uriens would certainly be delighted at this supposed proof of his manhood. But when this child was conceived, Uriens had been ill with the lung fever; there was small likelihood, after all, that it was Uriens' child. Had it been fathered by Accolon, on the day of the eclipse? Why, then, it was child to the God as he had come to them then in the hazel grove.

What would I do with a babe, old woman that I am? But perhaps it will be a priestess for Avalon, one to rule after me when the traitor has been tumbled from the throne where Viviane set him ... .

It was grey and dismal outside, drizzling rain. The games field of yesterday was trampled and muddy, with scattered banners and ribbons trodden into the mud; one or two of the subject kings were making ready to ride out, and a few kitchen women, their gowns tucked up to their bare thighs, carrying washing paddles and sacks of clothing, were trudging down toward the shores of the lake.

There was a knock at the door; the servant's voice was soft and respectful. "Queen Morgaine, the High Queen has asked that you and the Queen of Lothian should come to break your fast with her. And the Merlin of Britain has asked that you will receive him here at noon."

"I will go to the Queen," said Morgaine. "Tell the Merlin I will receive him." She shrank from both confrontations, but she dared not deny herself to either, especially now.

Gwenhwyfar would never be anything but her enemy. It was her doing that Arthur had fallen into the hands of the priests and betrayed Avalon. Perhaps, Morgaine thought, I am plotting the downfall of the wrong person; if I could somehow manage it that Gwenhwyfar left court, even to run away with Lancelet to his own castle, now that he is widowed and can lawfully take her ... but she dismissed that idea.

Probably Arthur has asked her to make up the quarrel with me, she thought cynically. He knows, too, that he cannot afford to quarrel with subject kings, and if Gwenhwyfar and I are at odds, Morgause, as ever, will take my part. Too strong a family quarrel, and he would lose Uriens, and Morgause's sons too. He cannot afford to lose Gawaine, Gareth, the Northmen ... .

Morgause was in the Queen's room already; the smell of food made Morgaine sick again, but she controlled it with iron will. It was well known that she never ate much and it would not be particularly noticed. Gwenhwyfar came and kissed her, and for a moment Morgaine's real tenderness for this woman returned. Why should we be enemies? We were friends once, so long ago. ... It was not Gwenhwyfar herself that she hated, it was the priests who had so much influence over her.

She came to the table, accepting but not eating a piece of new bread and honey. Gwenhwyfar's ladies were the kind of pious idiots with whom Gwenhwyfar always surrounded herself. They welcomed Morgaine with curious looks and a great outward display of cordiality and pleasure.

"Your son, sir Mordred-what a fine lad he is, how proud you must be of him," one of them said, and Morgaine, breaking the bread and crumbling it, remarked with composure that she had hardly seen him since he was weaned. "It is Uwaine, my husband's son, who is more truly my own son, and it is in his knightly accomplishments that I take pride," Morgaine said, "for I reared him from a little child. But you are proud of Mordred as your own son, are you not, Morgause?"

"But Uriens' son is not your own child?" someone else asked.

"No," she said patiently, "he was nine years old when I married my lord of North Wales."

One of the girls giggled that if she were Morgaine, she would pay more heed to that other handsome stepson of hers, Accolon was it not? Morgaine, clenching her teeth, thought, Shall I kill this fool? But no; the ladies of Gwenhwyfar's court had nothing to do but spend their time in mindless jests and gossip.

"Now tell me-" Alais, who had been waiting-woman when Morgaine was also at Gwenhwyfar's court, and whose bride-woman Morgaine had been when the girl was married, giggled. "Isn't he Lancelet's son, really?"

Morgaine raised her eyebrows and said, "Who? Accolon? King Uriens' late wife would hardly thank you for that imputation, lady."

"You know what I mean." Alais snickered. "Lancelet was the son of Viviane, and you were raised by her-and who could blame you? Tell me the truth now, Morgaine, who was that handsome lad's father? There is no one else it could have been, is there?"

Morgause laughed and said, trying to break the tension, "Well, we are all in love with Lancelet, of course-poor Lancelet, what a burden to bear."

"But you are eating nothing, Morgaine," said Gwenhwyfar. "Can I send to the kitchens, if this is not to your liking? A slice of ham? Some better wine than this?"

Morgaine shook her head and put a piece of bread into her mouth. Hadn't this all happened before? Or perhaps she had dreamed it... she felt a sick dizziness before her eyes, grey spots dancing. It would indeed give them gossip to enliven many a boring day if the old Queen of North Wales swooned away like a breeding woman! Her fingernails cut into her hands and somehow she managed to make the dizziness recede a little. "I drank too much at the feast yesterday-you have known for twenty years that I have no head for drinking wine, Gwenhwyfar."

"Ah, and it was good wine too," said Morgause, with a greedy smack of her lips, and Gwenhwyfar replied courteously that she would send a barrel of it to Lothian with Morgause when she left. But Morgaine, mercifully forgotten, the blinding headache clamping down over her brow like a torturer's band, felt Morgause's questioning eyes on hers.

Pregnancy was one thing that could not be hidden ... no, and why should it be hidden? She was lawfully wedded; people might laugh if the old King of North Wales and his middle-aged Queen became parents at their advanced ages, but the laughter would be good-natured. Yet Morgaine felt that she would explode from the sheer force of the anger in her. She felt like one of the fire mountains of which Gawaine had told her, far in the countries to the north ... .

When the ladies had all gone away and she was alone with Gwenhwyfar, the Queen took her hand and said in apology, "I am sorry, Morgaine, you do look ill. Perhaps you should return to your bed."

"Perhaps I shall," Morgaine said, thinking, Gwenhwyfar would never guess what was wrong with me; Gwenhwyfar, should this happen to her, would welcome it, even now!

The Queen reddened under Morgaine's angry stare. "I am sorry, I didn't mean for my women to tease you like that-I should have stopped them, my dear."

"Do you think I care what they say? They are like sparrows chirping, and have as much sense about them," Morgaine said, with contempt as blinding as the pain in her head. "But how many of your women really know who fathered my son? You made Arthur confess it-did you confide it to all your women as well?"

Gwenhwyfar looked frightened. "I do not think there are many who know-those who were there last night, when Arthur acknowledged him, certainly. And Bishop Patricius." She looked up at Morgaine, and Morgaine thought, blinking, How kindly the years have treated her; she grows even more lovely, and I wither like an ancient briar ... .

"You look so tired, Morgaine," said Gwenhwyfar, and it struck Morgaine that in spite of all old enmities, there was love too. "Go and rest, dear sister."

Or is it only that there are so few of us, now, who were young together?

THE MERLIN HAD AGED, too, and the years had not been so kind to him as to Gwenhwyfar; he was more stooped, he dragged his leg now with a walking stick, and his arms and wrists, with their great ropy muscles, looked like branches of an ancient and twisted oak. He might indeed have been one of the dwarf folk of which tales told that they dwelt beneath the mountains. Only the movements of his hands were still precise and lovely, despite the twisted and swollen fingers, his graceful gestures making her think of the old days, and her long study of the harp and of the language of gesture and hand speech.

He was blunt, waving away her offer of wine or refreshment, dropping on a seat without her leave, by old habit.

"I think you are wrong, Morgaine, to harry Arthur about Excalibur."

She knew her own voice sounded hard and shrewish. "I did not expect you to approve, Kevin. No doubt you feel that whatever use he makes of the Holy Regalia is good."

"I cannot see that it is wrong," Kevin said. "All Gods are one-as even Taliesin would have said-and if we join in the service of the One-"

"But it is that with which I quarrel," Morgaine said. "Their God would be the One-and the only-and drive out all mention of the Goddess whom we serve. Kevin, listen to me-can you not see how this narrows the world, if there is one rather than many? I think it was wrong to make the Saxons into Christians. I think those old priests who dwelt on Glastonbury had the right idea. Why should we all meet in one afterlife? Why should there not be many paths, the Saxons to follow their own, we to follow ours, the followers of the Christ to worship him if they choose, without restraining the worship of others ... ."

Kevin shook his head. "My dear, I do not know. There seems to be a deep change in the way men now look at the world, as if one truth should drive out another-as if whatever is not their truth, must be falsehood."

"But life is not as simple as that," Morgaine said.

"I know that, you know that, and in the fullness of time, Morgaine, even the priests will find it out."

"But if they have driven all other truths from the world, it will be too late," Morgaine said.

Kevin sighed. "There is a fate that no man, and no woman, may stop, Morgaine, and I think we are facing that day." He reached out one of his gnarled hands and took hers; she thought she had never heard him speak so gently. "I am not your enemy, Morgaine. I have known you since you were a maiden. And after-" He stopped, and she saw his throat twitch as he swallowed. "I love you well, Morgaine. I wish you nothing but well. There was a time-oh, yes, it was long ago, but I forget not how I loved you and how privileged I felt that I could speak of love to you ... . No man can fight the tides, or the fates. Perhaps, if we had sent sooner to Christianize the Saxons, it would have been done by those same priests who built a chapel where they and Taliesin could worship side by side. Our own bigotry prevented that, so it was left to fanatics like Patricius, who in their pride see the Creator only as the avenging Father of soldiers, not also as the loving Mother of the fields and the earth. ... I tell you, Morgaine, they are a tide that will sweep all men before them like straw."

"Done is done," Morgaine said. "But what is the answer?"

Kevin bent his head and it struck Morgaine that what he really wanted was to lay that head down on her breast; not now as a man to a woman, but as if she were the Mother Goddess who could quiet his fear and despair.

"Maybe," he said, his voice stifled, "maybe there is no answer at all. It may be that there is no God and no Goddess and we are quarrelling over foolish words. I will not quarrel with you, Morgaine of Avalon. But neither will I sit idle and let you plunge this kingdom again into war and chaos, wreck this peace that Arthur has given us. Some knowledge and some song and some beauty must be kept for those days before the world again plunges into darkness. I tell you, Morgaine, I have seen the darkness closing. Perhaps, in Avalon, we may keep the secret wisdom-but the time is past when we can spread it again into the world. Do you think I am afraid to die so that something of Avalon may survive among mankind?"

Morgaine-slowly, compelled-put out her hand to touch his face, to wipe away tears; but she jerked her hand back in sudden dread. Her eyes blurred-she had laid her hand on a weeping skull, and it seemed her own hand was the thin, winter-blighted hand of the Death-crone. He saw it too, and stared at her, appalled, for a single terrified moment. Then it was gone again, and Morgaine heard her voice harden.

"So you would bring the holy things into the world, that the holy sword of Avalon may be the avenging sword of Christ?"

"It is the sword of the Gods," Kevin said, "and all the Gods are one. I would rather have Excalibur in the world where men may follow it, than hidden away in Avalon. So long as they follow it, what difference does it make which Gods they call on in doing so?"

Morgaine said, steadily, "It is that I will die to prevent. Beware, Merlin of Britain: you have made the Great Marriage and pledged yourself to die for the preservation of the Mysteries. Beware, lest obeying that oath be claimed of you!"

His beautiful eyes looked straight into hers. "Ah, my lady and my Goddess, I beg you, take counsel of Avalon before you act! Indeed, I think the time has come for you to return to Avalon." Kevin laid his hand over hers. She did not draw if away.

Her voice caught and broke with the tears that had laid heavy on her all this day. "I-I wish I might return-it is because I long so much for it that I dare not go thither," she said. "I shall go there never, until I may leave it never more-"

"You will return, for I have seen it," said Kevin wearily. "But not I. I know not how, Morgaine, my love, but it comes to me that never again shall I drink of the Holy Well."

She looked at the ugly misshapen body, the fine hands, the beautiful eyes, and thought, Once I loved this man. Despite all, she loved him still, she would love him till both of them were dead; she had known him since the beginning of time, and together they had served their Goddess. Time slid away and it seemed that they stood outside time, that she gave him life, that she cut him down as a tree, that he sprang up again in the corn, that he died at her will and she was taken in his arms and brought back to life ... the ancient priest-drama played out before Druid or Christian set foot upon the earth.

And he would cast this away?

"If Arthur shall forswear his oath, shall I not require it at his hands?"

Kevin said, "One day the Goddess will deal with him in her own way. But Arthur is King of Britain by the will of the Goddess. Morgaine of Avalon, I tell you, beware! Dare you set your face against the fates that rule this land?"

"I do what the Goddess has given me to do!"

"The Goddess-or your own will and pride and ambition for those you love? Morgaine, again I say to you, beware. For it may well be that the day of Avalon is past, and your day with it."

Then the fierce control she had clamped upon herself broke. "And you dare call yourself the Merlin of Britain?" she shrieked at him. "Be gone, you damned traitor!" She picked up her distaff and flung it at his head. "Go! Out from my sight and damn you forever! Go from here!"

8

Ten days later, King Arthur, with his sister, Queen Morgaine, and her husband, Uriens of Wales, set forth to ride to Tintagel.

Morgaine had had time to decide what she must do and had found a moment to speak alone with Accolon the day before. "Await me on the shores of the Lake-be certain that neither Arthur nor Uriens sees you." She reached her hand to him in farewell, but he caught her close and kissed her again and again.

"Lady-I cannot bear to let you go into danger this way!"

For a moment she leaned against him. She was so weary, so weary, of being always strong, of making certain that all things went as they must! But he must never suspect her weakness! "There is no help for it, my beloved. Otherwise there would be no answer but death. You cannot come to the throne with the blood of your father on your hands. And when you sit on Arthur's throne-with the power of Avalon behind you and Excalibur in your hand-then you can send Uriens back to his own land, there to rule as long as God wills."

"And Arthur?"

"I mean Arthur no harm, either," said Morgaine steadily. "I would not have him killed. But he shall dwell for three nights and three days in the land of Fairy, and when he returns, five years or more will have passed, and Arthur and his throne will be a tale remembered by the older men, and the danger of a priest rule long past."

"But if he somehow finds his way out-"

Morgaine's voice had trembled. "What of the King Stag when the young stag is grown? It must be with Arthur as the fates decree. And you will have his sword."

Treachery, she thought, and her heart pounded as they rode through the dismal grey morning. Thin fog was rising from the Lake. I love Arthur. I would not betray him, but he first betrayed the oath he swore to Avalon.

She still felt queasy, the motion of the horse making it worse. She could not remember that she had been sick as this when she carried Gwydion -Mordred, she reminded herself. Yet it might be, when he came to the throne, that he would choose to rule in his own name, the name that had been Arthur's and bore no taint of Christian rule. And when Kevin saw the thing already accomplished, no doubt he too would choose to support the new King of Avalon.

The fog was thickening, making Morgaine's plan even simpler to follow. She shivered, pulling her cloak tight around her. It must be done now, or, as they skirted the Lake, they would turn southward to Cornwall. The fog was so thick already that she could hardly make out the forms of the three men-at-arms who rode ahead of them; twisting in her saddle, she saw that the three men behind were almost equally dim. But the ground for a little way before and behind them was clear, though overhead the fog was like a thick white curtain with no hint of sun or daylight.

She stretched out her hands, raising herself high in her saddle, whispering the words of the spell she had never dared use before. She felt a moment of pure terror-she knew it was only the coldness that came from power draining out of her body-and Uriens, shivering, raised his head and said peevishly, "Such fog as this I have never seen-we will surely be lost and have to spend the night on the shores of the Lake! Perhaps we should seek shelter at the abbey in Glastonbury-"

"We are not lost," said Morgaine, the fog so thick that she could barely see the ground under her horse's hooves. Oh, as a maiden in Avalon I was so proud that I spoke only truth! Is it queencraft, then, to lie, that I may serve the Goddess? "I know every step of the way we are going-we can shelter this night in a place I know near the shores, and ride on in the morning."

"We cannot have come so far as that," said Arthur, "for I heard the bells in Glastonbury ring the Angelus-"

"Sounds carry a long way in the fog," Morgaine said, "and in fog such as this they carry further still. Trust me, Arthur."

He smiled lovingly at her. "I have always trusted you, dear sister."

Oh, yes; he had always trusted her, since that day when Igraine had placed him in Morgaine's arms. At first she had hated the squalling thing, and then she had come to know that Igraine had abandoned and betrayed them both, and she must care for him, and had wiped away his tears ... impatient, Morgaine hardened her heart. That had been a lifetime ago. Since then Arthur had made the Great Marriage with the land and had betrayed it, giving the land he had sworn to protect into the hands of priests who would drive out the very Gods that fed the land and made it fertile. Avalon had set him on his throne, through her hand as priestess, and now ... Avalon, through her hand, would bring him down.

I will not hurt him, Mother ... yes, I will take from him the sword of the Holy Regalia and give it into the hands of one who will bear it for the Goddess, but I will never lay hand on him ... .

But what of the King Stag when the young stag is grown?

That was the way of nature and could not be amended for the sake of her sentiment. Arthur would meet his fate unprotected by the spells he bore, by the scabbard she herself had made for him after she had gone to him in the Great Marriage, when she bore, still not knowing it, his child within her body. She had often heard his knights speak of his charmed life, of how he could take the worst of wounds and not lose blood enough to kill. She would not lay a hand upon her mother's son and the father of her child. But the spell she had put upon him in the aftermath of her lost virginity, that she might withdraw from him, and then it must be with him as the Goddess willed.

The magical fog had thickened so much around them that Morgaine could hardly see Uriens' horse. His face, angry and sullen, swam out of the mist. "Are you sure you know where you are leading us, Morgaine? I have never been here before, I would swear to it, I know not the curve of that hill ... "

"I vow to you, I know every step of the way, fog or no fog." At her feet Morgaine could see the curious little cluster of bushes unchanged from that day when she sought entry into Avalon, that day when she had feared to summon the boat. .. Goddess, she prayed to herself, not even a whisper, grant that the church bells ring not while I seek to enter, lest it vanish back into the fog and we find never our way into that country ... .

"This way," she said, picking up her reins and digging her heels into her horse. "Follow me, Arthur."

She rode swiftly into the fog, knowing they could not follow her so fast in this absence of light. Behind her she heard Uriens cursing, his voice cross and muffled, heard Arthur speak reassuringly to his horse. Suddenly an image flashed into Morgaine's mind, of the skeleton of a horse bearing her own riding gear ... well, it must be as it must be. The fog had begun to thin, and suddenly they were riding in full daylight through the dappled trees. Clear green light spilled down, though they could see no sun, and she heard Arthur's cry of surprise.

Out of the forest came two men who cried out in their clear voices, "Arthur, my lord! It is a pleasure to welcome you here!"

Arthur drew up his horse swiftly, lest he trample the men. "Who are you, and how do you know my name?" he demanded. "And what is this place?"

"Why, my lord, this is the Castle Chariot, and our queen has long desired to receive you as her guest!"

Arthur looked confused. "I did not know there was a castle in these parts. We must have ridden further than we thought in the fog." Uriens looked suspicious, but Morgaine could see the familiar spell of the fairy lands falling over Arthur, so that it never occurred to him to question; as in a dream, whatever happened simply happened, and there was no need to question. But she must keep her wits about her ... .

"Queen Morgaine," said one of the men, the dark beautiful people who seemed like ancestors or dream versions of the little dark people of Avalon, "our queen awaits and will gladly receive you. And you, my lord Arthur, you shall be taken to feast with us ... ."

"After all this riding in fog, a feast will be welcome," said Arthur good-naturedly, and let the man lead his horse into the woods. "Do you know the queen of these lands, Morgaine?"

"I have known her since I was a young girl."

And she mocked me ... and offered to rear my babe in the fairy world ... .

"It is surprising that she came never to Camelot to offer allegiance," Arthur said, frowning. "I cannot remember, but it seems to me that I heard something of the Castle Chariot a long, long time ago ... but I cannot quite remember," he said, dismissing it. "Well, in any case these people seem to be friendly. Give my compliments to the queen, Morgaine, and no doubt I shall see her at this feast."

"No doubt," Morgaine said, and watched the men lead him away.

I must keep my wits about me; I will use the beat of my heart to count the time, I will not lose track, or I shall be carried away and entangled in my own spells ... she braced herself to meet with the queen.

Unchanged she was, always the same, the tall woman who, nevertheless, had something of the look of Viviane about her, as if she and Morgaine were blood kin. And she embraced and kissed her as such.

"What brings you of your free will to our shores, Morgaine of the Fairies?" she asked. "Your knight is here, one of my ladies found him ... " and she gestured, and Accolon was there. "They found him wandering along the reeds of the Lake, not knowing his way in the fog ... ."

Accolon gripped Morgaine's hand; she felt it solid and real in hers ... yet she knew not even now whether they were within or out-of-doors, whether the glass throne of the queen was within a magnificent grove or within a great vaulted hall, more magnificent than the hall of the Round Table at Camelot.

Accolon knelt before the throne, and the queen pressed her hands on his head. She raised one of his wrists and the serpents seemed to move and twine round his arms, crawled away and sat there in the queen's palm where she sat absently playing with them, petting their small blue darting heads. "Morgaine, you have chosen well," she said. "I think not that this one would ever betray me. Look, Arthur has feasted well, and there he lies-" and she gestured to where a wall seemed to open wide, and by pale light Morgaine saw Arthur, sleeping with one arm under his head and the other across the body of a young girl with long, dark hair, who seemed like a daughter of the queen-or like Morgaine herself.

"He will, of course, think that it was you, and that it is a dream sent him by the evil one," said the queen, smiling, "so far he has moved from us that he will think shame to be given his dearest wish ... did you not know that, my Morgaine, my darling?" And it seemed to Morgaine that she heard Viviane's voice, dreamlike, caressing her. But it was the queen who said, "So sleeps the King, in the arms of one he will love until he dies ... and what when he wakes? Will you take Excalibur and cast him out naked on the shores, seeking you always in the mists?"

Morgaine remembered suddenly the skeleton of a horse lying beneath the fairy trees ... . "Not that," she said, shivering.

"Then he shall remain here, but if he is truly as pious as you say and thinks to say the prayers which will part him from illusion, it will vanish, and he will call out for his horse and for his sword-what then shall we do, lady?"

Accolon said grimly, "I will have the sword, and if he can get it again from me, he is welcome to it."

The dark-haired maiden came to them, and in her hand she held Excalibur in its scabbard. "I had it from him while he slept," she said, "and with it he called me by your name-"

Morgaine touched the jewelled hilt of the blade.

"Bethink you, child," said the queen, "would it not be better to return the Holy Regalia at once to Avalon, and let Accolon make his way as King with only such a sword as he can get for himself?"

Morgaine trembled. It seemed very dark in the hall, or grove, or whatever it was, and did Arthur lie sleeping at her feet, or was he far away? But it was Accolon who reached out and grasped the sword.

"I will have Excalibur and the scabbard," he said, and Morgaine knelt at his feet and belted it round his waist.

"Be it so, beloved-bear it more faithfully than he for whom I made this scabbard-"

"The Goddess forbid I should ever be false to you, though I die for it," he whispered, his voice shaking with emotion, and raised Morgaine to her feet and kissed her; it seemed that they clung together till the shadow of the night faded and the queen's sweet mocking smile seemed to shimmer around them.

"When Arthur calls for a sword he shall have one ... and something like to the scabbard, though it will not keep him from spilling a single drop of blood ... . Give it to my smiths," she said to the maiden, and Morgaine stared as if in a dream-had it been in a dream that she had belted Excalibur round Accolon's waist? The queen was gone and the damsel, and it seemed that she and Accolon lay alone in a great grove and that it was the time of the Beltane fires, and he took her into his arms, priest to priestess. And then they were no more than man and woman, and it seemed to her that time stopped, that her body melted into his as if she were without nerve or bone or will, and his kiss was like fire and ice on her lips ... . The King Stag should challenge him, and I must make him ready ... .

Why, how was it that she lay with him in the grove, signs painted on her naked body, how was it that her body was young and tender, how was it that when he bore his body down into hers there was tearing pain as if he took again the maidenhead she had laid down to the Horned One half a lifetime gone, so that she came maiden to him, as if all her life had never been? Why did it seem that there was a shadow of the antlers over his brow? Who was this man in her arms, and what had time been between them? He lay heavy across her, spent, the sweetness of his breath like honey to her love; she caressed him and kissed him, and as he moved a little away from her, she hardly knew who he was, whether the hair that brushed her face was shining with gold or dark, and it seemed that the little snakes crawled gently down her breasts, which were pink and tender and almost childish, half-formed. The tiny blue serpents twined around her nipples and she felt a thrill of exquisite pain and pleasure at the touch.

And then she knew that if, indeed, she wished it, time would return, and twist upon itself, and she could go forth from the cave on that morning with Arthur, and use her power to bind him to her forever, and none of it would ever have been ... .

And then she heard Arthur calling out for his sword, and crying out against these enchantments. Very far away and small, as if she were seeing him from midair, she watched him waken and she knew that their destiny, past and future, was in his hands. If he could face what had been between them, if he called her name and begged her to come to him, if he could admit to himself that it was only she that he had loved all these years and that none other had ever come between them ...

Then should Lancelet have Gwenhwyfar and then should I be queen in Avalon ... but queen with a child for a consort, and he would fall in his turn to the King Stag ... .

This time Arthur would not turn from her in horror at what they had done, she would not thrust him away with childish tears ... it seemed for a moment that all the world waited, echoing, for what Arthur would say ... .

He spoke and it seemed to ring like the knell of doom through all the world of Fairy, as if the very fabric of time trembled and the weight of years fell.

"Jesus and Mary defend me from all evil," he said. "This is some wicked enchantment, wrought by my sister and her witchcraft!" He shuddered, and called out, "Bring me my sword!"

Morgaine felt it like a tearing pain in her heart. She reached out to Accolon, and again it seemed that there was the shadow of antlers above his brow, and once again Excalibur was belted about his waist-had it always been there?-and the serpents that had twined about her naked body were only fading blue stains about the man's wrists.

She said steadily, "Look, they are bringing him a sword which is like to Excalibur-the fairy smiths have made it this night. Let him go, if you can. But if you cannot-well, do what you must do, beloved. And the Goddess be with you. I will await you in Camelot when you come thither in triumph." And she kissed him and sent him from her.

Never till this moment had she faced it fully: one of them must die, brother or lover, the child she had held in her arms, the Horned One who had been lover and priest and king-

Whatever comes of this day, she thought, never again, never again shall I know a moment's happiness, since one of those I love must die ... .

Arthur and Accolon had gone where she could not follow; there was still Uriens to be considered, and for a moment she considered abandoning him to the fairy realm. He would wander contentedly in the enchanted halls and woods till he died ....o. There has been enough death, whatever happens, Morgaine thought, and turned her thoughts to watch Uriens, where he lay dreaming. Now he sat up as she approached him, looking happily drunken and befuddled. "The wine here is too strong for me," he said. "Where have you been, my dear, and where is Arthur?"

Even now, she thought, the fairy maiden has brought Arthur the sword so like Excalibur that in enchantment he will believe it so ... ah, Goddess, I should have sent the sword back to Avalon, why must anyone else die for it? But without Excalibur, there was no way Accolon could reign as the new King from Avalon ... . When I am Queen, this land shall be at peace, and the minds of men free, with no priests to tell them what they must do and believe ... .

"Arthur has had to go on ahead of us," she said gently. "Come, my dear husband, we must return to Camelot." Such was the enchantment of the fairy country, she realized, that he never questioned this. Horses were brought to them, and the tall, beautiful people escorted them to a place where one of them said, "You can surely find your way from here."

"How quickly the sunlight has gone," Uriens complained, as a grey fog and rain seemed to condense suddenly and fall about them. "Morgaine, how long were we in the queen's country? I feel as if I had been sick of a fever, or enchanted and wandering in a spell ... ."

She did not answer him. He too, she thought, had had some sport with the fairy maidens, and why not? She cared not how he amused himself, so that he let her alone.

A sharp twinge of sickness reminded her that never once in the fairy country had she thought of the pregnancy which burdened her, and now, when all would be awaiting her word, when Gwydion took the throne and Accolon reigned ... now she would be heavy of foot and sick, grotesque ... certainly she was too old to bear a child without risk. Was it too late to find the herbs that would rid her of that unwanted burden? Yet, if she could bear Accolon a son, at this time when the reign went into his hands, how much more would he value her as his queen? Could she sacrifice that hold over him? A child I could keep, a child I could hold in my own arms, a babe to love ...

She could still remember the sweetness of Arthur as a babe, his little arms around her neck. Gwydion had been taken from her, Uwaine had been nine years old when he learned to call her mother. It was a sharp pain and a sweetness beyond love, tugging at her body, the hunger to hold a child again ... yet reason told her that she could not, at her age, survive the bearing of another child. She rode at Uriens' side as if in a dream. No, she could not survive the bearing of this child, and yet she felt she could not bear to take the irrevocable step that it should die unborn.

My hands will already be stained with the blood of one I love ... . Ah, Goddess, why do you try me thus? And it seemed that the Goddess wavered before her eyes, now like the fairy queen, now like Raven, solemn and compassionate, now like the Great Sow who had torn out Avalloch's life ... and she will devour the child I bear ... . Morgaine knew that she was at the edges of delirium, of madness.

Later, I will decide it later. Now my duty is to get Uriens back to Camelot. She wondered how long she had been in the fairy world. Not, she supposed, more than a moon, or the child would make its presence more felt ... she hoped it had been only a few days. Not too few or Gwenhwyfar would wonder how they had come and gone so swiftly; not too many, or it would be too late to do what she knew she must do: she could not bear this child and live.

They arrived in Camelot at midmorning; the journey was, in truth, not very long. Morgaine was grateful that Gwenhwyfar was nowhere to be seen, and when Cai asked after Arthur, she told him, lying this time without a moment's hesitation, that he had been delayed in Tintagel. If I can kill, lying is no sin so great, she thought, distracted, but somehow she felt contaminated by the lie, she was priestess of Avalon and she valued the truth of her words ... .

She took Uriens to his room; the old man was looking weary now and confused. He is growing too old to reign. Avalloch's death was harder for him than I can know. But he too was reared to the truths of Avalon-what of the King Stag when the young stag is grown?

"Lie down here, my husband, and rest," she said, but he was fractious.

"I should set out for Wales. Accolon is too young to reign alone, the young puppy. My people need me!"

"They can spare you another day," she soothed him, "and you will be stronger."

"I have been too long away already," he fretted. "And why did we not go on to Tintagel? Morgaine, I cannot remember why we came away! Were we truly in a country where the sun shone always ... ?"

She said, "I think you must have dreamed it. Why do you not sleep a little? Shall I send for some food for you? I do not think you have eaten this morning-"

But when the food came, the sight and smell of it turned her queasy again. She turned sharply away, trying to conceal it, but Uriens had seen.

"What is it, Morgaine?"

"Nothing," she said angrily. "Eat, and rest."

But he smiled at her, reaching out his hand to draw her to the bedside. He said, "You forget, I have been married before this-I know a breeding woman when I see one." Clearly, he was delighted. "After all these many years-Morgaine, you are pregnant! But that is wonderful-one son is taken from me, but I have another-shall we call this one Avalloch if it is a son, my darling?"

Morgaine flinched. "You forget how old I am," she said, and her face was like stone. "It is not likely I can carry this child long enough that it would live. Do not hope for a son of your old age."

"But we will take good care of you," said Uriens. "You must consult with one of the Queen's own midwives, and if the ride home would make you likely to miscarry, then you must stay here till the child is born."

She wanted to lash out at him, what makes you think it would be your child, old man? This was Accolon's child, certainly ... but she could not dismiss the sudden fear that this was, indeed, Uriens' child ... an old man's child, weakly, some monster like Kevin ... no, she was surely mad! Kevin was no monster, but had suffered injuries-fire, burns, maiming in childhood, so that his bones had grown awry. But Uriens' child would surely be twisted, deformed, sickly, and Accolon's child would be healthy, strong ... and she, she was old almost past childbearing; would her child be some monster? Sometimes, when women bore babies in their old age, it was so. ... Was she mad, to let these fantasies turn and sicken her brain like this?

No. She did not want to die, and there was no hope she could bear this child and live. Somehow she must come by the herbs ....ut how? She had no confidante at court; none of Gwenhwyfar's women could she trust enough to get her these things, and if it somehow became court gossip that old Queen Morgaine was pregnant by her still-older husband, how they would laugh!

There was Kevin, the Merlin-but she herself had turned him away, flung his love and loyalty back in his face . .. well, there must be midwives at court, and perhaps she could bribe one of them well enough to stop her mouth. She would tell some pitiful tale of how hard Gwydion's birth had been, how she feared at her age to bear another. They were women, they would understand that well enough. And in her own bag of herbs she had one or two things-mixed with a third, harmless in itself, they would have the effect she wanted. She would not be the first woman, even at court, to rid herself of an unwanted child. But she must do it secretly, or Uriens would never forgive her ... in the name of the Goddess, what did it matter? By the time it could come to light, she would be Queen here at Arthur's -no, at Accolon's-side and Uriens would be in Wales, or dead, or in hell-She left Uriens sleeping and tiptoed from the room; she found one of the Queen's midwives, asked her for the third, and harmless, herb, and returning to her room, mixed the potion over her fire. She knew it would make her deathly ill, but there was no help for it. The herb mixture was bitter as gall; she drank it down, grimacing, washed the cup, and put it away. If only she could know what was happening in the fairy country! If only she could know how her lover fared with Excalibur ... . She felt nauseated, but she was too restless to lie down on her bed beside Uriens; she could not bear to be alone with the sleeping man nor could she bear to close her eyes for fear of the pictures of death and blood that would torment her.

After a time she took her distaff and spindle and went down into the Queen's hall, where she knew the women-Queen Gwenhwyfar and her ladies, even Morgause of Lothian-would be at their eternal spinning and weaving. She had never lost her distaste for spinning, but she would keep her wits about her, and it was better than being alone. And if it opened her to the Sight, well, at least she would be free of the torment of not knowing what befell the two she loved on the borders of the fairy country. ...

Gwenhwyfar welcomed her with a chilly embrace and invited her to a seat near the fire and Gwenhwyfar's own chair.

"What are you working at?" Morgaine asked, examining Gwenhwyfar's fine tapestry work.

The Queen proudly spread it out before her. "It is a hanging for the altar of the church-see, here is the Virgin Mary, with the angel come to tell her she will bear the son of God ... and there stands Joseph all in amazement-see, I have made him old, old with a long beard-"

"If I were old as Joseph, and my promised wife told me, after being closeted with such a handsome young man as yonder angel, that she were with child, I would ask myself some questions about the angel," Morgause said irreverently. For the first time Morgaine wondered how miraculous had that virgin birth been after all? Who knew but the mother of Jesus had been ready to conceal her pregnancy with a clever tale of angels ... but after all, in all religions but that one, for a maiden to be pregnant by a God was nothing so strange ... .

I myself, she thought, at the edge of hysteria, taking a handful of carded wool and beginning to twirl the spindle, I myself gave up my maidenhood to the Homed One and bore a son to the King Stag ... will Gwydion set me on a throne in Heaven as Mother of God?

"You are so irreverent, Morgause," Gwenhwyfar complained, and Morgaine quickly complimented Gwenhwyfar on the fineness of her stitches and asked who had drawn the pattern for the picture.

"I drew it myself," said Gwenhwyfar, surprising Morgaine; she had never believed Gwenhwyfar had talents of this sort. "Father Patricius has promised, too, that he will teach me to copy letters in gold and crimson," the Queen said. "He says I have a good hand at it for a woman. ... I never thought I could do so, Morgaine, and yet you made that fine scabbard Arthur wears-he told me that you broidered it for him with your own hands. It is very beautiful." Gwenhwyfar chattered on, as artlessly as a girl half her age. "I have offered to make him one, many times-I was offended that a Christian king should bear the symbols of heathendom, but he said it was made for him by his own dear, beloved sister and he would never lay it aside. And indeed it is beautiful work ... did you have gold threads made for it in Avalon?"

"Our smiths do beautiful work," said Morgaine, "and their work in silver and gold cannot be bettered." The spindle's twirling made her sick. How long would it be before the wrenching sickness of the drug would seize on her? The room was close and seemed to smell of the stuffy, airless lives these women led, spinning and weaving and sewing, endless work so that men might be clothed ... one of Gwenhwyfar's ladies was heavily pregnant and sat sewing on infant's swaddling cloths ... another stitched an embroidered border to a heavy cloak for father or brother or husband or son ... and there was Gwenhwyfar's fine stitchery for the altar, the diversion of a queen who could have other women to sew and spin and weave for her.

Round and round went the spindle; the reel sank toward the floor and she twisted the thread smoothly. When had she learned to do this work?

She could not even remember a time when she could not spin a smooth thread ... one of her earliest memories was of sitting on the castle wall at Tintagel, beside Morgause, spinning; and even then, her thread had been more even than her aunt's, who was ten years her senior.

She said so to Morgause, and the older woman laughed. "You spun finer thread than I when you were seven years old!"

Round and round went the spindle, sinking slowly toward the stone floor; then she wound the thread up on her distaff and meanwhile twisted a fresh handful of wool. ... As she spun out the thread, so she spun the lives of men-was it any wonder that one of the visions of the Goddess was a woman spinning ... from the time a man comes into the world we spin his baby clothes, till we at last spin a shroud. Without us, the lives of men would be naked indeed ... .

... It seemed to her that, as in the kingdom of Fairy, she had looked through a great opening and seen Arthur asleep at the side of a maiden with her own face, so now a great space opened out, as if it were before her; and as the reel sank to the floor and the thread twisted, it seemed to spin out Arthur's face as he wandered, sword in hand ... and now he whirled, to see Accolon, bearing Excalibur ... ah, they were fighting, she could not see their faces now, nor hear the words they flung at one another ... .

How fiercely they fought, and it seemed strange to Morgaine, watching dizzied as the spindle sank, twirled, rose, that she could not hear the clashing of the great swords ... Arthur brought down a great blow that would surely have killed Accolon had it struck him fair, but Accolon caught the blow on his shield and only took a wound in the leg-and the wound sliced without blood, while Arthur, taking a glancing blow on the shoulder, began suddenly to bleed, crimson streaks flowing down his arm, and he looked startled, afraid, one hand going in a swift gesture of reassurance to his side where the scabbard hung ... but it was the sham scabbard, wavering even now in Morgaine's sight. Now the two were mortally locked together, struggling, their swords locked at the hilt as they grappled with their free hands for the advantage ... Accolon twisted fiercely, and the sword in Arthur's hand, the false Excalibur made by fairy enchantments in a single night, broke off close below the hilt-she saw Arthur twist round in desperate avoidance of the killing blow and kick out violently. Accolon crumpled up in agony, and Arthur snatched the real Excalibur from his hand and flung it as far away as he could, then leaped on the fallen man and wrenched at the scabbard. As soon as he had it in his hand, the flow of blood from the great wound in his arm ceased to bleed, and in turn blood gushed forth from the wound in Accolon's thigh ... .

Excruciating pain stabbed through Morgaine's whole body; she doubled up with the weight of it. ...

"Morgaine!" said Morgause sharply, with a catch of breath; then called out, "Queen Morgaine is ill-come tend to her!"

"Morgaine!" Gwenhwyfar cried out. "What is it?"

The vision was gone. However she tried, she could not see the two men, nor which had prevailed, whether one of them lay dead-it was as if a great dark curtain had closed over them, with the ringing of church bells -in the last instant of the vision she had seen two litters carrying the wounded men into the abbey at Glastonbury, where she could not follow ... . She clung to the edges of her chair as Gwenhwyfar came, with one of her ladies, who knelt to raise Morgaine's head.

"Ah, look, your gown is soaked with blood-this is not any ordinary bleeding."

Morgaine, her mouth dry with the sickness, whispered, "No-I was with child and I am miscarrying-Uriens will be angry with me-"

One of the women, a plump jolly one about her own age, said, "Tsk! Tsk! For shame! So His Lordship of Wales will be angry, will he? Well, well, well, and who chose him for God? You should have kept the old billy goat out of your bed, lady, it is dangerous for a woman to miscarry at your age! Shame on the old lecher to put you so at risk! So he will be angry, will he?"

Gwenhwyfar, her hostility forgotten, walked beside Morgaine as they carried her, rubbing her hands, all sympathy.

"Oh, poor Morgaine, what a sad thing, when you had hoped all over again. I know all too well how terrible it must be for you, my poor sister ..." she repeated, holding Morgaine's cold hands, cradling her shaking head when she vomited in the ghastly sickness that overcame her. "I have sent for Broca, she is the most skilled of the court midwives, she will look after you, poor dear ... ."

It seemed that Gwenhwyfar's sympathy would choke her. Racked by repeated, agonizing pains, she felt as if a sword had thrust through her vitals, but even so, even so, it was not so bad as Gwydion's birth had been, and she had lived through that ... shaking, retching, she tried to cling to consciousness, to be aware of what was going on around her. Maybe she had been ready to miscarry anyhow-it was surely too quick for the drug to have worked. Broca came, examined her, smelled at the vomited stuff, and raised her eyebrows knowingly. She said in an undertone to Morgaine, "Lady, you should have taken more care-those drugs can poison you. I have a brew which would have done what you wanted more quickly and with less sickness. Don't worry, I won't speak to Uriens-if he has no more sense than to let a woman of your years try to bear him a child, then what he does not know will do him no harm."

Morgaine let the sickness take her. She knew, after a time, that she was more gravely ill than they had thought ... Gwenhwyfar was asking if at last she wanted to see a priest; she shook her head and closed her eyes, lying silent and rebellious, not caring now whether she lived or died. Since Accolon or Arthur must die, she too would go into that shadow ... why could she not see them, where they lay within Glastonbury, which of them would come forth? Surely the priests would tend Arthur, their own Christian king, but would they leave Accolon to die?

If Accolon must go into the shades, let him go with the spirit of his son to attend him, she thought, and lay with tears sliding down her face, hearing in some distant place the voice of the old midwife Broca. "Yes, it's over. I am sorry, Your Majesty, but you know as well as I that she is too old to bear children. Yes, my lord, come and see-" The voice was harsh with asperity. "Men never think of what they do, and all the bloody mess women have for men's pleasure! No, it was all too soon to tell whether it would have been a boy or not, but she had had one fine son, I doubt not she would have borne you another, had she been strong enough and young enough to carry it!"

"Morgaine-dearest, look at me," Uriens pleaded. "I am so sorry, so sorry you are ill, but don't grieve, my darling, I still have two sons, I don't blame you-"

"Oh, you don't, do you?" said the old midwife, still truculent. "You had better not speak one word of blame to her, Your Majesty, she is still very weak and sick. We will have another bed put in here so that she may sleep in peace till she is quite well again. Here-" and Morgaine felt a comforting woman's arm under her head; something warm and comforting held to her lips. "Come, dear, drink this now, it has honey in it, and medicines to keep you from bleeding anymore-I know you are sick, but try to drink it anyhow, there's a good girl-"

Morgaine swallowed the bittersweet drink, tears blurring her vision. For a moment it seemed that she was a child, that Igraine held her and comforted her in some childish sickness. "Mother-" she said, and even as she spoke knew it was delirium, that Igraine had been dead for half a lifetime, that she was no child or maiden, but old, old, too old to lie here in this ugly way and so near death ... .

"No, Your Majesty, she doesn't know what she's saying-there, there, dear, you just lie still and try to sleep, we've got hot bricks on your feet and you'll be warm in a minute-"

Soothed, Morgaine floated away into dream. Now it seemed to her that she was a child again in Avalon, in the House of Maidens, and that Viviane was speaking to her, telling her something she could not quite remember, something of how the Goddess spun the lives of men, and she handed Morgaine a spindle and bade her spin, but the thread would not come smooth, but tangled and knotted and at last Viviane, angry with her, said, "Here, give it to me ... " and she handed over the broken threads and the spindle; only it was not Viviane, either, but the face of the Goddess, threatening, and she was very small, very small ... spinning and spinning with fingers too small to hold the distaff, and the Goddess bore the face of Igraine ... .

She came to awareness a day or two later, cool-headed, but with a vast and empty ache in her body. She laid her hands over the soreness, and thought, grimly, / might have saved myself some pain; I should have known that I was ready to miscarry anyway. Well, done is done, and now I must ready myself to hear that Arthur is dead, I must think what I will do when Accolon returns -Gwenhwyfar shall go into a nunnery, or if she wishes to go beyond the seas to Less Britain with Lancelet, I will not stop them ... . She rose and dressed herself, made herself beautiful.

"You should keep your bed, Morgaine, you are still so pale," said Uriens.

"No. There are strange tidings coming, my husband, and we must be ready for them," she said, and went on braiding her hair with scarlet ribbons and gems. Uriens stood at the window and said, "Look, the Companions are practicing their military games-Uwaine, I think, is the best rider. Come, my dear, does he not ride as well as Gawaine? And that is Galahad at his side. Morgaine, don't grieve for the child you lost. Uwaine will always think of you as his mother. I told you when we were wedded, I would never reproach you for barrenness. I would have welcomed another child, but since it was not to be, well, we have nothing to grieve for. And," he said shyly, taking her hand, "perhaps it is better so-I did not realize how near I had come to losing you."

She stood at the window, his arm about her waist, feeling at one and the same time a feeling of revulsion and a gratitude for his kindness. He need never know, she thought, that it had been Accolon's son. Let him take pride that in his old age he could father a child.

"Look," said Uriens, craning his neck to see further, "what is that, coming through the gate?"

A rider, together with a monk in dark habit on a mule, and a horse bearing a body-"Come," she said, pulling at his hand, "we must go down now." Pale and silent, she moved at his side into the courtyard, feeling herself tall and commanding as befitted a queen.

It seemed that time stopped; as if they were again in the fairy country. Why was not Arthur with them, if he had triumphed? But if this was Arthur's dead body, where was the ceremony and pomp on the death of a king? Uriens reached to support her with his arm, but she thrust it away and stood clinging to the wood-framed door. The monk put back his hood and said, "Are you Queen Morgaine of Wales?"

"I am," she said.

"I have then a message for you," he said. "Your brother Arthur lies wounded in Glastonbury, nursed by the sisters there, but he will recover. He sends you this"-he waved his hand at the shrouded figure on the pack horse-"as a present, and he bid me say to you that he has his sword Excalibur, and the scabbard." And as he spoke he twitched away the pall covering the body, and Morgaine, all the strength in her body running out of her like water, saw Accolon's sightless eyes staring at the sky.

Uriens cried out, a great cry like death. Uwaine thrust his way through the crowd around the steps, and as his father fell, stricken, across the body of his son, Uwaine caught and supported him.

"Father, dear Father! Ah, dear God, Accolon," he said with a gasp, and stepped toward the horse where Accolon's body lay. "Gawaine, my friend, give my father your arm-I must see to my mother, she is fainting-"

"No," said Morgaine. "No." She heard her own voice like an echo, not even sure what she wanted to deny. She would have rushed to Accolon, flung herself on his body shrieking in despair and grief, but Uwaine held her tight.

Gwenhwyfar appeared on the stairway; someone explained the situation to her in a whisper, and Gwenhwyfar came down the steps, looking at Accolon. "He died in rebellion against the High King," she said clearly. "Let there be no Christian rites for him! Let his body be flung to the ravens, and his head hung on the wall as a traitor!"

"No! Ah, no," cried out Uriens, wailing. "I beg of you, I beg-Queen Gwenhwyfar, you know me one of your most loyal subjects, and my poor boy has paid for his crimes-I beg you, lady, Jesus too died a common criminal between thieves, and even for the thief on the cross at his side there was mercy ... . Show the mercy he would have shown ... ."

Gwenhwyfar seemed not to hear. "How does my lord Arthur?"

"He is recovering, lady, but he has lost much blood," said the strange monk. "Yet he bade you have no fear. He will recover."

Gwenhwyfar sighed. "King Uriens," she said, "for the sake of our good knight Uwaine, I will do as you wish. Let the body of Accolon be borne to the chapel and there laid in state-"

Morgaine found her voice to protest. "No, Gwenhwyfar! Lay him in earth decently, if you can find it in your heart to do so much, but he was no Christian-do not give him Christian burial. Uriens is so filled with grief he knows not what he says."

"Be still, Mother," said Uwaine, gripping her shoulder hard. "For my sake and my father's, bring no scandal here. If Accolon served not the Christ, then has he all the more need of God's mercy against the traitor's death he should have had!"

Morgaine wanted to protest, but her voice would not obey her. She let Uwaine guide her indoors, but once within the door she threw off his arm and walked alone. She felt frozen and lifeless. Only a few hours gone, it seemed to her, she had lain in Accolon's arms in the fairy country, had belted the sword Excalibur at his waist ... now she stood knee-deep in a relentless tide, watching it all swept away from her again, and the world was filled with the accusing eyes of Uwaine and his father.

"Aye, I know it was you who plotted this treachery," said Uwaine, "but I have no pity for Accolon, who let himself be led astray by a woman! Have decency enough, Mother, not to drag my father any further into your wicked schemes against our king!" He glared at her, then turned to his father, who stood as if dazed, clutching at some piece of furniture. Uwaine put the old man into a chair, knelt and kissed his hand. "Father dear, I am still at your side ... ."

"Oh, my son, my son-" Uriens cried out, despairing.

"Rest here, Father, you must be strong," he said. "But now let me care for my mother. She is ill, too-"

"Your mother, you call her!" Uriens cried out, starting upright and staring at Morgaine with implacable wrath. "Never again let me hear you call that abominable woman Mother! Do you think I know not that by her sorcery she led my good son into rebellion against his king? And now I think by her evil witchcraft she must also have contrived the death of Avalloch -aye, and of that other son she should have borne to me-three sons of mine has she sent down into death! Look out that she does not seduce you and betray you with her witchcraft, into death and destruction-no, she is not your mother!"

"Father! My lord!" Uwaine protested, and held out a hand to Morgaine. "Forgive him, Mother, he does not know what he is saying, you are beside yourselves with grief, both of you-I beg you in God's name to be calm, we have had enough grief this day-"

But Morgaine hardly heard him. This man, this husband she had never wanted, he was all that was left of the wreck of her plans! She should have left him to die in the fairy country, but now he was doddering around in the fullness of his useless old life and Accolon was dead, Accolon who sought to bring back all that his father had pledged and forsworn, all that Arthur had vowed to Avalon and forsaken ... and nothing was left but this ancient dotard ... .

She snatched the sickle knife of Avalon from her girdle and thrust away Uwaine's restraining arms. Rushing forward, she raised the dagger high; she hardly knew what it was she meant to do as it flashed down.

An iron grip caught her wrist, wrenching at the dagger. Uwaine's hand came near to breaking her wrist as she struggled. "No, let it go ... Mother!" he pleaded. "Mother, is the Devil in you? Mother, look, it is only Father ... ah, God, can you not show some pity for his grief? He does not mean to accuse you, he is so miserable he does not know what he is saying, in his right mind he will know that what he says is wild nonsense ... I do not accuse you either ... Mother, Mother, listen to me, give me the dagger, dear Mother ... ."

The repeated cries of "Mother!" and the love and anguish in Uwaine's voice finally reached down through the mist that blurred Morgaine's eyes and mind. She let Uwaine wrench away the little knife, noticing, as if from a thousand leagues away, that there was blood on her fingers where the razor edge of the sickle had cut her as they struggled. His hand was cut too, and he put his finger in his mouth and sucked at it as if he had been ten years old.

"Father dear, forgive her," Uwaine begged, bending over Uriens, who lay white as death. "She is distraught, she loved my brother too-and remember how ill she has been, she should not have left her bed today at all! Mother, let me send for your women to take you back to bed-here, you will want this," he said, pressing the sickle back into her hand. "I know you had it from your own foster-mother, the Lady of Avalon, you told me that when I was just a little boy. Ah, poor little mother," he said, encircling her shoulders with his arms. She could remember when she had been taller than he, when he was a thin little boy with bones as small and green as a bird's, and now he towered over her, holding her gently against him. "Mother dearest, my poor little mother, come now, come, don't cry, I know you loved Accolon just as you loved me-poor Mother-"

Morgaine wished that she could cry indeed, that she could let all this terrible grief and despair rush out of her with tears, as she felt Uwaine's hot tears falling on her own forehead. Uriens too stood weeping, but she stood tearless and cold. The world seemed all grey, crumbling at the edges, and everything she looked on seemed to take on some giant menacing shape and yet to be very small and far away, as if she could pick it up like a toy ... she dared not move lest it should fall to bits at her touch, she hardly knew it when her women came. They took her stiff and unresisting body and lifted her and carried her to bed, they took off the queenly crown and the gown she had put on for her triumph, and distantly she knew that her shift and underlinen were soaked again with blood, but it seemed not to matter. A long time after, she came to herself and knew that she was washed clean and dressed in a clean shift and lying in bed beside Uriens, with one of her women drowsing on a stool at her side. She raised herself a little and looked down at the sleeping man, his face sunken and reddened with weeping, and it was as if she looked on a stranger.

Yes, he had been good to her in his own way. But now that is all past and my work in his land is done. I will never see his face again while I live, nor know where he lies in death.

Accolon was dead and her plans in ruins. Arthur still bore the sword Excalibur and the enchanted scabbard which gave him a charmed life, and since the one to whom she had entrusted that task had failed her, escaping into death where she could not follow, then she herself must be the hand of Avalon to strike him down.

Moving so silently that she would not have wakened a sleeping bird, she put on her clothes and tied the dagger of Avalon at her waist. She left all the fine gowns and jewels that Uriens had given her, wrapping herself in her plainest dark robe, not unlike the dress of a priestess. She found her little bag of herbs and medicines, and in the dark, by touch, she painted her brow with the dark moon. Then she took the plainest cloak she could find -not her own, embroidered with gold thread and precious stones, but a servant's rough hooded wrap-and stole noiselessly down the stairs.

From the chapel she heard sounds of chanting; somehow Uwaine had arranged this over Accolon's body. Well, it did not matter. Accolon was free, what did it matter what mummery the priests made with the tenantless clay? Nothing mattered now but reclaiming the sword of Avalon. She turned her back on the chapel. One day she would have leisure to mourn him; now she must carry on where he had failed.

She went silently into the stable and found her horse, managing to bind on the saddle with clumsy hands. She led the animal to the small side gate.

She was almost too dizzy to climb into the saddle, and for a moment she sat swaying, wondering if she would fall. Should she wait, or try to summon Kevin to attend her? The Merlin of Britain was vowed to follow the will of the Lady. But she could not trust Kevin either, he had betrayed Viviane into the hands of those priests who now chanted their hymns over Accolon's helpless body. She whispered to the horse, felt him break into a trot beneath her, and from the foot of the hill turned back to look her last on Camelot.

I shall come here but once again in this life, and then there will no longer be a Camelot to which I might return. And even as she whispered the words, she wondered what they meant.

AS OFTEN AS MORGAINE had travelled to Avalon, she had only once set foot upon the Isle of the Priests; Glastonbury Abbey, where Viviane lay buried and Igraine, too, had spent her last years, was a stranger journey to her than the crossing of the mists into the hidden lands. There was a ferry there, and she gave the ferryman a small coin to row her across the Lake, wondering what the man would do if she suddenly rose as she would do with the Avalon barge and cast the spell that would lead it into the mists and bring it forth in Avalon ... but she did not. Is it only that I cannot? she asked herself.

The air was cool and fresh in the hour just before sunrise. Overhead, the sound of church bells was soft and clear, and Morgaine could see a long line of grey-robed forms pacing slowly toward the church. The brothers rose early to pray and chant their soft hymns, and for a moment Morgaine stood quiet, listening. Her mother, and Arthur's, lay buried there. Viviane, too, had been laid to rest within the sound of those hymns. The musician in Morgaine, always quickly moved, listened to the soft song, borne on the early-morning breeze, and for a moment she stood motionless, tears burning her eyes; was she planning outrage on this holy soil? Let it go, let there be peace among you, children ... it seemed that it was Igraine's forgotten voice murmuring to her.

Now all the grey forms were within the church. She had heard much of the abbey here ... she knew there was a brotherhood of monks, and at some distance from them, a house of nuns where women dwelt, vowed to be virgins of the Christ till they died. Morgaine wrinkled her face in distaste; a God who chose to keep men and women with their thoughts on Heaven rather than on this world, which had been given to them for learning and growing in spirit, seemed alien to her, and now that she actually saw men and women mingling this way in worship with no thought of any other touch or communication, she felt sickened. Oh yes, there were holy virgins in Avalon-she herself had been secluded that way till the proper time, and Raven had given not only her body but her very voice to the Goddess for her use. There was her own foster-daughter, Lancelet's daughter Nimue, who had been selected by Raven to dwell unseen in solitude ... but the Goddess recognized that this was a rare choice, not one to be imposed on every woman who sought to serve her.

Morgaine did not believe what some of her companions in Avalon had said, that monks and nuns merely pretended holiness and chastity to impress the peasants with their purity and behind the closed doors of their monasteries did whatever wantonness they would. Yes, she would have despised that. Those who had chosen to serve spirit rather than flesh should do so in truth; hypocrisy was always disgusting. But the knowledge that they really lived that way, that any force calling itself divine could prefer barrenness to fruitfulness-that seemed to her a terrible betrayal of the very forces which gave life to the world.

Fools and worse, narrowing their lives and thus wishing to narrow all other lives to their own mean compass ...

But she must not linger here. She turned her back on the church bells and stole toward the guest house, her mind reaching out, calling on the Sight to lead her to where Arthur lay.

There were three women in the guesthouse-one dozing beside the door, another stirring a kettle of gruel in the kitchen at the back, and yet a third at the door of the room where very dimly she could feel Arthur's presence; he was deep in slumber. But the women in their somber robes and veils stirred as she came; they were holy women in their own way, and they had something very like the Sight-in her presence they could sense something inimical to their lives, the touch, perhaps, of the strangeness of Avalon. One of them rose and confronted her, asking in a whisper, "Who are you, and why have you come here at this hour?"

"I am Queen Morgaine of North Wales and Cornwall," Morgaine said in her low, commanding voice, "and I am here to see my brother. Will you dare to forbid me?"

She held the woman's gaze, then waved her hand in the simplest of the spells she had been taught, to dominate, and the woman sank back, unable to speak or forbid her. Later, she knew, the woman would tell a tale of enchantments and of fear, but in truth it was no more than this: the simple domination of a powerful will over one which had been given up, deliberately, to submission.

A soft light burned inside the room, and by its dimness Morgaine could see Arthur, unshaven, haggard, his fair hair darkened with sweat. The scabbard was lying on the foot of his bed ... he must have anticipated some such action on her part, he would not let it out of his reach. And in his hand he held the hilt of Excalibur.

Somehow, somehow, his mind gave him warning. Morgaine was filled with dismay. He had the Sight, too; though he looked so fair and unlike the dark people of Britain, he too was of the ancient royal line of Avalon and he could reach her thoughts. She knew that if she reached out to take Excalibur from his hand, he would sense her intent, would wake-and he would kill her; she had no illusions about that. He was a good Christian, or so he thought himself, but he had been set on the throne to kill his enemies, and in some mystical way Morgaine only half understood, the sword Excalibur had grown entangled with the very soul and spirit of Arthur's kingship. If it had not been so, if it had only been a sword, then would he have been willing to render it back to Avalon and had another made for himself, a stronger sword and a better ... but Excalibur had become for him the visible and ultimate symbol of what he was as King. Or perhaps it is the sword itself which has entangled itself with Arthur's soul and kingship and will kill me of its own will, should I seek to take it from him ... and dare I set myself against the will of such a magical symbol? Morgaine started and told herself not to be fanciful. She laid her hand on her dagger; it was razor sharp and she could move, when she must, as swiftly as a striking snake. She could see the small vein in his throat and knew that if she could cut swift and deep to where the great artery lay beneath it, he would be dead almost before he could cry out.

She had killed before this. She had sent Avalloch without hesitation to his death, and not three days since, she had slain the harmless child in her womb ... he who lay sleeping before her was the greater traitor, surely. One stroke, swift and quiet... ah, but this was the child Igraine had placed in her arms, her first love, the father of her son, the Horned God, the King ... . Strike, fool! For this you came here!

No. There has been too much death. We were born from a single womb and I could not face my mother in the country beyond death, not with the blood of my brother on my hands, and for a moment, knowing she moved at the very edge of madness, she heard Igraine calling impatiently, Morgaine, I told you to take care of the baby ...

It seemed to her that he stirred in sleep, as if he too heard that voice; Morgaine slid the dagger back into its sheath, reached out her hand, and took the scabbard. This at least she had a right to take-with her own hands she had fashioned it, the spells she had woven into it were her own.

She hid the scabbard under her cloak and went swiftly out through the thinning darkness to the ferry. As the ferryman rowed her across, she felt the prickling of her skin and seemed to see, like a shadow, the barge from Avalon ... on the far shore they were all around her, the crew of the Avalon barge. Now quickly, quickly, she must get back again to Avalon ... but the sun was rising and the shadow of the church lay across the water, and suddenly the sun flooded the landscape and with the dawn a ringing of church bells was everywhere. Morgaine stood as if paralyzed; through that sound she could not summon the mists, nor speak the spell.

She said to one of the men, "Can you take us to Avalon? Quickly?"

He said, shivering, "I cannot, lady. It grows harder, without a priestess to speak the spell, and even so, at dawn and at noon and at sunset, when they ring the bells for prayer, there is no way to cross the mists. Not now. The spell no longer opens the way at these times, although, if we wait till the bells are silent, it may be that we can manage to return."

Why, Morgaine wondered, should this be so? It had to do with the knowledge that the world was as it was because of what men believed it was ... year by year, these past three or four generations, the minds of men had been hardened to believing that there was one God, one world, one way of describing reality, and that all things which intruded on the realm of that great one-ness must be evil and of the fiends, and that the sound of the bells and the shadow of their holy places would keep the evil afar. And as more and more people believed this, it was so, and Avalon no more than a dream adrift in an almost inaccessible other world.

Oh yes, she could still call the mists ... but not here, not where the shadow of the church's spire lay across the water and the clamor of the bells struck terror into her heart. They were trapped on the shores of the Lake! And now she was aware that a boat was pushing out from the shores of the priests' Isle, to cross the Lake and find her here. Arthur had wakened and found her scabbard gone from him, and now would pursue her ... .

Well, let him follow her as he could, there were other ways into Avalon where the shadow of the church did not prevent her passage. She climbed quickly into her saddle and began to ride along the shores of the Lake, circling; she would come at last to a place where, at least in summer, she could cross through the mists; the place where she and Lancelet had once found Gwenhwyfar strayed from the nunnery. It was not Lake but swampland, and they could get into Avalon by the back way, behind the Tor.

She knew that the little dark men were running behind her horse, that they could run for half a day at her horse's tail if they must. But now she heard hoofbeats ... she was pursued, Arthur was hard on her heels, and there were armed knights with him. She dug her feet into the horse's side, but this was a lady's horse, not intended for the chase ... .

She slid down her horse's side, the scabbard in her hand. "Scatter," she whispered to the men, and one by one it was as if they melted into the trees and mists... they could move like shadows if they must, and no man alive could find them if they did not want to be found. Morgaine grasped the scabbard in her hand and began to run along the shores of the Lake. In her mind she could hear Arthur's voice, feel his rage ... .

He had Excalibur; she could feel it, like a great shining in her mind, the holy thing of Avalon ... but the scabbard he should never bear again. She took it in both hands, whirled it over her head, and flung it, with all her strength, far out into the Lake, where she saw it sink into the deep and fathomless waters. No human hand could ever reclaim it-there it would lie till leather and velvet rotted and the silver and gold thread tarnished and twisted and at last the spells woven into them vanished utterly from the world.

Arthur was riding in pursuit, Excalibur naked in his hand ... but she and her escort were gone. Morgaine drew herself into silence, a part of shadow and tree as if some essential part of herself had gone into Fairy; while she stayed there motionless, covered in the silence of a priestess, no one from the mortal world could see so much as her shadow ... .

Arthur shouted her name.

"Morgaine! Morgaine!" A third time he called, loud and angry; but the very shadows were still, and at last, confused from riding in circles- once he came so close that Morgaine could feel the breath of his horse- he wearied, and called to his escort, and they came to find him swaying in his saddle, the bandages slowly soaking through with blood, and they led him away the way they had come.

Then Morgaine raised her hand, and once again the normal sound of bird and wind and tree came back into the world.

MORGAINE SPEAKS ...

In later years I heard the tale told of how I took the scabbard by sorcery, and how Arthur rode after me with a hundred knights, and I too had a hundred fairy knights all round me; and when Arthur's pursuit grew near, I turned myself and my men into ring stones ... . Someday, no doubt, they will add that when I had done, I called for my chariot with the winged dragons, and flew away into Fairy.

But it was not so. It was no more than this, that the little people can hide in the forests and become one with tree and shadow, and that day I was one of them, as I had been taught in Avalon; and when Arthur had been taken away by his escort, near to fainting with the long pursuit and the cold in his wound, I said farewell to the men of Avalon, and rode away to Tintagel. But when I came to Tintagel it mattered little to me what they did in Camelot, for I was sick even to death for a long time.

I know not, even now, what ailed me; I know only that summer faded and the leaves began to fall while I lay in my bed, tended by the servants I had found there, neither knowing nor caring whether I would ever rise. I know I had a low fever, a weariness so great that I could not force myself to sit upright or to eat, a heaviness of mind so great that I cared not whether I would live or die. My servants-one or two of them I recalled from the days when I lived there as a little child, with Igraine-thought me enchanted; and it may even have been true.

Marcus of Cornwall sent to me in homage, and I thought, Arthur's star rides high, no doubt he believes that I have come here at Arthur's will, and he will not -now-challenge Arthur even for these lands he believes his own. A year ago, I might have laughed at this, or even made common cause with Marcus, promising him lands here in return for leading a party of the disaffected against Arthur. And even now it crossed my mind; but with Accolon dead, it seemed to matter nothing. Arthur had Excalibur ... if the Goddess wished that it should be taken from him, she would have to come and take it herself, for I had failed, I was her priestess no more ... .

... I think it was that which hurt me worst, that I had failed, failed Avalon, that she had not put forth her hand to help me do her will. The strength of Arthur and the priests and of the traitor Kevin had been stronger than the magic of Avalon, and there was no one left.

No one left. No one. I mourned without ceasing for Accolon, and for the child whose life had barely begun before it was ended, cast aside like offal. I mourned too for Arthur, lost to me now, and my enemy, and, unbelievably, even for Uriens, and for the wreck of my life in Wales, the only peace I had ever known. I had killed or thrust from me or lost to death everyone in this world I had ever loved. Igraine was gone, and Viviane lost to death, murdered and lying among the priests of their God of death and doom. Accolon was gone, the priest I had consecrated to do that last battle against the Christian priests. Arthur was my enemy; Lancelet had learned to hate and fear me, and I was not guiltless for that hate. Gwenhwyfar feared and loathed me, even Elaine was gone now ... and Uwaine, who had been as my own son, hated me too. There was none to care whether I should live or die, and so I did not care either ... .

The last of the leaves had gone and the fearful storms of winter had begun to beat over Tintagel when one day one of my women came to me and said that a man had come to seek me.

"At this season?" I looked out beyond the window, where unceasing rain beat down from skies as grey and bleak as the inside of my own mind. What traveller would come through this bitter weather, struggling through storms and darkness? No; whoever he might be, I cared not. "Say to him that the Duchess of Cornwall sees no man, and send him away."

"Into the rain on a night such as this will be, lady?" I was startled that the woman should protest; most of them feared me for a sorceress, and I was content to have it so. But the woman was right; Tintagel had never failed in hospitality when it was in the hands of my long-dead father, or of Igraine ... so be it. I said, "Give the traveller hospitality fitting his rank, and food, and bed; but tell him that I am ill, and cannot receive him."

She went away and I lay watching the fierce rain and darkness, feeling its cold breath through the slit of the window and trying to find my way back into the peaceful blankness where now I felt most like myself. But after a very little, the door opened again and the woman returned, and I started upright, shaking with anger, the first emotion I had let myself feel in many weeks.

"I have not summoned you, and I did not bid you return! How dare you?"

"I am charged with a message for you, lady," she said, "a message I didn't dare say no to, not when one of the high ones speaks ... . He said, 'I speak not to the Duchess of Cornwall but to the Lady of Avalon, and she cannot refuse the Messenger of the Gods when the Merlin seeks audience and counsel.' " The woman paused and said, "I hope I've got it right ... he made me say it over twice to be sure I had it all."

Now, against my will, I felt the stirrings of curiosity. The Merlin? But Kevin was Arthur's man, surely he would not have come like this to me. Had he not aligned himself firmly with Arthur and with the Christians, traitor to Avalon? But perhaps some other man now held that office, Messenger of the Gods, Merlin of Britain ... and now I thought of my son Gwydion, or Mordred as I supposed I must now think of him; perhaps this was his office, for he alone would now think of me as Lady of Avalon ... . After a long silence, I said, "Tell him I will see him, then." After a moment I added, "But not like this. Send someone to dress me." For I knew that I was too weak to put on my own clothes. But I would not receive any man this way, weak and ill and in my bedchamber; I, who was priestess of Avalon, would manage to stand on my feet before the Merlin, even if what he brought was sentence of death for all my failure ... I am still Morgaine!

I managed to rise, to have my dress put on and my shoes, and my hair braided down my back and covered with the veil of a priestess; I even painted, after the woman's clumsy hands had twice botched it, the symbol of the moon on my forehead. My hands-I noted it incuriously, as if they belonged to someone else-were shaking, and I was weak enough that I let the woman give me her arm as I crawled down the steep stairs. But the Merlin should not see my weakness.

A fire had been built in the hall; the fire was smoking a little, as always here when it rained, and through the smoke I could see only a man's figure seated by the fire, turned away from me, draped in a grey cloak-but at his side stood a tall harp I could not mistake; from My Lady I knew the man. Kevin's hair was all grey now, but he dragged his stooped body upright as I came in.

"So," I said, "you call yourself still Merlin of Britain, when you serve only Arthur's will and defy that of Avalon?"

"I know not what to call myself now," said Kevin quietly, "save perhaps servant of those who serve the Gods, who are all One."

"Why have you come here, then?"

"Again, I know not," said the musical voice I had loved so well, "save perhaps in repayment of some debt laid down before these hills were raised, my dear." Then he raised his voice to the serving-woman.

"Your lady is ill! Get her to a seat!"

My head was swimming and a grey mist seemed to waver around me; the next thing I knew I was seated by the fire across from Kevin, and the woman was gone.

He said, "Poor Morgaine, poor girl," and for the first time since Accolon's death had turned me to stone, I felt that I could weep; and clenched my teeth against the weeping, for if I shed one tear, I knew that everything within me would melt, and I would cry and cry and cry and never cease crying until I melted into a very lake of tears ... .

I said tightly, clenched, "I am no girl, Kevin Harper, and you have won your way to my presence falsely. Now say what you will say, and go your way."

"Lady of Avalon-"

"I am not," I said, and remembered that the last time I saw this man, I had driven him from my presence, shrieked at him, called him traitor. It seemed not to matter; perhaps it was fate that two traitors to Avalon should sit here before this fire, for I too had betrayed my oath to Avalon ... how dared I judge Kevin?

"What then are you?" he asked quietly. "Raven is old, and silent now for years. Niniane will never have the power to rule. You are needed there-"

"When last we spoke," I interrupted him, "you said Avalon's day was done. Why then should there be any to sit in Viviane's place except a child half-fated for that high office, waiting for the day when Avalon fades forever into the mists?" I felt a scalding bitterness in my throat. "Since you have forsaken Avalon for the banner of Arthur, will it not make your task easier if none reigns in Avalon save an ancient prophetess and a powerless priestess ... ?"

"Niniane is Gwydion's love and his creature," said Kevin. "And it comes to me that your voice and your hands are needed there. Even if Avalon is fated to pass away into the mists, will you refuse to pass with it? I never thought you a coward, Morgaine." And then he raised his eyes to mine and said, "You will die here, Morgaine, die of grief and exile ..."

I turned my face away and said, "For that I came here ..." and for the first time I knew indeed that I had come here to die. "All I have tried to do is in ruin, I have failed, failed ... it should be your triumph, Merlin, that Arthur has won."

He shook his head. "Ah, no, my dear, no triumph," he said. "I do what the Gods have given me to do, no more, and you do the same. And indeed if your doom shall be to see the end of the world we have known, why then, my dearest love, let that doom find us each in our appointed place, serving what our God has given us to serve ... . It is laid on me to recall you to Avalon, Morgaine, I know not why. My task would be simpler with only Niniane there, but, Morgaine, your place is in Avalon, and mine where the Gods shall decree. And in Avalon you can be healed."

"Healed." I said it in contempt. I did not care.

Kevin looked at me sadly. "My dearest love," he had called me. It seemed to me now that he was the one person alive who knew me as I was; before every other person alive, even Arthur, I had worn a different face, seeking always to appear other and better than I was; even to Viviane, that she might find me more worthy to be a priestess ... . For Kevin I was Morgaine, thus and no other. It came to me that even if I stretched forth my hand to him as the Death-crone he would see nothing but my own face, Morgaine. ... I had always felt that love was other than this, was that burning I had felt for Lancelet,for Accolon. For Kevin I had felt little save for that detached compassion, friendship, kindness; what I had given him had meant but little to me, and yet... and yet he alone had taken thought to come to me, to care whether or no I died here of grief.

But how dared he break in upon my peace, when I had almost won through to that utter quiet which was beyond life? I turned away from him and said, "No." I could not come back to life again, could not struggle and suffer, and live with the hatred of those who had once loved me ... . If I lived, if I returned to Avalon, I must enter again into a death struggle with Arthur whom I loved, I must see Lancelet still in Gwenhwyfar's prison of love. I had ceased to care, I could endure no further the pain that was in my heart ... .

No. I was here, in silence and peace, and before long, I knew it now, I would pass even further into peace ... the dizziness that was near to death was drawing closer and ever closer, and this Kevin, this traitor, would bring me back? I said, "No," again and turned away, my hands covering my face. "Leave me in peace, Kevin Harper. Hither I came to die. Leave me now."

He did not move, nor did he speak, and I sat very still, my veil over my face. After a little time, surely, now he would arise and leave me, for I had not the strength to go forth from him. And I... I would sit here until I was carried back to my bed by the women, and then I would never rise again.

And then, into the silence, I heard the soft sound of the harp. Kevin played, and after a moment he sang.

I had heard a part of this ballad, for he had sung it often at Arthur's court, of that bard in ancient times, sir Orfeo, who made the trees to dance and the stones on the plain to stand in a ring and dance, and all the beasts of the wood to come and lay themselves at his feet when they should have rent him with their claws. But beyond that, today, he sang the other part of the song, which was a Mystery, and which I had never heard before. He sang of how the initiate, Orfeo, had lost her that he loved, and had descended into the Afterworld and spoken there before the Lords of Death, and pleaded for her, and was given permission to go into the dark lands, and bring her forth, and then he had found her there on the Undying Plains ... .

And then his voice spoke from the soul ... and I heard what seemed my own voice pleading.

"Seek not to bring me forth, when I am resigned to stay here in death. Here within these undying lands all is at rest, with neither pain nor struggle; here can I forget both love and grief."

The room faded away around me; no longer could I smell the smoke from the fireplace, the chill breath of rain beyond the window, I was no longer conscious of my own body, ill and dizzy where I sat. It seemed to me that I stood in a garden filed with scentless flowers and eternal peace, with only the distant voice of the harp breaking unwillingly through the silence. And that harp sang to me, undesired.

It sang of the wind from Avalon, with the breath of apple blossom and the smell of ripened apples in their season; it brought to me the cool freshness of the mist over the Lake, and the sounds of the running deer deep in the forest where the little folk live still, and it brought me the sun-soaked summer where I lay in the sun beneath the ring stones, with Lancelet's arms round me and the blood of life rising like sap within my veins for the first time. Then I felt again in my arms the heavy softness of my little son, his soft hair against my face, his milky breath sweet and soft ... or was it Arthur himself in my lap, clinging to me, his little hands patting my cheek ... again Viviane's hands touched my brow in blessing, and I felt myself a bridge between earth and sky as I stretched my own hands forth in invocation ... high winds swirled through the grove where I lay with the young stag in the darkness of the eclipse, and Accolon's voice spoke my name ... .

And now it was not the harp alone but the voices of the dead and the living crying out to me: "Return again, return, life itself is calling you with all its pleasure and pain ..." and then a new note came into the voice of the harp.

"It is I who calls you, Morgaine of Avalon ... priestess of the Mother ..."

And I raised my head, seeing not Kevin's twisted body and sorrowing features, but where he had stood was Someone, tall and shining, a sunlit glory about his face and in his hands the shining Harp and Bow. I caught my breath before the God, as the voice sang on ... "Return to life, return again to me ... you who have sworn ... life awaits you beyond this darkness of death. ..."

I struggled to turn away. "It is not the God who can command me, but the Goddess. ..."

"But," said the familiar voice in the silence of that eternity, "you are the Goddess and it is I who call you ..." and for a moment, as if in the calm waters of the mirror of Avalon, I saw myself robed and crowned with the high crown of the Lady of Life ... .

"But I am old, old, I belong now to death, not to life ... "I whispered, and in the silence, words heard again and again in ritual suddenly came to life on the lips of the God.

" ... she will be old and young as it shall please her ..." and before my eyes my own mirrored face was again young and fair as the maiden who had sent forth the young stag to challenge the running deer ... yes, and I had been old when Accolon came to me, yet I had sent him forth to the challenge heavy with his child ... and even old and barren, yet life pulsed within me as within the eternal life of the earth and the Lady ... and the God stood before me, the eternal One who summoned me forth to life ... and I took one step and then another, and then I was climbing, climbing from the darkness, following the distant notes of the harp that sang to me of the green hills of Avalon, and the waters of life ... and then I found I was on my feet, reaching for Kevin ... and he put the harp gently aside and caught me, half-fainting, in his arms. And for a moment the shining hands of the God burned me ... and then it was only Kevin's sweet, musical, half-mocking voice that said, "I cannot hold you, Morgaine, as well you know," and he placed me gently into my chair. "When did you eat last, Morgaine?"

"I cannot remember," I confessed, and suddenly I was aware of my deathly weakness; he called the serving-woman and said, speaking in the gently authoritative voice of a Druid and a healer, "Bring your mistress some bread and some warmed milk with honey."

I raised a hand to protest, and the woman looked indignant, and now I remembered that twice she had tried to coax me to eat with these very things. But she went to do his bidding, and when she returned, Kevin took the bread and soaked it in the milk and fed it to me, gently, a few mouthfuls at a time.

"No more," he said. "You have been fasting too long. But before you sleep, you must drink a little more milk with an egg beaten into it... I will show them what to do. The day after tomorrow, perhaps, you will be strong enough to ride."

And suddenly I began to cry. I wept, at last, for Accolon lying dead on his pall, and for Arthur who hated me now, and for Elaine who had been my friend ... and for Viviane, lying dead beneath a Christian tomb, and for Igraine, and for myself, for myself who had lived through all these things ... and he said again, "Poor Morgaine, poor girl," and held me against his bony breast, and I cried and cried until at last I was quiet, and he called my women to carry me to my bed.

And for the first time in many days, I slept. And two days later, I rode to Avalon.

I remember little of that northward journey, sick in body and mind. I did not even wonder that Kevin left me before I came to the Lake. I came to those shores at sunset, when the waters of the Lake seemed to run crimson and the sky was all afire; and out of the flame-colored water and sky appeared the barge, painted and draped all in black, oars muffled to the silence of a dream. And for a moment it seemed to me that it was the Sacred Boat on that shoreless sea of which I may not speak, and that the dark figure at the prow was She, and that somehow I bridged the gap between earth and sky ... but I do not know whether that was real or a dream. And then the mists fell over us, and I felt within my very soul that shifting which told me I was once again within my own place.

Niniane welcomed me at the shore, taking me in her arms, not as the stranger I had seen but twice, but as a daughter greets a mother she has not seen for many years; then she took me away to the house where once Viviane had dwelt. She did not, this time, send young priestesses to tend me, but cared for me herself, putting me to bed in the inner room of the house, bringing me water from the Sacred Well; and when I tasted it, I knew that although the healing would be long, I was not yet beyond healing.

I had known enough of power. I was content to lay down the burdens of the world; it was time to leave that to others, and to let my daughters tend me. Slowly, slowly, in the silence of Avalon, I recovered my strength. There at last I could mourn for Accolon-not for the ruin of my hopes and plans ... I could see now what madness they had been; I was priestess of Avalon, not Queen. But I could mourn the brief and bitter summer of our love; I could grieve, too, for the child who had not lived long enough to be born, and suffer once again that it had been my own hand that had sent him into the shades.

It was a long season of mourning, and there were times when I wondered if I should mourn all my life and never again be free of it; but at last I could remember without weeping, and recall the days of love without unending sorrow welling up like tears from the very depths of my being. There is no sorrow like the memory of love and the knowledge that it is gone forever; even in dreams, I never saw again his face, and though I longed for it, I came at last to see that it was just as well, lest I live all the rest of my life in dreams ... but at last there came a day when I could look back and know that the time for mourning was ended; my lover and my child were on the other shore, and even if I should somehow meet them beyond the gates of death, none of us would ever know ... but I lived, and I was in Avalon, and it was my task now to be Lady there.

I do not know how many years I dwelt in Avalon before the end. I remember only that I floated in a vast and nameless peace, beyond joy and sorrow, knowing only serenity and the little tasks of every day. Niniane stood ever at my side; and I came, too, to know Nimue, who had grown to a tall, silent, fair-haired maiden, as fair as Elaine when first I knew her. She became to me the daughter I had never known, and day after day she came to me, and I taught her all those things I had learned from Viviane in my own early years in Avalon.

In those last days, too, there were some who had seen the tree of the Holy Thorn in its first flowering for the followers of Christ, and worshipped their Christian God in peace, seeking not to drive out the beauty of the world, but loving it as God made it. In those days they came in numbers to Avalon to escape the harsh and shrivelling winds of persecution and bigotry. Patricius had set up new forms of worship, a view of the world wherein there was no room for the real beauty and mystery of the things of nature. From these Christians who came to us to escape the bigotry of their own kind I learned something, at last, of the Nazarene, the carpenter's son who had attained Godhead in his own life and preached a rule of tolerance; and so I came to see that my quarrel was never with the Christ, but with his foolish and narrow priests who mistook their own narrowness for his.

I know not whether it was three years, or Jive, or even ten, before the end. I heard whispers of the outside world like shadows, like the echo of the church bells we heard sometimes even on that shore. I knew when Uriens died, but I did not mourn him; he had been dead to me for many years, but I could hope that in the end he had found some healing for his griefs. He had been kind to me as best he might, and so let him rest.

Now and again some rumor of Arthur's deeds and those of the knights would come to me, but in the serenity of Avalon it seemed not to matter; those deeds sounded like old tales and legends, so that I never knew whether they spoke of Arthur and Cai and Lancelet, or of Llyr and the children of Da'ana; or when tales were whispered of the love of Lancelet and Gwenhwyfar, or later, of Marcus' wife, Isotta, and young Drustan, they were not after all retelling some old tale of Diarmid and Grainne from the ancient days. It seemed not to matter, it seemed that I had heard all these tales long ago in my childhood.

And then, one spring when the land lay beautiful before us and the first apple trees of Avalon were white with blossom, Raven broke silence with a cry, and perforce my mind returned to the things of that world I had hoped to leave forever behind.

9

The sword, the sword of the Mysteries is gone ... now look to the cup, now look to all of the Holy Regalia ... it is gone, it is gone, taken from us ... ."

Morgaine heard the cry out of sleep, and yet, when she tiptoed to the door of the room where Raven slept, alone and in silence as ever, the women who attended her slept; they had not heard that cry.

"But there is nothing but silence, Lady," they told her. "Are you certain it was not an evil dream?"

"If it was an evil dream, then it came to the priestess Raven as well," Morgaine said, staring at the untroubled faces of the girls. It seemed to her that with every passing year, the priestesses in the House of Maidens grew younger and more like children ... how could little girls like this be entrusted with the holy things? Maidens whose breasts had scarcely formed ... what could they know of the life of the Goddess which was the life of the world?

Again, it seemed, that shattering cry rang through Avalon, rousing alarm everywhere, but when Morgaine asked, "There-did you hear?" they looked at her again in dismay and said, "Do you dream now, Lady, with your eyes wide open?" and Morgaine realized that in the bitter cry of terror and grief there had been no actual sound.

She said, "I will go to her-"

"But you may not do that-"one of them began, then stepped back, her mouth open, as she realized the full meaning of who Morgaine was, and she bent her head as Morgaine stepped past her.

Raven was sitting up in bed, her long hair flung about her in mad disarray, and her eyes wild with terror; for a moment Morgaine thought that indeed her mind had overheard some evil dream, that Raven walked in the worlds of dream ... .

But she shook her head and then she was wide awake and sober. She drew a long breath, and Morgaine knew that she was struggling to speak, to overcome the years of silence; now it was as if her voice would not obey her.

At last, trembling all over, she said, "I saw-I saw it ... treachery, Morgaine, within the very holy places of Avalon. ... I could not see his face, but I saw the great sword Excalibur in his hand ... "

Morgaine put out a hand, quieting her. She said, "We will look within the mirror when the sun rises. Do not trouble yourself to speak, my dearest." Raven was still trembling; Morgaine put her hand firmly over Raven's, and by the flickering light of the torch, she saw that her own hand was lined and spotted with the dark spots of age, that Raven's fingers were like twisted ropes around the narrow, fine bones. We are old, she thought, both of us, who came here maidens in attendance on Viviane ... ah Goddess, the years that pass ... .

"But I must speak now," Raven whispered. "I have been silent too long ... I kept silence even when I feared this would come ... listen to the thunder, and the rain-a storm is coming, a storm to break over Avalon and sweep it away in the flood ... and darkness over the land ... "

"Hush, my dear! Be still," Morgaine whispered, and put her arms around the shaking woman, wondering if her mind had snapped, if this was all an illusion, a fever dream ... there was no thunder, no rain, outside the moon was shining brilliantly over Avalon and the orchards white with blossom in the moonlight. "Don't be frightened. I will stay here with you, and in the morning we shall look into the mirror and see if any of this is real."

Raven smiled, a sad smile. She took Morgaine's torch and put it out; in the sudden darkness Morgaine could see, through the chinks in the wattle, a sudden flare of lightning in the distance. Silence; and then, very far away, a low thundering. "I do not dream, Morgaine. The storm will come, and I am afraid. You have more courage than I. You have lived in the world and known real sorrows, not dreams ... but now, perhaps, I must go forth and break silence forevermore ... and I am afraid ... ."

Morgaine lay down beside her, pulling Raven's cover over them both, and took Raven in her arms to still her shaking. As she lay quiet, listening to the other woman's breathing, she remembered the night she had brought Nimue there, and how Raven had come to her then, welcoming her to Avalon ... why does it seem to me now that of all the love I have known, that is the truest ... but she only held Raven gently, the other woman's head on her shoulder, soothing her. After a long time there was a great clap of thunder, startling them, and Raven whispered, "You see?"

"Hush, my dear, it is only a storm." And as she spoke the rain came down, rushing and rattling, bringing a chilly wind within the room, drowning speech. Morgaine lay silent, her fingers just entwined with Raven's, and thought, It is only a storm, but something of Raven's terror communicated itself to her and she felt herself shivering too.

A storm that will drive down out of Heaven and smash into Camelot, and scatter the years of peace that Arthur has made in this land ...

She tried to call the Sight to her, but the thunder seemed to drown thoughts; she could only lie close to Raven repeating to herself again and again, It is only a storm, a storm, rain and wind and thunder, it is not the wrath of the Goddess ... .

AFTER A LONG TIME the storm subsided, and she woke to a world new-washed, the sky pallid and cloudless, water shimmering on every leaf and raining down from every blade of grass, as if the world had been dipped in water and not dried or shaken. If Raven's storm were to break in truth over Camelot, would it leave the world thus beautiful in its wake? Somehow she thought not.

Raven woke and looked at her, wide-eyed with dread. Morgaine said, quiet and practical as always, "We shall go to Niniane at once, then to the mirror before the sun rises. If the wrath of the Goddess is to descend on us, we must know how and why."

Raven gestured her silent assent, but when they were dressed and about to leave the house, Raven touched Morgaine's arm. "Go to Niniane," she whispered, with the racking struggle to make her unused voice do her bidding. "I will bring-Nimue. She too is part of this ... ."

For a moment Morgaine was startled almost to protest; then, with a glance at the paling sky in the east, she went. It might be that Raven had seen, in the evil dream of prophecy, the reason that Nimue had been brought here and kept in seclusion. Remembering the day when Viviane had told her of her own mission, she thought, Poor girl! But it was the will of the Goddess, they were all in her hands. As she went silent and alone through the wet orchard, she could see that all was not so calm and beautiful after all... the wind had ravaged the blossoms and the orchard lay under a white drift like snow; there would be little fruit this autumn.

We may plant the grain and till the soil. But only her favor brings the fruit to harvest ... .

Why then do I trouble myself? It will be as she wills ... .

Niniane, roused from sleep, looked at her as if she were mad. She is no true priestess, Morgaine thought; the Merlin spoke the truth-she was chosen only because she was Taliesin's kin. The time has come, perhaps, to stop pretending who is truly the Lady of Avalon and take my proper place. She did not want to offend Niniane, or seem to strive for power and set the younger woman down, she had had enough of power ... but no true priestess, chosen of the Goddess, could have slept through Raven's cry. Yet somehow this woman before her had passed through the ordeals which go to the making of a priestess; the Goddess had not rejected her. What would the Goddess have her do?

"I tell you, Niniane, I have seen it and so has Raven ... we must look before sunrise into the mirror!"

"I put not much faith in such things, either," said Niniane quietly. "What must come, will surely come ... but if you will, Morgaine, I will go with you-"

Silent, like spots of blackness in the white and watery world, they moved toward the mirror below the Sacred Well. And as they went Morgaine could see, like a shadow at the corner of her eyes, the tall silent form of Raven, veiled, and Nimue like a pale shadow, all blossom and pale flowers like the morning. Morgaine was struck at the girl's beauty-even Gwenhwyfar in the fullest flush of her youth had never been so beautiful. She felt a wild stab of pure jealousy and anguish. I had no such gift from the Goddess in return for all I must sacrifice ...

Niniane said, "Nimue is a maiden. It is she who must look into the mirror."

Their four dark forms were reflected in the pallid surface of the pool, against the pale reflection of the sky, where a few pale-pink streaks were beginning to herald the sunrise. Nimue moved to the edge of the pool, parting her long fair hair with both hands, and Morgaine found herself seeing in her mind the surface of a silver bowl, and Viviane's stilled, hypnotic face ... .

Nimue said in a low, wandering voice, "What would you that I should see, my mother?"

Morgaine waited for Raven to speak, but there was only silence. So Morgaine said at last, "Has Avalon been breached and fallen victim to treachery? What has befallen the Holy Regalia?"

Silence. Only a few birds chirped softly in the trees, and the soft sound of water rippled, falling from the channel which overflowed from the Well to make this still pool. Below them on the slopes Morgaine could see the white drifts of the ruined orchards, and high above, the pale shapes of the ring stones atop the Tor.

Silence. At last Nimue stirred and whispered, "I cannot see his face ... " and the pool rippled, and it seemed that Morgaine could see a hunched form, moving slowly and with difficulty ... the room where she had stood silent that day behind Viviane, when Taliesin laid Excalibur in Arthur's hand and she heard his voice forbidding ...

"No-it is death to touch the Holy Regalia unprepared ... ." For a moment Morgaine could hear the voice of Taliesin, not Nimue's voice ... but he had the right, he was the Merlin of Britain, and he took them from the hiding place, spear and cup and dish, and hiding the holy things under his cloak, he went out and across the Lake to where Excalibur gleamed in the darkness ... the Holy Regalia now reunited.

"Merlin!" whispered Niniane aloud. "But why?"

Morgaine knew her face was like stone as she said, "Once he spoke of this to me. He said that Avalon was now outside the world, and that the holy things must be within the world to the service of man and the Gods, by whatever name men called them ... ."

"He would profane them," Niniane said hotly, "and put them to the use of that God who would drive out all other Gods ... ."

In the silence, Morgaine heard the chanting of monks. Then the sunlight touched the mirror and turned it all to shooting fire which flooded her head and eyes, burning, blazing, and in the glare of the rising sun it seemed as if all the world burned in the light of a naming cross ... . She shut her eyes, covering her face with her hands.

"Let them go, Morgaine," whispered Raven. "The Goddess will certainly care for her own... ."

Again Morgaine could hear the chanting of the monks-Kyrie eleison, Christe eleison ... Lord, have mercy, Christ, have mercy.... The Holy Regalia were but tokens, surely the Goddess had let this befall them as a sign that Avalon needed these things no more, that they should go into the world and be in the service of men ... .

The flaming cross burned still before Morgaine's eyes; she covered them and turned away from the light. "Even I cannot abrogate the Merlin's vow. He swore a great oath and made the Great Marriage with the land in the King's stead, and now he is forsworn and his life forfeit. But before I deal with the traitor, I must deal with the treachery. The Regalia must be returned to Avalon, even if I must bring them hither again with my own hands. I will go forth to Camelot at dawn." And she suddenly saw her plan complete as Nimue whispered, "Must I go forth too? Is it mine to avenge the Goddess?"

She, Morgaine, would deal with the Holy Regalia. They had been left in her care, and if only she had taken her proper place here instead of revelling in sorrow and considering her own comfort, this could never have come to pass. But Nimue should be the instrument of the traitor's punishment.

Kevin had never seen Nimue. Of all those who dwelt on Avalon, the Merlin had never seen that one who dwelt in seclusion and silence. And as always transpires when the Goddess brings down punishment, it should be the Merlin's own undefended fortresses which should bring him to ruin.

She said slowly, clenching her fists ... how had she ever softened to that traitor? ... "You shall go forth to Camelot, Nimue. You are Queen Gwenhwyfar's cousin and the daughter of Lancelet. You will beg her that you may dwell among her ladies, and beg her to keep it secret, even from King Arthur, that you have ever dwelt in Avalon. Pretend even, if you must, that you have become a Christian. And there you will come to know the Merlin. He has a great weakness. He believes that women shun him because he is ugly and because he is lame. And for the woman who shows no fear or revulsion of him, for that woman who shows him again the manhood he craves and fears, he will do anything, he would give his very life ... . Nimue," she said, looking straight into the girl's frightened eyes, "you will seduce him to your bed. You will bind him to you with such spells that he is your slave, body and soul."

"And then-" said Nimue, trembling, "what then? Must I kill him?"

Morgaine would have spoken, but Niniane spoke first.

"Such death as you could give would be all too swift for such a traitor. You must bring him, enchanted, to Avalon, Nimue. And there he shall die a traitor's cursed death within the oak grove."

Trembling, Morgaine knew what fate awaited him-to be flayed alive, then thrust living within the cleft of the oak, and the opening stopped with wattle and daub, leaving only enough space so that his breath would not fail, lest he die too quickly .....he bowed her head, trying to conceal her shudder. The blinding sun was gone from the water; the sky dripped with pale dawn clouds. Niniane said, "Our work is done here. Come, Mother -" but Morgaine pulled herself free.

"Not done-I too must go forth for Camelot. I must know to what use the traitor has put the Holy Regalia." She sighed; she had hoped never again to go forth from the shore of Avalon, but there was no other to do what must be done.

Raven put out her hand. She was shaking so terribly that Morgaine feared she would fall; and now she whispered, her ruined voice only a distant hiss and scratching like wind against dead branches, "I too must go ... it is my fate, that I shall not lie where all those before me have lain in the enchanted country ... I ride with you, Morgaine."

"No, no, Raven," Morgaine protested. "Not you!" Raven had never set foot off Avalon, not in fifty years ... surely she could not survive the journey! But nothing she could say shook Raven's determination; shivering with terror, she was adamant: she had seen her destiny and must go with Morgaine at any cost.

"But I am not going as Niniane would travel, in the pomp of priestess garb, in the litter of Avalon, riding in state to Camelot," she argued. "I am going in disguise as an old peasant woman, as Viviane travelled so often in the old days." But Raven shook her head and said, "Any road you can travel, Morgaine, I too can travel."

Morgaine still felt a deadly fear-not for herself, but for Raven. But she said, "Be it so," and they made ready to ride. And later that day they took their secret ways out of Avalon, Nimue travelling in state as the kinswoman of the Queen, riding on the main roads, and Morgaine and Raven, wrapped in the somber rags of beggar women, out of Avalon by the back ways and side roads, making their way on foot toward Camelot.

Raven was stronger than Morgaine had believed; as they made their way, day by day, slow-paced and afoot, at times it seemed that she was the stronger. They begged broken meats at farm doors, they stole a bit of bread left for a dog at the back of a farmstead, they slept once in a deserted villa and one night beneath a haystack. And on that last night, for the first time on their silent journey, Raven spoke.

"Morgaine," she said, when they were lying side by side, wrapped in their cloaks, under the shadow of the hay, "tomorrow is Easter at Camelot, and we must be there at dawn."

Morgaine would have asked why, but she knew Raven could give her no answer but this-that she had seen it as their fate. And so she answered, "Then we shall leave here before dawn. It is no more than an hour's walk from here-we might have kept walking and slept in the shadow of Camelot, if you had told me this before, Raven."

"I could not," Raven whispered. "I was afraid." And Morgaine knew that the other woman was weeping in the darkness. "I am so frightened, Morgaine, so frightened!"

Morgaine said brusquely, "I told you that you should have remained in Avalon!"

"But I had the work of the Goddess to do," whispered Raven. "In all these years I have dwelt in the shelter of Avalon, and now it is Ceridwen, our Mother, who demands my all in return for all the shelter and safety I have had from her ... but I am afraid, so afraid. Morgaine, hold me, hold me, I am so frightened-"

Morgaine clasped her close and kissed her, rocking her like a child. Then, as if they entered together into a great silence, she held Raven against her, touching her, caressing her, their bodies clinging together in something like frenzy. Neither spoke, but Morgaine felt the world trembling in a strange and sacramental rhythm around them, in no light but the darkness of the dark side of the moon-woman to woman, affirming life in the shadow of death. As maiden and man in the light of the spring moon and the Beltane fires affirmed life in the running of spring and the rutting which would bring death in the field to him and death in childbearing to her; so in the shadow and darkness of the sacrificed god, in the dark moon, the priestesses of Avalon together called on the life of the Goddess and in the silence she answered them ... . They lay at last quiet in each other's arms, and Raven's weeping was stilled at last. She lay like death, and Morgaine, feeling her heart slowing to stillness, thought, I must let her go even into the shadow of death if that is the will of the Goddess ... . And she could not even weep.

NO ONE took the slightest notice of two peasant women, no longer young, in the turmoil and tumult about the gates of Camelot this morning. Morgaine was used to this; Raven, who had lived so long in seclusion even on quiet Avalon, turned white as bone and tried to hide herself under her ragged shawl. Morgaine also kept her own shawl about her-there were some who would recognize the lady Morgaine, even with her hair streaked with white and in the garb of a peasant woman.

A drover striding through the yard with a calf ran into Raven and came near to knocking her down, and he cursed her when she only stared at him in dismay. Morgaine said quickly, "My sister is deaf and dumb," and his face changed.

"Ah, poor thing-look, go up by there, they're giving everybody a good dinner at the lower end of the King's hall. You two can creep in at that door and watch them when they come in-the King's got some big thing planned with one of the priests in the hall today. You'll be from upcountry and not know his ways? Well, everyone in this countryside knows that he makes it a custom-he never sits down to his great feasts unless there's some great marvel arranged, and we heard today that there is to be something truly marvelous."

I doubt it not, Morgaine thought disdainfully, but she only thanked the man in the rough country dialect she had used before and drew Raven along with her toward the lower hall, which was filling rapidly-King Arthur's generosity on feast days was well known, and this would be the best dinner many people had all year. There was a smell of roasting meat in the air, and most of the people jostling round her commented greedily on it. As for Morgaine, it only made her feel sick, and after one look at Raven's white terrified face, she decided to withdraw.

She should not have come. It was I who failed to see the danger to the Holy Regalia; it was I who failed to see that the Merlin was traitor. And when I have done what I must do, how will I manage to flee to Avalon with Raven in this condition?

She found a corner where they would be disregarded, but where they could see reasonably well what was happening. At the higher end of the room was the great mead-hall table, the Round Table which was already almost legendary in the countryside, with the great dais for the King and Queen, and the painted names of Arthur's Companions over their customary places. On the walls hung brilliant banners. And after years spent in the austerity of Avalon, this all seemed gaudy and garish to Morgaine.

After a long time there was a stir, and then the sound of trumpets somewhere, and a whisper ran through the jostling crowd. Morgaine thought, It will be strange to see the court from outside, after being a part of it for so long! Cai was opening the great doors to the upper end of the hall, and Morgaine shrank-Cai would know her, whatever garb she wore! But why should he even look in her direction?

How many years had she spent quietly drifting in Avalon? She had no idea. But Arthur seemed even taller, more majestic, his hair so fair that no one could have told whether or no there were silver strands among the carefully combed curls. Gwenhwyfar, too, although her breasts sagged under the elaborate gown, bore herself upright and seemed slim as ever.

"Look how young the Queen looks," muttered one of Morgaine's neighbors, "yet Arthur married her the year I had my first son, and look at me." Morgaine glanced at the speaker, bent and toothless, stooped like a bent bow. "I heard that witch sister of the King, Morgaine of the Fairies, gave them both spells to keep their youth ... ."

"Spells or no," mumbled another toothless crone tartly, "if Queen Gwenhwyfar had to muck out a byre night and morning, and bear a babe every year and suckle it in good times and bad, there'd be none of that beauty left, bless her! Things are as they are, but I wish some priest'ud tell me why she gets all the good in life and I get all the misery?"

"Stop grumbling," said the first speaker. "You'll have your belly full today, and get to see all the lords and ladies, and you know what the old Druids used to say about why things are what they are. Queen Gwenhwyfar up there gets fine gowns and jewels and a queen's business because she did good in her last lives, and the likes of you and me are poor and ugly because we were ignorant, and someday, if we mind what we do in this life, there's a better fortune for us too."

"Oh, aye," grunted the other old woman, "priests and Druids are all alike. The Druid says that, and the priest says if we do our duty in this life we'll go to Heaven and live with Jesus and feast with him there and never come back to this wicked world at all! It all winds up the same, whatever the lot of them say-some are born in misery and die in misery, and others have it all their own way!"

"But she's none so happy, I've heard," said another of the group of old women wedged in together. "For all her queening it, she's never borne a single babe, and I have a good son to work the farm for me, and one daughter married to the man at the next farm, and another who's servant to the nuns on Glastonbury. And Queen Gwenhwyfar has had to adopt sir Galahad there, who's the son of Lancelet and of her own cousin Elaine, for Arthur's heir!"

"Oh, aye, that's what they tell you," said a fourth old woman, "but you know and I know, when Queen Gwenhwyfar was absent from court in the sixth or seventh year of his reign-something like that-don't you think they were all counting on their fingers? My stepbrother's wife was a kitchen woman here at court, and he said it was common talk all round here that the Queen spent her nights in another bed than her husband's-"

"Keep quiet, old gossip," said the first speaker. "Just let one of the chamberlains hear you say that aloud, and you'll be ducked in the pond for a scold! I say Galahad's a good knight and he'll make a good king, long live King Arthur! And who cares who his mother is? I think meself he's one of Arthur's by-blows-he's fair like him. And look yonder at sir Mordred-everybody knows he's the King's bastard son by some harlot or other."

"I heard worse than that," said one of the women. "I heard Mordred's the son of one of the fairy witches and Arthur took him to court in pawn for his soul, to live a hundred years-you'll see, he'll not age, sir Mordred there. Just look at Arthur, he must be past fifty and he could be a man in his thirties!"

Another old woman spoke a barnyard obscenity. "What's it to me, all of that? If the Devil were about business like that, he could have made yonder Mordred in Arthur's own image so anyone could accept him as Arthur's son! Arthur's mother was of the old blood of Avalon-did you never see the lady Morgaine? She was dark too, and Lancelet, who's his kin, was like that. ... I'd rather believe what they said before, that Mordred is Lancelet's bastard son by the lady Morgaine! You've only got to look at them-and the lady Morgaine pretty enough in her way, little and dark as she was."

"She's not among the ladies," one of the women remarked, and the woman who had known a kitchen woman at court said authoritatively, "Why, she quarreled with Arthur and went away to the land of Fairy, but everybody knows that on All Hallows Night she flies round the castle on a hazel twig and anyone who catches sight of her will be struck blind."

Morgaine buried her face in her ragged cloak to smother a giggle. Raven, hearing, turned an indignant face to Morgaine, but Morgaine shook her head; they must keep still and not be noticed.

The knights were seating themselves in their accustomed places. Lancelet, as he took his seat, raised his head, looking sharply round the hall, and for a moment it seemed to Morgaine that he sought her out where she stood, that his eyes met hers-shivering, she ducked her head. Chamberlains were moving at both ends of the hall, pouring wine for the Companions and their ladies, pouring good brown beer from great leather jacks down among the peasants crowded in at the lower end. Morgaine held out her cup and Raven's, and when Raven refused, she said in a harsh whisper, "Drink it! You look like death, and you must be strong enough for whatever is coming." Raven put the wooden cup to her lips and sipped, but she could hardly swallow. The woman who had said that the lady Morgaine was pretty enough in her way asked, "Is she sick, your sister?"

Morgaine said, "She is frightened, she has never seen the court before."

"Fine, aren't they, the lords and ladies? What a spectacle! And we'll get a good dinner soon," said the woman to Raven. "Hey, doesn't she hear?"

"She is not deaf, but dumb," Morgaine said again. "I think maybe she understands a little of what I say to her, but no one else."

"Now you come to speak of it, she does look simpleminded, at that," said the other woman, and patted Raven on the head like a dog. "Has she always been like that? What a pity, and you have to look after her. You're a good woman. Sometimes when children are like that, their folks tie them to a tree like a stray dog, and here you take her to court and all. Look at the priest in his gold robes! That's the bishop Patricius, they say he drove all the snakes out of his own country ... think of that! Do you think he fought them with sticks?"

"It's a way of saying he drove out all the Druids-they are called serpents of wisdom," Morgaine said.

"How'd the likes of you know a thing like that?" Morgaine's interrogator scoffed. "I heard for sure that it was snakes, and anyhow all those wise folk, Druids and priests, they hang together, they wouldn't quarrel!"

"Very likely," said Morgaine, not wanting to draw further attention to herself, her eyes going to Bishop Patricius. Behind him there was someone in the robes of a monk-a hunched figure, bent over and moving with difficulty-now what was the Merlin doing in the bishop's train? She said, her need to know overcoming the risk of attracting attention, "What's going to happen? I thought surely they would have heard their mass in the chapel this morning, all the lords and ladies-"

"I heard," said one of the women, "that since the chapel would hold so few, there would be a special mass here today for all the folk before meat -see, the bishop's men carrying in that altar with the white cloth and all. Sssshh-listen!"

Morgaine felt that she would go mad with rage and despair. Were they going to profane the Holy Regalia beyond any possibility of cleansing, by using it to serve a Christian mass?

"Draw near, all ye people," the bishop was atoning, "for today the old order giveth way to the new. Christ has triumphed over all the old and pretended Gods who shall now be subservient to his name. For the True Christ said unto mankind, I am the Way and the Truth and the Life. Also he said, No man may come to the Father except he come in my name, for there is no other name under Heaven in which you may be saved. And by that token, then, all those things which once were devoted to false Gods before mankind had knowledge of the truth, now shall be devoted to Christ and newly dedicated in service to the True God ... ."

But Morgaine heard no more; suddenly she knew what they were planning to do-No! I am sworn to the Goddess. I must not allow this blasphemy! She turned and touched Raven's arm; even here, in the midst of this crowded hall, they were open one to the other. They would use the Holy Regalia of the Goddess to summon the Presence ... which is One ... but they would do it in the narrow name of that Christ who calls all Gods demons, unless they invoke in his name!

The cup the Christians use in their mass is the invocation of water, even as the plate whereon they lay their holy bread is the sacred dish of the element of earth. Now, using the ancient things of the Goddess, they would invoke their own narrow God; yet instead of the pure water of the holy earth, coming from the clear crystal spring of the Goddess, they have defiled her chalice with wine!

In the cup of the Goddess, O Mother, is the cauldron of Ceridwen, wherein all men are nourished and from which all men have all the good things of this world. You have called upon the Goddess, O ye willful priests, but will you dare her presence if she should come? Morgaine clasped her hands in the most fervent invocation of her life. I am thy priestess, O Mother! Use me, I pray, as you will!

She felt the rushing downward of power, felt herself standing taller, taller, as the power flooded through her body and soul and filled her; she was no longer conscious of Raven's hands holding her upright, filling her like the chalice with the sacred wine of the holy presence ... .

She moved forward and saw Patricius, stunned, draw back before her. She had no fear, and though she knew it was death to touch the Holy Regalia unprepared-how, she wondered in a remote corner of her waking mind, did Kevin manage to prepare the bishop? Had he betrayed that secret too? She knew with certainty that all her life had been preparation for this moment when, as the Goddess herself, she raised the cup between her hands.

Afterward, she heard, some said that they saw the Holy Chalice borne round the room by a maiden clothed in shimmering white; others said that they heard a great rushing wind fill the hall, and a sound of many harps. Morgaine knew only that she lifted the cup between her hands, seeing it glow like a great sparkling jewel, a ruby, a living, beating heart pulsing between her hands . .. she moved toward the bishop and he fell to his knees before her as she whispered, "Drink. This is the Holy Presence ... ."

He drank, and briefly she wondered what it was that he saw, but then he fell away behind her as she moved on, or the cup itself moved, drawing her with it ... she could not tell. She heard a sound as of many wings, rushing before her, and she smelled a sweetness that was neither incense nor perfume ... . The chalice, some said later, was invisible; others said that it shone like a great star which blinded every eye that looked on it.... Every person in that hall found his plate filled with such things as he liked best to eat ... again and again later she heard that tale, and by that token she knew that what she had borne was the cauldron of Ceridwen. But for the other tales she had no explanation, and needed none. She is the Goddess, she will do as she will ... .

As she moved before Lancelet she heard him whisper in awe, "Is it you, Mother? Or do I dream? ... " and set the cup to his lips, filled with overflowing tenderness; today she was mother to them all. Even Arthur knelt before her as the cup briefly passed before his lips.

I am all things-Virgin and Mother and she who gives life and death. Ignore me at your peril, ye who call on other Names ... know ye that I am One ... . Of all those in that great hall, only Nimue, she thought, had recognized her, had looked up in astonished recognition; yes, Nimue too had been reared to know the Goddess, whatever form she might take. "You too, my child," she whispered with infinite compassion, and Nimue knelt to drink, and Morgaine felt somewhere through her the surging of lust and vengeance, and thought, Yes, this too is a part of me ... .

Morgaine faltered, felt Raven's strength bearing her up ... was Raven beside her, holding the cup? Or was it illusion, was Raven still crouching in her corner, holding her upright with a flow of strength which poured through them both into the Goddess bearing the cup ... ? Later, Morgaine never knew whether in truth she had borne the chalice or whether that, too, had been part of the vast magic she had woven for the Goddess ... yet it seemed to her, still, that she bore the cup around the great hall, that every man and every woman there knelt and drank, that the sweetness and the bliss flooded her, that she walked as if borne along on those great wings she could hear ... and then Mordred's face was before her.

I am not your mother, I am the Mother of All ... .

Galahad was white, overawed. Did he see it as the cup of life or as the holy chalice of Christ? Did it matter? Gareth, Gawaine, Lucan, Bedivere, Palomides, Cai... all the old Companions and many she did not recognize, and it seemed at the last that they walked somewhere beyond the spaces of the world, and all of those who had ever been among them, even those who had passed beyond this world, came to commune with them at the Round Table this day-Ectorius, Lot, dead years since at Mount Badon; young Drustan, murdered in jealous rage by Marcus; Lionel; Bors; Balin and Balan hand in hand, like brothers again past the gates of death ... all those who had ever gathered here around the Round Table, past and present, today were gathered here in this moment beyond time, even at last before the wise eyes of Taliesin. And then it was Kevin kneeling before her, the cup to his lips ...

Even you. I forgive all this day ... whatever may come in the times yet to be seen ... .

At last she raised the chalice to her own lips and drank. The water of the Sacred Well was sweet on her lips, and though she saw now all the others in the hall eating and drinking, somehow it seemed, when she took a bite of bread, that on her lips it was the soft honey bannock that Igraine had baked for her when she was a child in Tintagel.

She replaced the cup on the altar, where it shone like a star ... .

Now! Now, Raven, the Great Magic! It took all the strength of all the Druids to shift Avalon from this world, but now we need not do so much ... the cup and the dish and the spear must go ... they must go from this world forever, safely into Avalon, never again to be touched or profaned by mortal men. Never again may they be used for our own magic among the ring stones, for they have been defied by their moments on a Christian altar. But never again will they be profaned by priests of a narrow God who would deny all other truths ... .

She felt Raven's touch, hands gripping hers, and it seemed to her that beyond Raven's hands she felt other hands, she knew not whose ... and in the hall it seemed as if the great wings napped for a final time and a great rushing wind swept through the hall and was gone. White daylight broke into the room, and the altar was bare and empty, and the white cloth was crumpled and lying there untenanted. She could see the pale terrified face of Bishop Patricius.

"God has visited us," he whispered, "and today we have drunk of the wine of life by the Holy Grail ... ."

Gawaine leaped to his feet. "But who has stolen away the holy vessel?" he cried. "We have seen it veiled ... I swear I shall go forth to find it and bring it again to this court! And on this quest I shall spend a twelvemonth and a day, till I see it more clearly than here ... ."

Of course it would have to be Gawaine, thought Morgaine, always first to set himself face to face with the unknown! Yet he had played into her hands. Galahad stood up, pale and shining with excitement.

"A twelvemonth, sir Gawaine? I swear that I shall spend all my life, if need be, till I see the Grail clear before me. ..."

Arthur held out his hand and tried to speak, but the fever had caught them all and they were crying out, pledging themselves, all talking at once.

There is now no other cause so dear to their hearts, Morgaine thought. The wars have been won, there is peace in the land. Between wars, even the Caesars had the sense to set their legions to the building of roads and the conquest of new lands. Now this quest, they think, will unite them again in the old fervor. Once again they are the Companions of the Round Table, but this will scatter them to the four winds ... in the name of that God you would set above Avalon, Arthur! The Goddess works as she will ... .

Mordred had risen and was speaking, but Morgaine had eyes now only for Raven, fallen to the floor. All round her the old peasant women were still chattering about the fine foods and drink they had tasted under the spell of the cauldron.

"White wine it was, rich and sweet as fresh honey and grapes ... I never tasted it but once, years ago ... "

"Plum cake I had, stuffed with raisins and plums and a sauce of rich red wine ... I never had anything so good ... "

But Raven lay silent, white as death, and when Morgaine bent to her, she knew what she had already known when she first saw her lying there. The weight of that Great Magic had been too much for the terrified woman; she had held firm, buoyed by the Great Magic, until the Grail had gone away to Avalon, all her own strength poured out selflessly to strengthen Morgaine in the work of the Goddess; and then, that strength withdrawn, her life had gone with it. Morgaine held her close, in wild grief and despair.

I have killed her too. Truly, truly, now have I killed the last one I had to love ... . Mother, Goddess, why could it not have been me? I have nothing more to live for, no one to love, and Raven has never harmed a living soul, never, never ... .

Morgaine saw Nimue come down from her high seat beside the Queen and speak with the Merlin, her look warm and sweet, and lay a confiding hand on his arm. Arthur was speaking with Lancelet, the tears streaming down both their faces; she saw them embrace and kiss as they had not done since they were boys. Arthur left him then, and walked down into the lower end of the hall, moving among his subjects.

"Is all well, my people?"

All were speaking to him about the magical feast, but as he came nearer someone called out, "Here's an old deaf and dumb woman, my lord Arthur, dead-the excitement was just too much for her!"

Arthur walked to where Raven lay lifeless in Morgaine's arms. Morgaine did not raise her head. Would he recognize her, cry out, accuse her of witchcraft ... ?

His voice was gentle and familiar, but distant. Of course, she thought, he is not speaking now to sister or priestess or equal, he sees no more than a crouching old peasant woman, white-haired, clad in rags. "Your sister, my good woman? I am sorry this has come to you at a festival, but God has taken her at a blessed moment into the very arms of his own angel. Would you have her lie here for burial? She shall lie in the churchyard, if you wish."

The women around drew breath, and Morgaine knew this was, indeed, the highest charity he could offer. But her cloak still over her head, she said, "No." And then, as if compelled, looked up into his eyes.

They had changed so much, both of them ... she was old and burdened, but Arthur, too, had changed from the young King Stag ... .

Not then nor ever did Morgaine know whether Arthur had recognized her. Their eyes met for a moment, then he said gently, "Would you take her home then? Be it as you will, mother. Tell my stablemen to give you a horse-show them this." He put a ring into her hand. Morgaine bent her head, squeezing her eyes tight against tears, and when she raised it again, Arthur was gone.

"Here, I'll help ye carry her," said one of the women nearby, and then another, and they bore Raven's slight body from the hall. And Morgaine was tempted to look back into the hall of the Round Table, for she knew she would never see it again, nor ever set foot again upon Camelot.

Now her work was done, and she would return to Avalon. But she would return alone. Now she would always be alone.

10

Gwenhwyfar watching the preparations in the hall, hearing Bishop Patricius' soft voice saying, No man may come to the Father Except he call upon my name, looked on the cup with mixed emotions. Half of her said, This beautiful thing should be dedicated, as Patricius wishes, to the service of Christ; even the Merlin has come at last to the cross.

But the other half of her insisted, quite against her will, No. It would have been better to destroy it, to melt down the gold if need be, and fashion from it another chalice dedicated, from its first making, to the true service of the true God. For this one is of the Goddess, as they call her, and that same Goddess is that great harlot who has from the beginning of time been the enemy of God ... . Truly the priests say, with woman came evil into this world, and then she was confused, for surely not all that is woman can be evil-even God chose a woman to bear his son, and Christ himself spoke of Heaven to his chosen disciples and their sisters and wives ... .

One, at least, had forsaken that Goddess. She felt her face soften as she looked on Nimue-Elaine's daughter, and very like Elaine as a child, but even more beautiful, with something of the smiling gaiety and dancing grace of the younger Lancelet. So fair and sweet was Nimue, she could not believe anything of her was evil, yet this woman had served since childhood in the very house of the Goddess. And now she had repented of that evil service and come to Camelot, begging that no one should know that she had served in Avalon, not even Bishop Patricius. Not even Arthur. It would be hard, Gwenhwyfar thought, to refuse Nimue anything at all; she had willingly pledged herself to keep the young maiden's secret.

She looked past Nimue to where Patricius was standing, ready to take the cup with his hands. And then ...

... and then it seemed to Gwenhwyfar that a great angel, wings falling away in shadow behind the shining form, raised between its hands a cup that glowed like a great shining star. It was crimson like a beating heart, a glowing ruby ... no, but it was the very blue of the deepest heaven, and there was a scent like all the roses of every garden she had ever entered in all her life. And a great clean-scented wind seemed suddenly to blow through the hall, and though they were at holy service, Gwenhwyfar suddenly felt that she could rise from her seat and run out of doors on the hills, into the great spaces which belonged to God, under his great wide healing sky. She knew, knew deep within her heart, that she would never again be afraid to leave the prison of chamber and hall; she could walk under the open sky and on the hills without fear, because wherever she might go, God would be with her. She smiled; disbelieving, she heard herself laugh aloud, and the small, once-prisoned thing within her asked angrily, At holy service? but the real Gwenhwyfar said, still laughing, though no one heard, If I may not take delight in God, then what is God to me?

And then, through the sweet scents and joy, the angel was before her and the cup at her lips. Shaking, she drank, lowering her eyes, but then she felt a touch on her head and looked up, and she saw that it was not an angel but a woman veiled in blue, with great sad eyes. There was no sound, but the woman said to her, Before Christ ever was, I am, and it was I who made you as you are. Therefore, my beloved daughter, forget all shame and be joyful because you, too, are of the same nature as myself.

Gwenhwyfar felt that her whole body and heart were made of pure joy. She had not been as happy as this since she was a little child. Even in Lancelet's arms she had never known this absolute bliss. Ah, could I only have brought this to my lover! She knew that the angel, or whatever Presence had touched her, had moved on, and she was saddened that it had withdrawn, but the joy was still pulsing inside her, and she looked up, with love, as the angel held the burning cup to Lancelet's lips. Ah, if only she can give you some of this joy, my sorrowing lover!

The fiery flames and the rushing wind filled the hall and were silenced. Gwenhwyfar ate and drank, although she never knew what it was, only that it was sweet and savorous; and she gave herself up to the delight of it. Surely whatever has come among us today, it is holy ... .

Silence fell on the hall; it seemed bare and empty in the pale noonday, and Gawaine had risen, crying out. And after him Galahad.

"I swear that I shall spend all my life, if need be, till I see the Grail clear before me ... ."

Bishop Patricius looked faint, and she remembered that he was old; and the altar where the cup had lain was empty. She rose swiftly from her place and went to him.

"Father-" she said, and held a cup of wine to his lips. He sipped, and as the color began to come back into his lined face, he whispered, "Surely something holy has come among us. ... I was fed truly at the Lord's Table by the very cup from which he drank on that last holy night before he went to his Passion ... ."

Gwenhwyfar was beginning to know what had happened-whatever had come to them that day by God's will was a vision. The bishop whispered, "Did you see, my queen, the very cup of Christ ... "

She said gently, "Alas no, dear Father, perhaps I was not worthy for that, but I saw an angel, I think, and I thought for a moment it was God's Holy Mother who stood before me ... ."

"God has given us each a vision," said Patricius. "How I have prayed that something might come among us, to inspire all these men with the love of the true vision of Christ ... ."

Gwenhwyfar thought of the ancient proverb, Have a care what you pray for, it might be given you. Surely something had inspired these men. One after another they were rising, pledging to spend a year and a day searching, and she thought, All of the Round Table now is scattering to the four winds.

She looked at the altar where the chalice had lain. No, she thought, Bishop Patricius and Kevin the Merlin, you were wrong as Arthur was wrong. You cannot call down God to serve your own purposes this way. God blows through human purposes like a mighty wind, like the rush of angel's wings which I heard in this hall this day, and tears them asunder ... .

And then she wondered, What is wrong with me, that I am thinking to criticize Arthur or even the bishop for what they did? Yet then, with new strength, she thought, By God, yes! They are not God, they are only men, and their purposes are not sacred! She looked at Arthur, walking now among the peasants and subjects at the far end of the hall ... down there something had happened, some peasant had fallen down dead, perhaps overfilled with the joy of the Holy Presence. He came walking back, looking sorrowful.

"Gawaine, must you go-Galahad-? Not you too, my son? Bors, Lionel-what, all of you?"

"My lord Arthur," called out Mordred. He wore, as always, the crimson which suited him so well and which exaggerated, almost to the point of caricature, his likeness to the young Lancelet.

Arthur's voice was gentle, "What is it, my dear boy?"

"My king, I ask your permission not to go on this quest," he said. "Though it may be laid on all your knights, someone must remain at your side."

Gwenhwyfar felt an overflowing tenderness for the young man. Ah, this is Arthur's true son, not Galahad, all dreams and visions! Had there ever been a time when she had disliked and distrusted Mordred? She said, heartfelt, "May God bless you, Mordred," and the young man smiled at her. Arthur bowed his head and said, "Be it so, my son."

It was the first time Arthur had called him so before other men; Gwenhwyfar gauged his disturbance by that. "God help us both, Gwydion -Mordred, I should say-with so many of my Companions scattered to the four corners of the world, and God alone can say whether or no they will ever return ... ." He reached out and clasped Mordred's hands, and for a moment it seemed to Gwenhwyfar that he leaned on his son's strong arm.

Lancelet came to her side and bowed. "Lady, may I take my leave of you?"

It seemed to Gwenhwyfar that tears were as near the surface as joy. "Ah, love, must you go on this quest?" and cared not who heard her speak the words. Arthur too looked troubled, holding out his hand to his cousin and friend. "Will you leave us, Lancelet?"

He nodded; there was something rapt, otherworldly, shining in his face. So it had come to him, too, that great joy? But why, then, did he need to go forth to seek it? Surely it was within him as well?

"All these years, my love," she said, "have you told me that you are none so good a Christian as all that. Why then must you run away from me on this quest?"

She saw him struggling for words, and at last he said, "All those years, I knew not whether God was nothing but an old tale told by the priests to frighten us. Now I have seen-" He wet his lips again with his tongue, trying to find words for something beyond them. "I have seen ... something. If a vision such as this can be shown, whether of Christ or of the Devil-"

"Surely," interrupted Gwenhwyfar, "surely it came of God, Lancelet-"

"So you say, for you have seen, you know," he said, holding her hand against his heart. "I am not sure-methinks my mother mocked at me, or all Gods are one as Taliesin used to say-I am torn now between the darkness of never knowing, and the light beyond despair, which tells me - " And again he fumbled for words. "It was as if a great bell called to me, far away, a light like to the faraway lights in the marsh, saying, Follow ... and I know that the truth, the real truth, is there, there, just beyond my grasp, if I can only follow it and find it there and tear away that veil which shrouds it ... it is there if only I can reach it, my Gwenhwyfar. Would you deny me the search, now that I know there is truly something worth the finding?"

It seemed as if they were alone in a room, not in the court before all men. She knew she could prevail on him in all else, but who can come between a man and his soul? God had not seen fit to give him this sureness and joy, and she did not wonder that he must now go seeking for it, for if she had sensed it was there, yet without the surety, she too would have spent the rest of her life in that seeking. She reached both hands to him, and said, feeling as though she embraced him before all men in the clear light of day, "Go then, my beloved, and God reward your search with the truth you seek."

And he said, "God remain with you always, my queen, and may he grant that someday I return to you."

Then he turned to Arthur, but Gwenhwyfar did not hear what they said, only that he embraced Arthur as he had done when they were all young and innocent.

Arthur stood, his hand on Gwenhwyfar's shoulder, watching him go. "I think sometimes," he said softly, "that Lance is the best of us," and she turned to him, her heart overflowing with love for this good man who was her husband, and said, "I think so too, my dearest love."

He said, surprising her, "I love you both, Gwen. Never think, never, that you are less to me than anything on earth. I am almost glad you have never borne me a son," he added, almost in a whisper, "for then you might think I loved you only for that, and now I can say to you, I love you beyond all else save only my duty to this land whereof God has given me the stewardship, and you cannot be jealous of that. ..."

"No," she said softly. And then, for once meaning it absolutely, without reservation, she said, "And I love you too, Arthur, never doubt that."

"I have never for a moment doubted that, my own dear love." And he raised both her hands to his lips and kissed them, and Gwenhwyfar was filled again with that great and overflowing joy. What woman alive has had so much of life, that the two greatest men within the borders of this world have loved me?

All around them, the noises of the court were rising again, demanding notice for the things of everyday life. Everyone, it seemed, had seen something different-an angel; a maiden bearing the Grail; some, like herself, had seemed to see the Holy Mother; and many, many others had seen nothing, nothing but a light too bright to bear, and had been filled with peace and joy, and been fed with such meats and drinks as they liked best.

Now a rumor was going about that, by the favor of Christ, what they had seen was the very Grail from which Christ had drunk at the Last Supper among his disciples, where he broke the bread and shared the wine as if it were body and blood of the ancient sacrifice. Had Bishop Patricius chosen his moment to spread that tale, while they were all confused and no man knew precisely what he had actually seen?

There was a tale Morgaine had told her, Gwenhwyfar remembered, crossing herself: Jesus of Nazareth, they said in Avalon, had come here in youth to be educated among the wise Druids in Glastonbury, and after his death, his foster-father, Joseph of Arimathea, had come here and struck his staff into the ground where it had blossomed into the Holy Thorn. Did it not then seem reasonable that this same Joseph had brought hither the cup of the sacrifice? Surely, whatever passed, it was holy ... surely this was a holy thing, since, if it had not come of God, it could not be anything but a most evil enchantment, and how could such beauty, such joy, be evil?

Yet whatever the bishop said, it had been an evil gift, Gwenhwyfar thought, shaking. One by one, the Companions had arisen and ridden forth on their quest, and now she looked on a hall which was all but empty. They were gone, all the Companions save for Mordred, who had vowed to remain, and Cai, who was too old and lame to ride forth. Arthur turned away from Cai-she knew he must be comforting Cai for not riding on this quest with the others-and he said, "Ah, I too should have ridden forth with them, but I could not. I would not shatter their dream."

She came and herself poured him some wine, and she wished suddenly that they were within their own rooms, not here where they were left alone in the hall of the Round Table. "Arthur, you planned what happened-you told me that something amazing was being planned for Easter-"

"Yes," he said, leaning back wearily in his chair, "but I swear to you that I knew not what was planned by Bishop Patricius or by the Merlin. I knew that Kevin had brought here the Holy Regalia from Avalon." He laid a hand on his sword. "I was given the sword at my crowning, and now it has been given to the service of this kingdom and of Christ. It seemed to me, as the Merlin said, that the holiest of Mysteries of the ancient world should be put to the service of God, since all the Gods are one, as Taliesin always told us. In the old days the Druids called their God by other names, but these things belonged to God and should be given to him. Yet I know not what happened in the hall this day."

"You know not? You? Does it not seem to you that we beheld a true miracle, that God himself came before us to show that the Holy Grail should be reclaimed for his service?"

"At times, I think so," said Arthur, slowly, "and then I wonder ... was it not the magic of the Merlin which enchanted us, so that we should see a vision and think thus? For now are my Companions gone forth from me, and who knows whether they shall ever return?" He raised his face to her; she noticed, as from very far away, that his eyebrows were all white now, and that his fair hair was liberally silvered.

He said, "Knew you not that Morgaine was here?"

"Morgaine?" Gwenhwyfar shook her head. "No, I knew it not ... why came she not to greet us?"

He smiled, "You ask that? She left our court under my great displeasure." His lips tightened and again his hand sought the hilt of Excalibur, as if to reassure himself that still it lay at his side. It hung now in a leather scabbard, a coarse and ugly thing; she had never dared to ask him what had become of the one Morgaine had made for him so many years ago, but now she guessed that was behind their quarrel.

"You knew it not-that she had rebelled against me. She would have put her paramour Accolon on the throne in my place ... "

Gwenhwyfar had thought she would never again feel wrath at any living creature after the day's joyous vision; even now, what she mostly felt was pity for Morgaine, and pity too for Arthur, knowing how he had loved and trusted the sister who had betrayed him. "Why did you not tell me that? I never trusted her."

"That is why," said Arthur, pressing her hand. "I thought I could not bear it, to hear you say how you trusted her never, and how you had often warned me against her. But Morgaine was here this day, in the guise of an old peasant woman. She looked old, Gwenhwyfar, old and harmless and sick. I think that she had come in disguise for another look, perhaps, at that place where once she had held high state, and perhaps for another glimpse of her son ... . She looked older than our mother looked when she died ... " and he was silent, reckoning for a moment on his fingers, and saying at last, "Why, and so she is, as I am older than my father ever was, my Gwenhwyfar. ... I think not that Morgaine came to do mischief, and if she did, why, for sure it was prevented by the holy vision .. ." and he was silent. Gwenhwyfar knew, with her sure instinct, that he did not want to say aloud that he loved Morgaine still and that he missed her.

As the years pass there are so many things I cannot say to Arthur, or he to me ... but at least we both spoke today of Lancelet and of the love that was among us all. And it seemed to her for the moment that this love was the greatest truth in her life, and that love could never be weighed out or measured, so much for this one and so much for that, but was an endless and eternal flow, that the more she loved, the more love she had to give, as she gave it now to everyone, as it had been given her by her vision.

Even toward the Merlin, today, she felt that flow of warmth and tenderness. "Look how Kevin struggles with his harp. Shall I send someone to help him, Arthur?"

Arthur smiled and said, "He needs it not, for Nimue is ministering to him, see?"

And again she felt the flood of love, this time for Lancelet's daughter and Elaine's-child to two of those she had loved best. Nimue's hand under the Merlin's arm ... like the old tale of the maiden who fell in love with a wild beast from the depths of the forest! Ah, but today she even felt love for the Merlin too, and was glad that he had Nimue's strong young hands to help him.

AND AS THE DAYS passed in the near-empty court at Camelot, Nimue came to seem more and more like the daughter she had never had. The girl listened with attentive courtesy when she spoke, flattered her subtly, was ever quick to wait upon her hand and foot. Only in one thing did Nimue displease Gwenhwyfar-she spent far too much time listening to the Merlin.

"He may now call himself Christian, child," the Queen warned, "but at heart he is an old pagan, sworn by the barbaric rites of the Druids, which you have renounced ... you can see still the serpents he wears on his wrists!"

Nimue stroked her own satiny wrists. "Why, so does Arthur," she said gently, "and I too might have worn them, cousin, had I not seen the great light. He is a wise man, and there is no man in all Britain who can play more sweetly upon the harp."

"And there is the bond of Avalon to bind you," said Gwenhwyfar, a little more sharply than she intended.

"No, no," said Nimue, "I beg of you, cousin, say this never to him. He did not see my face at Avalon, he knows me not, and I do not wish him to think me an apostate from that faith to this ... ."

She looked so troubled that Gwenhwyfar said lovingly, "Why, if you wish, I will not tell him. I have not told even Arthur that you came to us from Avalon."

"And I am so fond of music, and of the harp," Nimue pleaded. "May I not speak with him?"

Gwenhwyfar smiled indulgently. "Your father, too, was a fine musician-once he said that his mother had set a harp in his hand for a plaything before he was old enough even to hold a toy sword, and taught him to touch the strings. I would like Merlin the better if he stayed with his harp and sought not to be one of Arthur's councillors." Then she shuddered and said, "To me the man is a monster!"

Nimue said patiently, "I am sorry to see you so against him, cousin. It is not his doing-I am sure he would rather be as handsome as my father and as strong as Gareth!"

Gwenhwyfar bent her head. "I know it is not charitable of me ... but from childhood I have had a revulsion for those who are so misshapen. I am not sure it was not the sight of Kevin which caused me to miscarry when last I had a chance to bear a son. And if God is good, does it not follow that what comes from God must be beautiful and perfect, and what is ugly and misshapen must be the work of the foul fiend?"

"No," said Nimue, "it seems not at all likely to me. God himself sent trials to the folk in Holy Writ, for he afflicted Job with leprosy and boils, and he caused Jonah to be swallowed up by a great fish. And again and again we are told he made his chosen people to suffer, and even Christ himself suffered. One might say that these people suffer because it is the will of God that they shall suffer more than others. It may be that Kevin suffers this affliction for some great sin he did in some life before this one."

"Bishop Patricius tells us that is a heathen notion and no Christian should believe that abominable lie-that we are born and reborn again. Or how should we ever go to Heaven?"

Nimue smiled, remembering Morgaine saying to her, Never speak to me again of anything Father Griffin said to you. She thought she would like to say it now to Gwenhwyfar, but she kept her voice gentle.

"Oh no, cousin, for even in Holy Scripture, it is told how men asked of John the Baptizer who he was. Some men said that Jesus Christ was Elijah come again, and he said instead, I tell you that Elijah has come among you already and ye knew him not. And men knew-so it says in Holy Writ- that he spoke of John. And so, if Christ himself believed that men were reborn, how can it be wrong for mankind so to believe?"

Gwenhwyfar wondered how so much knowledge of Scripture had come to Nimue, living upon Avalon. And she remembered that Morgaine, too, had known more, she sometimes thought, of the holy writings than she herself did.

Nimue said, "I think perhaps the priests do not want us to think of other lives because they wish us to be very good in this one. Many priests think there is not much time remaining before the world will end and Christ come again, and so they are afraid that men will wait for another life to be good, and will not have time to attain perfection before Christ comes. If men knew they would be reborn, would they work so hard to be perfect in this life?"

"That seems to me dangerous doctrine," Gwenhwyfar said, "for if people believed that all men must at last be saved in some life or other, what would keep them from committing sins in this one, in the hope that at last God's mercy would prevail?"

"I do not think that fear of the priests, or of God's wrath, or anything else, will ever keep mankind from committing sins," said Nimue, "but only when they have gained enough wisdom in all their lives that they know that error is useless and evil must be paid for, sooner or later."

"Oh! Hush, child," Gwenhwyfar said. "Suppose someone should hear you speaking such heresies! Although it is true," she said after a moment, "that since that day of Easter, it seems to me that there is infinite mercy in God's love, and perhaps God does not care so much about sin as some of the priests would have us believe ... and now I am talking heresy too, perhaps!"

Nimue only smiled again, thinking to herself, I did not come to court to bring enlightenment to Gwenhwyfar. I have a more perilous mission, and it is not for me to preach to her the truth, that all men, and all women too, must one day come to enlightenment.

"Do you not believe Christ will come again, Nimue?"

No, thought Nimue, I do not, I believe that the great enlightened ones, like Christ, come but once, after many lives spent in attaining wisdom, and then they go forth forever into eternity; but I believe the divine ones will send other great masters to preach the truth to mankind, and that mankind will always receive them with the cross and the fire and the stones.

"What I believe does not matter, cousin, what matters is the truth. Some priests preach that their God is a God of love, and others that he is evil and vengeful. Sometimes I feel that the priests were sent to punish people; since they would not hear Christ's words of Love, God sent them the priests with their message of hatred and bigotry." And then she stopped short, for she did not want to anger Gwenhwyfar. But the Queen only said, "Well, Nimue, I have known priests like that."

"And if some priests are bad men," said Nimue, "I find it not wholly beyond reason that some Druids might be good ones."

There must, thought Gwenhwyfar, be some error in that reasoning, but she could not make it out. "Well, my dear, you may be right. But it makes me queasy to see you with the Merlin. Although I know Morgaine thought well of him ... it was rumored here at court, even, that they were lovers. I wondered often how a woman so fastidious as Morgaine could have let him touch her."

Nimue had not known that and she thrust it away in her mind for reference. Was that how Morgaine had known of his undefended fortresses? She said only, "Of all I learned in Avalon, what most I loved was music, and what I have heard in Holy Writ that pleases me most was the psalmist who told us to praise God with the lute and the harp. And Kevin has promised me that he will help me to find a harp, for I came away without my own. May I send for him here, cousin?"

Gwenhwyfar hesitated, but she could not resist the sweet entreaty in the young girl's smile and said, "To be sure you may, my dearest child."

11

After a time, the Merlin came-no, thought Nimue, I must remember; he is no more now than Kevin the Harper, traitor to Avalon-and behind him a servant carrying My Lady. Nimue thought, Now he is a Christian, there is no law that no other may touch his harp; it is simpler than keeping an initiated man about him to bear My Lady when his strength fails.

He walked with two sticks, dragging his tortured body after them. But he smiled at the ladies and said, "You must consider, my queen and my lady Nimue, that somehow my spirit has made to you the courtly bow that my unruly body is no longer able to make."

Nimue whispered, "I beg you, cousin, ask him to sit-he cannot stand for long."

Gwenhwyfar waved permission, glad for once of her near sight that meant she need not clearly see the misshapen body. For a moment, Nimue was afraid that Kevin's man was from Avalon and would recognize and perhaps greet her, but he was only a servant in the dress of the court. How had Morgaine, or old Raven, been able to see so far ahead, to order her as a child into seclusion, so that when she came to womanhood, there would be one fully trained priestess in Avalon whom the Merlin would not know by sight? She understood that she was merely a pawn in the great work of the world, sent forth with no weapons but her beauty and her guarded virginity to work the vengeance of the Goddess on this man who had betrayed them all.

Nimue placed another cushion from her own chair under the Merlin's arm. His bones seemed to protrude through the skin, and when she barely touched his elbow, it seemed that there was so much heat in the swollen joints that it burned her. And she felt a moment's pity and rebellion.

Surely the Goddess already works her own vengeance! This man has surely suffered enough! Their Christ suffered a day on the cross; this man has been crucified in his broken body for a lifetime!

Yet others had been burned for their faith and had not broken, nor betrayed the Mysteries. She hardened her heart and said sweetly, "Lord Merlin, will you play your harp for me?"

"For you, my lady," Kevin said in his rich voice, "I will play what you will, and I could wish I were that ancient bard who could play till the trees danced!"

"Oh no," said Nimue with mocking laughter. "What would we do if they came dancing in here! Why, we would have earth all over the hall, and all our maids with mops and brooms would not be able to clean it! Leave the trees where they are, I beg you, and sing!"

The Merlin put his hands to the harp and began to play. Nimue sat beside him on the floor, her great eyes looking up, intent, into his face. The Merlin looked down on the maiden just as a great dog might watch its master-with humble devotion and utter preoccupation. Gwenhwyfar took such emotion almost for granted. She herself had been the object of intense devotion so often that she never thought twice about it-it was simply the homage that men paid to beauty. Perhaps, though, she should warn Nimue, lest her head be turned by it. Yet she could not imagine how Nimue could sit so close to his ugliness or look at him so attentively.

There was something about Nimue that puzzled Gwenhwyfar. Somehow, the girl's concentration was not quite what it seemed. It was not the delight taken by one musician in another's work, nor was it the artless admiration of a naive maiden for a well-travelled and mature man. No, thought Gwenhwyfar, and it was not a sudden passion, either; that she could have understood and, in a sense, sympathized with-she herself had known that sudden overpowering love which sweeps away all obstacles. It had struck her like lightning and had ruined all her hopes that her marriage with Arthur could be a good and proper one. It had been a curse, yet she had known it was something that came of itself, over which neither she nor Lancelet had any power. She had come to terms with it, and she could have accepted that it had happened to Nimue-even though Kevin the Merlin seemed the most unlikely object for such a passion. But it was not that ... she did not know how she knew, but she knew.

Simple lust? It might have been that on Kevin's part-Nimue was beautiful, and even though the Merlin had been most circumspect, she might have kindled any man; but Gwenhwyfar could not believe that Nimue had been likewise roused by such a one when she had remained courteous but cool and unattainable to all of Gwenhwyfar's handsomest young knights.

From where she sat at the Merlin's feet, Nimue sensed that Gwenhwyfar was watching her. But she did not turn her eyes away from Kevin. In a way, she thought, I am enchanting him. Her purpose demanded that she have him completely at her mercy-her slave and her victim. And again she stifled the flash of pity that she felt. This man had done worse than simply revealing the Mysteries or the secret teaching; he had given the holy things themselves into the hands of the Christians, to be profaned. Ruthlessly, Nimue refused to consider her next thought, that the Christians had not intended profanation but hallowing. The Christians knew nothing of the inner truths of the Mysteries. And in any case the Merlin had betrayed a sworn oath.

And the Goddess appeared to prevent that profanation ... . Nimue had had enough training in the Mysteries to know what she had witnessed; even now a shiver went over her at the thought of what had passed among the Companions on that festival day. She had not wholly understood, but she knew that she had touched the greatest holiness.

And the Merlin would have profaned this. No, he must die like the dog he was.

The harp was silent. Kevin said, "I have a harp for you, lady, if you will accept it. It is one which I fashioned with my own hands when I was a lad on Avalon, and first come there. I have made others, and they are better, but this is a good one and I have carried it long. If you will accept it, it is yours." Nimue protested that such a gift was all too valuable, but inwardly she was overjoyed. If she should possess something so valuable to him personally, something he had fashioned with his own hands and labor, then would it bind him to her, just as if it were a lock of his own hair or a drop of his blood. There were not many, even in Avalon, who knew that the law of magic went so far, that something which had been so intimately intertwined with the mind and the heart and the passions-and Nimue grasped that music was his deepest passion-retained even more of the soul than hair clipped from the body retained the essence of the body.

She thought with satisfaction, He himself, of his own free will, has put his soul into my hands. When he sent for the harp, she caressed it; small and crudely made as it was, the post had been worn smooth with resting against his body, and his hands had touched the strings with love ... even now they lingered on it tenderly.

She touched the strings, testing their music. In truth, the tone of the harp was good; he had somehow managed that perfect curve and structure that made the soundingboard echo the strings with the sweetest tone. And if he had done this as a boy, with those mutilated hands ... again Nimue felt the surge of pity and pain, Why did he not keep to his music and meddle not in the high affairs of state?

"You are too kind to me." She let her voice tremble, hoping he would think it was passion instead of triumph ... with this, soon he will be mine, possessed body and soul.

But it was too soon. The great tides of Avalon running in her blood told her that the moon was waxing; such great magic as this could be worked only in moon-dark, the slack time when the Lady sheds none of her light on the world, and her hidden purposes are made known.

She must not let his passion grow beyond bounds, nor her own sympathy with him.

He will desire me at full moon; this bond I am forging is a double-edged sword, a rope with two ends ... I will desire him as well, I cannot prevent that. For an enchantment to be total, it must involve both enchanter and enchanted, and she knew, with a spasm of terror, that this spell she was weaving would work on her too, and rebound on her. She could not pretend passion and desire; she must feel them as well. She knew, with a fear that wrung her heart, that even as the Merlin would be helpless in her hands, so it might well be that she would come to be helpless in his. And what of me, O Goddess, Mother ... that is all too great a price to pay ... let it not come on me, no, no, I am afraid ... .

"Well, Nimue, my dear," Gwenhwyfar said, "now that you have the harp in your hands, will you play and sing for me?"

She let her hair curtain her face as she looked timidly at the Merlin and murmured, "Shall I, then?"

"I beg you to play," he said. "Your voice is sweet and I can hear that your hands will bring enchantment from the strings ... ."

They will indeed if I am favored of the Goddess. Nimue set her hands to the strings, remembering that she must not play any song of Avalon that he would remember and recognize. She began to play a drinking song she had heard at the court, with words none too proper for a maiden; she saw Gwenhwyfar looking scandalized, and thought, Good, if she is shocked by my unmaidenly behavior, she will not inquire too deeply into my motives. Then she played and sang a lament she had heard from a northern harper, the mournful song of a fisherman out on the sea, looking for the lights of his home on the shore.

At the end of the song she rose, looking shyly at him. "I thank you for the use of your harp-may I borrow it again, that my hands may keep their skill?"

"It is my gift to you," said Kevin. "Now that I have heard what music your hands can bring from it, it could belong to no other. Keep it, I beg you-I have many harps."

"You are too kind to me," she murmured, "but, I beg you, now that I can make music for myself, do not abandon me or deprive me of the pleasure of listening to yours."

"I will play for you whenever you ask me," Kevin said, and she knew that his heart was in the words. She contrived to brush against him as she leaned forward to take the harp.

She murmured, softly so Gwenhwyfar would not hear, "Words alone cannot express my gratitude to you. Perhaps a time will come when I can express it more fittingly."

He looked at her, dazed, and she discovered that she was returning his gaze with the same intensity.

A double-edged spell indeed. I am victim too ...

He went away, and she sat obediently by Gwenhwyfar and tried to turn her attention to her spinning.

"How beautifully you play, Nimue," said Gwenhwyfar. "I need not ask where you learned ... I heard Morgaine sing that lament once."

Nimue said, averting her eyes, "Tell me something of Morgaine. She had departed from Avalon before I came there. She was married to a king in-Lothian, was it?"

"In the north of Wales," Gwenhwyfar began.

Nimue, who knew all this perfectly well, was still not completely false. Morgaine remained a puzzle to her, and she was eager to know how the lady Morgaine had appeared to those who knew her in the world.

"Morgaine was one of my ladies-in-waiting," Gwenhwyfar was saying. "Arthur gave her to me as such on our wedding day. Of course he had been fostered apart from her and hardly knew her, either ... ."

As she listened attentively, Nimue, who had been trained to read emotions, realized that beneath Gwenhwyfar's dislike for Morgaine, there was something else: respect, awe, even a kind of tenderness. If Gwenhwyfar were not so fanatically, mindlessly Christian, she would have loved Morgaine well.

At least while Gwenhwyfar was talking of Morgaine, even though she condemned her as an evil sorceress, she was not mouthing the pious nonsense that bored Nimue almost to weeping. But she could not give Gwenhwyfar's tales her full attention. She sat in an attitude of passionate interest, she made the proper sounds of attention or astonishment, but within, her mind was in turmoil:

I am afraid; I can come to be the Merlin's slave and victim as I would have him mine ... .

Goddess! Great Mother! It is not I who must face him, but you ... . The moon was waxing; four nights until full, and she could already feel the stirring of that tide of life. She thought of the Merlin's intent gaze, his magical eyes, the beauty of his voice, and knew that already she was deeply entangled in her own spell weaving. Already she had ceased to feel the slightest revulsion against his twisted body, feeling only the strength and life force flowing within it.

If I give myself to him at full moon, she thought, then will the tides of life within us both be taken at the flood, then will my purposes become his own, then will we blend together as one flesh ... she felt an ache and agony of desire, longing to be caressed by those sensitive hands, feel his warm breath against her mouth. Everything in her ached together in hunger which, she knew, was at least partly an echo of his own desire and frustration; the magical link she had created between them meant that she too must be tormented with his torment.

When life runs full at the rounding of the moon, then shall the Goddess receive the body of her lover ... .

It was not altogether beyond belief. She was the daughter of the Queen's champion and the King's closest friend. Kevin, the Merlin, unlike a Christian priest, was not forbidden to marry. The court would be pleased at a marriage so high-placed, even though some of the ladies would be shocked that she could yield up her delicate body to a man they considered a monster. Arthur surely knew that Kevin could not, after what he had done, return to Avalon, but he had a place at court as the King's councillor. Also, he was a musician of surpassing skill. There would be a place for us, and happiness ... when the moon is full, brimming with life, he will plant a child in my womb ... and I will bear it joyfully ... he is not monster born, his deformity is from childhood injuries ... his sons would be handsome ... and then she stopped herself, disturbed by the power of her own fantasies. No, she must not become so deeply entangled in this spell. She must deny herself, even though the waxing moon made the surging blood in her veins a very agony of frustration. She must wait, wait ...

As she had waited all those years.... There is a magic that comes with yielding to life. The priestesses of Avalon knew it when they lay in the fields at Beltane, invoking the life of the Goddess in their own bodies and hearts ... but there is a deeper magic which comes from guarding the power, damming up the stream. The Christians knew something of this, when they insisted that their holy virgins live in chastity and seclusion, that they might burn with the darker flame of that harnessed force; that their chaste priests might pour all their contained power into their Mysteries, such as they were. Nimue had felt that power in the lightest word or gesture from Raven, who had never wasted words on anything trivial, so that her force, when she spent it, was tremendous. She had wondered often, alone in the temple at Avalon, when she was forbidden to mingle with the other maidens or to go to the rites, when she felt that life force in her veins with such power that she sometimes burst into hysterical crying or tore at her hair and her face ... why had they set her aside for this, why must she bear the terrible weight of all this without relief? But she had trusted the Goddess and obeyed her mentors, and now they had entrusted this great work to her, and she must not fail them through her own weakness.

She was a charged vessel of power, like the Holy Regalia which it was death to touch unprepared, and all this power of her long preparation would be hers to bind the Merlin to her ... but she must wait for the tide to slacken and fill again; at the dark moon she must take the other tide which came of the other side of the moon ... not fertile but barren, not of life at all but of dark magic older than human life ... .

And the Merlin knew these things; he knew of the old curse of the dark moon and the barren womb ... he must be so wholly enspelled by her that he would not even wonder why she had refused him at the spring tide and sought him out at the slack. She had one advantage: he did not know that she knew these things, he had never seen her in Avalon. Yet the bond went between them both ways, and if she could read his thoughts, he might read hers; she must guard herself every moment lest he see within and guess her purposes.

I must so wholly blind him with desire that he will forget ... forget all he has been taught in Avalon. And at the same time, she must not be overcome by his desire, she must contain her own. It would not be easy.

She began to frame in her mind the next wile she would use on him. Tell me of your childhood, she would say, tell me how you were so hurt. Sympathy would be a powerful bond; she knew just how she would touch him with the very tips of her fingers ... and she knew, in despair, that she was seeking out ways to be near him and touch him, not for her work but for her own hunger.

Can I make this spell without bringing myself, too, to ruin?

"YOU WERE not at the Queen's feast," murmured the Merlin, looking into Nimue's eyes, "and I had made a new song for you. ... It was the fulling of the moon, and there is great power in the moon, lady ... ."

She looked at him, all intent. "Truly? I know so little of these things ... are you a magician, my lord Merlin? I sometimes feel helpless, that you are working your magic on me ... ."

She had hidden herself at the full moon, sure that if he looked into her eyes at that time he would be able to read her thoughts and perhaps divine her purposes. Now that the strength of that magical tide was past, she could, perhaps, guard herself from him.

"You must sing me your song now." She sat listening, feeling her whole body quiver as the harp strings quivered under his touch.

I cannot bear it, I cannot ... I must act this time as soon as the moon is dark. Another of these tides, she knew, and she would succumb to the flood tide of hunger and desire she was building between them ... and I would never be able to betray him ... I would be his forever, for this life and beyond ... .

She reached out and touched the twisted lumps that were his wrist bones, and the touch thrilled her with longing. She could only imagine from the sudden dilation of his pupils, the swift intake of his breath, what it had done to him.

Betrayal, she thought, under the inexorable laws of fate, betrayal would be punished a thousandfold by the Goddess, in life after life; betrayed and betrayer would be punished and bound together for love and hate for thousands of years. But she did this at the command of the Goddess, she had been sent to punish a traitor for betrayal ... would she then be punished in turn? If it were so, then there was no justice even in the realms of the Gods ... .

Christ said true repentance wipes out all sin ... .

But fate and the laws of the universe cannot be so easily set aside. The stars in their courses do not stop because someone cries out to them, Stop!

Well, be it so; perhaps she betrayed the Merlin as part of a deed done by one of them before the ancient land beneath the waves had sunk into the sea. It was her fate, and she dared not question. He had stopped playing and closed his hand softly over hers; as if in a daze, she laid her lips to his. Now, now it is too late to turn back.

No. It had been too late to turn back when she had bowed her head and accepted the work Morgaine laid on her. It had been too late to turn back when she swore the oath to Avalon ... .

"Tell me more of yourself," she whispered, "I want to know everything about you, my lord ... ."

"Call me not so. My name is Kevin."

"Kevin," she said, and made her voice soft and tender, just brushing her fingers again over his arm.

Day by day she wove her spell, with touches and glances and whispered words, as the moon waned away toward darkness. After that first, swift kiss, she withdrew again, as if he had frightened her. It is true. But it is more that I frightened myself ... never, never in all the years of seclusion had she suspected herself of being capable of such passion, such hunger; and she knew that her spells were enhancing it in herself as in him. At one point, teased beyond endurance by her whispered touches, the soft brushing of her hair against his face when she bent over him where he sat at his harp, he turned and seized her and crushed her to him, and she struggled in real, not pretended, fright this time.

"No-no, I cannot-you forget yourself-I beg you, let me go-" she cried out, and when he only clasped her closer, burying his face in her bosom and covering her breasts with kisses, she began to cry softly. "No, no, I am afraid, I am afraid-"

He let her go then and drew away, almost in a daze. His breath was hoarse and hard. He sat with his eyes closed, his twisted hands hanging limp. After a moment he murmured, "My beloved, my precious white bird, my own sweetheart-forgive me-forgive me-"

Nimue realized that now she could use even her own very real fear for her own ends. She said, whimpering, "I trusted you. I trusted you-"

"You should not," he said hoarsely. "I am no more than a man, and certainly not less than one ..." and she cringed at the bitterness as he added, "I am a man of flesh and blood, and I love you, Nimue, and you play with me as if I were a lapdog and expect me to be tame as a gelded pony ... do you think because I am a cripple I am less than a man?"

In his mind Nimue could see, clear and mirrored, memory of a time when he had said this to the first woman who had ever come to him, and saw Morgaine reflected in his eyes and his mind, not the Morgaine she knew but a dark, bewitching woman, soft of voice, yet somehow terrible too, worshipped and also feared because through the daze of passion he could remember that suddenly the lightning would strike ... .

Nimue reached her hands to him and knew they were trembling and that he would never know why. She guarded her thoughts carefully and said, "I never thought that. Forgive me, Kevin. I-I could not help myself-"

And it is all true. Goddess, it is all true. But not as he believes. What I say is not what he hears.

And yet for all her pity and desire there was a thread of contempt too. Otherwise I could not bear it, to do what I do ... but a man so nakedly at the mercy of desire is contemptible ... . I too tremble, I am torn ... but I will not be at the mercy of my body's hunger ... .

And that was why Morgaine had given her the key to this man, put him wholly into her hands. Now was the time to speak the words that would consolidate the spell, make him hers, body and soul, so that she might bring him to Avalon and the appointed doom.

Pretend! Pretend to be one of those feckless virgins Gwenhwyfar has about her, with their minds between their legs!

She said, faltering, "I am sorry-I know you are indeed a man-I am sorry I was afraid-" and she raised her eyes to his, a gaze aslant through her long hair, afraid that if he could look deep into her eyes she would blurt out all her duplicity. "I ... I-yes, I wanted you to kiss me, but then you were so fierce, and I was frightened. This is neither the time nor the place, someone might come suddenly upon us, and then the Queen would be angry, and I am one of her maidens, and she has warned us that we must not run about with men ... "

Is he fool enough to believe me when I speak such simpering nonsense?

"My poor darling!" Kevin covered her hands with contrite kisses. "Ah, I am a beast to frighten you, I love you so ... I love you so much that I cannot bear it! Nimue, Nimue, are you so afraid of the Queen's anger? I cannot-" He stopped and breathed again, hard. "I cannot live like this-would you have it that I should be gone from this court? Never, never have I-" he stopped again and then, holding her hands between his, he said, "I cannot live without you. I must have you or die. Will you not have some pity on me, beloved?"

She lowered her eyes, with a long sigh, watching his contorted face, his dazed breathing. At last she whispered, "What can I say to you?"

"Say that you love me!"

"I love you." She knew that she sounded like a woman under a spell. "You know that I do."

"Say that you will give me all your love, say that-ah, Nimue, Nimue, you are so young and beautiful, and I am so twisted and ugly, I cannot believe you care for me, even now I think I am dreaming, that you have for some reason roused me like this that you might make fun of the beast grovelling at your feet like a dog ... ."

"No," she said, and swiftly, as if she were afraid of her own daring, bent quickly down and laid the lightest of kisses against his eyes, two darting swallows that came and went.

"Nimue, will you come to my bed?"

She whispered, "I am frightened ....e might be seen, and I dare not be so wanton-we might be discovered." She arranged her lips into a childish pout. "If we were caught, then the men would think you only all the more manly for it, and none would chide or shame you, but I, I am a maiden and they would point to me as a harlot or worse ... " and she let tears slide down her cheek, but inward she was all triumph. I have him now safe within my net ... .

"I would do anything, anything to protect you, to reassure you ... " Kevin said, his voice trembling with sincerity.

"I know men like to boast of their conquest of maidens," she said. "How do I know you will not brag of it throughout Camelot, that you have the favor of the Queen's kinswoman and have taken her maidenhood?"

"Trust me, I beg you, trust me-what can I do? What proof can I give you of my sincerity? You know that I am yours, body and heart and soul-"

And for a moment she was angry, I do not want your damned soul, she thought, close to weeping with tension and fear. He held her between his hands and whispered, "How? When will you be mine? What can I do to prove that I love you beyond all things?"

She said, hesitating, "I cannot take you to my bed. I sleep in a room with four of the Queen's ladies, and any man who came there would be seized by the guards-"

He said, bending again to cover her hands with kisses, "My poor little love, I would never bring shame on you. I have a place of my own-a little chamber fit for a dog, mostly because none other of the King's men wishes to share quarters with me. I do not know if you would dare to come there."

"Surely there must be some better way ... " she whispered, keeping her voice soft and tender. Damn you, how can I suggest it without dropping this pretense of maidenly innocence and stupidity ... ? "I cannot think of anywhere within the castle where we could be truly safe, and yet-" She stood and pressed herself against him, where he sat, her breasts just nudging his brow.

He flung his arms around her and buried his face in her body, his shoulders shaking. Then he said, "At this season-it is warm and fair and there is little rain. Would you dare to come out of doors with me, Nimue?"

She murmured as artlessly as she could, "I would dare anything to be with you, my love."

"Then-tonight ... ?"

"Oh," she whispered, shrinking, "the moonlight is so bright, we should be seen ... wait a few days, then there will be no moon ... ."

"When the moon is dark-" Kevin flinched, and she knew that here was the moment of danger, the moment when the carefully played fish might slip off the hook and out of the net and be free. In Avalon the priestesses secluded themselves at moon-dark, and all magic was suspended ... but he knew not that she was of Avalon.

Would his fear or his desire win out? She was motionless, just fluttering her fingers within his. He said, "That is an uncanny time-"

"But I am afraid to be seen ... . You do not know how angry the Queen would be with me, if she knew I was such a wanton as to desire you ... " she said, holding herself a little closer to him. "Surely you and I do not need a moon to see one another ... ."

He held her tight, his face buried in her breasts, covering them with hungry kisses. And then he whispered, "My little love, let it be as you will, be the moon light or dark ... "

"And you will take me away from Camelot afterward? I do not want to be shamed ... "

"Anywhere," he said, "I swear it ... I will swear it by your God, if you will."

She murmured, bending her head close to him, her hands moving through the sweet clean curliness of his hair, "The Christian God does not like lovers, and hates it when women lie with men ... swear it by your God, Kevin, swear it by the serpents around your wrists ... ."

He whispered, "I swear," and the meaning of the oath seemed to ripple the air around them both.

Oh, fool, you have sworn to your death ... . Nimue shivered, but Kevin, his face still hidden against her breasts, his hot breath damping her gown, was oblivious to anything except her breasts under his lips. As a promised lover he took the privilege of touching, kissing, drawing her gown aside a little to cup them in his hands. "I do not know how I can bear to wait." And she murmured, "No, nor I," and meant it with all her heart, I would that this was done ... .

The moon would not be visible, but the moon tide would turn exactly two hours after sunset, three days from now; she could feel its ebbing like a great sickness in her blood, withdrawing life from her veins. Most of those three days she spent in her chambers, telling the Queen that she was ill, and it was not far from the truth. Much of her time alone she spent with her hands on Kevin's harp, meditating, filling the ether around her with the magical bond between them.

An ill-omened time, and Kevin knew it, as she did; but he was too blinded by the promise of her love to care.

The day dawned when the moon would darken; Nimue felt it through her body. She had made herself an herbal brew which would keep the moon-dark bleeding from coming on-she did not want to disgust him with the sight of her blood, nor frighten him to recalling the taboos of Avalon. She had to turn her mind away from the physical realities of the act; for all her training, she knew that in truth she was the nervous virgin she pretended to be. Well, so much the better, she need not try to pretend. She could simply be what she was-a girl giving herself for the first time to a man she loved and desired. And what would come after that, well, it was as the Goddess had bidden her.

She hardly knew how to make the day pass. Never had the chatter of Gwenhwyfar's ladies seemed so meaningless, so vapid. In the afternoon she could not turn her mind to spinning, so she brought the harp Kevin had given her and played and sang for them; but it was not easy, she must avoid all the songs of Avalon, and they were the ones which she found floating in her mind. But even the longest day wears to sunset. She washed herself and scented her body, and sat near Gwenhwyfar in the hall, merely picking at her food, sick and faint, disgusted by the grossness of the table manners, the dogs under the table. She could see Kevin seated among the King's councillors, near the house priest who confessed some of the ladies. He had been bothering her, asking why she did not seek spiritual advice, and when she said she was in no need of it, frowning as if she were the worst of sinners. Kevin. She could almost feel his hungry hands on her breast, and it seemed as if the look he sent toward her must be audible. Tonight. Tonight, my beloved. Tonight. Ah, Goddess, how can I do this to this man who loves me, who has put his whole soul into my hands. ... 7 have sworn. I must keep my oath or be as much a traitor as he.

They met for a moment in the lower hall as the Queen's ladies went away to their chambers. He said, swiftly and very low, "I have concealed your horse and mine in the woods beyond the gate. Afterward"-and his voice shook-"afterward I will take you away wherever you will, lady."

You do not know whither I shall lead you. But it was too late to turn back. She said, through tears she could not control, "Ah, Kevin, I-I love you-" and knew it was true. She had wound herself so deep in his heart that she did not know, she could not even imagine, how she could bear to be apart from him. It seemed to her that the whole air of the night was alive with magic, that somehow others must see this great trembling in the air and the darkness hovering over her.

She must let them think she had gone abroad on some likely errand. She told the ladies who shared her chamber that she had promised one of the chamberlain's wives to try a remedy for the toothache, and that she would not be back for many hours. Then, taking her darkest, heavy cloak and tying the small sickle of her initiation about her waist beneath her gown, she slipped out. After a moment she turned into a dark corner and removed the little sickle, slipping it into a tied pocket at her waist-whatever befell, Kevin must not see it.

His heart would break if I failed to keep this tryst, she thought; he did not know how fortunate he would be. ...

Darkness. Not even shadows in the moonless courtyard. She found herself trembling, picking her steps carefully by the dimmest of starlight. After a little there was a deeper darkness and she heard his voice, a muted hoarse mutter: "Nimue?"

"It is I, my beloved."

Which is the greater falsity, to break my oath to Avalon, or to lie to Kevin thus? Both are false ... is a lie ever right?

He took her arm and the touch of his hot hand made her own blood heat. They were both deeply entangled now in the magic of the hour. He led her outside the gate, down the steep slope that raised the ancient fort of Camelot above the surrounding hills. In winter this ran a river and swampy; now it was dry, thick with the rank growth of the damp lands. He led her into a grove of trees.

Ah Goddess, I always knew that on this day when I laid down my virginity, that it would be within a grove ... but I did not know it would be with all the sorcery of the dark moon ... .

He took her close and kissed her. His whole body seemed to be burning. He spread their cloaks together on the grass, and drew her down, his twisted hands shaking so hard on the fastenings of her dress that she had to take and loosen them herself. He said with a shred of his natural voice, "I am glad it is dark ... that my misshapen body will not terrify you ... ."

"Nothing about you could frighten me, my love," she whispered and reached out her hands for him. At the moment she meant it utterly, rapt in her own spell which had caught her too, knowing that this man, body and heart and soul, was in her hands. Yet, for all her magic, she was inexperienced, and she shrank away with real fear from the touch of his hardening manhood. He kissed and soothed and caressed her, and she felt the burning of the slack tide, the thick darkening of the hour of sorcery. At the very moment when it peaked she pulled him down to her, knowing that if she delayed until the new moon showed in the sky, she would lose much of her power.

He murmured, feeling her trembling, "Nimue, Nimue-my little love -you are a maiden-if you will, we can-pleasure one another and I need not take your virginity ... ."

Something in that made her want to weep-that he, maddened by his desire, this heavy thing that twisted between them, could still so consider her ... but she cried out, "No! No! I want you," and pulled him down fiercely to her, taking her hands and guiding him into her, almost welcoming the sudden pain; the pain, the sudden blood, the peaking of his frenzied desire, woke a like frenzy in her, and she clung to him, gasping, encouraging him with her fierce cries. And then at the very last moment she held him away, while he gasped and pleaded, and she whispered-"On your oath! You are mine?"

"I swear it! Ah, I cannot bear-I cannot-let me-" "Wait! You swear it! You are mine! Say it!"

"I swear, I swear by my soul-"

"Yet a third time-you are mine-"

"I am yours! I swear!" And she felt his sudden spasm of fear, knowing what had happened, but now he was in the grip of his own frenzy, moving on her as if despairing, heaving and gasping, crying out as if in unendurable agony, and she felt the magical spell descending on her at the very moment of slack tide, as he cried out and fell heavily on her unresisting body, and she felt the spurting of his seed within her. He was still as death, and she trembled, feeling her breath charged as if with exhaustion. There was none of the pleasure she had heard spoken of, but there was something greater than pleasure-a vast triumph. For the spell was heavy around them both, and she had his spirit and soul and essence. She felt with her hands his sperm that had mingled with the blood of her virginity at the very moment of the moon's turning. She took it on her fingers and marked his brow, and at the touch the spell came on him and he sat up, slack and lifeless.

"Kevin," she said. "Get to your horse and ride."

He rose, his movements leaden. He turned toward the horse and she knew that with this spell she must be precise.

"Garb yourself first," she said, and mechanically he drew on his robe, tying it about his waist. He moved stiffly, and by starlight she saw the gleam of his eyes; he knew, now, behind the domination of the spell, that she had betrayed him. Her throat tightened with agony and a wild tenderness, she wanted to pull him down again and take away the spell and cover his broken face with kisses, and weep and weep for the betrayal of their love.

But I too am sworn and it is fate.

She covered herself with her robe and took her horse and they rode silently away, taking the road to Avalon. At dawn Morgaine would have the boat waiting for them on the shore.

SOME HOURS BEFORE DAWN, Morgaine waked from restless sleep, sensing that Nimue's work was done. Silently she robed herself, wakening Niniane and the attendant priestesses, who came slowly in her train down to the shore, wrapped in their dark robes and spotted deerskin tunics, hair braided in the single braid down their backs, and the black-handled sickle knives tied at their waists. They waited, silent, Niniane and Morgaine at their head, and as the sky began to flush pale pink with the first light, she motioned to the barge to cast off and watched it disappear in the mists.

They waited. The light strengthened, and just as the sun was rising, the boat appeared out of the mists again. Morgaine could see Nimue standing in the prow of the boat, her cloak pulled over her head, tall and straight; but her face was hidden in the darkness of the cloak. There was a slumped heap in the bottom of the boat.

What has she done to him? Is he dead or enspelled? Morgaine found herself wishing that indeed he was dead, that he had taken his life in despair or terror. Twice she had raged at this man and called him traitor to Avalon, and the third time he had truly been traitor beyond question, taking the Holy Regalia forth from their hiding place. Oh, yes, he deserved death, even such a death as he should this morning die. She had spoken with the Druids, and they had agreed, one and all, that he should die in the oak grove, and that he should not die the swift death of mercy. Treachery of this sort had not been known in all of Britain since the days of Eilan, who had secretly married a son of the Roman proconsul and put forth pretended oracles to keep the Tribes from rising against the Romans. Eilan had died in the fire, and three of her priestesses with her and Kevin's deed was not treachery alone, but blasphemy, as when Eilan had meddled with the voice of the Goddess. And it must be punished.

Two of the barge crew helped the Merlin to his feet. He was half-clad, his robe loosely tied around him, barely concealing his nakedness. His hair was disheveled, his face blank ... drugged or enchanted? He tried to walk, but without his sticks he reeled and caught for balance at the nearest support. Nimue stood frozen, not looking at him, her face still hidden in her cloak; but as the first rays of the sun arose, she put back the hood, and at that moment, touched by the first sunlight, the enchantment slid off Kevin's face, and Morgaine saw startled comprehension come into his eyes; he knew where he was and what had happened.

Morgaine saw him look at Nimue, blinking at the sight of the Avalon barge. And then all at once the whole knowledge of his betrayal came over his face, and he lowered his head in shock and shame.

So now he knows not only what it is to betray but to be betrayed.

But then she looked at Nimue. The girl was pale, her face bloodless, her long hair in disarray, though she had hastily tried to braid it. Nimue was looking at Kevin, and her lips trembled as she hastily turned her eyes away again.

She loved him, too; the spell rebounded on her. I should have known, Morgaine thought, that so powerful a spell would have rebounded on its maker.

But Nimue bowed low as Avalon custom demanded.

"Lady and Mother," she said, her voice toneless, "I have brought you the traitor who betrayed the Holy Regalia."

Morgaine stepped forward and embraced the girl, who shrank from the embrace. She said, "Welcome back to us, Nimue, priestess, sister," and kissed the girl on her wet cheek. She could feel Nimue's misery through her whole body. Ah, Goddess, has this destroyed her too? If so, we have bought Kevin's life at too dear a price.

"Go now, Nimue," she added in compassion. "Let them take you back to the House of Maidens-your work is done. You need not witness what must come after this, you have done your part and you have suffered enough."

Nimue whispered, "What will become of-of him?"

Morgaine held her tight. "Child, child, that need concern you not. You have done your part with strength and courage, it is enough."

Nimue caught her breath as if she would weep, but she did not. She looked at Kevin, but he did not meet her eyes, and at last, shivering so hard she could hardly walk, she let two of the priestesses lead her away. Morgaine said in a low voice to them, "Don't torment her with questions. Done is done. Let her be."

When Nimue was gone, Morgaine turned back to Kevin. She met his eyes, and pain struck at her. This man had been her lover, but he had been more; he had been the only man who had never sought to entangle her in any political maneuvers, never sought to use her birth or high position, never asked anything of her save love. He had called her alive out of hell in Tintagel, he had come to her as the God, he had been perhaps her only friend, man or woman, in her entire life.

She forced her words through the tremendous pain in her throat. "Well, Kevin Harper, false Merlin, forsworn Messenger, have you anything to say to her before you meet her judgment?"

Kevin shook his head. "Nothing that you would consider important, Lady of the Lake." She remembered, through a haze of pain, that he had been the first to yield to her this title.

"Be it so," she said, and felt her face like stone. "Take him forth to judgment."

He took a single faltering step between his captors, then turned back and faced her, his head thrown back in defiance. "No, wait," he said. "I find I have a thing to say to you after all, Morgaine of Avalon. I told you once that my life was a small thing to forfeit for the Goddess, and I want you to know it is for her that I have done this."

"Are you saying it is for the sake of the Goddess that you betrayed the Holy Regalia into the hands of the priests?" Niniane demanded, and her voice cut with scorn. "Why then, you are mad as well as forsworn! Take the traitor away!" she commanded, but Morgaine signalled to them to wait.

"Let him be heard."

"It is even so," said Kevin. "Lady, I said it once to you before this- the day of Avalon is ended. The Nazarene has conquered, and we must go into the mists further and further until we are no more than a legend and a dream. Would you then take the Holy Regalia with you into that darkness, preserving it carefully against the dawning of a new day that now shall never be? Even if Avalon must perish, I felt it right that the holy things should be sent forth into the world in the service of the Divine, by whatever name God or the Gods may be called. And because of what I have done, the Goddess has manifested herself at least once in the world yonder, in a way that shall never be forgotten. The passing of the Grail shall be remembered, my Morgaine, when you and I are only legends for the fireside and tales for children. I do not think that wasted, nor should you, who bore that chalice as her priestess. Now do with me what you will."

Morgaine bent her head. The memory of that moment of ecstasy and revelation, when she had borne the Grail in the form of the Goddess, would remain with her until her death; and of those who had experienced the vision, whatever they might have seen, none of their lives would ever be the same. But now she must face Kevin in the person of the avenging Goddess, the Death-crone, the ravening sow who will devour her own young, the Great Raven, the Destroyer ... .

Yet he had given the Goddess this much. She reached out her hand to him ... and stopped, for under her hand again she saw what once before she had seen, a skull beneath her fingers ... .

... now he is fey, he sees his own death, and I see it too ... . Yet he shall not suffer nor be tortured. He spoke truth; he has done what the Goddess has given him to do, and now must I do the same ... . She waited until her voice was steady before she spoke. In the distance she heard a soft thundering.

At last she said, "The Goddess is merciful. Take him to the oak grove, as is ordained, but there slay him swiftly with a single stroke. Bury him beneath the great oak, and let it henceforth be shunned now and forever by all men. Kevin, last of the Messengers of the Goddess, I curse you to forget all, to be reborn without priesthood and without enlightenment, that all you have done in your former lives be wiped away and your soul returned to the once-born. A hundred lifetimes shall you return, Kevin Harper, always seeking the Goddess and never finding her. Yet in the end, Kevin, once Merlin, I say to you-if she wants you, be very sure she will find you again."

Kevin looked straight at her. He smiled, that curious, sweet smile, and said, almost in a whisper, "Farewell, then, Lady of the Lake. Tell Nimue I loved her ... or it may be that I will tell her myself. For I think it will be a long, long time before you and I shall meet again, Morgaine." And again soft thunder punctuated his words.

Morgaine shivered as he limped away without looking back, supported on the arms of his captors.

Why do I feel so shamed? I showed mercy; I could have had him tortured. They will call me, too, traitor and weakling, that he was not taken to the oak grove and there made to scream and pray for death till the very trees shrank from the sound ... . Am I only a weakling, that I would not torture a man I once loved? Is his death to be so easy that the Goddess will then seek vengeance on me? So be it, even if I must meet the death I could not give him.

She flinched, looking into the grey storm clouds in the sky. Kevin has suffered all his life long. I will add nothing more than death to his fate. Lightning flared in the sky, and she thought, with a shiver-or was it only the cold wind that came with the sudden rush of the storm outside?-So passes the last of the great Merlins, into the storm that breaks now over Avalon.

She gestured to Niniane. "Go. See my sentence done to the letter, that they slay him with a single stroke, and leave not his body above ground for a single hour." She saw the younger woman's gaze rest on her face; was it known, then, to everyone, that once they had been lovers? But Niniane only asked, "And you?"

"I go now to Nimue. She will need me."

But Nimue was not in her room in the House of Maidens, nor anywhere in the house, nor, when Morgaine hurried across the rain-swept courts, was she in the secluded house where she had dwelt with Raven. She was not anywhere in the temple, and one of the attendant priestesses told Morgaine that Nimue had refused food or wine or even a bath. Morgaine, terrible apprehension growing in her with every flash of lightning as the storm grew and raged, called for all the servants of the temple to search for her; but before they could Niniane came, her face white, attended by the men she had sent to see Kevin's death done as Morgaine had decreed.

"What is it?" Morgaine demanded, her voice cold. "Why was my sentence not done?"

"He was slain with a single stroke, Lady of the Lake," Niniane whispered, "but with the very stroke came lightning from the sky and struck the great oak-cleft it in twain. There is a great rift in the sacred oak, from the sky to the ground ... ."

Morgaine felt steel clamp around her throat. Nothing so strange, that with the storm should come the lightning flash, and ever the lightning strikes at the highest point. But that it should come in the same hour wherein Kevin prophesied the end of Avalon ...

She shivered again, wrapping her arms about herself under her cloak so that those who looked on her should not see her trembling. How could she turn this omen, for omen it surely was, aside from the impending destruction of Avalon?

"The God has prepared a place for the traitor. Bury him, then, within the cleft in the oak ... ."

They bowed acquiescence and went away, through thunder and the sudden rattle of rain, and Morgaine, distraught, realized that she had forgotten Nimue. But a voice within her said, Now it is too late.

They found her at high noon, just as the sun came out after the storm, floating among the reeds of the Lake. Her long hair was spread out on the surface like water weeds, and Morgaine, stunned with grief, could not find it in her heart to regret that Kevin had not gone alone into the shadowed land beyond death.

12

Morgaine thought often, in the bleak days which followed upon Kevin's death, now indeed the Goddess had taken it upon herself to destroy the Companions of the Round Table. But why had it been her will to destroy Avalon too?

I am growing old. Raven is dead and Nimue is dead, who should have been Lady after me. And the Goddess has laid her hand upon no other to be her prophetess. Kevin lies entombed within the oak. What of Avalon now?

It seemed that the world was shifting, that beyond the mists the world moved at an ever-accelerating pace. No one save herself and one or two of the oldest priestesses could open the gateway through the mists, and there was now little reason to try. And there were times when she walked abroad and could see neither sun nor moon, and she knew that she had strayed over the borders of the fairy country; but she saw only the rarest glimpses of the fairy folk among the trees, nor did she ever again have sight of the queen.

She wondered if indeed the Goddess had deserted them, for some of the maidens from the House of Maidens had gone again into the world, and others strayed into the fairy country and did not return again.

The Goddess came forth for the last time into the world when she bore the Grail through Arthur's hall at Camelot, Morgaine thought, and then, confused, she asked herself whether the Goddess had truly borne the Grail, or had it only been herself and Raven working illusion?

I have called on the Goddess and found her within myself.

And Morgaine knew that never again would she have the ability to seek beyond herself for comfort or counsel; she could look only within. No priestess, no prophetess, no Druid or councillor, no Goddess now to turn to; none but her unguided self. Now and again, when, as the habit of a lifetime bade her, she sought to call up the image of the Goddess to guide her, she saw nothing, or sometimes the face of Igraine-not the elderly, priest-ridden wife and widow of Uther, but the young and beautiful mother who had first laid these burdens on her, who had bidden her care for Arthur and given her into the hands of Viviane. And now and again she would see the face of Viviane, who had sent her to the bed of the Horned One, or Raven, who had stood at her side during that great moment of invocation.

They are the Goddess. And I am the Goddess. And there is no other.

She cared little to look into her magical mirror, but now and again when the moon was dark she went to drink of the spring and to look into the waters. But she saw only tantalizing glimpses: the Companions of the Round Table rode this way and that, following dreams and glimmers of vision and the Sight, but none found the true Grail. Some forgot the quest and rode openly in search of adventure; some met with more of adventure than they could manage, and so died; some did good deeds, and some evil. One or two, in piercing visions of faith, dreamed their own Grail and so died. Others, following the message of their own visions, went on pilgrimage to the Holy Lands; and others still, following a wind that was blowing all through the world in these days, withdrew into solitude and the hermit life, seeking, in crude caves and shelters, the life of silence and penitence- but what visions came to them, whether of the Grail or of some other thing, Morgaine never knew nor cared.

Once or twice she had glimpses of a face she knew. She saw Mordred at Camelot, at Arthur's side. Galahad, too, she saw as he sought the Grail; but then she saw him no more, and wondered if the quest had claimed him to death.

And once she saw Lancelet, half naked, clad in animal skins, his hair long and ragged, without armor or sword, running in the forest, and the gleam of madness was in his eyes; well, she had guessed that this quest might lead him only to madness and despair. Still she sought him again in the mirror, from moon to moon, but for a long time she had no success. Then she saw him sleeping, ragged and naked, on straw somewhere, and the walls of a prison or dungeon rose about him ... and then she saw him no more. Ah, Gods, has he gone too ... with so many of Arthur's men ... . Truly the Grail was no blessing to Arthur's court, but a curse ... . And rightly so, a curse to the traitor who would have profaned it ... And now is it gone forever from Avalon.

For a long time Morgaine believed that the Grail had been taken away by the Goddess into the realms of the Gods, so that mankind might never again profane it, and she was content that it should be so; for it had been defiled with the wine of the Christians, which somehow was blood as well as wine, and she had no notion of how to cleanse it.

Whispers came from the outside world to Morgaine through some of the old brotherhood of priests who came in these days to Avalon; Christians, some of them, of the old ones who had once worshipped beside the Druids, in their firm belief that their Christ had once lived here on Avalon and been taught wisdom. Now, fleeing from the enforced conformity of that new breed of Christians who would wipe out all other worship but their own, they came to Avalon, and from them Morgaine heard something of the Grail.

The priests were now saying that it was indeed the true cup from which Christ had drunk at his Last Supper, and that it had been taken away into Heaven whence it would never again be seen in the world. Yet also there were rumors that it had been seen on that other isle, Ynis Witrin, sparkling in the depths of their well, that well which on Avalon was the holy mirror of the Goddess; and therefore the priests on Ynis Witrin had begun to call it the Well of the Chalice.

And when the old priests had dwelt for a time upon Avalon, Morgaine began to hear rumors that now and again the Grail had been seen, for a moment, upon their altar. That must be as the Goddess wills. They will not profane it. But she knew not whether it was truly there in the ancient church of the Christian brotherhood ... which was built on the very spot of the church on the other island, so that they said that, when the mists thinned, the ancient brotherhood on Avalon could hear the monks chanting in their church on Ynis Witrin. Morgaine remembered the day when the mists had thinned to let Gwenhwyfar through to Avalon.

Time ran strangely now upon Avalon. Morgaine did not know whether that twelvemonth and a day to which the knights were vowed had passed or not, and sometimes she thought that indeed years must have passed in the outside world ... .

She thought long on the words Kevin had spoken: ... the mists are closing on Avalon.

And then, one day, she was summoned to the shores of the Lake, but she needed no Sight to tell her who stood in the barge. Avalon had once been his home too. Lancelet's hair was all grey now and his face thin and haggard, but as he stepped from the boat, with only the shadow of his old light-footed grace, she stepped forward and took his hands, and she could see in his face no trace of madness.

He looked into her eyes, and suddenly it seemed that she was the Morgaine of the old days, when Avalon was a temple alive with priestesses and Druids and not a solitary land adrift in the mists with a bare handful of aging priestesses, a few elderly Druids, a handful of half-forgotten ancient Christians.

"How is it that you are so untouched by time, Morgaine?" he asked her. "All seems changed, even here in Avalon-look, even the ring stones are hidden in the mists!"

"Oh, they are still there," Morgaine said, "though some of us would lose our way if we sought them now." And like a pain in her heart she remembered a day-ah, it was a lifetime ago!-when she and Lancelet had lain together in the shadow of the stones. "I think perhaps they will one day go altogether into the mists, and thus never be torn down by human hands or the winds of time. There are none to worship at them now ... even the Beltane fires are no longer lighted on Avalon, though I have heard that they keep the old rites still in the wildnesses of North Wales and in Cornwall. The little people will never let them die while any of them survive. I am surprised that you were able to come here, kinsman."

He smiled, and now she could see the traces of pain and grief-yes, even of madness-around his eyes. "Why, I hardly knew it was hither I came, cousin. My memory plays tricks on me, now. I was mad, Morgaine. I cast away my sword and lived like an animal in the forests, and then there was a time, I know not how long, that I was confined in a strange dungeon."

"I saw it," she whispered. "I knew not what it meant."

"Nor did I, nor do I yet," Lancelet said. "I remember very little of that time-it is God's blessing, I think, that I cannot remember what I might have done. I think it was not the first time-there were times, during those years with Elaine, that I hardly knew what I did ... ."

"But you are well now," she said quickly. "Come and breakfast with me, cousin-it is too early for anything else, for whatever reason you came here."

He followed her, and Morgaine took him into her dwelling; except for her attendant priestesses, he was the first person who had entered it in years. There was fish from the Lake, this morning, and she served him with her own hands.

"Ah, this is good," he said, and ate hungrily-she wondered how long it had been since he had last remembered to eat. His hair was as fastidiously combed as ever, his curly hair-all grey now, and patches of white in his beard-neatly trimmed, and his cloak, though shabby and travel-worn, was neatly brushed and clean. He saw her glance at the cloak and laughed a little.

"In the old days I would not have used this cloak for a saddle blanket," he said. "I lost cloak and sword and armor, I know not where-it may be that I was robbed of them in some evil adventure, or cast them away in madness. I know only that one day I heard someone speak my name, and it was one of the Companions-Lamorak, perhaps, though it is still very hazy in my mind. I was too weak to travel, but though he rode on the next day, I began slowly to remember who I was, and they gave me a gown and let me sit to table to eat with my knife instead of throwing me scraps in a wooden piggin-" His laugh was shaky, nervous. "Even when I knew not that I was Lancelet, I had still my accursed strength, and I think I had done some of them harm. I think I lost the best part of a year out of my life. ... I remember only little things, and the main thought in my mind was never to let them know I was Lancelet, lest I bring shame on the Companions or Arthur ... " He fell silent, and Morgaine guessed at his torment by what he did not say. "Well, slowly I grew strong enough to travel, and Lamorak had left money for a horse and goods for me. But most of that year is darkness-"

He picked up the remaining bread on his plate and resolutely mopped up the scraps of fish. Morgaine asked him, "What of the quest?"

"What indeed? I have heard a little," he said, "here and there, here and there, as I rode in the land. Gawaine was the first to return to Camelot."

Morgaine smiled, almost against her will. "He was always fickle-to everything and everyone."

"Except to Arthur," Lancelet said. "He is more loyal to Arthur than any of his dogs! And I met with Gareth as I rode hither."

Morgaine said, "Dear Gareth, he is the best of Morgause's sons! What said he to you?"

"He said he had had a vision," Lancelet said slowly, "which bade him return to court and do his duty by his king and his lands, and not to delay, loitering about and seeking visions of holy things. And he talked a long time with me, begging me to lay aside the quest of the Grail and return to Camelot with him."

"I am surprised you did not," Morgaine said.

He smiled. "I am surprised too, kinswoman. And I have promised to return as soon as I can." Suddenly, his face grew grave. "Gareth told me," he said, "that Mordred is always about Arthur now. And when I would not return to court with him, he told me this-that what I could best do for Arthur was to find Galahad and bid him return at once to Avalon, for he mistrusted Mordred and his influence upon Arthur. ... I am sorry to speak ill of your son, Morgaine."

Morgaine said, "He told me once that Galahad would not live to rule ... yet he swore to me, by an oath I do not think he would dare break, that he would have no hand in his death."

Lancelet looked troubled. "I have seen many evil adventures that may befall on this accursed quest. God grant that I can find Galahad before he falls prey to one of them!" A silence fell between them, while Morgaine thought, I knew it in my heart-this was why Mordred refused the quest. She realized, quite suddenly, that she had ceased to believe that her son Gwydion -Mordred-would ever now be King from Avalon. She wondered when she had begun to accept that in her heart. Perhaps it had been when Accolon died and the Goddess did not stretch forth her hand to protect her chosen.

Galahad will be King, and he will be a Christian king.

And that may well mean that he will kill Gwydion. What of the King Stag, when the young stag is grown? But if the day of Avalon had ended, perhaps Galahad would take his throne in peace, without the need to kill his rival.

Lancelet laid down the remnant of a piece of bread and honey and looked past her at the corner of the room. "Is that Viviane's harp?"

"Yes," she said. "I left mine at Tintagel. But I suppose it is yours by right of inheritance if you want it."

"I play no longer, nor do I have any will to make music, Morgaine. By right it is yours, as are all other things which belonged to my mother."

Morgaine recalled words which had cut her to the heart-again, a lifetime ago!-7 would that you were not so much like my mother, Morgaine! Now the memory held no pain, but warmth; Viviane was not gone entirely from the world if something survived in her. He said, stumbling, "There are now so few of us-so few who recall the old days at Caerleon-even at Camelot-"

"Arthur is there," she said, "and Gawaine, and Gareth, and Cai, and many more, my dear. And no doubt they ask one another with every day, Where is Lancelet? Why are you here, and not there?"

"I said, my mind plays me tricks-I hardly knew I came hither," Lancelet said. "Yet now I am here, I should ask-I heard Nimue was here," and she remembered: she had told him this, once, when he had thought his daughter at the convent where once Gwenhwyfar had been. "I should ask, what has become of her-is she well, does she thrive among the priestesses?"

"I am sorry," Morgaine said. "It seems I have nothing but ill news for you-Nimue died, a year ago."

More than this she would not say. Lancelet knew nothing of the Merlin's betrayal, or of Nimue's last visit to the court. It could only grieve him to know the rest. He asked no questions, only sighed heavily, and cast his eyes on the floor. At last he said without looking up, "And the baby -little Gwenhwyfar-she is married, and in Less Britain, and this quest has swallowed Galahad. I never knew any of my children. I never tried to know them-it seemed to me they were all I could give Elaine, and so I left them to her almost entirely, even the boy. I rode for a time with Galahad when first we departed from Camelot, and I knew more of him in the ten days and nights we rode together than in all the sixteen years he had lived. I think perhaps he would make a good king, if he lives ... ."

He looked at Morgaine, almost pleading, and she knew he was longing for reassurance, but she had no comfort for him. At last she said, "If he lives, he will be a good king, but I think he will be a Christian king." It seemed that for a moment all the sounds of Avalon were hushed around her, as if the very waves of the Lake and the whispering sound of the reeds on the border were silent to hear her say it. "If lie survives the quest of the Grail -or if he should abandon it-still his rule will be circled about by the priests, and through all the land there will be only one God and only one religion."

"Would that be such a tragedy, Morgaine?" Lancelet asked quietly. "All through this land, the Christian God is bringing a spiritual rebirth here -is that an evil thing, when mankind has forgotten the Mysteries?"

"They have not forgotten the Mysteries," she said, "they have found them too difficult. They want a God who will care for them, who will not demand that they struggle for enlightenment, but who will accept them just as they are, with all their sins, and take away their sins with repentance. It is not so, it will never be so, but perhaps it is the only way the unenlightened can bear to think of their Gods."

Lancelet smiled bitterly. "Perhaps a religion which demands that every man must work through lifetime after lifetime for his own salvation is too much for mankind. They want not to wait for God's justice, but to see it now. And that is the lure which this new breed of priests has promised them."

Morgaine knew that he spoke truth, and bowed her head in anguish. "And since their view of a God is what shapes their reality, so it shall be -the Goddess was real while mankind still paid homage to her, and created her form for themselves. Now they will make for themselves the kind of God they think they want-the kind of God they deserve, perhaps."

Well, so it must be, for as man saw reality, so it became. While the ancient Gods, the Goddess, were seen as benevolent or life-giving, so indeed had nature been to them; and when the priests had taught men to think of all nature as evil, alien, hostile, and the old Gods as demons, even so they would become, surging up from within that part of man which he now wished to sacrifice or control, instead of letting it lead him.

She said, remembering at random something she had read when she had looked into the books of Uriens' house priest in Wales, "And so all men will become even as that apostle who wrote that they should become as eunuchs for the Kingdom of God ... I think I care not to live within that world, Lancelet."

The weary knight sighed and shook his head. "I think I care not for it either, Morgaine. Yet perhaps it will be a simpler world than ours, and it will be easier to know what is right to do. So I came to seek Galahad, for though he will be a Christian king, I think he would be a better king than Mordred ... ."

Morgaine clenched her hands under the edge of her sleeves. I am not the Goddess! It is-it is not mine to choose! "You came-here to seek him, Lancelet? He was never one of us. My son Gwydion-Mordred-he was reared at Avalon. If he left Arthur's court he might come here. But Galahad? He was as pious as Elaine-he would scorn to set foot in this world of witchcraft and fairy!"

"But as I told you, I knew not that I came here," said Lancelet. "I sought to reach Ynis Witrin and the Isle of the Priests, for I heard a rumor of a magical brightness which comes and goes in the church there, and they have renamed their Well, I have heard, the Well of the Chalice-I thought perhaps Galahad rode this way. Another old habit brought me here."

She asked him seriously then, face to face, "What do you think of this quest, Lancelet?"

"I know not, truly, cousin," said Lancelet. "When I took this quest on me, I went as once I went to kill old Pellinore's dragon-do you remember that, Morgaine? None of us believed in it then, and yet I did in the end find that dragon and slay it. Yet I know that something, something of great holiness, came into Camelot that day we saw the Grail." And when she would have spoken, he said vehemently, "No, tell me not that I imagined it, Morgaine-you were not there, you do not know what it was like! For the first time, I felt that there was a Mystery somewhere which was beyond this life. And so I went on this quest, though half of me felt it was mad -and I rode awhile with Galahad, and it seemed that his faith mocked mine, because he was so pure and his faith so simple and good, and I was old and stained-" Lancelet stared down at the floor, and she saw him swallow hard. "That is why, in the end, I parted from him, lest I damage that shining faith ... and then I know not where I went, for the fog came down over my mind, and the darkness, and it seemed that Galahad must-must know all the sins of my life and he must despise me for them."

His voice had risen in excitement, and for a moment Morgaine saw the unhealthy brightness returning to his eyes, as she had seen it in the naked man running in the forest. She said quickly, "Don't think of that time, my dear. It is over."

He drew a long, shuddering breath and she saw his eyes fade. "My quest now is to seek Galahad. I know not what he saw-an angel maybe -or why the call of the Grail came so strongly to some and so little to others. Of all the knights, I think only Mordred saw nothing, or if he did he kept it to himself."

My son was reared at Avalon; he would not have been deceived by the magic of the Goddess, Morgaine thought, and was about to speak and tell Lancelet what he had seen-he had been, in youth, an initiate of Avalon and he should not be allowed to think of it as some mystery of the Christians. But, hearing again that strange note in Lancelet's voice, she bent her head and said nothing. The Goddess had given him a vision of comfort; it was not for her to destroy it with a word.

She had sought this, she had worked for it. Arthur had forsaken the Goddess, and the Goddess had scattered his fellowship with a wind blowing from her holy place. And the final irony was this: that her holiest of visions should inspire the most passionate legend of Christian worship. Morgaine said at last, reaching out her hand to him, "Sometimes I believe, Lancelet, that it does not matter what we do. The Gods move us as they will, whatever it is that we think that we are doing. We are no more than their pawns."

"If I believed that," said Lancelet, "I should go mad once and for all."

Morgaine smiled sadly and said, "And if I did not believe it, I should perhaps go mad. I must believe that I had no power to do other than I have done."

... must believe that I never had a choice ... a choice to refuse the king-making, a choice to destroy Mordred unborn, a choice to refuse when Arthur gave me to Uriens, a choice to hold back my hand from the death of Avalloch, a choice to keep Accolon at my side ... a choice to spare Kevin Harper a traitor's death, and Nimue ...

Lancelet said, "And I must believe that man has the power to know the right, to choose between good and evil and know that his choice has made a difference ... "

"Oh, aye," Morgaine said, "if he knows what good is. But does it not seem to you, cousin, that ever, in this world, evil wears the face of good? Sometimes I feel it is the Goddess who makes the wrong appear the right, and the only thing we can do-"

"Why then, the Goddess would be just such a fiend as the priests say she is," said Lancelet.

"Lancelet," she said, leaning forward to plead with him, "never blame yourself. You did what you must! Believe only that it was your fate and ordained-"

"No, or I should slay myself at once, so that the Goddess could not make use of me to bring about more evil," said Lancelet vehemently. "Morgaine, you have the Sight, and I cannot-I cannot believe it is God's will that Arthur and his court shall fall into Mordred's hands! I told you I came hither because my mind played tricks on me. Without thinking, I called the Avalon barge to me and came here, but now, I think, perhaps I wrought better than I knew. You, who have the Sight, can look within the mirror and see for me where Galahad has gone! I will even brave his anger and demand that he leave this quest and return to Camelot-"

The ground seemed to quiver beneath Morgaine's feet. Once she had stepped unwary into a patch of quicksand and had felt the mud shiver and slip sidewise; it was like that, as if she must throw herself at once to safe ground... she heard herself say, as if very far away, "You will indeed return to Camelot with your son, Lancelet-" and wondered why the cold seemed to suck at her very vitals. "I will look into the mirror for you, kinsman. But I know Galahad not, I may not see anything which is of use to you."

"Yet tell me you will do what you can," Lancelet pleaded, and she said, "I have told you I will look into the mirror. But it will be with us as the Goddess wills. Come."

The sun was high now, and as they walked down the hill toward the Sacred Well, a raven croaked once overhead. Lancelet crossed himself against the evil omen, but Morgaine looked up and said, "What did you say, sister?"

Raven's voice said in her mind, Be not afraid. Mordred will not kill Galahad. And Arthur will kill Mordred.

She said aloud, "Arthur will be King Stag still ... ."

Lancelet turned and stared at her. "What did you say, Morgaine?"

Raven said in her mind, Not to the Holy Well, but to the chapel, and now. It is the time ordained.

Lancelet asked, "Where are we going? Have I forgotten the way to the Holy Well?" and Morgaine, raising her head, realized that her steps had brought them, not to the Well, but to the little chapel where the ancient Christian brotherhood held their services. They said it had been built by the brotherhood when the ancient Joseph had thrust his staff into the ground on the hill called Wearyall. She put out her hand and took a sprig of the Holy Thorn; it pricked her finger to the bone, and hardly knowing what she did, she put out her hand and marked Lancelet's forehead with the streak of blood.

He looked at her, startled. She could hear the priests singing softly, Kyrie eleison, Christe eleison. She went in quietly and knelt down to her own surprise. The chapel was filled with mist, and it seemed to Morgaine that through the mist she could see that other chapel, the one on Ynis Witrin, and hear both sets of voices singing ... Kyrie eleison ... and there were women's voices too; yes, this must be on Ynis Witrin, for in the chapel on Avalon there were no women, these must be the nuns in the convent there. It seemed for a moment that Igraine knelt beside her and she heard her voice, clear and soft, singing Christe eleison. The priest was at the altar, and then it seemed to her as if Nimue was there, her golden hair hanging down her back, fair and lovely as Gwenhywfar had been when she was a young maiden in the convent. But instead of the old jealous fury, Morgaine looked on her with the purest love for her beauty ... the mists thickened; she could hardly see Lancelet kneeling at her side, but before her, kneeling at the altar in the other chapel, she could see Galahad with his face raised, shining, and on it was the reflected brightness ... and she knew that he, too, saw through the mists, into the chapel here on Avalon, where the Grail stood ... .

She heard from the other chapel a ring of tiny bells, and heard ... she never knew which of the priests, the one here in Avalon, or the one on Ynis Witrin ... but in her mind it was the gentle voice of Taliesin ... murmuring, "For in that night in which the Christ was betrayed, our Master took the cup and blessed it, and said, All of you drink of this, for this is my blood which will be shed for you. So often as ye drink of this cup, do it ever in remembrance of me."

She could see the shadow of the priest who lifted the cup of communion, yet it was the damsel of the Grail, Nimue ... or was it she herself who set the cup to his lips? Lancelet rushed forward, crying out, "Ah-the light, the light-!" and dropped to his knees, his hands shielding his eyes, then slipped further forward and lay prone on the ground.

Under the touch of the Grail, the shadowed face of the young man became clear, solid, real, and the mists were gone; Galahad knelt and drank of the cup.

"For as the wine of many grapes was crushed to make a single wine, so as we unite in this bloodless and perfect sacrifice, then shall we all become One in the Great Light which is Infinite ... ."

And even as the rapture glowed through his face, the light shining there, he drew a great breath of absolute joy, and looked full into the light. He reached out to grasp the cup in his hands. .. and fell forward, slithered to the floor of the chapel, and he too lay there without moving.

It is death to touch the holy things unprepared ... .

Morgaine saw Nimue-or was it she herself?-cover Galahad's face with a white veil. And then Nimue was gone, and the cup was standing on the altar, only the gold cup of the Mysteries, without any trace of the unearthly light ... she was not sure it was there ... it was surrounded by mist. And Galahad lay dead on the floor of the chapel in Avalon, cold and still beside Lancelet.

IT WAS a long time before Lancelet stirred, and as he raised his head, Morgaine saw that his face was shadowed with tragedy. He whispered, "And I was not worthy to follow him."

"You must take him back to Camelot," Morgaine said gently. "He has won the quest of the Grail-but it was his final quest. He could not bear that light."

"Nor could I," Lancelet whispered. "Look, the light is still on his face. What did he see?"

Slowly, she shook her head, feeling the cold rise up her arms. "Neither you nor I will ever know that, Lancelet. I know only this-that he died with the Grail at his lips."

Lancelet looked up at the altar. The priests had gone quietly away, leaving Morgaine alone with the dead and the living; and the cup, surrounded in mist, still gleamed there, softly glowing.

Lancelet rose. He said, "Yes. And this shall come back with me to Camelot, that all men may know the quest is ended ... and no more knights seeking the unknown to die or go mad ... "

He took one step toward the altar where the Grail gleamed, but Morgaine flung her arms around him and held him back.

"No! No! It is not for you! The very sight of it struck you down! It is death to touch the holy things unprepared-"

"Then I shall die for it," he said, but she held him hard, and soon she felt him give way. He said, "Why, Morgaine? Why must this suicidal folly go on?"

"No," she said, "the quest of the Grail is ended. You were spared to return to Camelot and tell them that. But you cannot take it back to Camelot. No man can hold and confine it. Those who seek it in faith"- she heard her own voice, though she did not know what she was going to say until she said it-"will always find it-here, beyond the mortal lands. But if it should go back with you to Camelot, it would fall into the hands of the narrowest of the priests, and become a pawn for them...." She could feel the tears thickening her voice. "I beg of you, Lancelet. Leave it here in Avalon. Let there be, in this new world without magic, one Mystery the priests cannot describe and define once and for all, cannot put within their narrow dogma of what is and what is not ... " Her voice broke. "In the day which is coming, the priests will tell mankind what is good and what is evil, what to think, what to pray, what to believe. I cannot see to the end-perhaps mankind must have a time of darkness so that we will one day again know what a blessing is the light. But in that darkness, Lancelet, let there be one glimmer of hope. The Grail came once to Camelot. Let the memory of that passing never be sullied by seeing it captive on some worldly altar. Leave one Mystery and one source of vision for man to follow ... " She heard her voice go dry until it seemed like the croaking of the last of ravens.

Lancelet bowed down before her. "Morgaine, or are you truly Morgaine? I think I do not know who or what you are. But what you say is true. Let the Grail remain forever in Avalon."

Morgaine raised her hand, and the little folk of Avalon came and lifted up Galahad's body, bearing it silently to the Avalon barge. Lancelet's hand still in her own, Morgaine walked down to the shore, where she looked at the body lying in the boat. For a moment it seemed that Arthur lay there, then the vision wavered and vanished, and it was only Galahad, with that uncanny peace and light on his face.

"Now you ride to Camelot with your son," said Morgaine quietly, "but not as I foresaw. I think the Sight is given to mock us-we see what the Gods give us to see, but we know never what it means. I think I will never use the Sight more, kinsman."

"God grant it." Lancelet took her hands in his own for a moment; then he bent and kissed them.

"And so at last we part," he said softly. And then, for all she had said of refusing the Sight, she saw in his eyes what he saw when he looked at her-the maiden with whom he had lain in the ring stones and from whom he had turned away from fear of the Goddess; the woman he had gone to in a frenzy of desire, trying to blot out the guilt of his love for Gwenhwyfar and Arthur; the woman he had seen pale and terrible, holding aloft the torch when they had taken him in Elaine's bed; and now the dark, quiet Lady, shadowed in lights, who had lifted his son from the Grail and pleaded with him to leave it forever outside the world.

She leaned forward and kissed him on the brow. There was no need for words; they both knew it was farewell and benediction. As slowly he turned from her and stepped into the magical barge, Morgaine watched the droop of his shoulders and saw the glint of the setting sun on his hair. It was all white now; and Morgaine, seeing herself again in his eyes, thought, I too am old ... .

And now she knew why she had never again caught sight of the queen within the land of Fairy.

I am the queen now.

There is no Goddess but this, and I am she ...

And yet beyond this, she is, as she is in Igraine and Viviane and Morgause and Nimue and the queen. And they live in me too, and she ...

And within Avalon they live forever.

13

Far to the north, in the country of Lothian, word came seldom and unreliably of the quest for the Grail. Morgause waited for the return of her young lover, Lamorak. And then, half a year later, word came to her that he had died on the quest. He was not the first, she thought, and he will not be the last to die of this monstrous madness, leading men to seek for the unknown! Always I have thought that religions and Gods were a form of madness. Look what they have brought on Arthur! And now they have taken my Lamorak, still so young!

Well, he was gone, and though she missed him and would always miss him in her own way - he had been at her side longer than any other, save only Lot - she need not resign herself to old age and a solitary bed. She scanned herself in her old bronze mirror, sponged away the marks of her tears, then surveyed herself again. If she no longer had quite the full-blown beauty that had brought Lamorak, dazzled, to her feet, she was still a good-looking woman; there were still enough men in the land, and not all of them could have been caught by this questing madness. She was rich, she was Queen of Lothian, and she had her woman's weapons - she was still handsome, with all her own teeth, though now she must blacken her fading eyebrows and eyelashes ... they were such a pale-gingery color now. Well, there would always be men; they were all fools, and a clever woman could do with them what she liked. She was no fool like Morgaine, to fret over devotion or virtue, nor a whining idiot like Gwenhwyfar, to think always about her soul.

From time to time some tale of the quest, each one more fabulous than the last, would reach her. Lamorak, she heard, had come back at last to Pellinore's castle, drawn by an old rumor of a magical dish that was kept there in a crypt beneath the castle, and there he had died, crying out that the Grail floated before him in the hands of a maiden, in the hands of his sister, Elaine, as she had been in childhood ... she wondered what he had really seen. Word came, too, from the country near the Roman wall that Lancelet was dungeoned somewhere in sir Ectorius' old country as a madman, and that no one dared send word to King Arthur; then she heard that his brother Bors had come and recognized him, and he had come to his wits and ridden away, whether to follow the quest further or to ride back to Camelot she neither knew nor cared. Perhaps, she thought, with luck he too would die on this quest; otherwise the lure of Gwenhwyfar would draw him back yet again to Arthur and his court.

Only her sensible Gwydion had not gone on the quest, but had remained at Camelot, close to Arthur's side. Would that Gawaine and Gareth had had the wit to do the same! Now at last her sons had come into the place that should always have been theirs with Arthur.

Yet she had another way to know what was happening. Viviane had told her, in her youth at Avalon, that she had not the patience nor the hardihood for initiation into the Mysteries, and Viviane-she knew it now -had been right; who would wish to forsake life for so long as that? For many years she had believed that the doors of magic and of the Sight were closed to her, save for such little tricks as she had mastered on her own. And then she had begun to understand, when first she had used her sorcery to discover Gwydion's parentage, that the magical art was there, awaiting her, needing nothing but her will; having nothing to do with the complex Druidical rules and limitations about its use, or lies about the Gods. It was simply a part of life, there and accessible, nothing to do with good or evil, but available to anyone who had the will and the ruthlessness to use it.

All those who pretend to religions, Morgause thought, wish only to keep the sources of power in their own hands. But now I have them freely and of my own making, without binding myself by oaths about their use or direction.

So now, on this night, shut away from her servants, she made her preparations. She felt a dispassionate sympathy for the white dog she had brought in, and a moment of genuine revulsion as she cut its throat and set forth the dish of hot blood she had caught; but, after all, it was her own dog, as much hers as a pig she might have slaughtered for the table, and the power of spilled blood was stronger and more direct than the power built up by the long prayers and disciplines of the Avalon priesthood. Before the fireplace, one of her servant-women was lying, drugged and ready, before the fireplace; not one, this time, for whom she had any affection or any real need. She had learned that lesson when last she had attempted this. She spared a regretful thought for the waste of a good spinning woman that time; at least this one would be no loss to anyone, not even the cook who had half a dozen more helpers than she needed.

She still felt a certain squeamishness at the preliminaries. The blood marking her hands and forehead was unpleasantly sticky, but it seemed to her that she could almost see, billowing forth from the blood like smoke, the thin streams of magical power. The moon had shrunk to the thinnest of glimmers in the sky, and she knew the one who awaited her call in Camelot would be ready. At the precise moment the moon moved into the proper quarter of the sky, she poured the rest of the blood into the fire and called three times aloud.

"Morag! Morag! Morag!"

The drugged woman by the fireside-Morgause vaguely recalled that her name was Becca, or something like that-stirred, her vague eyes taking on depth and purpose, and for a moment, as she arose, it seemed that she was wearing the elegant garb of one of Gwenhwyfar's waiting-women. Her voice, too, was not the rough dialect of the dim-witted country girl, but the careful speech of a southern court lady.

"I am here at your call. What would you have of me, Queen of the Darkness?"

"Tell me of the court. What of the Queen?"

"She is much alone since Lancelet has gone, but often calls young Gwydion to her. She has been heard to say that he is like the son she never had. I think she has forgotten that he is the son of Queen Morgaine," said the girl, the careful speech so incongruous from the empty-eyed, rough-handed kitchen girl in her shapeless smock of sacking.

"Do you still put the medicine in her wine at bedtime?"

"There is no need, my queen," said the alien voice which came through and behind the kitchen girl. "The Queen's courses have not come upon her now for more than a year, and so I have ceased to give her the drug. But in any case the King comes very seldom to her bed."

So Morgause's last fear could now be quieted-that somehow, against all odds, Gwenhwyfar would bear a belated child to endanger Gwydion's position at court. Besides, the King's subjects would never accept a child for king, after the long peaceful years of Arthur's reign. Nor, she supposed, would Gwydion have any scruples about making an end to a small, unwanted rival. But it was better not to chance it; Arthur himself, after all, had escaped all Lot's plotting and her own, and had lived to be crowned.

I have waited too long. Lot should have been King of these lands many years ago, and I Queen. Now there is none to stop me. Viviane is gone; Morgaine is old; Gwydion will make me Queen. I am the only woman living to whose word he will listen.

"What of sir Mordred, Morag? Is he trusted by the Queen, by the King?"

But the voice grew thick and heavy. "I cannot stay-Mordred is often with the King-once I heard the King say to him-eh, my head aches, what am I doing here by the fire? Cook will skin me alive ..." It was the idiot voice of Becca, thick and sullen, and Morgause knew that far away in Camelot, Morag had sunk back into her bizarre dream in which she faced the faraway Queen of Lothian or the Queen of Fairy ... .

Morgause seized the pan of blood, shaking the last remaining drops into the fire. "Morag, Morag! Hear me, stay, I command!"

"My queen," came the faraway ladylike voice, "sir Mordred has always at his side one of the damsels of the Lady of the Lake, they say that she is somehow kin to Arthur-"

Niniane, daughter of Taliesin. Morgause thought, I did not know she had left Avalon. But why now should she stay?

"Sir Mordred has been named captain of horse while Lancelet is gone from court. There are rumors ... Eh, the fire, my lady, will you set the whole of the castle afire?" Becca was rubbing her eyes and whimpering on the hearth. Infuriated, Morgause gave her a savage push, and the girl fell screaming into the fire; but she was still bound and could not pull herself away from the flames.

"Damn her, she will wake the whole household!" Morgause reached out to pull the girl from the flames, but her dress had caught fire, and her shrieks were dreadful, striking Morgause's ears like red-hot needles. She thought, with a trace of pity, Poor girl, there is nothing to be done for her now -she would be so burnt, we could not help her even if she should live! She pulled the screaming, struggling girl out of the fire, not regarding the burns on her own hands, and leaned close for a moment, laying her head on the girl's brow as if to soothe her; then, with a single stroke, she cut her throat from ear to ear. Blood poured into the fire, and the smoke rushed high up into the chimney.

Morgause felt herself shaking with the unexpected power, as if she were spreading out through the whole of the room, through the -whole of Lothian, through the whole of the world ... she had never dared so much before, but now it had come to her, unsought. It seemed that she hovered bodiless over all the land. Again after years of peace there were armies on the road, and on the west coast hairy men in high-beaked dragon ships landed, plundering and burning cities, laying monasteries waste, carrying away women from the walled convents where they lived . .. like a crimson wind, sweeping down even to the borders of Camelot ... she was not sure whether what she saw now was even at this moment moving in the land or was yet to come.

She cried out through the growing darkness, "Let me see my sons on the quest of the Grail!"

Darkness filled the room, sudden, black and thick, with a curious smell of burning, while Morgause crouched, beaten to her knees by the rush of power. The smoke cleared a little, with a small stirring and coiling in the darkness, like the boiling of a pot. Then Morgause saw, in the widening light, the face of her youngest son, Gareth. He was dirty and travel-worn, his clothing ragged, but he was smiling with the old gaiety, and as the light grew, Morgause could see what he was looking at-the face of Lancelet.

Ah, Gwenhwyfar would not fawn on him now, not this sickly and wasted man with grey in his hair and the traces of madness and suffering in the lines round his eyes ... he looks indeed like something hung up in the field to scare birds from the grain! The old hatred surged through her: it was intolerable, that her youngest and best son should think kindly of this man, should love him and follow him as he had when he was a little child prattling to carved wooden knights ... .

"No, Gareth"-she heard the voice of Lancelet, soft in the curdled silence in the room-"you know why it is that I will not return to court. I will not speak of my own peace of soul-nor yet of the Queen's-but I am vowed to follow the Grail for a year and a day."

"But this is madness! What the devil is the Grail, against the needs of our king? I was sworn to him, and so were you, years before any of us heard of the Grail! When I think of our King Arthur at court with none of his faithful men save such as are lame or infirm or cowardly ... times, I wonder if perhaps it was the work of the fiend, masquerading as a work of God and come to scatter Arthur's Companions out of his hands!"

Lancelet said quietly, "I know that it came from God, Gareth. Do not try to deprive me of that." And for a moment it seemed that again the light of madness flickered in his eyes.

Gareth said, and his voice was oddly subdued when he spoke, "But when God does the same work as the Devil? I cannot think it is God's will that all Arthur has wrought in more than a quarter of a century should thus be cast aside! Do you know there are wild Northmen landing on the shores, and when the men of those lands cry out for Arthur's legions to come and help them, there are none to send to their aid? And so the Saxon armies are gathering again, while Arthur sits idle in Camelot and you seek for your soul-Lancelet, I beg you, if you will not return to court, at least seek for Galahad and make him return to Arthur's side! If the King is old and his will grows weak-and God forbid I should ever have to say so much- then perhaps your son may stand in his place, for all men know he is the King's adopted son and heir!"

"Galahad?" Lancelet's voice was somber. "Think you I have much influence with my son? You and the others swore to follow the Grail for a year and a day, yet I rode for a time with Galahad, and I know it is with him even as he said on that day, that if need be he would follow it lifelong."

"No!" Gareth leaned from his horse and gripped Lancelet by the shoulders. "That is what you must make him see, Lancelet, that at all costs he must return to Camelot! Ah, God, Gwydion would call me traitor to my own blood, and I love Gwydion well, but-how can I say this even to you, my cousin and my heart's brother? I trust not that man's power over our king! The Saxons who send to Arthur find themselves always speaking with him, they think of him as the sister's son of Arthur, and among them, know you not, the sister's son is heir-"

Lancelet said, with a gentle smile, "Recall then, Gareth, that it was even so with the Tribes before the Romans came-we are not Roman, you and I."

"But will you not fight for the rights of your own son?" demanded Gareth.

"It is for Arthur to say who shall follow him on his throne," said Lancelet, "if indeed there shall be any king after him at all. Sometimes, it seemed to me when I wandered among the visions of my madness-nay, I mean not to speak of that, but I think perhaps it was a little akin to the Sight-that a darkness would fall over this land when Arthur had gone."

"And then it should be as if Arthur had never been? What of your vow to Arthur?" Gareth demanded, and Lancelet sighed.

"If it is your will, Gareth, I will seek out Galahad."

"As quickly as you can," Gareth urged, "and you must persuade him that his loyalty to the King is beyond all quests and Grails and Gods-"

Lancelet said sadly, "And if he will not come?"

"If he does not," Gareth said slowly, "then perhaps he is not the King we will need after Arthur. In that case, we are in God's hands, and may he help us all!"

"Cousin, and more than brother," said Lancelet, embracing him again, "we are all in God's hands whatever comes. But I vow to you, I will seek for Galahad and bring him with me to Camelot, I swear it ... ."

And then the stirring and the brightness were gone, Gareth's face faded and went into the dark, and for a moment it was only Lancelet's eyes, lustrous and so like Viviane's that for a moment Morgause felt that her sister and priestess was looking on her with frowning disapproval, as if to say, Morgause, what have you done now? Then that too was gone, and Morgause was alone with her fire, still belching smoke from which all the clouds of magical power had faded, and the limp, bloodless body of the dead woman lying on the hearth.

Lancelet! Lancelet, damn him, he could still play havoc with her plans! Morgause felt her hate like a pain that struck through, a tightness in her throat that travelled down her body to her very womb. Her head was aching, and she felt deathly sick with the aftermath of magic. She wanted nothing more than to sink down on the hearth and sleep for hours, but she must be strong, strong with the powers of sorcery she had called to herself; she was Queen of Lothian, Queen of Darkness! She opened the door and flung the body of the dog onto the midden heap there, disregarding the sickening stench.

She could not handle the body of the kitchen girl alone. She was about to call out for help, when she stopped, her hands to her face, still marked and sticky with blood; they must not see her like this. She went to the basin and ewer of water, poured it out and washed her face and hands and braided her hair afresh. There was nothing she could do about the bloodstains on her dress, but now that the fire was out, there was little light in the room. At last she called out for her chamberlain, and he came to the door, avid curiosity in his face.

"What is it, my queen? I heard shouts and screams-is anything amiss here?" He held up the light, and Morgause knew very well how she looked to him-beautiful, dishevelled-as if she could see herself through his eyes in the aftermath of the Sight. I could stretch forth my hand now and have him over the girl's body, she thought, feeling the strange cramping pain and pleasure of desire, and inwardly she laughed, but she put it willfully aside; there would be time enough for that.

"Yes, there is grave trouble. Poor Becca-" She indicated the limp corpse. "She fell into the fire, and when I would have helped her burns, she grabbed the knife from my hand to cut her throat-she must have been maddened with the agony, poor thing. See, her blood is all over me."

The man cried out in consternation and went to examine the lifeless form of the girl. "Well, well, the poor lass had not all her wits. You should not have let her in here, madam."

Morgause was disturbed at the hint of reproach she heard in the man's voice; had she actually thought of taking this one to her bed? "I did not call you hither to question my deeds. Take her out of here and have her decently buried, and send my women to me. I ride at dawn for Camelot."

NIGHT WAS falling, and a thick drizzling rain was blurring the road. Morgause was cold and wet, and it only annoyed her when her captain of horse came up and asked, "Are you sure, madam, that we are on the right road?"

She had had her eye on this one for months; his name was Cormac, and he was tall and young, with a hawklike face and strong shoulders and thighs. But it seemed to Morgause now that all men were stupid, she would have done better to leave Cormac at home and lead this party herself. But there were things even the Queen of Lothian could not do.

"I do not recognize any of these roads. Yet I know from the distance we have ridden this day that we must be near to Camelot-unless you have somehow lost your way in the fog and we are riding northward again, Cormac?"

Under ordinary conditions she would have welcomed another night on the road, in her comfortable pavilion, with all the comforts she could provide, and perhaps, when all her women slept, this Cormac to warm her bed.

Since I found the way to sorcery, all men are at my feet. Yet now, it seems, I care for none ... strange, I have sought out no man since word came to me of Lamorak's death. Am I growing old? She recoiled from the thought, and resolved she would have Cormac with her tonight ... but first they must reach Camelot; she must act there to protect Gwydion's interest and to advise him. She said impatiently, "The road must be here, dolt. I have made this journey more times than I have fingers on my two hands! Do you think me a fool?"

"God forbid, madam. And I too have ridden this road often, yet somehow, it seems, we are lost," Cormac said, and Morgause felt she would choke with her exasperation. Mentally she retraced the road she had travelled so often from Lothian, leaving the Roman road and taking the well-travelled way along the edge of the marshes to Dragon Island, then along the ridge till they should strike the road to Camelot, which Arthur had had broadened and resurfaced until it was almost as good as the old Roman road.

"Yet somehow you have missed the Camelot road, dolt, for there is that old fragment of Roman wall ... somehow or other we are half an hour's ride past the turn to Camelot," Morgause scolded. There was no help for it now but to turn the whole caravan about, and already darkness was closing down. Morgause drew up her hood over her head and urged her plodding horse through the grey lowering twilight. At this time of year there should have been another hour of sunlight, but there was only the faintest glimmer of light in the west.

"Here it lies," said one of her women. "See, that clump of four apple trees-I came here one summer to take a graft of apples for the Queen's garden."

But there was no road, only a little track winding upward on a barren hill, where there should be a broad road, and above it, even through mist, there should have been the lights of Camelot.

"Nonsense," she said brusquely, "we have lost the way, somehow- are you trying to tell me that there is no more than one clump of four apple trees in Arthur's kingdom?"

"Yet that is where the road ought to be, I swear it," grumbled Cormac, but he got the whole line of riders, horses, and pack animals into motion again and they plodded on, rain coming down and down as if it had been coming down since the beginning of time and had forgotten how to stop. Morgause was cold and weary, longing for hot supper at Gwenhwyfar's table and hot mulled wine and a soft bed, and when Cormac rode up to her again she demanded crossly, "What now, dolt? Have you managed to lose us again, and miss a wide wagon road once more?"

"My queen, I am sorry, but somehow-look, we are back again where we paused to rest the horses after we turned off the Roman road-that bit of rag I dropped, I'd been using it to clean the muck off one of the packs."

Her wrath exploded. "Was ever a queen plagued with so many damnable fools about her?" she shouted. "Must we look for the biggest city north of Londinium all over the Summer Country? Or must we ride back and forth on this road all night? If we cannot see Camelot's lights in the dark, we could at least hear it, a castle with more than a hundred knights and serving-men, horses and cattle, Arthur's men patrolling all the roads about -everything that moves on this road is clearly in sight of his watchtowers!"

Yet in the end there was nothing to do but to have lanterns lighted and turn southward again; Morgause herself rode at the head of the line, next to Cormac. The fog and rain seemed to damp out all sound, even echoes, until, through the foggy rain, they found themselves again at the ruined patch of Roman wall where they had turned about before. Cormac swore, but he sounded frightened too.

"Lady, I am sorry, I cannot understand it-"

"Damnation seize you all!" Morgause shrieked at him. "Will you have us riding hither and thither on this road all night?" Yet she too recognized the ruined wall. She drew a long breath, exasperation and resignation in one. "Perhaps by morning the rain will have ended, and if we must we can retrace our steps to the Roman wall. At least we will know where we have come!"

"If indeed we have come anywhere and have not wandered somehow into the fairy country," murmured one of the women, surreptitiously crossing herself. Morgause saw the gesture, but she only said, "No more of that! It's bad enough to be lost in the rain and fog without such idiot nonsense! Well, why are you all standing about? We can ride no more tonight, make haste to camp here, and in the morning we will know what to do."

She had intended to call Cormac to her, if only that she might have no leisure for the fear that had begun to steal through her... had they indeed come out of the real world into the unknown? Yet she did not, lying alone and wakeful among her women, restless, mentally retracing all the steps of their journey. There was no sound in the night, not even the calling of frogs from the marshes. It was not possible to lose the whole city of Camelot; yet it had vanished into nowhere. Or was it she herself, with all her men and ladies and horses, who had vanished into the world of sorcery? And every time she came to that point in her thoughts she would wish that she had not allowed her anger with Cormac to set him to watching over the camp; if he were lying here beside her, she would not have that terrifying sense of the world somehow insanely out of joint ... again and again she tried to sleep and found herself restlessly staring, wide awake, into the dark.

Sometime in the night, the rain stopped; when day broke, although damp mist was rising everywhere, the sky was free of cloud. Morgause woke from a fitful doze, a dream of Morgaine, greying and old, looking into a mirror like her own, and went out of her pavilion, hoping that she would look up the hill and find that Camelot was, indeed, where it should have been, the broad road leading up to the towers of Arthur's castle, or else that they were on some unknown road clearly miles and miles from where they should have been. But they were camped by the ruined Roman wall, which she knew to be about a mile south from Camelot, and as horses and men prepared to ride, she looked up at the hill which should have been Camelot; but the hill was green and grass-grown and featureless.

They rode slowly along the road, muddy with the many tracks where they had ridden back and forth half the night. A flock of sheep grazed in a field, but when Morgause's man went to speak with the shepherd, the man hid behind a rock wall and would not be coaxed out.

"And this is Arthur's peace?" Morgause wondered aloud. "I think, my lady," said Cormac with deference, "there must be some enchantment here-whatever it is, this is not Camelot."

"Then in God's name, what is it?" asked Morgause, but he only muttered, "In God's name, what indeed?" and had no further answer for her. She looked upward again, listening to the frightened whimpering of one of her women. For a moment it was as if Viviane spoke again in her mind, saying what Morgause had never more than half believed, that Avalon had gone into the mists, and that if one set out there, either Druid or priestess, and not knowing the way, one would come only to the priests' Isle of Glastonbury ... .

They could retrace their steps to the Roman road ... but Morgause felt a curious growing fear: would they find that the Roman road too was gone, was Lothian gone, was she alone on the face of the earth with these few men and women? Shivering, she recalled a few words of Scripture she had heard preached by Gwenhwyfar's house priest, about the end of the world ... I say to you, two women will be grinding grain side by side, and one will be taken, and the other one will be left ... . Had Camelot and all those within it been taken up into the Christian Heaven, had the world ended, with a few stragglers like herself left to wander on the face of the stricken world?

But they could not stand staring at the empty track. She said, "We will retrace our steps toward the Roman road." If, she thought, it is still there, if there is anything there at all. It seemed, as she looked on the mists rising like magical smoke from the marshes, that the world had vanished and even the rising sun was unfamiliar. Morgause was not a fanciful woman; she told herself, it was better to move and try to make their way back, than to stand in that otherworldly silence. Camelot was real, a place in the real world, it could not vanish entirely away.

Yet if I had had my way, if Lot and I had been successful in our plotting against Arthur, perhaps the whole land would be like this, silent and desolate and full of fears ... .

Why was it so quiet? It seemed in all the world there was no sound but their horses' hooves, and even these seemed to fall like stones dropped into water, muffled and dying away in ripples. They had nearly reached the Roman road-or where the Roman road should have been-when they heard hoofbeats on a hard road; a rider was coming, slow and deliberate, from Glastonbury. They could make out a dark figure through the fog, some kind of heavy-laden pack animal behind him. After a moment one of her men cried out, "Why, look there, it is sir Lancelet of the Lake-God give you good morning, sir!"

"Hallo! Who rides there?" It was indeed Lancelet's well-known voice, and as he came closer, the homely sound of the hooves of horse and pack mule seemed to release something in the world around them. Sounds carried a long way in the fog, and this was a simple sound, dogs barking somewhere, a whole pack of dogs, perhaps quarrelling over their food after a hungry night, but it broke the unworldly stillness with its simple, normal noise.

"It is the Queen of Lothian," called Cormac, and Lancelet rode toward them, halting his horse before her.

"Well, Aunt, I had not hoped to meet with you here-are my cousins with you, perhaps, Gawaine or Gareth?"

"No," she said, "I ride alone for Camelot." If, she thought irritably, such a place still exists upon the face of this earth! Her eyes rested intently on Lancelet's face as he said some polite words of greeting. He looked weary and travel-worn, his clothing ragged and not overly clean, a cloak of fustian worse than he would have given his groom. Ah, the beautiful Lancelet, Gwenhwyfar will not find you so handsome now, even I would not stretch out my hand to invite him into my bed.

And then he smiled, and she realized, In spite of all, he is beautiful.

"Shall we ride together then, Aunt? For indeed I come on the most sorrowful of missions."

"I had heard that you were on the quest of the Grail. Have you found it, then, or failed to find it that you are so long-faced?"

"It is not for such a man as I to find that greatest of Mysteries. Yet I bring with me one who did indeed hold the Grail in his hands. And so I have come to say that the quest is ended, and the Grail gone forever out of this world."

And then Morgause saw that on the pack mule, covered and shrouded, was the body of a man, She whispered, "Who-?"

"Galahad," said Lancelet quietly. "It was my son who found the Grail, and now we know that no man may look on it and live. Would that it had been I-if only because I bear such bitter news to my king, that the one who should be King after him has gone before us into the world where he may forever follow his quest unspoilt-"

Morgause shuddered. Now indeed will it be as if Arthur had never been, the land will have no king save for the king in Heaven, ruled over by those priests who have Arthur in their hands ... but angrily she dismissed those fancies. Galahad is gone. Arthur must choose Gwydion to rule after him.

Lancelet looked sorrowfully at the pack mule with Galahad's body, but he said only, "Shall we ride on? I had not intended to rest a night by the road, but the mists were thick, and I feared to lose my way. I would have thought it Avalon itself!"

"We could not find Camelot in the mists, no more than Avalon-" Cormac began, but Morgause interrupted him fretfully.

"Have done with that foolishness," she said. "We mistook the road in the darkness, and rode back and forth half the night! We too are in haste to come to Camelot, nephew."

One or two of her men present knew Lancelet and had known Galahad, and now they crowded close to the body, with soft expressions of sympathy and kindly words. Lancelet listened to all they had to say, his face sorrowful, then, with a few soft words, brought it to an end.

"Later, my lads, later, there will be time enough to mourn. I am in no haste, God knows, to bear such news to Arthur, but delaying will make it no kinder. Let us ride on."

The mist was thinning and burning away fast as the sun gained height. They set off down the road where Morgause and her men had ridden back and forth for hours in search of Camelot, but before they had gone very far there was another sound that broke the strange silence of the haunted morning. It was a trumpet call, clear and silver in the still air, from the heights of Camelot. And before her at the clump of four trees, broad and unmistakable in the growing sunlight, lay the wagon road built by Arthur's men for his legions to ride.

IT SEEMED appropriate that the first man Morgause should see on the heights of Camelot was her son Gareth. He strode forth to challenge them at the great gates of Camelot; then, recognizing Lancelet, hurried to him. Lancelet flung himself headlong from his horse and took Gareth into a strong embrace.

"So, cousin, it is you-"

"Aye, it is that-Cai is too old and lame to be patrolling the walls of Camelot in these days. Ah, it is a good day in which you return to Camelot, my cousin. But I see that you found not Galahad, Lance?"

"Aye, but I did," said Lancelet sorrowfully, and Gareth's open face, still boyish despite his full beard, was struck with dismay as he looked at the outlines of the dead man under the pall.

"I must bear this news to Arthur at once. Take me to him, Gareth."

Gareth bowed his head, his hand resting on Lancelet's shoulder. "Ah, this is an evil day for Camelot. I said once before, it seemed to me that yonder Grail was the work of some devil, not of God at all!"

Lancelet shook his head, and it seemed to Morgause that something bright shone through him, as if his body were transparent; and through his sad smile there was hidden joy. "No, my dear cousin," he said, "you must put that from your mind forever. Galahad has had what God gave to him, and, God help us, so have we all. But his day is finished, and he is free of all human fate. Ours is still to come, dear Gareth-God grant us that we meet it with as much courage as he."

"Amen to that," said Gareth, and to Morgause's horrified surprise he crossed himself. Then, with a start, he looked up at her.

"Mother, is it you? Forgive me-yours is the last company in which I would expect to find Lancelet." He bent over her hand with a dutiful kiss. "Come, madam, let me summon a chamberlain and take you to the Queen. She will make you welcome among her ladies while Lancelet is with the King."

Morgause let herself be led away, wondering now why she had come. In Lothian she ruled as queen in her own right, but here in Camelot she could only sit among Gwenhwyfar's ladies, and know no more of what was going on than what one of her sons might see fit to tell her.

She said to the chamberlain, "Say to my son Gwydion-sir Mordred -that his mother has come, and bid him to wait upon me as soon as he can." But she wondered, sunk in despondency, if in this strange court he would even be troubled to pay her such respects as Gareth had done. And once again, she felt she had done wrong to come to Camelot.

14

For many years, Gwenhwyfar had felt that when the Companions of the Round Table were present, Arthur belonged not to her but to them. She had resented their intrusion into her life, their presence at Camelot; often she had felt that if Arthur were not surrounded by the court, perhaps they might have had a life happier than the one they led as King and Queen of Camelot.

And yet in this year of the Grail quest, she began to realize that she had been fortunate after all, for Camelot was like a village of ghosts with all the Companions departed, and Arthur the ghost who haunted Camelot, moving silently through the deserted castle.

It was not that she took no pleasure in Arthur's company when at last it was entirely hers. It was only that now she came to understand how much of his very being he had poured into his legions and the building of Camelot. He showed her ungrudging courtesy and kindness, and she had more of his company than ever she had had in all the long years of war or the years of peace that followed them. But it was as if some part of him was absent with his Companions, wherever they might be, and only a small fraction of the man himself was here with her. She loved Arthur the man no less than Arthur the King, but she realized now how much less was the man without the business of kingship into which he had put so much of his life. And she was ashamed that she could notice it.

They never spoke of those who were absent. In that year of the Grail quest, they lived quietly and in peace from day to day, speaking only of everyday things, of bread and meat, of fruits from the orchard or wine from the cellars, of a new cloak or the clasp of a shoe. And once, looking around the empty chamber of the Round Table, he said, "Should we have it put away until they return, my love? Even in this great chamber, there is small room to move, and now when it is all empty-"

"No," she said quickly, "no, my dear, leave it. This great room was built for the Round Table, and without it, it would be like an empty barn. Leave it. You and I and the household folk can dine in the smaller chamber." He smiled at her, and she knew he was glad she had said that.

"And when the knights return from the quest, we can once again make a great feast there," he said, but then fell silent, and she knew he was wondering how many would ever return.

Cai was with them, and old Lucan, and two or three of the Companions who were old or infirm or nursing old wounds. And Gwydion- Mordred as he was now called-was always with them, like a grown son; often Gwenhwyfar looked on him and thought, This is the son I might have borne to Lancelet, and heat went scalding and flooding through her whole body, leaving her broken into a hot sweat as she thought of that night when Arthur himself had thrust her into Lancelet's arms. And indeed this heat came often now and went, so that she never knew whether a room was hot or cold, or whether it was this strange sudden heat from within. Gwydion was gentle and deferential to her, calling her always lady or, sometimes, shyly, Aunt; the very shyness with which he used this term of family closeness warmed her and made him dear to her. He was like to Lancelet, too, but more silent and less light of heart; where Lancelet had ever been ready with a jest or play on words, Gwydion smiled and was always ready with some wit like a blow or the thrust of a needle. His wit was wicked, but she could not but laugh when he made some cruel jest.

One night when their shrunken company was at dinner, Arthur said, "Until Lancelet comes back to us, nephew, I would have you take his post and be my captain of horse."

Gwydion chuckled. "Light enough will that duty be, my uncle and my lord-there are few horses in that stable now. The finest horses in your stables went with your knights and Companions, and who knows, indeed, whether or no some horse will be the one to find that Grail they seek!"

"Oh, hush," Gwenhwyfar said. "You must not make fun of their quest."

"Why not, Aunt? Again and again the priests tell us that we are the sheep of our Lord's pasture, and if a sheep may seek a spiritual presence, why, I have always thought a horse a nobler beast than any sheep. So who's to say whether or no the nobler beast may achieve the quest? Even some scarred old war horse may come at last to seek spiritual repose, as they say the lion shall one day lie down beside the lamb and never think it dinner-time."

Arthur laughed uneasily. "Will we need our horses again for war? Since Mount Badon, God be praised, we have had peace in the land-"

"Save for Lucius," Gwydion said, "and if I have learned one thing in my life, it is that peace is something which cannot last. Wild Northmen in dragon ships are landing on the coast, and when men cry out for Arthur's legions to defend them, the answer comes only that Arthur's Companions have ridden away to seek their souls' peace. And so they seek for help from the Saxon kings in the South. But no doubt when this quest is done, they will look once more to Arthur and to Camelot-and it seems to me that war horses might be in short supply when that day comes. Lancelet is so busy with the Grail and his other deeds that he has had little time to see to the King's stables."

"Well, I have told you I wished you to fill that place," said Arthur, and it struck Gwenhwyfar that his tone sounded peevish, and old, without the strength it once held. "As captain of horse you have authority to send for horses in my name. Lancelet used to deal with traders from somewhere to the south, beyond Brittany-"

"As I shall do also, then," said Gwydion. "There were no horses like the horses from Spain, but now, my uncle and my lord, the best horses come from further still. The Spaniards themselves buy horses from Africa, from a desert country there. Now these Saracens are beginning to overrun Spain itself-this I heard from yonder Saracen knight Palomides, who journeyed here and was guested for a time, then rode away to see what adventure there might be among the Saxons. He is not a Christian, and it seemed strange to him that all these knights should ride away after the Grail when there was war in the land."

"I spoke to Palomides," said Arthur. "He had a sword from that southern country of Spanish steel-I would gladly have had one like to it, though I think it is no finer than Excahbur. No sword in our country will hold such an edge, like a razor. I am glad I never had to face such a sword in the lists. The Northmen have great axes and clubs, but their weapons are not so good even as the Saxon weapons."

"They are fiercer fighters, though," said Gwydion. "They go into a madness of fighting, as sometimes the Tribesmen of Lothian used to do, casting away their shields in battle.... No, my king, we may have had peace for a goodly time, but even as the Saracens are beginning to overrun Spain, so the wild Northmen are on our coasts, and the wild Irishmen. In the end, no doubt, the Saracens will be good for Spain even as the Saxons have been good for this land-"

"Good for this land?" Arthur looked at the younger man in astonishment. "What do I hear you say, nephew?"

"When the Romans left us, my lord Arthur, we were isolated at the end of the world, alone with the half-savage Tribes. The war with the Saxons forced us to reach beyond ourselves," he said. "We had trade with Less Britain and with Spain and the countries to the south, we had to barter for weapons and horses, we built new cities-why, here's your own Camelot, sir, to show that. I do not even speak of the movement of the priests, who now have come among the Saxons and made them no longer wild Tribesmen with hair on their faces, worshipping their own barbarian Gods, but civilized men with cities and trade of their own, and their own civilized kings who are subject to you. For what else has this whole land been waiting? Now, even, they have monasteries and learned men writing books, and much more ... without the wars against the Saxons, my lord Arthur, Uther's old kingdom would have been forgotten like that of Maximus."

Arthur said with a glimmer of amusement, "Then, no doubt, you think these twenty years and more of peace have endangered Camelot, and we need more wars and fighting to bring us into the world again? It is easy to see you are not a warrior, young man. I have no such romantic view of war as that!"

Gwydion smiled back. "What makes you think I am not a warrior, my lord? I fought among your men against Lucius who would have been emperor, and I had ample time to make up my own mind about wars and their worth. Without wars, you would be more forgotten than the least of those kings in Wales and in Eire-who now can call the roll of the kings of Tara?"

"And you think one day it may be so with Camelot, my boy?"

"Ah, my uncle and my king, would you have the wisdom of a Druid or the flattery of a courtier?"

Arthur said, laughing, "Let us have the crafty counsel of a Mordred."

"The courtier would say, my lord, that the reign of Arthur will live forever and his memory be forever green in the world. And the Druid would say that all men perish, and one day they will be, with all of their wisdom and their glories, like unto Atlantis, sunken beneath the waves. The Gods alone endure."

"And what would my nephew and my friend say, then?"

"Your nephew"-he put just enough emphasis on the word that Gwenhwyfar could hear that it should have been your son-"would say, my uncle and my lord, that we are living for this day, and not for what history may say of us a thousand years hence. And so your nephew would advise that your stables should once again reflect the noble days when Arthur's horses and his fighting men were known and fearful to all. No man should be able to say, the King grows old and with all his knights on quest, cares nothing to keep his men and horses in fighting trim."

Arthur gave him a friendly clap on the shoulder. "So let it be, dear boy. I trust your judgment. Send to Spain, or to Africa if you will, for horses such as best suit the reputation of Arthur's legion, and see to their training."

"I shall have to find Saxons for that," said Gwydion, "and the Saxons know little of our secrets of fighting a-horse-you have always said they should not. Is it your will that since the Saxons are our allies now, they should be trained in our fighting skills?"

Arthur looked troubled. "I fear I must leave that, too, in your hands."

"I shall try to do my best for you," Gwydion said, "and now, my lord, we have sat overlong in this talk, and wearied the ladies-forgive me, madam," he added, inclining his head to Gwenhwyfar with that winning smile. "Shall we have music? The lady Niniane, I am certain, would be happy to bring her harp and sing to you, my lord and my king."

"I am always happy to hear my kinswoman's music," said Arthur gravely, "if it is pleasing to my lady."

Gwenhwyfar nodded to Niniane, who fetched her harp and sat before them, singing, and Gwenhwyfar listened with pleasure to the music- Niniane played beautifully, and her voice was sweet, though not so pure or strong as Morgaine's. But as she watched Gwydion, his eyes on Taliesin's daughter, she thought, Why is it that we, a Christian court, must always have here one of those damsels of the Lady of the Lake? It worried her, although Gwydion seemed as good a Christian as anyone else at court, coming always to mass on Sunday, as did Niniane herself. For that matter she could not remember how Niniane had come to be one of her ladies, save that Gwydion had brought her to court and asked the Queen to extend her hospitality as a kinswoman of Arthur and as Taliesin's daughter. Gwenhwyfar had only the kindest memories of Taliesin, and had been pleased to welcome his daughter, but somehow it seemed now that, without ever putting herself forward, Niniane had assumed the place of the first among her ladies. Arthur always treated her with favor and often called to her to sing, and there were times when Gwenhwyfar, watching them, wondered if he looked on her as more than kinswoman.

But no, surely not. If Niniane had a paramour here at court it was more than likely to be Gwydion himself. She had seen him look at her ... and yet her heart grew sore within her; this woman was fair, fair as she herself had been, and she was but an aging woman with her hair fading, the color gone from her cheeks, her body sagging .....nd so when Niniane had put up her harp and withdrawn, she frowned as Arthur came to escort her from the hall.

"You look weary, my wife, what ails you?"

"Gwydion said you were old-"

"My own dear wife, I have sat on that throne of Britain for one-and-thirty years, with you at my side. Do you think there is anyone in this kingdom who can still call us young? Most of our subjects were not yet born when we came to the throne. Though indeed, my dear, I know not how it is that you look ever so young."

"Oh, my husband, I was not seeking to be praised," she said impatiently.

"You should be flattered, my Gwen, that Gwydion does not deal in empty flattery to an aging king, cozening me with lying words. He speaks honestly and I value him for it. I wish-"

"I know what you wish," she interrupted him, her voice angry. "You wish you could acknowledge him your son, so that he and not Galahad might have your throne after you-"

He colored. "Gwenhwyfar, must we always be so sharp with each other on this subject? The priests would not have him for King, and there's an end of it."

"I cannot but remember whose son he is-"

"I cannot but remember that he is my son," said Arthur gently.

"I trust not Morgaine, and you yourself have found that she-"

His face grew hard and she knew that he would not hear her on this one subject. "Gwenhwyfar, my son was fostered by the Queen of Lothian, and her sons have been the support and stay of my kingdom. What would I have done without Gareth and Gawaine? And now Gwydion stands fair to be like them, kindest and best of friends and Companions. It will not make me think the less of Gwydion that he stood beside me when all my other Companions forsook me for this quest."

Gwenhwyfar did not want to quarrel with him. She said now, sliding her hand into his, "Believe me, my lord, I love you beyond all else on this earth."

"Why, I believe you, my love," he said. "The Saxons have a saying -that man is blessed who has a good friend, a good wife, and a good sword. And all those have I had, my Gwenhwyfar."

"Oh, the Saxons," she said, laughing. "All those years you fought against them, and now you quote their sayings of wisdom-"

"Well, what is the good of war-as Gwydion says-if we cannot learn wisdom from our enemies? Long ago, someone-Gawaine, perhaps-said something about the Saxons and the learned men in their monasteries. He said it is like to a woman who is raped, and yet, after the invaders have left our coasts, bears a good son-is it better to have had only the evil, or, when the evil is done and there's no mending it, to take what good may come from that evil?"

Gwenhwyfar frowned and said, "Only a man, I think, could make such a jest as that!"

"No, I meant not to bring up old sorrows, dear heart," he protested, "but the harm was done for me and Morgaine years ago." She realized that for once he spoke his sister's name without that cold tightening in his face. "Would it be better that no good of any kind should come from the sin I did with Morgaine-for you will have it that it was sin-or should I be grateful that, since the sin was done and there's no going back to innocence, God has given me a good son in return for that evil? Morgaine and I parted not as friends, and I know not where she is or what has befallen her, nor do I suppose I will ever again look upon her face this side of the day of judgment. But her son is now the very stay of my throne. Should I mistrust him because of the mother who gave him birth?"

Gwenhwyfar would have said, I do not trust him because he was reared in Avalon, but she had no wish to, so she held her peace. But when, at her door, Arthur held her hand and asked softly, "Is it your will that I join you this night, lady?" she avoided his eyes and said, "No-no, I am tired." She tried not to see the look of relief in his eyes. She wondered if it were Niniane or some other who shared his bed these days; she would not stoop to question his chamberlain. If it is not I, why should I care who it might be?

The year moved on into the darkness of winter, and on toward spring. One day Gwenhwyfar said fiercely, "I wish this quest were done and the knights returned, Grail or no Grail!"

"Hush, my dear, they are sworn," said Arthur, but later that day, indeed, a knight rode up the track to Camelot, and they saw that it was Gawaine.

"Is it you, cousin?" Arthur embraced him and kissed him on either cheek. "I had no hope of seeing you till a year was done-did you not swear to follow the Grail for a year and a day?"

"I did so," said Gawaine, "but I am not false to my oath, Lord, and yonder priest need not look at me as if I were forsworn. For I last saw the Grail here in this very castle, Arthur, and I am just as like to see it here again as in this corner or that of the world. I rode up and down, hither and thither, and never did I hear word of it more, and one day it came to me that I might as well seek it where I had seen it already, at Camelot and in the presence of my king, even if I must look for it every Sunday on the altar at mass, and nowhere else."

Arthur smiled and embraced him, and Gwenhwyfar saw that his eyes were wet. "Come in, cousin," he said simply. "Welcome home."

And some days later, Gareth too came home. "I had a vision indeed, and I think it may have come from God," he said as they sat at supper in the hall. "I dreamed I saw the Grail uncovered and fair before me, and then a voice spoke to me from the light around the Grail and said, 'Gareth, Companion of Arthur, this is all you will ever see of that Grail in this life. Why seek further for visions and glories, when your king has need of you in Camelot? You may serve God when you reach Heaven, but while you live here on earth, return to Camelot and serve your king.' And when I woke, I remembered that even Christ had said that they should render unto Caesar those things which belonged to Caesar, and so I came home this way, and I met with Lancelet as I rode, and I bade him do the same."

"Do you think, then, that you truly found the Grail?" Gwydion asked.

Gareth laughed. "Perhaps the Grail itself is only a dream. And when I dreamed of the Grail, it bade me do my duty to my lord and king."

"I suppose we shall look to see Lancelet here among us soon, then?"

"I hope he can find it in his heart to come," said Gawaine, "for indeed we need him here. But Easter will be upon us soon, and then we can look to have them all come home."

Later Gareth asked that Gwydion would bring his harp and sing for them. "For," he said, "I have not heard even such rough music as I would hear at the court of the Saxons, and you who sit here at home have surely had time to perfect your songs, Gwydion."

Gwenhwyfar would not have been surprised had he stood aside for Niniane, but instead he brought out a harp Gwenhwyfar recognized.

"Is that not Morgaine's harp?"

"It is so. She left it at Camelot when she went from here, and if she wants it she can send for it, or come and take it from me. And until that day, well, it is surely mine, and I doubt she would begrudge me this when she has given me nothing else."

"Save only your life," said Arthur in a tone of mild reproof, and Gwydion turned on him a look of such bitterness that Gwenhwyfar was sorely distressed. His savage tone could not be heard four feet away. "Should I then be grateful for that, my lord and my king?" Before Arthur could speak, he set his fingers to the strings and began to play. But the song he sang shocked Gwenhwyfar.

He sang the ballad of the Fisher King, who dwelt in a castle at the middle of a great wasteland; and as the king grew ancient and his powers waned, so did the land fade and put forth no crops, till some younger man should come and strike the stroke of mercy which would pour out the blood of the ancient king upon the land. Then the land would grow young again with the new king, and bloom with his youth.

"Say you so?" demanded Arthur uneasily. "That the land where an old king rules can only be a land which fades?"

"Not so, my lord. What would we do without the wisdom of your many years? Yet in the ancient days of the Tribes it was even so, where the Goddess of the Land alone endures, and the king rules while he shall please her. And when the King Stag grew old, another would come from the herd and throw him down ... but this is a Christian court, and you have no such heathen ways as that, my king. I think perhaps that ballad of the Fisher King is but a symbol of the grass which, even as it says in your Scriptures, is like to man's flesh, enduring but a season, and the king of the wasteland but a symbol of the world which yearly dies with the grass and is renewed with spring, as all religions tell... even Christ withered like the Fisher King when he died the death of the cross and returns again with Easter, ever new ... " and he touched the strings and sang softly:

"For lo, all the days of man are as a leaf that is fallen and as the grass that withereth.

Thou too shalt be forgotten, like the flower that falleth on the grass, like the wine that is poured out and soaks into the earth.

And yet even as the spring returns, so blooms the land and so blooms life which will come again ... "

Gwenhwyfar asked, "Is that Scripture, Gwydion? A verse perhaps of a psalm?"

Gwydion shook his head. "It is an ancient hymn of the Druids, and there are those who say it is older than that, brought perhaps from those lands which now lie beneath the sea. But each religion has some such hymn as that. Perhaps indeed all religion is One ... "

Arthur asked him quietly, "Are you a Christian, my lad?"

Gwydion did not answer for a moment. At last he said, "I was reared a Druid and I do not break the oaths I have sworn. My name is not Kevin, my king. But you do not know all the vows I have made." Quietly he rose from his place and went forth from the hall. Arthur, staring after him, did not speak even to reprove his lack of courtesy, but Gawaine was scowling.

"Will you let him take leave with so little of ceremony, lord?"

"Oh, leave it, leave it," Arthur said. "We are all kinsmen here, I ask not that he should treat me always as if I were on the throne! He knows well that he is my son, and so does every man in this room! Would you have him always the courtier?"

But Gareth was frowning after him. He said softly, "I wish with all my heart that Galahad would return to court. God grant him some such vision as mine, for you need him more here than you need me, Arthur, and if he comes not soon, I shall go forth myself to seek him."

IT WAS only a few days before Pentecost when Lancelet finally came home.

They had seen the approaching procession-men, ladies, horses and pack animals-and Gareth, at the gates, had summoned all men to welcome them, but Gwenhwyfar, standing at Arthur's side, paid little heed to Queen Morgause, except to wonder why the Queen of Lothian had come. Lancelet knelt before Arthur with his sorrowful news, and Gwenhwyfar too felt the pain in his eyes ... always, always it had been like this, that what smote his heart was like a lash laid to her own. Arthur bent and raised Lancelet to his feet and embraced him, and his own eyes were wet.

"I have lost a son, no less than you, dear friend. He will be sorely missed." And Gwenhwyfar could bear it no more, and stepped forward to give Lancelet her hand before them all and say, her voice trembling, "I had longed for you to return to us, Lancelet, but I am sorry that you must come with such sad news."

Arthur said quietly to his men, "Let him be taken to the chapel where he was made knight. There let him lie, and tomorrow he shall be buried as befits my son and heir." As he turned away, he staggered a little, and Gwydion was quick to put his hand beneath his arm and support him.

Gwenhwyfar did not often weep now, but she felt she must weep at Lancelet's face, so marred and stricken. What had befallen him in this year when he followed the Grail? Long sickness, long fasting, weariness, wounds? Never had she seen him so sorrowful, even when he came to speak with her of his marriage to Elaine. Watching Arthur leaning heavily on Gwydion's arm, she sighed, and Lancelet pressed her hand and said softly, "I can even be glad now that Arthur came to know his own son and to value him. It will soften his grief."

Gwenhwyfar shook her head, not wanting to think of what this would mean for Gwydion and for Arthur. Morgaine's son! Morgaine's son, to follow after Arthur-no, there was no help for it now!

Gareth came and bowed before her and said, "Madam, my mother is here-" and Gwenhwyfar recalled that she was not free to stay among the men, that her place was with the ladies, that she could not speak a word of comfort to Arthur or even to Lancelet. She said coldly, "I am happy to welcome you, Queen Morgause," and it came to her mind, Must I confess this then as a sin, that I lie to the queen? Would it somehow be more virtuous if I said to her, I welcome you as duty demands, Queen Morgause, but I am not glad to see you and I wish you had stayed in Lothian, or in hell for all I care! She saw that Niniane was at Arthur's side, that Arthur was between her and Gwydion, and she frowned.

"Lady Niniane," she said coolly, "I think that the women will withdraw now. Find a guest room for the Queen of Lothian, and see that everything is made ready for her."

Gwydion looked angry, but there was nothing to be said, and Gwenhwyfar reflected, as she and her ladies left the courtyard, that there were advantages to being a queen.

ALL THAT DAY, the Companions and knights of the Round Table were riding back toward Arthur's court, and Gwenhwyfar was busy with the preparations for the feast on the morrow, which would be the funeral. On the day of Pentecost, such of Arthur's men as had returned from this quest would be reunited. She recognized many faces, but some, she knew, would never return: Perceval, and Bors, and Lamorak-she turned a gentler face on Morgause, who, she knew, sincerely mourned for Lamorak. She had felt that the older woman had made a fool of herself with her young lover, but grief was grief, and when at the funeral mass for Galahad the priest spoke of all those others who had fallen on this quest, she saw Morgause hiding tears behind her veil, and her face was red and blotched after the mass.

The night before, Lancelet had watched by his son's body in the chapel, and she had had no chance for private words with him. Now, after the funeral mass, she bade him sit beside her and Arthur at dinner, and when she filled his cup, she hoped that he would drink himself drunk and be past mourning. She grieved over his lined face, so drawn with pain and privation, and over the curls around his face, so white now. And she who loved him best, she could not even embrace him and weep with him in public. For many years she had felt it like a deep pain that she would never have any right to turn to him before other men, but must sit at his side and be only a kinswoman and his queen. And now it seemed to her more dreadful than ever, but he did not turn to her, he did not even meet her eyes.

Standing, Arthur drank to the knights who would never return from the quest. "Here before you all, I swear that none of their wives or children shall ever know want while I live and Camelot stands with one stone upon another," he said. "I share your sorrow. The heir to my throne died in the quest of the Grail." He turned, and held out his hand to Gwydion, who came slowly to his side. He looked younger than he was, in a plain white tunic, his dark hair caught in a golden band.

Arthur said, "A king cannot, like other men, indulge in long mourning, my Companions. Here I ask you to mourn with me for my lost nephew and adopted son, who now will never reign at my side. But even though our mourning is still green, I ask you to accept Gwydion-sir Mordred- the son of my only sister, Morgaine of Avalon, as my heir. Gwydion is young, but he has become one of my wise councillors." He raised his cup and drank. "I drink to you, my son, and to your reign when mine is done."

Gwydion came and knelt before Arthur. "May your reign be long, my father." It seemed to Gwenhwyfar that he was blinking back tears, and she liked him better for it. The Companions drank, and then, led by Gareth, broke out in cheering.

But Gwenhwyfar sat silent. She had known this must come, but she had not expected it to happen at Galahad's very funeral feast! Now she turned to Lancelet and whispered, "I wish he had waited! I wish he had consulted with his councillors!"

"Knew you not he intended this?" Lancelet asked. He reached out and took her hand, pressing it softly and holding on to it, stroking her fingers beneath the rings she wore. Her fingers seemed now so thin and bony, not young and soft as they had been; she felt abashed and would have drawn her hand away, but he would not let her. He said, still stroking her hand, "Arthur should not have done that to you without warning-"

"God knows, I have no right to complain, who could not give him a son, so he must make do with Morgaine's-"

"Still, he should have warned you," Lancelet said. It was the first time, Gwenhwyfar thought distantly, that he had ever, even for a moment, seemed to criticize Arthur. He raised her hand gently to his lips, then let it go as Arthur approached them with Gwydion. Stewards were bringing smoking platters of meat, trays of fresh fruits and hot breads, setting sweetmeats every few places along the table. Gwenhwyfar let her steward help her to some meat and fruits, but she barely touched her plate. She saw, with a smile, that it had been arranged that she shared her plate with Lancelet, as so often she had done at other Pentecost feasts; and that Niniane, on Arthur's other side, was eating from his dish. Once he called her daughter, which relieved Gwenhwyfar's mind somewhat-perhaps he accepted her already as his son's potential wife. To her surprise Lancelet seemed to follow her thought.

"Will the next festival at court be a wedding? I would have thought the kinship too close-"

"Would that matter in Avalon?" Gwenhwyfar asked, her voice harsher than she intended; the old pain was still there.

Lancelet shrugged. "I know not-in Avalon as a boy I heard of a country far to the south of here, where the royal house married always their own sister and brother that the royal blood might not be diluted by that of the common people, and that dynasty lasted for a thousand years."

"Heathen men," said Gwenhwyfar. "They knew nothing of God, and knew not that they sinned ... ."

Yet Gwydion seemed not to have suffered from the sin of his mother and his father; why should he, Taliesin's grandson-no, his great-grandson -hesitate to wed with Taliesin's daughter?

God will punish Camelot for that sin, she thought suddenly. For Arthur's sin and for mine ... and Lancelet's ...

Beyond her she heard Arthur say to Gwydion, "You said once in my hearing that Galahad looked not like one who would live to his crowning."

"And you remember too, my father and my lord," said Gwydion quietly, "that I swore to you I would have no part in his death, but that he would die honorably for the cross he worshipped, and it was so."

"What more do you foresee, my son?"

"Ask me not, lord Arthur. The Gods are kind when they say that no man may know his own end. Even if I knew-and I say not that I know -I would tell you nothing."

Perhaps, thought Gwenhwyfar, with a sudden shiver, God has punished us enough for our sin when he sent us this Mordred ... and then, looking at the young man, she was dismayed. How can I think so of the one who has been to Arthur as a son indeed? He is not to blame for his fathering!

She said to Lancelet, "Arthur should not have done this before Galahad was cold in his grave!"

"Not so, my lady. Arthur knows well the duties of a king. Do you think it would matter to Galahad, where he has gone, who sits on the throne he never wished for? I would have done better to make my son a priest, Gwenhwyfar."

She looked at Lancelet, brooding, a thousand leagues away from her, gone into himself where she could never follow, and she said, awkwardly, reaching for him in the best way she could, "And did you, then, fail to find the Grail?"

She saw him come slowly back through the long distance. "I came- nearer than any sinful man can come and live. But I was spared, to tell the men at Arthur's court that the Grail has gone forever beyond this world." Again he fell silent, then said across that vast distance, "I would have followed it beyond the world, but I was given no choice."

She wondered, Did you not, then, wish to return to court for my sake? And it seemed clear to her that Lancelet was more like Arthur than she had ever known, and that she had never been anything more, to either of them, than a diversion between war and quest; that the real life of a man was lived in a world where love meant nothing. All his life he had devoted to wars at Arthur's side, and now when there was no war he had given himself over to a great Mystery. The Grail had come between them, as Arthur had come between them, and Lancelet's own honor.

Now even Lancelet had turned to God, and thought, no doubt, only that she had led him into grave sin. The pain was unendurable. In all of life, she had had nothing more than this, and she could not keep herself from reaching out to him, clasping his hand. "I have longed for you," she whispered, and was shocked at the longing in her voice; he will think me no better than Morgause, flinging myself at his head ... . He held her hand and said softly, "And I have missed you, Gwen." And then, as if he could read her whole hungry heart, he said in a low voice, "Grail or no Grail, beloved, nothing could have brought me back to this court but the thought of you. I would have remained there, spending the rest of my life in prayers that I might see again that Mystery that was hidden from my eyes. But I am no more than a man, my beloved ... ."

And she knew what it was that he was saying, and pressed his hand. "Shall I send away my women, then?"

He hesitated a moment, and Gwenhwyfar felt the old dread ... how dared she be so forward, so lacking in a woman's modesty? ... Always, this moment was like death. Then he tightened his grip on her fingers and said, "Yes, my love."

BUT AS SHE awaited him, alone in the darkness, she wondered in bitterness if his "Yes" had been like Arthur's, an offer made from time to time out of pity, or a wish to save her pride. Now that there was no longer the slightest hope that she would bear to Arthur a belated child, he could have stopped coming to her, but he was too kind to give her women cause to smile behind her back. Still, it was like a knife in her heart that Arthur always seemed relieved when she sent him away; there were even times when she invited him in and they talked together or she lay for a time in his arms, content to be held and comforted, but demanding no more of him. Now she wondered if Arthur felt that his embraces would be unwelcome to her, so that he seldom offered them, or whether he truly did not desire her. She wondered if he ever had desired her, or had always come to her because she was the wife he had taken and it was his duty to give her children.

All men praised my beauty and desired me, save for the husband I was given. And now, she thought, perhaps even Lancelet comes to me because he is too kind to abandon me or turn me away. She grew feverish, and it seemed that even in her light bed gown she was overheated, her whole body breaking out in drops of sweat. She rose and sponged herself with the cold water in a jar on her dressing table, touching her sagging breasts with distaste. Ah, I am old, surely it will disgust him, that this ugly old flesh is still as eager for him as if I were young and beautiful ... .

And then she heard his step behind her; and he caught her into his arms, and she forgot her fears. But after he had gone she lay wakeful.

I should not risk this. It was different, in the old days; now we are a Christian court and the eyes of the bishop are always on me.

But I have nothing else ... and it occurred to her suddenly, nor has Lancelet ... . His son was dead, and his wife, and the old closeness with Arthur was gone beyond recall.

Would that I were like Morgaine, who does not need a man's love to feel herself alive and real ... . And yet Gwenhwyfar knew that even if she did not need this from Lancelet, it was he who needed her; and without her, he would be utterly alone. He had come to court because he needed her no less than she needed him.

And so, even if it was sin, it seemed the greater sin to leave Lancelet comfortless.

Even if we are both damned for it, she thought, never shall I turn aside from him. God is a God of love, she thought; how then could he condemn the one thing in her life that was born of love? And if he did, she thought, terrified at her blasphemy, he was not the God she had always worshipped, and she did not care what he thought!

15

That summer there was war again, the Northmen raiding the western 1 coasts, and Arthur's legion rode forth to battle, this time riding at the head of the Saxon kings from the southern country, Ceardig and his men. Queen Morgause remained in Camelot; it was not safe to take the road alone to Lothian, and none could be spared to escort her.

They returned late in the summer. Morgause was in the women's hall with Gwenhwyfar and her ladies when they heard the trumpets from the heights.

"It is Arthur returning!" Gwenhwyfar rose from her seat. Immediately all of the women dropped their spindles and clustered around her.

"How do you know?"

Gwenhwyfar laughed. "A messenger brought me the news last night," she said. "Do you think I am dealing in sorcery at my age?" She looked around her at the excited girls-to Morgause it seemed that all of Gwen-hwyfar's ladies were but little girls, fourteen and fifteen, who made every excuse to leave off spinning; and now the Queen said indulgently, "Shall we go and watch them from the heights?"

Chattering, giggling, gathering in groups of two and three, they ran off, leaving the dropped spindles where they had fallen. Good-naturedly, Gwenhwyfar called one of the serving-women to put the room to rights and, at Morgause's side, followed at a more dignified pace to the brow of the hill, where they could see the wide road leading up to Camelot.

"Look, there is the King-"

"And sir Mordred, riding at his side-"

"And there is the lord Lancelet-oh, look, he has a bandage round his head, and his arm is in a sling!"

"Let me see," said Gwenhwyfar and pushed them aside, while the girls stared. Morgause could make out Gwydion, riding at Arthur's side; he appeared unwounded, and she drew a sigh of relief. She could see Cormac back among the men, too-he had ridden to war with all the men, and he too seemed unhurt. Gareth was easy to find among them-he was the tallest man in Arthur's whole company, and his fair hair blazed like a halo. Gawaine, too, at Arthur's back as always, was upright in his saddle, but as they came nearer she could see a great bruise on his face, darkening his eyes, and his mouth swollen as if he had had a tooth or two knocked out.

"Look, sir Mordred is handsome-" one of the little girls said. "I have heard the Queen say that he looks exactly as Lancelet did when Lancelet was young," and then she giggled and dug her neighbor in the ribs. They clung together, whispering, and Morgause watched, sighing. They seemed so young, all of them, so pretty with their hair silky-soft and bound in plaits and curls, brown or red or golden, their cheeks soft as petals and smooth as a baby's, their waists so slim, their hands so smooth and white-she felt, suddenly, wild with jealousy; once she had been more beautiful than any of them. Now they were nudging one another, whispering about this knight and that.

"Look how the Saxon knights are all bearded-why do they want to look shaggy like dogs?"

"My mother says," one of the maidens said impudently-she was the daughter of one of the Saxon noblemen, her name was something barbarian which Morgause could hardly pronounce, Alfreth or something of that sort -"that to kiss a man without a beard is like kissing another maiden, or your baby brother!"

"Yet sir Mordred shaves his face clean, and there is nothing maidenly about him," said one of the girls, and turned laughing to Niniane, standing quietly among the women, "is there, lady Niniane?"

Niniane said, with a soft laugh, "All these bearded men seem old to me-when I was a little girl, only my father and the oldest Druids ever went bearded."

"Even Bishop Patricius now wears his beard," said one of the girls. "I heard him say that in heathen times men deformed their faces by cutting their beards and men should wear their beards as God made them. Maybe the Saxons think it so."

"It is but a new fashion," said Morgause. "They come and they go- when I was young, Christian and pagan alike shaved their faces clean, and now the fashion has changed-I think not it has anything to do with holiness either way. I doubt not, one day Gwydion will wear a beard-will you think less of him, Niniane?"

The younger woman laughed. "No, cousin. He is the same, bearded or shaven. Ah, look, there rides King Ceardig, and others-are they all to be guested here at Camelot? Madam, shall I go and tell the stewards?"

"Please do, my dear," Gwenhwyfar said, and Niniane moved toward the hall. The girls were shoving one another to get a better view, and Gwenhwyfar said, "Come, come-all of you, back to your spinning. It is unseemly to stare at young men this way. Have none of you anything better to do than talk so immodestly about the men? All of you now, be off with you, you will see them this night in the great hall. There is to be feasting, which means work for all of you."

They looked sulky, but they went obediently back to the hall, and Gwenhwyfar sighed and shook her head as she walked back at Morgause's side. "In Heaven's name, was there ever such a lot of unruly girls? And somehow I must keep them all chaste and under my guidance-it seems they spend all their time gossiping and giggling instead of minding their spinning. I am ashamed that my court should be so filled with empty-headed and immodest little hussies like this!"

"Oh, come, my dear," said Morgause lazily, "surely you too were fifteen once? Surely you were not such a model maiden as all that-did you never steal a look at a handsome young man and think and gossip about how it would be to kiss him, bearded or shaven?"

"I do not know what you did when you were fifteen," Gwenhwyfar flared at her, "but I was behind convent walls! It seems to me that would be a good place for these unmannerly maids!"

Morgause laughed. "When I was fourteen, I had an eye for everything that wore breeches. I recall that I used to sit in Gorlois's lap-he that was married to Igraine before Uther's eyes fell on her-and Igraine knew it well, for when she married Uther, her first act was to pack me off to be married to Lot, which was about as far from Uther's court as she could send me without crossing the ocean! Come, Gwenhwyfar, even behind your convent walls can you swear you never peeped out at any handsome young man who came to break your father's horses, or the crimson cloak of any young knight?"

Gwenhwyfar looked down at her sandals. "It seems so very long ago-" and then, recollecting herself, spoke briskly. "The hunters brought in a deer last night-I shall give orders that it be cut up and roasted for dinner, and perhaps we should have a pig killed too, if all these Saxons are to be guested here. And fresh straw must be spread in the rooms where they will sleep, there will never be enough beds for all these people!"

"Send the maidens to see to that too," said Morgause. "They must learn to manage guests in a great hall-for what other reason are they in your care, Gwenhwyfar? And it is the duty of a queen to welcome her lord when he returns from war."

"You are right." Gwenhwyfar sent her page to give the orders, and they walked toward the great gates of Camelot together. Morgause thought, Why, it is exactly as if we had been friends all our lives. And she thought, there were so few of them who had been young together.

She had much the same feeling when she sat that night in the great hall that was hung with decorations and brilliant with the fine clothes of the ladies and the knights. Almost it was like the great days of Camelot. Yet so many of the old Companions were gone in war, or on the Grail quest, and would never return. Morgause did not remember often that she was old, and it frightened her. Half the seats of the Round Table, it seemed, were filled now with hairy Saxons with their great beards and their rough cloaks, or with young men who seemed hardly old enough to hold weapons. Even her baby, Gareth, was one of the older knights of the Round Table, and the newer ones deferred to him amazingly, calling him sir, and asking his advice, or hesitating to argue with him if they differed. As for Gwydion -most of them called him sir Mordred-he seemed quite a leader among the younger men, new knights and the Saxons whom Arthur had chosen as his Companions.

Gwenhwyfar's ladies and stewards had done their task well; there was roast and boiled meat in plenty, and great meat pies with gravy, platters of early apples and grapes, hot bread and lentil porridge. At the high table, when the feasting was done and the Saxons were drinking and at their favorite game of asking riddles, Arthur called Niniane to sing for them. Gwenhwyfar had Lancelet at her side, his head bandaged and his arm in a sling-he had been wounded by a Northman's battleaxe. He could not use his arm, and Gwenhwyfar was cutting his meat for him. No one, Morgause thought, paid it the slightest attention.

Gareth and Gawaine were seated further down the table, and Gwydion close to them, sharing a dish with Niniane. Morgause went to greet them. Gwydion had bathed and combed his hair into curls, but one of his legs was bandaged, propped on a stool.

"Are you hurt, my son?"

"It does well enough," he said. "I am too big now, Mother, to run and climb into your lap when I stub my toe!"

"It looks worse than that," she said, looking at the bandage and the crusted blood at the edges, "but I will leave you alone, if you wish. Is that tunic new?"

It was made in a fashion she had seen many of the Saxons wearing, with sleeves so long that they came down past the wrist and half covered the knuckles of the hand. Gwydion's was of blue-dyed cloth, embroidered with crimson stitchery.

"It was a gift from Ceardig. He told me it was a good fashion for a Christian court, for it conceals the serpents of Avalon." His mouth twisted. "Perhaps I should give my lord Arthur such a tunic for a New Year's gift this winter!"

"I doubt if anyone would know the difference," said Gawaine. "No one, now, thinks of Avalon, and Arthur's wrists are so faded no one sees or would criticize if they did."

Morgause looked at Gawaine's bruised face and eyes. He had in truth lost more than one tooth, and his hands, too, looked cut and bruised.

"And you too are wounded, my son?"

"Not from the enemy," Gawaine growled. "This I got from our Saxon friends-one of the men in Ceardig's army. Damn them all, those unmannerly bastards! I think I liked it better when they were all our foes!"

"You fought him, then?"

"Aye, and will do so again, should he dare to open his clacking jaw about my king," Gawaine said angrily. "Nor did I need Gareth to come to my rescue, as if I were not big enough to fight my own battles without my little brother coming to my aid-"

"He was twice your size," said Gareth, putting down his spoon, "and he had you on the ground, and I thought he would break your back or crack your ribs-I am not sure yet that he did not. Was I to sit aside while that foul-tongued fellow beat my brother and slandered my kinsman? He will think twice and then thrice before he opens his evil mouth again with such words."

"Still," said Gwydion quietly, "you cannot silence the whole Saxon army, Gareth, especially when what they say is true. There's a name, and not a pretty one, for a man, even when that man's a king, who sits back and says nothing while another man does his husband's duty in his wife's bed-"

"You dare!" Gareth half rose, turning on Gwydion and gripping the Saxon tunic at the neck. Gwydion put up his hands to loosen Gareth's hold.

"Easy, foster-brother!" He looked like a child in the giant Gareth's grip. "Will you treat me as you treated yonder Saxon because here among kinsmen I speak truth, or am I too to keep to the pleasant lie of the court, when all men see the Queen with her paramour and say nothing?"

Gareth slowly relaxed his grip and eased Gwydion back to his seat. "If Arthur has nothing to complain of in the lady's conduct, who am I to speak?"

Gawaine muttered, "Damn the woman! Damn her anyhow! Would that Arthur had put her away while there was still time! I have no great love for so Christian a court as this has become, and filled with Saxons. When I was first knight at Arthur's side, there was not a Saxon in all this land with more of religion than a pig in his sty!"

Gwydion made a deprecating sound, and Gawaine turned on him. "I know them better than you. I was fighting Saxons while you were wetting your swaddling bands! Are we now to run Arthur's court by what these hairy grunters think of us?"

"You do not know the Saxons half so well as I do," Gwydion said. "You do not get to know a man at the business end of a battleaxe. I have lived in their courts and drunk with them and courted their women, and I venture to say that I know them well, which you do not. And this much is true: they call Arthur and his court corrupt, too pagan."

"That comes well from them," Gawaine snorted.

"Still," said Gwydion, "it is no laughing matter, that these men, unrebuked, can call Arthur corrupt-"

"Unrebuked, say you?" Gareth grumbled. "I think Gawaine and I did some rebuking!"

"Will you fight your way through the Saxon court? Better to amend the cause of slander," said Gwydion. "Cannot Arthur rule his wife better than this?"

Gawaine said, "It would take a braver man than I to speak ill of Gwenhwyfar to Arthur's face."

"Yet it must be done," said Gwydion. "If Arthur is to be High King over all these men, he cannot be a laughingstock. When they call him cuckold, will they take oath to follow him in peace and in war? Somehow he must heal the corruption in this court-send the woman to a nunnery perhaps, or banish Lancelet-"

Gawaine looked anxiously around. "For God's sake, lower your voice," he said. "Such things should not even be whispered in this place!"

"It is better that we should whisper them than that they should be whispered all the length and breadth of the land," Gwydion said. "In God's name, there they sit close by him, and he smiles on them both! Is Camelot to become a joke, and the Round Table a bawdy house?"

"Now shut your filthy mouth or I will shut it for you," Gawaine snarled, gripping Gwydion's shoulder in his iron fingers.

"If I were speaking lies, Gawaine, you might well try to shut my mouth, but can you stop the truth with your fists? Or do you still maintain that Gwenhwyfar and Lancelet are innocent? You, Gareth, who have all your life been his pet and minion, I might well believe that you will think no evil of your friend-"

Gareth said, gritting his teeth, "It is true I wish the woman at the bottom of the sea, or behind the walls of the safest convent in Cornwall. But while Arthur does not speak, I will hold my tongue. And they are old enough to be discreet. All men have known for years that he has been her champion lifelong-"

"If I only had some proof, Arthur might listen to me," Gwydion said.

"Damn you, I am certain Arthur knows what there is to know. But it is for him to allow it or to interfere ... and he will hear no word against either of them." Gawaine swallowed and went on. "Lancelet is my kinsman, and my friend too. But-damn you-do you think I have not tried?"

"And what said Arthur?"

"He said that the Queen was above my criticism, and whatever she chose to do was well done. He was courteous, but I could tell that he knew what I was saying and was warning me not to interfere."

"But if it were drawn to his attention in a way he could not choose to ignore," Gwydion said quietly, considering, then raised his hand and beckoned. Niniane, seated at Arthur's feet, her hands still touching the strings of her harp, softly asked leave of Arthur, then rose and came to him.

"My lady," Gwydion said, "is it not true that she"- he inclined his head very slightly in Gwenhwyfar's direction-"often sends her women away for the night?"

Niniane said quietly, "She has not done so while the legion was away from Camelot."

"So at least we know the lady is loyal," said Gwydion cynically, "and does not distribute her favors wholesale."

"No one has ever accused her of common lechery," said Gareth angrily, "and at their ages-they are both older than you, Gawaine-whatever they are about cannot be much harm to anyone, I should think."

"No, I am serious," said Gwydion with equal heat. "If Arthur is to remain High King-"

"Mean you not," said Gareth angrily, "if you are to be High King after him-"

"What would you, brother? That when Arthur is gone I should turn over all this land to the Saxons?" Their heads were close together, and they were talking in furious whispers. Morgause knew they had forgotten not only her presence but her very existence.

"Why, I thought you loved the Saxons well," said Gareth, in angry scorn. "Would you not be content to have them rule, then?"

"No, hear me," said Gwydion in a rage, but Gareth grabbed at him again and said, "The whole of the court will hear you if you do not moderate your voices-look, Arthur is staring at you, he watched when Niniane came over here! Maybe Arthur is not the only one who should look to his lady, or-"

"Be silent!" Gwydion said, wrestling himself free of Gareth's hands.

Arthur called out to him, "What, do my loyal cousins of Lothian quarrel among themselves? I will have peace in my hall, kinsmen! Come, Gawaine, here's King Ceardig asking if you will have a game of riddles with him!"

Gawaine rose, but Gwydion said softly, "Here's a riddle for you- when a man will not mind his property, what's to be done by those who have an interest in it?"

Gawaine stalked away, pretending he did not hear, and Niniane bent over Gwydion and said, "Leave it for now. There are too many ears and eyes. You have planted the seed. Now speak to some of the other knights. Do you think you are the only one who saw-that?" and she moved her elbow just a little. Morgause, following the slight gesture, saw that Gwen-hwyfar was bending with Lancelet over a game board on their laps; their heads were close together.

"I think there are many who think it touches the honor of Arthur's Camelot," Niniane murmured. "You need only find some who are less- biased-than your brothers of Lothian, Gwydion."

But Gwydion was looking angrily at Gareth. "Lancelet," he muttered, "always Lancelet!" And Morgause, looking from Gwydion to her youngest son, thought of a small child prattling to a red-and-blue carved knight which he called Lancelet.

Then she thought of a younger Gwydion, following Gareth about like a puppy. Gareth is his Lancelet, she thought. What will come of this? But her disquiet was swallowed up in malice. Surely it is time, she thought, that Lancelet should have to answer for all he has wrought.

NINIANE STOOD at the crest of Camelot, looking down at the mists that surrounded the hill. She heard a step behind her, and said, without turning, "Gwydion?"

"Who else?" His arms came around her and held her tight, and she turned her face to kiss him. He demanded, without letting her go, "Does Arthur kiss you like that?"

She freed herself from his embrace to confront him. "Are you jealous of the King? Was it not you who told me to gain his confidence?"

"Already Arthur has had more than enough of what is mine-"

"Arthur is a Christian man-I will say no more than that," Niniane said, "and you are my dear love. But I am Niniane of Avalon, and I account to no man on this earth for what I do with what is mine-yes, mine and not yours. I am not Roman, to let some man tell me what I may do with what the Goddess gave me. And if you like that not, Gwydion, then I shall return to Avalon."

Gwydion smiled, the cynical smile she liked least about him.

"If you could find the way," he said. "You might find that not so easy any longer." Then the cynicism slipped from his face and he stood holding Niniane's hand lightly in his and said, "I care not what Arthur may do in the time remaining to him. Like Galahad, he may have his moments, for he will be a long time without them." He stared down at what looked like an ocean of mist surrounding Camelot. "When the mist clears we will see Avalon from here, perhaps, and Dragon Island." He sighed and said, "Did you know-some of the Saxons are moving into that country now, and there has been hunting of the deer on Dragon Island, though Arthur forbade it."

Niniane's face hardened in anger. "A stop must be put to that. The place is sacred, and the deer-"

"And the little folk who own the deer. But Aedwin the Saxon slaughtered them," Gwydion said. "He told Arthur that they shot at his men with poisoned elf-arrows, so he gave his men leave to kill as many of them as he could find. And now they hunt the deer-and Arthur will go to war against Aedwin, if he must. I wish Aedwin had a better cause-in honor I must fight to protect those who look to Avalon."

"And Arthur goes to war for their sakes?" Niniane was surprised. "I thought he had forsworn Avalon."

"Avalon, perhaps, but not the harmless folk from the island." Gwydion was silent, and Niniane knew he was remembering a day on Dragon Island. He slid his fingers along the tattooed serpents on his wrists, then pulled the sleeves of his Saxon tunic down over them. "I wonder, could I still pull down a King Stag with only my hands and a flint knife?"

"I doubt not that you could, if you were challenged," said Niniane. "The question is, could Arthur? For if he cannot ... "

She left the question hanging in the air, and he said somberly, watching the enclosing mist, "I do not think it will clear. Mist hangs here always, so thickly now that some of the Saxon kings who send messengers cannot find their way ... . Niniane! Will Camelot too go into the mists?"

She began to fling him back some careless word of jest or reassurance, then stopped and said, "I know not. Dragon Island is defiled, the folk dying or dead, the sacred herd prey to the Saxon hunters. Northmen raid the coast. Will they one day sack Camelot as the Goths overthrew Rome?"

"If I had known in time," Gwydion said with smothered violence, striking one fist against the other, "if the Saxons had brought word to Arthur, he could have sent me-or some other-to protect that holy ground where he was made King Stag and made the sacred marriage with the land! Now the shrine of the Goddess has been overthrown, since he did not die to protect it, his kingship is forfeit."

Niniane heard what he did not say: And mine. She said, "You knew not that it was endangered."

"And for that too I blame Arthur," Gwydion said. "That the Saxons could think of doing this without consulting him-does it not say to you how little they think now of his High Kingship? And why do they think so little of him? I will tell you, Niniane-they think little of any king who is cuckold, who cannot rule his women-"

"You who were reared in Avalon," she said angrily, "will you judge Arthur by the Saxon's standards, which are worse than those of the Romans? Will you let a kingdom rise or fall because of some notion of how a man should keep his women in bonds? You are to be King, Gwydion, because you bear the royal blood of Avalon and because you are the child of the Goddess-"

"Pah!" Gwydion spat and followed it with an obscenity. "Did it never occur to you, Niniane-perhaps Avalon fell as later Rome fell, because there was corruption at the heart of the realm? By Avalon's laws, Gwenhwyfar has done no more than is right-the lady shall choose who she will for her consort, and Arthur should be overthrown by Lancelet! Why, Lancelet is the son of the High Priestess herself-why not set him to be King in Arthur's place? But is our king to be chosen because some woman wants him in her bed?" Again he spat. "No, Niniane, that day is done-first the Romans and now the Saxons know how the world's to be. The world is no longer a great womb bearing men-now the movement of men and armies settles things. What people now would accept my rule because I was the son of this woman or that? Now it is the king's son who takes the land, and shall we turn away a good thing because the Romans did so first? We have better ships now-we will discover lands beyond the old lands that have sunk in the sea. Will a Goddess who is tied to this one patch of earth and its crops follow us there? Look at the Northmen who are raiding our coasts-will they be stopped with the Mother's curses? The few priestesses that are left in Avalon-no Saxons or wild Northmen will ever ravish them, because Avalon is no longer a part of the world in which these wild raiders live. Those women who live in the world that is coming will need men to guard them. The world now, Niniane, is not one of Goddesses, but of Gods, perhaps of one God. I need not try to bring Arthur down. Time and change alone will do that."

Niniane's back prickled as if with the Sight. "And what of you, King Stag of Avalon? What of the Mother who sent you forth in her name?"

"Do you think I mean to go into the mists with Avalon and Camelot? I mean to be High King after Arthur-and to do that, I must keep the glory of Arthur's court at full height. So Lancelet must go, which means that Arthur must be forced to banish him, and probably Gwenhwyfar as well. Are you with me, Niniane, or not?"

Her face was deathly white. She clenched her fists at her side, wishing that she had the power of Morgaine, the power of the Goddess, to rise like a bridge from earth to sky and strike him down with the lightning force of the outraged Goddess. The crescent moon on her brow burned with rage.

"Am I to help you by betraying a woman who has taken the right the Goddess has given to all women, to choose what man she will?"

Gwydion laughed mockingly. "Gwenhwyfar gave up that right when first she knelt at the feet of the slave's God."

"Nevertheless, I'll have nothing to do with betraying her."

"Then you will not send me word when she sends her women away again for the night?"

"No," said Niniane, "by the Goddess, I will not. And Arthur's treachery to Avalon is nothing to yours!" She turned her back on him and would have moved away, but he caught and held her there.

"You'll do what I command you!"

She struggled to free herself, at last wrenching her bruised wrists from him. "Command me? Not in a thousand years!" she said, breathless with fury. "Beware, you who have laid hands on the Lady of Avalon! Arthur shall know now what sort of viper he has taken to his breast!"

In a towering rage, Gwydion grabbed her other wrist and pulled her toward him, then struck her full force across the temple, and she fell to the ground without a cry. He was so full of wrath that he let her fall without a move to catch her.

"Well did the Saxons name you," said a low, savage voice from the fog. "Evil counsel, Mordred-murderer!"

He turned with a convulsive moment of fear and looked at the crumpled body of Niniane at his feet. "Murderer? No! I was only angry with her-I would not hurt her-" He stared around him, unable to make out anything in the thickening mist, yet knowing the voice.

"Morgaine! Lady-my mother!"

He knelt, panic clutching at his throat, raising Niniane up, searching for a heartbeat but she lay there without breath, without life.

"Morgaine! Where are you? Where are you? Damn you, show yourself!" But there was only Niniane, lifeless and unmoving at his feet. He clasped her to him, imploring. "Niniane! Niniane, my love-speak to me-"

"She will not speak again," said the bodiless voice, but as Gwydion turned this way and that in the fog, a woman's solid figure materialized out of it. "Oh, what have you done, my son?"

"Was it you? Was it you?" Gwydion demanded, his voice cracking in hysteria. "Was it you called me murderer?

Morgause stepped back, half afraid. "No, no, I came but now-what have you done?"

Gwydion flung himself at her, and she held him, stroking him as she had done when he was twelve years old. "Niniane angered me-she threatened me-as the Gods witness it, Mother, I meant her no harm, but she threatened to go to Arthur and tell him I plotted against his precious Lancelet," Gwydion said, almost babbling. "I struck her, I swear I meant only to frighten her, but she fell-"

Morgause let Gwydion go and knelt beside Niniane. "You struck an unlucky blow, my son-she is dead. There's nothing you can do now. We must go and tell Arthur's marshals and stewards."

His face had gone livid. "Mother! The marshals-what will Arthur say?"

Morgause felt a great melting within her heart. He was in her hands, as when he had been a little helpless child whom Lot would have killed, his life was hers, and he knew it. She folded him to her breast.

"Never mind, my love, you mustn't suffer for it, any more than for any other you killed in battle," she said, looking down with triumph at Niniane's lifeless body. "She could have fallen in the fog-it's a long way to the bottom of the hill," she said, looking over the brow of Camelot, where it descended steeply into the mist. "So, catch hold of her feet thus. Done is done, and nothing that happens to her now can make a difference." Her old hatred of Arthur surged up; Gwydion would bring him down, and he would do it with her help-and when it was done, she would be at his side, the lady who had set him on his throne! Niniane was no longer between them; she herself alone should be his support and his help.

Silently, in the fog, the slight body of the Lady of Avalon disappeared into the mists. Later Arthur would call for her and when she did not appear, send men to search; but Gwydion, staring as if hypnotized into the mists, thought for a moment that he saw the black shadow of the Avalon barge somewhere on the waters between Camelot and Dragon Island. It seemed to him for a moment that Niniane, robed in black as the Death-crone, beckoned to him from the barge ... and then it was gone.

"Come, my son," said Morgause. "You spent this morning in my rooms and the rest of the day you must spend with Arthur in his hall. Remember, you have not seen Niniane this day-when you come to Arthur, you must ask for her, even seem a little jealous, as if you feared to find her in his bed."

And it was balm to her heart that he clutched at her and muttered, "I will. I will, my mother. Surely you are the best of all mothers, the best of all women!"

And she held him for a moment and kissed him again, savoring her power, before she let him go.

16

Gwenhwyfar lay wide-eyed in the darkness, waiting for the step of Lancelet, yet thinking of Morgause, smiling-almost leering -as she murmured, "Ah, I envy you, my dear! Cormac is a fine young man, and hearty enough-but he has none of the grace and beauty of your lover." Gwenhwyfar had bent her head and said nothing. Who was she to scorn Morgause, when she was doing the same thing? But it was too dangerous. The bishop, on his last Sunday, had preached a sermon on the great commandment against adultery, saying that the chastity of wives lay at the very root of the Christian way of living, since only by married chastity did women redeem the sin of Eve. Gwenhwyfar recalled the tale of that woman taken in adultery, whom they had brought to Christ; he had said, Let that one who has done no sin, cast at her the fast stone. There had been none guiltless to cast it-but here in her court, there were many who were sinless, with Arthur himself to cast that stone. Christ had said to the woman, Go and sin no more. And that was what she must do ... .

It was not his body she desired. Morgause, sniggering over the lusty young man who was her lover, would never have believed how little difference that had made to either of them. Seldom, indeed, had he ever taken her in that way which was sin and dishonor-only in those first years, when they had had Arthur's acquiescence, to try and see if Gwenhwyfar could bear a son to the kingdom. There had been other ways to find pleasure, which she somehow felt less of a sin, less violation of Arthur's marriage rights in her body. And even so, it was not that she desired so much, only that she should be with him ... it was a thing, she thought, almost more of the soul than the body. Why should a God of love condemn this? He might condemn the sin they had done, for which she had done penance over and over, but how could he condemn this, which was the truest love of the heart?

I have taken nothing from Arthur which he desired or needed of me. He must have a queen, a lady to keep his castle; for the rest, he wanted nothing of me save a son, and it was not I but God who denied him that.

There was a soft step in the darkness; she whispered, "Lancelet?"

"Not so." A glimmer of a tiny lamp in the darkness confused her; for a moment she saw what seemed a beloved face, grown young-then knew who it must be.

"How dare you? My women are not so far but that I can scream aloud, and there is none will believe that I summoned you here!"

"Lie still," he said. "There is a knife at your throat, my lady." And as she shrank away, clutching the bed clothing, "Oh, don't flatter yourself, madam, I came not here for rape. Your charms are too stale for me, my lady, and too well tasted."

"That's enough," said a husky voice in the dark behind Gwydion. "Don't mock her, man! This is a dirty business, snooping at bedchamber doors, and I wish I'd never heard of it! Quiet, all of you, and hide yourselves around the chamber!"

She recognized Gawaine's face as her eyes adapted to the dim light, and beyond them a familiar form. "Gareth! What do you here?" she asked, sorrowfully. "I thought you Lancelet's dearest friend."

"And so I am," he said grimly. "I came to see no worse done to him than justice. That one"-he flicked a contemptuous gesture at Gwydion- "would cut his throat-and leave you to be accused of murder!"

"Be still," said Gwydion, and the light went out. Gwenhwyfar felt the pricking of the knife at her throat. "If you speak a syllable to warn him, madam, I will cut your throat and take my chances explaining why to my lord Arthur." The point dug in till Gwenhwyfar, flinching with pain, wondered if it had actually drawn blood. She could hear small noises-the rustle of garments, the clink of weapons hurriedly muffled; how many men had he brought to this ambush? She lay silent, twisting her hands in despair. If only she could warn Lancelet... but she lay like a small animal in a snare, helpless.

Minutes crawled by for the trapped woman silent between her pillows and the knife. After a long time, she heard a tiny sound, a soft whistle like a bird call. Gwydion felt the tensing of her muscles and asked in a rasping whisper, "Lancelet's signal?" He dug the knife again into the yielding skin at her throat, and she whispered, sweating in terror, "Yes."

She felt the straw beneath her rustle as he shifted his weight and moved away. "There are a dozen men in this room. Try to give him warning, and you will not live three seconds."

She heard sounds in the antechamber; Lancelet's cloak, his sword-ah, God, would they take him naked and weaponless? She tensed again, feeling in advance the knife driving into her body, but somehow she must warn him, must cry out-she opened her lips, but Gwydion-was it the Sight, how did he know? -thrust his hand cruelly over her face, smothering the cry. She writhed under his suffocating hand, then felt Lancelet's weight on the bed. "Gwen?" he whispered. "What is the matter? Did I hear you crying, my beloved?"

She managed to writhe away from the concealing hand. "Run!" she screamed. "It's a trick, a trap-" "Hell's doors!" She could feel him, like a cat, springing back. Gwydion's lamp flared; somehow the light went from hand to hand, until the room was filled with light, and Gawaine, Cai, and Gareth, with a dozen shadowy forms behind them, stepped forward. Gwenhwyfar huddled under the bedcover, and Lancelet stood still, quite naked, weaponless. "Mordred," he said, in contempt. "Such a trick is worthy of you!" Gawaine said formally, "In the King's name, Lancelet, I accuse you of high treason. Get me your sword."

"Never mind that," said Gwydion, "go and take it."

"Gareth! In God's name, why did you lend yourself to this?" Gareth's eyes were glistening as if with tears in the lamplight. "I never believed it of you, Lancelet. I would to God I had fallen in battle before ever I saw this day."

Lancelet bent his head and Gwenhwyfar saw his eyes, panicky, move around the room. He muttered, "Oh, God, Pellinore looked at me so when they came with the torches to take me in Elaine's bed-must I betray everyone, everyone?" She wanted to reach out to him, to cry out with pity and pain, to shelter him in her arms. But he would not look at her.

"Your sword," said Gawaine quietly. "And dress yourself, Lancelet. I will not take you naked and disgraced into Arthur's presence. Enough men have witnessed your shame."

"Don't let him get at his sword-" some faceless voice in the darkness protested, but Gawaine gestured the speaker contemptuously into silence. Lancelet turned slowly away from them, into the tiny antechamber where he had left clothing, armor, weapons. She heard him drawing on his garments. Gareth stood, his hand on his sword, as Lancelet came into the room, dressed but weaponless, his hands in full view.

"I am glad for your sake that you will come with us quietly," said Gwydion. "Mother"-he turned into the shadows, and Gwenhwyfar saw, with consternation, Queen Morgause standing there-"see to the Queen. She shall be in your charge until Arthur may deal with her."

Morgause advanced on the bedside. Gwenhwyfar had never noticed before how large a woman Morgause was, and how ruthless her jaw line.

"Come along, my lady, get into your gown," she said. "And I will help you peg your hair-you do not want to go naked and shameless before the King. And be glad there was a woman here. These men-"she looked contemptuously at them-"meant to wait until they could catch him actually inside you." Gwenhwyfar shrank from the brutality of the words; slowly, with lagging fingers, she began to draw on her gown. "Must I dress before all these men?"

Gwydion did not wait for Morgause to answer. He said, "Don't try to cozen us, shameless woman! Dare you pretend you have anything left of decency or modesty? Put on that gown, madam, or my mother shall bundle you into it like a sack!"

He calls her mother. No wonder Gwydion is cruel and ruthless, with the Queen of Lothian to foster him! Yet Gwenhwyfar had seen Morgause so often as merely a lazy, jolly, greedy woman-what had brought her to this? She sat still, fastening the laces of her shoes.

Lancelet said quietly, "It is my sword you want, then?"

"You know it," Gawaine said.

"Why, then"-moving almost more swiftly than the eye could follow, Lancelet leaped for Gawaine, and in another catlike movement, had Gawaine's own sword in his hand-"come and take it, damn you!" He lunged with Gawaine's sword at Gwydion, who fell across the bed, howling, bleeding from a great slash in his backside; then, as Cai stepped forward, sword in hand, Lancelet caught up a cushion from the bed and pushed Cai backward with it so that he fell into the advancing men, who tripped over him. He leaped up on the bed and said, low and short to Gwenhwyfar, "Keep perfectly still and be ready!"

She gasped, shrinking back and making herself small in a corner. They were coming at him again; he ran one of them through, briefly engaged another, and over that one's body, lunged and slashed at a shadowy attacker. The giant form of Gareth crumpled slowly to the floor. Lancelet was already fighting someone else, but Gwydion, bleeding, cried out, "Gareth!" and flung himself across the body of his foster-brother. In that moment of horrified lull, while Gwydion knelt, sobbing, over Gareth's body, Gwenhwyfar felt Lancelet catch her up on his arm, whirl, kill someone at the door-she never knew who it was-and then she was on her feet in the corridor, and Lancelet was pushing her, with frantic haste, ahead of him. Someone came at him out of the dark and Lancelet killed him, and they ran on.

"Make for the stables," he gasped. "Horses, and out of here, fast."

"Wait!" She caught at his arm. "If we throw ourselves on Arthur's mercy-or you escape and I will stay and face Arthur-"

"Gareth might have seen justice done. But with Gwydion's hand in it, do you think either of us would ever reach the King alive? I named him well Mordred!" He hurried her into the stables, swiftly flung a saddle on his horse. "No time to find yours. Ride behind me, and hold on well-I'm going to have to ride down the guards at the gate." And Gwenhwyfar realized she was seeing a new Lancelet-not her lover, but the hardened warrior. How many men had he killed this night? She had no time for fear as he lifted her on his horse and sprang up before her.

"Hang on to me," he said. "I'll have no time to look after you." He turned then, and gave her one hard, long kiss. "This is my fault, I should have known that infernal bastard would be spying-well, whatever happens now, at least it's over. No more lies and no more hiding. You're mine forever-" and he broke off. She could feel him trembling, but he turned savagely to grip the reins. "And now we go!"

MORGAUSE LOOKED ON in horror as Gwydion, weeping, bent over her youngest son.

Words spoken in half earnest, years ago-Gwydion had refused to take the lists on the opposite side from Gareth, even in a mock battle. It seemed to me that you lay dying, he had said ... and I knew it was my doing you lay without the spark of life ... . I will not tempt that fate.

Lancelet had done this, Lancelet whom Gareth had always loved more than any other man.

One of the men in the room stepped forward and said, "They're getting away-"

"Do you think I care about that?" Gwydion winced, and Morgause realized that he was bleeding, that his blood was flowing and mingling with Gareth's on the floor of the chamber. She caught up the linen sheet from the bed, tore it, and wadded it against Gwydion's wound.

Gawaine said somberly, "No man in all of Britain will hide them now. Lancelet is everywhere outcast. He has been taken in treason to his king, and his very life is forfeit. God! How I wish it had not come to this!" He came and looked at Gwydion's wound, then shrugged. "No more than a flesh cut -see, the bleeding is slowed already, it will heal, but you will not sit in comfort for some days. Gareth-" His voice broke; the great, rough, greying man began to weep like a child. "Gareth had worse fortune, and I will have Lancelet's life for it, if I die myself at his hands. Ah God, Gareth, my little one, my little brother-" and Gawaine bent and cradled the big body against him. He said thickly, through sobs, "Was it worth it, Gwydion, was it worth Gareth's life?"

"Come away, my boy," said Morgause, through a tightness in her own throat-Gareth, her baby, her last child; she had lost him long ago to Arthur, but still she remembered a fair-haired little boy, clutching a wooden painted knight in his hand. And one day you and I shall go on quest together, sir Lancelet ... always Lancelet. But now Lancelet had overreached himself, and everywhere in the land every man's hand would be against him. And still she had Gwydion, her beloved, the one who would one day be King, and she at his side.

"Come, my lad, come away, you can do nothing for Gareth now. Let me bind up your wound, then we shall go to Arthur and tell him what has befallen, so that he may send out his men to seek for the traitors-"

Gwydion shook her grip from his arm. "Get away from me, curse you," he said in a terrible voice. "Gareth was the best of us, and I would not have sacrificed him for a dozen kings! It was you and your spite against Arthur always urging me on, as if I cared what bed the Queen slept in- as if Gwenhwyfar were any worse than you, when from the time I was ten years old you had this one or that one in your bed-"

"Oh, my son-" she whispered, aghast. "How can you speak so to me? Gareth was my son too-"

"What did you ever care for Gareth, or for any of us, or for anything but your own pleasure and your own ambition? You would urge me to a throne, not for my sake but for your own power!" He thrust away her clinging hands. "Get you back to Lothian, or to hell if the devil will have you, but if ever I set eyes on you again, I swear I will forget all except that you were the murderer of the one brother I loved, the one kinsman-" and as Gawaine urgently pushed his mother from the chamber, she could hear Gwydion weeping again. "Oh, Gareth, Gareth, I should have died first-"

Gawaine said shortly, "Cormac, take the Queen of Lothian to her chamber."

His strong arm was holding her upright, and after they had moved down the hall, after that dreadful sobbing had died away behind her, Morgause began to draw breath freely again. How could he turn on her this way? When had she ever done anything except for his sake? She must show decent mourning for Gareth, certainly, but Gareth was Arthur's man, and surely Gwydion would have realized it, sooner or later. She looked up at Cormac. "I cannot walk so fast-hold back a little."

"Certainly, my lady." She was very much aware of his arm enfolding her, holding her. She let herself lean a little on him. She had bragged to Gwenhwyfar of her young lover, but she had never yet actually taken him to her bed-she had kept him delaying, dangling. She turned her head against his shoulder. "You have been faithful to your queen, Cormac."

"I am loyal to my royal house, as all my people have ever been," the young man said in their own language, and she smiled.

"Here is my chamber-help me inside, will you? I can scarce walk-"

He supported her, eased her down on her bed. "Is it my lady's will that I call her women?"

"No," she whispered, catching at his hands, aware that her tears were seductive. "You have been loyal to me, Cormac, and now is that loyalty to be rewarded-come here-"

She held out her arms, half shutting her eyes, then opened them, in shock, as he pulled awkwardly away.

"I-I think you are distraught, madam," he stammered. "What do you think I am? What do you take me for? Why, lady, I have as much respect for you as for my own grandmother! Should I take advantge of an old woman like you when you are beside yourself with grief? Let me call your waiting-woman, and she will make you a nice posset and I will forget what you said in the madness of grief, madam."

Morgause could feel the blow in the very pit of her stomach, repeated blows on her heart-my own grandmother ... old woman ... the madness of grief.... The whole of the world had suddenly gone mad-Gwydion insane with ingratitude, this man who had looked on her so long with desire turning on her ... she wanted to scream, to call for her servants and have him whipped till his back ran crimson with his blood and the walls rang with his shrieking for mercy. But even as she opened her mouth for that, the whole weight of her life seemed to descend on her in deadly weariness.

"Yes," she said dully, "I do not know what I was saying-call my women, Cormac, and tell them to bring me some wine. We will ride at daybreak for Lothian."

And when he had gone, she sat on the bed without the strength to lift her hands.

I am an old woman. And I have lost my son Gareth, and I have lost Gwydion, and I will never now be Queen in Camelot. I have lived too long.

17

Clinging to Lancelet's back, her gown pulled up above her knees and her bare legs hanging down, Gwenhwyfar closed her eyes as they rode hard through the night. She had no idea where they were going. Lancelet was a stranger, a hard-faced warrior, a man she had never known. There was a time, she thought, when I would have been terrified, out like this under the open sky, at night ... but she felt excited, exhilarated. At the back of her mind was pain too, mourning for the gentle Gareth who had been like a son to Arthur and deserved better of life than to be struck down so - she wondered if Lancelet even knew whom he had killed! And there was grief for the end of her years with Arthur, and all they had shared for so long. But from what had happened this night there could be no going back. She had to lean forward to hear Lancelet over the rushing of wind. "We must stop somewhere soon, the horse must rest - and if we ride in daylight, my face and yours are known all through this countryside."

She nodded; she had not breath enough to speak. After a time they came within a little wood, and there he pulled to a stop and lifted her gently from the horse's back. He led the horse to water, then spread his cloak on the ground for her to sit. He stared at the sword by his side. "I still have Gawaine's sword. When I was a boy - I heard tales of the fighting madness, but I knew not that it was within our blood - " and sighed heavily. "There is blood on the sword. Whom did I kill, Gwen?"

She could not bear to see his sorrow and guilt. "There was more than one - "

"I know I struck Gwydion - Mordred, damn him. I know I wounded him, I could still act with my own will then. I don't suppose" - his voice hardened - "that I had the luck to kill him?"

Silently she shook her head.

"Then who?" She did not speak; he leaned over and took her shoulders so roughly that for a moment she was afraid of the warrior as she had never been of the lover. "Gwen, tell me! In God's name-did I kill my cousin Gawaine?"

This she could answer without hesitation, glad it was Gawaine he had named. "No. I swear it, not Gawaine."

"It could have been anyone," he said, staring at the sword and suddenly shuddering. "I swear it to you, Gwen, I knew not even that I had a sword in my hand. I struck Gwydion as if he had been a dog, and then I remember no more until we were riding-" and he knelt before her, trembling. He whispered, "I am mad again, I think, as once I was mad-"

She reached out, caught him against her in a passion of wild tenderness. "No, no," she whispered, "ah, no, my love-I have brought all this on you, disgrace and exile-"

"You say that," he whispered, "when I have brought them on you, taken you away from everything that meant anything to you-"

Reckless, she pressed herself to him and said, "Would to God that you had done it before!"

"Ah, it is not too late-I am young again, with you beside me, and you-you have never been more beautiful, my own dear love-" He pushed her back on the cloak, suddenly laughing in abandon. "Ah, now there's none to come between us, none to interrupt us, my own-ah, Gwen, Gwen-"

As she came into his arms, she remembered the rising sun and a room in Meleagrant's castle. It was like that now; and she clung to him, as if there were nothing else in the world, nothing more for either of them, not ever.

They slept a little, curled together in the cloak, and wakened still in each other's arms, the sun searching for them through the green branches overhead. He smiled, touching her face.

"Do you know-never before have I wakened in your arms without fear. Yet now I am happy, in spite of all.. ." and he laughed at her, a note of wildness coming into the laughter. There were leaves in his white hair, and leaves caught in his beard, and his tunic was rumpled; she put up her hands and felt grass and leaves in her own hair, which was coming down. She had no way to comb it, but she caught it in handfuls and parted it to braid, then bound the end of the single braid with a scrap ripped from the edge of her torn skirt. She said, her voice catching with laughter, "What a pair of wild ragamuffins we are! Who would know the High Queen and the brave Lancelet?"

"Does it matter to you?"

"No, my love. Not in the least."

He brushed leaves and grass out of his hair and beard. "I must get up and catch the horse," he said, "and perhaps there will be a farm nearby where we can find you some bread or a drink of ale-I have not a single coin with me, nor anything worth money, save my sword, and this-" He touched a little gold pin on his tunic. "For the moment, at least, we are beggars, though if we could reach Pellinore's castle, I still have a house there, where I lived with Elaine, and servants-and gold, too, to pay our passage overseas. Will you come with me to Less Britain, Gwenhwyfar?"

"Anywhere," she whispered, her voice breaking, and at that moment she meant it absolutely-to Less Britain, or to Rome, or to the country beyond the world's end, only that she might be with him forever. She pulled him down to her again and forgot everything in his arms.

But when, hours later, he lifted her on the horse and they went on at a soberer pace, she fell silent, troubled. Yes, no doubt they could make their way overseas. Yet when this night's work was talked from one end of the world to the other, shame and scorn would come down on Arthur, so that for his own honor he must seek them out wherever they fled. And soon or late, Lancelet must know that he had slain the friend who was dearest to him in all the world save only Arthur's self. He had done it in madness, but she knew how grief and guilt would consume him and in time he would remember, when he looked on her, not that she was his love, but that he had killed his friend, unknowing, for her sake; and that he had betrayed Arthur for her sake. If he must make war on Arthur for her sake, he would hate her ... .

No. He would love her still, but he would never forget by whose blood he had come to possess her. Never would one or the other-love or hate-take power over him, but he would live with them both, tearing doubly at his heart, and one day they would tear his mind to bits and he would go mad again. She clung close to the warmth of his body, leaning her head against his back, and wept. She knew, for the first time, that she was stronger than he, and it cut at her heart with a deathly sword.

And so when they paused again, she was dry-eyed, though she knew that the weeping had moved inward to her heart and never would she cease to mourn. "I will not go overseas with you, Lancelet, nor will I bring strife among all the old Companions of the Round Table. When-when Mor-dred has his way, they will all be at odds," she said, "and a day will come when Arthur will need all his friends. I will not be like that lady of old time-was her name Helen, that fair one in the saga you used to tell to me? - who had all the kings and knights of her day at strife over her in Troy."

"But what will you do?" She tried not to hear that even through the bewilderment and grief in his voice, there was a thread of relief.

"You will take me to the Isle of Glastonbury," she said. "There is a nunnery there where I was schooled. There I will go, and I will tell them only that evil tongues made a quarrel between you and Arthur for my sake. When some time has passed, I will send word to Arthur so that he knows where I am, and knows that I am not with you. And then he can with honor make his peace with you."

He protested, "No! No, I cannot let you go-" but she knew, with a sinking at her heart, that she would have no difficulty persuading him. Perhaps, against all odds, she had hoped that he would fight for her, that he would carry her off to Less Britain with the sheer force of his will and passion. But that was not Lancelet's way. He was as he was, and whatever he was, so and no other way he had been when first she loved him, and so he was now, and so she would love him for the rest of her life. And at last he strove no more with her, but set the horse's head on the road toward Glastonbury.

THE LONG SHADOW of the church lay across the waters when they set foot at last on the boat that would bring them to the island, and the church bells were ringing out the Angelus. Gwenhwyfar bent her head and whispered a word of prayer.

Mary, God's Holy Mother, have pity on me, a sinful woman ... and then for a moment it seemed to her that she stood beneath a great light, as she had stood on that day when the Grail passed through the hall. Lancelet sat in the prow of the ferry, his head lowered. He had not touched her from the moment she had told him what she had decided, and she was glad; a single touch of his hand would have worn away her resolve. Mist lay on the Lake, and for an instant it seemed to her that she saw a shadow, like the shadow of their own boat, a barge draped in black, with a dark figure at the prow-but no. It was only a shadow, a shadow ... .

The boat scraped on the shore. He helped her from it. "Gwenhwyfar -are you certain?"

"I am certain," she said, trying to sound surer than she felt.

"Then I will escort you to the doors of the convent," he said, and it suddenly struck her that this took, for him, more courage than all the killing he had done for her sake.

The old abbess recognized the High Queen, and was awed and amazed that she should return, but Gwenhwyfar told the tale she had decided on -that evil tongues had wrought a quarrel between Arthur and Lancelet for her sake, and she had chosen to take refuge here so they might amend their quarrel.

The old woman patted her cheek as if she were the little Gwenhwyfar who had been lessoned here when she was a child. "You are welcome to stay as long as you wish it, my daughter. Forever, if that is your will. In God's house we turn no one away. But here you will not be a queen," she warned, "only one of our sisters."

Gwenhwyfar sighed with utter relief. She had not known till this moment how heavy it was, the weight of being a queen. "I must say farewell to my knight, and wish him well, and bid him amend the quarrel with my husband."

The abbess nodded gravely. "In these days, our good King Arthur cannot spare a single one of his knights, and surely not the good sir Lancelet."

Gwenhwyfar went out into the anteroom of the convent. Lancelet was there, wandering restlessly. He took her hands. "I cannot bear to say farewell to you here, Gwenhwyfar-ah, my lady, my love, must it be this way?"

"It must be so," she said pitilessly, but knowing that for the first time she acted without thought of herself. "Your heart was always with Arthur, my dearest. I often think the only sin we did was not that we loved, but that I came between the love you had for each other." If it could always have been among us three as it was on that Beltane night with Morgaine's love charm, she thought, there would have been less of sin. The sin was not that we lay together, but that there was strife, and less of love therefore. "I send you back to Arthur with all my heart, dearest. Tell him for me that I loved him never the less."

His face was almost transfigured. "I know that now," he said. "And I know, too, that I loved him never the less, and I felt always that I wronged you by loving him ... ." He would have kissed her, but it was not suitable here. Instead he bent over her hand. "While you are in God's house, pray for me, lady."

My love for you is a prayer, she thought. Love is the only prayer I know. She thought she had never loved him so much as at this moment, when she heard the convent door close, hard and final, and felt the walls shutting her in.

So safe, so protected, those walls had made her feel, in that day long past. Now she knew that she would walk between them all the rest of her life. When I had freedom, she thought, I desired it not, and feared it. And now, when I have learned to love it and long for it, I am renouncing it in the name of my love. Dimly she felt that this was right-the acceptable gift and sacrifice to bring before God. But as she walked through the nuns' cloister, she looked at the walls closing her in, trapping her.

For my love. And for the love of God, she thought, and felt a small seed of comfort stealing through her. Lancelet would go to the church where Galahad had died, and there he would pray. Perhaps he would remember a day when the mists of Avalon had opened, and she and he and Morgaine had stood together, lost, knee-deep in the waters of the Lake. She thought of Morgaine too, with a sudden passion of love and tenderness. Mary, Holy Mother of God, be with her too, and bring her to you one day ... .

The walls, the walls, they would drive her mad, closing her in, she would never be free again.... No. For her love, and for the love of God, she would even learn to love them again one day. Folding her hands in prayer, Gwenhwyfar walked down the cloister to the sisters' enclosure, and went inside forever.

MORGAINE SPEAKS ...

I thought I was beyond the Sight; Viviane, still younger than I, had renounced it, chosen another to be Lady in her place. But there was none to sit in the shrine of the Lady after me, and none to approach the Goddess. I saw it, helpless, when Niniane died, and I could not stretch forth my hand.

I had loosed this monster upon the world, and I had acquiesced in that move which should send him to throw down the King Stag. And I saw it from afar when, on Dragon Island, the shrine was thrown down and the deer hunted in the forest, without love, without challenge, without appeal to her who was giver of the deer; only arrows from afar and the edge of the spear, and her people hunted down like her deer. The tides of the world were changing. There were times when I saw Camelot too, drifting in the mist, and the wars raging up and down the land again, the Northmen who were the new foe plundering and burning ... a new world, and new Gods.

Truly the Goddess had departed, even from Avalon, and I, mortal as I was, remained there alone ... .

And yet, one night, some dream, some vision, some fragment of the Sight, drove me, at the hour of the dark moon, to the mirror.

At first I saw only the wars raging up and down the land. I never knew what came between Arthur and Gwydion, although, after Lancelet fled with Gwenhwyfar, there was enmity among the old Companions, blood feud declared between Lancelet and Gawaine. Later, when Gawaine lay dying, that great-hearted man begged Arthur, with his last breath, to make his peace with Lancelet and summon him to Camelot once more. But it was too late; not even Lancelet could rally Arthur's legion again, not when so many followed Gwydion, who now led half of Arthur's own men and most of the Saxons and even a few of the renegade Northmen against him. And in that hour before dawn, the mirror cleared, and in the unearthly light I saw the face of my son at last with a sword in his hand, circling slowly, in the darkness, seeking ...

Seeking, as Arthur in his day had sought, to challenge the King Stag. I had forgotten what a small man Gwydion was, like Lancelet. Elf-arrow, the Saxons had called Lancelet; small, dark, and deadly. Arthur would have towered more than a head above him.

Ah, in the days of the Goddess, man went against King Stag to seek his kingship! Arthur had been content to await his father's death, but now a new thing was coming upon this land-father and son enemies, and sons to challenge fathers for a crown ... it seemed to me that I could see a land that ran red with blood, where sons were not content to await their crowning day. And now, in the circling dark, it seemed that I could see Arthur too, tall and fair and alone, cut off from his men ... and Excalibur naked in his hand.

But through and around the prowling figures I could see Arthur in his tent, restlessly asleep, Lancelet guarding him as he slept; and somewhere, too, I knew Gwydion slept among his own armies. Yet some part of them prowled restless on the shores of the Lake, seeking in the darkness, swords naked, against one another.

"Arthur! Arthur, stand to the challenge, or do you fear me too much?"

"No man can say that I ever ran from a challenge." Arthur turned as Gwydion came from the wood. "So," he said, "it is you, Mordred. I never more than half believed that you had turned against me till now when I see it with my own eyes. I thought those who told me so sought to undermine my courage by telling me the worst that could befall. What have I done? Why have you become my enemy? Why, my son?"

"Do you truly believe that I was ever anything else, my father?" He spoke the word with the greatest bitterness. "For what else was I begotten and born, but for this moment when I challenge you for a cause that is no longer within the borders of this world? I no longer even know why I am to challenge you-only that there is nothing else left in my life but for this hatred."

Arthur said quietly, "I knew Morgaine hated me, but I did not know she hated me as much as this. Must you do her will even in this, Gwydion?"

"Do you think I do her will, you fool?" Gwydion snarled. "If anything could bid me spare you, it is that-that I do Morgaine's will, that she wishes you overthrown, and I know not whether I hate more her or you ..."

And then, stepping forth into their dream or vision or whatever it might be, I knew that I stood on the shores of the Lake where they challenged each other, stood between them clad in the robes of a priestess.

"Must this be? I call upon you both, in the name of the Goddess, to amend your quarrel. I sinned against you, Arthur, and against you, Gwydion, but your hate is for me, not for each other, and in the name of the Goddess I beg of you-"

"What is the Goddess to me?" Arthur tightened his fist on the hilt of Excalibur. "I saw her always in your face, but you turned away from me, and when the Goddess rejected me, I sought another God. ..."

And Gwydion said, looking on me with contempt, "I needed not the Goddess, but the woman who mothered me, and you put me into the hands of one who had no fear of any Goddess or any God."

I tried to cry out, "I had no choice! I did not choose-" but they came at each other with their swords, rushing through me as if I were made of air, and it seemed that their swords met in my body ... and then I was in Avalon again, staring in horror at the mirror where I could see nothing, nothing but the widening stain of blood in the sacred waters of the Well. My mouth was dry and my heart pounding as if it would beat a hole in the walls of my chest, and the taste of ruin and death was bitter on my lips.

I had failed, failed, failed! I was false to the Goddess, if indeed there was any Goddess except for myself; false to Avalon, false to Arthur, false to brother and son and lover ... and all I had sought was in ruin. In the sky was a pale and reddening flush where, sometime soon, the sun would rise; and beyond the mists of Avalon, cold in the sky, I knew that somewhere Arthur and Gwydion would meet, this day, for the last time.

As I went to the shore to summon the barge, it seemed to me that the little dark people were all around me and that I walked among them as the priestess I had been. I stood in the barge alone, and yet I knew there were others standing there with me, robed and crowned, Morgaine the Maiden, who had summoned Arthur to the running of the deer and the challenge of the King Stag, and Morgaine the Mother who had been torn asunder when Gwydion was born, and the Queen of North Wales, summoning the eclipse to send Accolon raging against Arthur, and the Dark Queen of Fairy... or was it the Death-crone who stood at my side? And as the barge neared the shore, I heard the last of his followers cry, "Look-look, there, the barge with the four fair queens in the sunrise, the fairy barge of Avalon...."

He lay there, his hair matted with blood, my Gwydion, my lover, my son ... and at his feet Gwydion lay dead, my son, the child I had never known. I bent and covered his face with my own veil. And I knew that it was the end of an age. In the days past, the young stag had thrown down the King Stag, and become King Stag in his turn; but the deer had been slaughtered, and the King Stag had killed the young stag and there would be none after him ...

And the King Stag must die in his turn.

I knelt at his side. "The sword, Arthur. Excalibur. Take it in your hand. Take it, and fling it from you, into the waters of the Lake."

The Sacred Regalia were gone out of this world forever, and the last of them, the sword Excalibur, must go with them. But he whispered, protesting, holding it tight, "No-it must be kept for those who come after-to rally their cause, the sword of Arthur-" and looked up into the eyes of Lancelet. "Take it, Galahad -hear you not the trumpets from Camelot, calling to Arthur's legion? Take it --for the Companions-"

"No," I told him quietly. "That day is past. None after you must pretend or claim to bear the sword of Arthur." I loosed his fingers gently from the hilt. "Take it, Lancelet," I said softly, "but fling it from you far into the waters of the Lake. Let the mists of Avalon swallow it forever."

Lancelet went quietly to do my bidding. I know not if he saw me, or who he thought I was. And I cradled Arthur against my breast. His life was fading fast; I knew it, but I was beyond tears.

"Morgaine," he whispered. His eyes were bewildered and full of pain. "Morgaine, was it all for nothing then, what we did, and all that we tried to do? Why did we fail?"

It was my own question, and I had no answer; but from somewhere, the answer came. "You did not fail, my brother, my love, my child. You held this land in peace for many years, so that the Saxons did not destroy it. You held back the darkness for a whole generation, until they were civilized men, with learning and music and faith in God, who will fight to save something of the beauty of the times that are past. If this land had fallen to the Saxons when Uther died, then would all that was beautiful or good have perished forever from Britain. And so you did not fail, my love. None of us knows how she will do her will-only that it will be done."

And I knew not, even then, whether what I spoke was truth, or whether I spoke to comfort him, in love, as with the little child Igraine had put into my arms when I was but a child myself; Morgaine, she had told me, take care of your little brother, and so I had always done, so I would always do, now and beyond life ... or was it the Goddess herself who had put Arthur into my arms?

He pressed his failing fingers over the great cut at his breast. "If I had but -the scabbard you fashioned for me, Morgaine-I should not lie here now with my life slowly bleeding forth from me.... Morgaine, I dreamed-and in my dream I cried out for you, but I could not hold you-"

I held him close. In the first light of the rising sun I saw Lancelet raise Excalibur in his hand, then fling it as hard as he could. It flew through the air end over end, the sun glinting as if on the wing of a white bird; then it fell, twisting, and I saw no more; my eyes were misted with tears and the growing light.

Then I heard Lancelet: "I saw a hand rising from the Lake-a hand that took the sword, and brandished it three times in the air, and then drew it beneath the water ..."

I had seen nothing, only the glimmer of light on a fish that broke the surface of the Lake; but I doubt not that he saw what he said he saw.

"Morgaine," Arthur whispered, "is it really you? I cannot see you, Morgaine, it is so dark here-is the sun setting? Morgaine, take me to Avalon, where you can heal me of this wound-take me home, Morgaine-"

His head was heavy on my breast, heavy as the child in my own childish arms, heavy as the King Stag who had come to me in triumph. Morgaine, my mother had called impatiently, take care of the baby ... and all my life I had borne him with me. I held him close and wiped away his tears with my veil, and he reached up and caught at my hand with his own.

"But it is really you," he murmured, "it is you, Morgaine ... you have come back to me ... and you are so young and fair ... I will always see the Goddess with your face ... Morgaine, you will not leave me again, will you?"

"I will never leave you again, my brother, my baby, my love," I whispered to him, and I kissed his eyes. And he died, just as the mists rose and the sun shone full over the shores of Avalon.

Epilogue

IN THE spring of the year after this, Morgaine had a curious dream.

She dreamed that she was in the ancient Christian chapel upon Avalon, built in the old times by that Joseph of Arimathea who had come here from the Holy Land. And there, before that altar where Galahad had died, Lancelet stood in the robes of a priest, and his face was solemn and shining. In her dream she went, as she had never done in any Christian church, to the altar rail for the sharing of their bread and wine, and Lancelet bent and set the cup to her lips and she drank. And then it seemed to her that he knelt in his turn, and he said to her, "Take this cup, you who have served the Goddess. For all the Gods are one God, and we are all One, who serve the One." And as she took the cup in her hands to set it to his lips in her turn, priestess to priest, he was young and beautiful as he had been years ago. And she saw that the cup in her hands was the Grail.

And then he cried out, as he had done when Galahad knelt before him, "Ah, the light-the light-" and fell forward and lay on the stones without moving; and Morgaine woke in her isolated dwelling on Avalon with that cry of rapture still ringing in her ears; and she was alone.

It was very early, and mist lay thick on Avalon. She rose quietly and robed herself in the dark garb of a priestess, but she tied her veil around her head so that the crescent tattoo there was invisible.

She went quietly out into the stillness of the dawn, taking the downward path beside the Sacred Well. Still as it was, she could sense noiseless footsteps, silent as shadows, behind her. She was never alone; the little dark people always attended her, though she seldom actually saw them-she was their mother and their priestess and they would never leave her. But when she came near the shadow of the ancient Christian chapel, the footsteps gradually ceased; they would not follow her on this ground. Morgaine paused at the door.

Inside the chapel there was a glimmer of light, the light they always kept in their sanctuary. For a moment, so real was the memory of her dream, Morgaine was tempted to step inside ... she could hardly believe she would not see Lancelet there, struck down by the magical brilliance of the Grail ... but no. She had no business there, and she would not intrude on their God; and if indeed the Grail was there, it had gone beyond her reach.

Yet the dream remained with her. Had it been sent as a warning? Lancelet was younger than she herself was ... she knew not how time ran in the outer world. Avalon, now, had gone so far into the mists that it might be with Avalon as it had been with the fairy country when she was young -while a single year passed within Avalon, three or five or even seven years might have run by in the outer world. And so what it had come to her to do should be done now, while she could still come and go between the worlds.

She knelt before the Holy Thorn, whispering a soft prayer to the Goddess, and asking leave of the tree; then she cut a slip for planting. It was not the first time: in these last years, whenever one had come to Avalon and returned to the outside world, wandering Druid or pilgrim priest ... for a few of them could still come to the ancient chapel on Avalon ... she had sent with him a slip of the Holy Thorn, so that it might still blossom in the world outside. But this she must do with her own hands.

Never, except at Arthur's crowning, had she set foot on the other island ... except, perhaps, for that day when the mists had opened, and Gwenhwy-far had somehow fallen or wandered through. But now, deliberately, she called the barge, and when it was out in the Lake, sent it into the mists, so that when it glided forth into the sunlight again, she could see the long shadow of the church lying over the Lake, and hear the soft tolling of a bell. She saw her followers shrink from the sound, and knew that here, too, they would not follow her, nor set foot. So be it, then; the last thing she wished for was to have the priests on that isle staring in fear and dread at the barge from Avalon. Unseen, they glided toward the shore and unseen she stepped onto the land, watching the black-draped barge vanish again into the mists. And then, the basket over her arm-like any old market woman or peddler come here on pilgrimage, she thought-she went silently up the path from the shore.

Only a hundred years or less, certainly less in Avalon, that these worlds have diverged; yet already the world here is different. The trees were different, and the paths, and she stopped, bewildered, at the foot of a little hill-surely there was nothing like this on Avalon? She had somehow thought the land would be the same, only the buildings different, for they were, after all, the same island, separated only by some magical change ... but now she saw that they were very different.

And then she saw, winding down the hill toward the little church, a procession of robed monks, and they bore with them, toward the church, a body on its bier.

So I saw truly, then, even though I thought it a dream. She stopped, and as the monks brought the body to rest before taking it into the church, she went forward and drew back the pall from the dead face.

Lancelet's face was drawn and lined, far older than when they had parted ... she did not want to think how much older. But she saw that only for a moment; then what she saw on his face was only the sweet and marvelous look of peace. He lay smiling, looking so far beyond her that she knew on what his dying eyes had rested.

She whispered, "So at last you found your Grail."

One of the monks who carried him said, "Perhaps you knew him in the world, sister?" and she knew that in her dark garb, he thought her one of them.

"He was a-a kinsman of mine."

Cousin, lover, friend ... but that was long ago. At the end we were priestess and priest.

"I thought as much," said the monk, "for they called him Lancelet at the court of Arthur, in the old days, but here among us we called him Galahad. He had been with us for many years, and he was made priest but a few days ago."

So far you came in your search for a God who would not mock you, my cousin!

The monks who carried him raised him again to their shoulders. The one who had spoken with her said, "Pray for his soul, sister," and she bowed her head. She could not feel grief; not now, when she had seen the reflection of that faraway light on his face.

But she would not follow him into the church. Here the veil is thin. Here Galahad knelt, and saw the light of the Grail in the other chapel, the chapel on Avalon, and reached for it, reached through the worlds, and so died ... .

And here at last Lancelet has come to follow his son.

Morgaine walked slowly along the path, half ready to abandon what she had come to do. What difference did it make now? But as she paused, irresolute, an old gardener, kneeling at one of the beds of flowers behind the path, raised his head and spoke to her. "I know you not, sister, you are not one of those who dwell here," he said. "Are you a pilgrim?"

Not as the man thought; but so she was, in a way. "I seek the burial place of my kinswoman-she was the Lady of the Lake-"

"Ah yes, that was many, many years ago, in the reign of our good King Arthur," he said. "It lies yonder, where pilgrims to the island may see it. And from it, the path leads up to the convent of the sisters, and if you are hungry, sister, they will give you something to eat there."

Has it come to this, that I look like a beggar? But the man had meant no harm, so she thanked him, and walked in the direction he had pointed out.

Arthur had built for Viviane a noble tomb indeed. But what lay there was not Viviane; nothing lay there but bones, slowly returning to the earth from which they had come ... and all things at last give up their body and their spirit into the keeping of the Lady again ... .

Why had it made so much difference to her? Viviane was not there. Yet when she stood with bent head before the cairn, she was weeping.

After a time, a woman in a dark robe not unlike her own, with a white veil over her head, approached her. "Why do you weep, sister? She who lies here is at peace and in God's hands, she has no need of mourning. But maybe she was one of your kin?"

Morgaine nodded, bending her head against the tears.

"We pray always for her," said the nun, "for, though I do not know her name, she was said to be the friend and benefactor of our good King Arthur in the days that were gone." She lowered her head and murmured some prayer or other, and even as she prayed, bells rang out, and Morgaine drew back. So, in place of the harps of Avalon, Viviane had only these clanging bells and doleful psalms?

Never did I think I would stand side by side with one of these Christian nuns, joining with her in prayer. But then she remembered what Lancelet had said in her dream.

Take this cup, you who have served the Goddess. For all the Gods are One ...

"Come up to the cloister with me, sister," said the nun, smiling and laying a hand on her arm. "You must be hungry and weary."

Morgaine went with her to the gates of their cloister, but would not go in. "I am not hungry," she said, "but if I might have a drink of water-"

"Of course." The woman in black beckoned, and a young girl came and brought a pitcher of water, which she poured into a cup. And she said, as Morgaine lifted it to her lips, "We drink only the water of the chalice well-it is a holy place, you know."

It was like Viviane's voice in her ears: The priestesses drink only the water of the Sacred Well.

The nun and the young girl, robed in black, turned and bent their heads before a woman who came from the cloister, and the nun who had guided her said, "This is our abbess."

Morgaine thought, Somewhere I have seen her. But even as the thought crossed her mind, the woman said, "Morgaine, you do not know me? We thought you long dead ... "

Morgaine smiled at her, troubled. "I am sorry-I do not-"

"No, you would not remember me," said the abbess, "though I saw you, now and again, at Camelot; I was so much younger. My name is Lionors. I was married to Gareth, and when all my children were grown, I came here-here to end my days. Did you come to Lancelet's funeral, then?" She smiled and said, "I should indeed have said Father Galahad, but it is hard to remember, and now he is in Heaven it will not matter." She smiled again. "I know not now even who is King, or whether Camelot still stands-there is war in the land again, it is not as it was in Arthur's time. That all seems so very long ago," she added with detachment.

"I came here to visit Viviane's grave. She is buried here-do you remember?"

"I have seen the tomb," said the abbess, "but it was before ever I came to Camelot."

"I have a favor to beg of you," Morgaine said, and touched the basket on her arm. "This is the Holy Thorn that grows on the hills of Avalon, where it is said that the foster-father of Christ struck his staff into the ground and it blossomed there. I would plant a cutting of this thorn tree on her grave."

"Plant it if you will," said Lionors. "I cannot see how anyone could object to that. It seems right to me that it should be here in the world, and not hidden away in Avalon."

She looked at Morgaine, dismayed.

"Avalon! Have you come here from that unholy land?"

Morgaine thought, Once I would have been angry with her. "Unholy it is not, whatever the priests say, Lionors," she said gently. "Think-would the foster-father of Christ have struck his staff there if the land had seemed to him evil? Is not the Holy Spirit everywhere?"

The woman bowed her head. "You are right. I will send novices to help you with the planting."

Morgaine would sooner have been alone, but she knew it was a kindly thought. The novices seemed no more than children to Morgaine, girls of nineteen or twenty, so young that she wondered-forgetting that she herself had been made priestess when she was eighteen-how they could possibly know enough of spiritual things to choose lives like this. She had thought nuns in Christian convents would be sad and doleful, ever conscious of what the priests said about the sinfulness of being born women, but these were innocent and merry as robins, talking gaily to Morgaine of their new chapel and bidding her rest her knees while they dug the hole for the cutting.

"And it is your kinswoman who is buried here?" asked one of the girls. "Can you read what it says? I never thought I would learn to read, for my mother said it was not suitable, but when I came here, they told me I must be able to read in the mass book, and so now I can read in Latin! Look," she said proudly, and read: " 'King Arthur made this tomb for his kinswoman and benefactress, the Lady of the Lake, slain by treachery at his court in Camelot'-I cannot read the date, but it was a long time ago."

"She must have been a very holy woman," said another of the girls, "for Arthur, they say, was the best and the most Christian of all kings. He would never have had any woman buried here unless she was a saint!"

Morgaine smiled; they reminded her of the girls in the House of Maidens. "I would not call her a saint, though I loved her. In her day, there were those who called her a wicked sorceress."

"King Arthur would never have a wicked sorceress buried here among holy people," said the girl. "And as for sorcery-well, there are ignorant priests and ignorant people, who are all too ready to cry sorcery if a woman is only a little wiser than they are! Are you going to stay and take the veil here, Mother?" she asked, and Morgaine, for a moment startled at the word, realized that they were speaking to her with the same deference and respect as any of her own maidens in the House of Maidens, as if she were an elder among them.

"I am vowed elsewhere, my daughter."

"Is your convent as nice as this one? Mother Lionors is a kind woman," the girl said, "and we are all very happy here-once we had a woman among our sisters who had been a queen. And I know we will go to Heaven, all of us," said the girl with a smile, "but if you have taken vows elsewhere, I am sure that is a good place, too. Only I thought you might perhaps want to stay here, so that you could pray for the soul of your kinswoman who lies buried here." The girl rose and dusted off her dark dress. "Now you may plant your cutting, Mother ... or would you like me to set it in the earth?"

"No, I will do it," said Morgaine, and knelt to press the soft soil around the roots of the plant. As she rose, the girl said, "If you wish, Mother, I will promise to come here and say a prayer every Sunday for your kinswoman."

For some absurd reason, Morgaine felt that tears were coming to her eyes. "Prayer is always a good thing. I am grateful to you, daughter."

"And you, in your convent, wherever it may be, you must pray for us too," said the girl simply, taking Morgaine's hand as she rose. "Here, Mother, let me brush the dirt from your gown. Now you must come and see our chapel."

For a moment Morgaine was inclined to protest. She had sworn when last she left Arthur's court that she would never again enter any Christian church; but this girl was so much like one of her own young priestesses that she would not profane the name by which the girl knew her God. She let the girl lead her inside the church.

In that other world, she thought, that church where the ancient Christians worship must stand on this very spot; some holiness from Avalon must surely come through the worlds, through the mists ... she did not kneel or cross herself, but she bent her head before the high altar of the church; and then the girl tugged gently at her hand.

"Come," she said. "The high altar is of God and I am a little afraid here always ... but you have not seen our chapel-the sisters' chapel ... come, Mother."

Morgaine followed the young girl into the small side chapel. There were flowers here, armfuls of apple blossom, before a statue of a veiled woman crowned with a halo of light; and in her arms she bore a child. Morgaine drew a shaking breath and bowed her head before the Goddess.

The girl said, "Here we have the Mother of Christ, Mary the Sinless. God is so great and terrible I am always afraid before his altar, but here in the chapel of Mary, we who are her avowed virgins may come to her as our Mother, too. And look, here we have little statues of our saints, Mary who loved Jesus and wiped his feet with her hair, and Martha who cooked dinner for him and scolded her sister when she would not cook with her -I like to think of Jesus when he was a real man who would do something for his mother, when he changed the water into wine at that wedding, so she wouldn't be unhappy because there wasn't enough wine for everyone. And here is a very old statue that our bishop gave us, from his native country ... one of their saints, her name is Brigid ... "

Morgaine looked on the statue of Brigid, and she could feel the power coming from it in great waves that permeated the chapel. She bowed her head.

But Brigid is not a Christian saint, she thought, even if Patricius thinks so. That is the Goddess as she is worshipped in Ireland. And I know it, and even if they think otherwise, these women know the power of the Immortal. Exile her as they may, she will prevail. The Goddess will never withdraw herself from mankind.

And Morgaine bowed her head and whispered the first sincere prayer she had ever spoken in any Christian church.

"Why, look," said the novice, as she brought her out of doors into the daylight, "we have one of the Holy Thorn here too, not the one you planted on your kinswoman's grave."

And I thought I could meddle in this? Morgaine thought. Surely, the holy thing had brought itself from Avalon, moving, as the hallows were withdrawn from Avalon, into the world of men where it was most needed. It would remain hidden in Avalon, but it would be shown here in the world as well. "Yes, you have the Holy Thorn, and in days to come, as long as this land shall last, every queen shall be given the Holy Thorn at Christmas, in token of her who is queen in Heaven as in Avalon."

"I don't know what you are talking about, Mother, but thank you for your blessing," said the young novice. "The abbess is awaiting you in the guesthouse-she will take breakfast with you. But would you like, perhaps, to stay in the Lady's chapel first and pray awhile? Sometimes when you are alone with the Holy Mother, she can make things clear to you."

Morgaine nodded, unable to speak, and the girl said, "Very well. When you are ready, just come to the guesthouse." She pointed, and Morgaine went back into the chapel and bowed her head, and giving way at last, sank to her knees.

"Mother," she whispered, "forgive me. I thought I must do what I now see you can do for yourself. The Goddess is within us, yes, but now I know that you are in the world too, now and always, just as you are in Avalon and in the hearts of all men and women. Be in me too now, and guide me, and tell me when I need only let you do your will ... ."

She was silent, kneeling, for a long time, her head bowed, but then, as if compelled, she looked up, and as she had seen it on the altar of the ancient Christian brotherhood in Avalon, as she had seen it when she bore it in Arthur's hall, she saw a light on the altar, and in the Lady's hands- and the shadow, only the shadow, of a chalice ...

It is in Avalon, but it is here. It is everywhere. And those who have need of a sign in this world will see it always.

There was a sweet scent that did not come from the flowers; and for an instant it seemed to Morgaine that it was Igraine's voice that whispered to her ... but she could not hear the words ... and Igraine's hands that touched her head. As she rose, blinded by tears, suddenly it rushed over her, like a great light.

No, we did not fail. What I said to comfort Arthur in his dying, it was all true. I did the Mother's work in Avalon until at last those who came after us might bring her into this world. I did not fail. I did what she had given me to do. It was not she but I in my pride who thought I should have done more.

Outside the chapel, sunlight lay on the land, and there was a fresh scent of spring in the air. Where the apple trees moved in the morning breeze, she could see the blossoms that would bear fruit in their season.

She turned her face toward the guesthouse. Should she go there and breakfast with the nuns, speak perhaps of the old days at Camelot? Morgaine smiled gently. No. She was filled with the same tenderness for them as for the budding apple trees, but that time was past. She turned her back on the convent and walked down to the Lake, along the old path by the shore. Here was a place where the veil lying between the worlds was thin. She needed no longer to summon the barge-she need only step through the mists here, and be in Avalon.

Her work was done.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Marion Zimmer Bradley has been a professional writer for more than twenty-five years. She is best known for her novels of exotic fantasy adventure, particularly her best-selling Darkover series. Ms. Bradley lives in Berkeley, California with her two children.