Gwenhwyfar screamed. Morgause and the other ladies echoed the scream, while Morgaine, quite forgetting she was supposed to have an injured ankle, leaped up and ran toward Lancelet, dragging him out from under the horse's hooves. Arthur too dashed for the horse's bridle, grabbing it, wrestling the horse by main force away from where Lancelet sprawled unconscious. Morgaine knelt beside him, quickly feeling his temple, where a bruise already darkened and a trickle of blood mingled with the dust. "Is he dead?" Gwenhwyfar cried. "Is he dead?"

"No," Morgaine said with asperity. "Bring some cold water, and there ought to be some of that bandage linen left. He's broken his wrist, I think; he broke his fall with it so as not to break his neck! And the clout on his head-" She bent down, laying her ear against his chest, feeling the warm rise and fall of it. She took the basin of cold water Pellinore's daughter handed her, sponging his brow with a bit of linen. "Someone catch that goose and wring its neck-and give the goose boy a good thrashing. The lord Lancelet could have broken his head, or damaged the High King's horse."

Gawaine came and led the horse back to the stables. The near tragedy had dampened the festivities, and one by one the guests began to drift away to their own pavilions and quarters. Morgaine bound up Lancelet's head and his broken wrist, mercifully completing the work of splinting the wrist before he stirred and moaned and clutched at it in agony; then, in conference with the housekeeper, sent Cai for some herbs which would make him sleep and had him carried to bed. She stayed with him, though he did not know her, only moaned and stared about with eyes that refused to stay in focus. Once he stared at her, and muttered "Mother-" and her heart sank. After a while he fell into a heavy, restless sleep, and when he woke, he knew her.

"Morgaine? Cousin? What happened?"

"You fell off a horse."

"A horse? What horse?" he asked, confused, and when she told him he said positively, "That's ridiculous. I don't fall off horses," and dropped off to sleep again.

Morgaine sat beside him, letting him clutch at her hand, and felt that her heart would break. The mark of his kisses was still on her mouth, on her aching breasts. Yet the moment had passed, and she knew it. Even if he should remember, he would not want her; he had never wanted her, except to dull the agony of thinking of Gwenhwyfar and of his love for his king and cousin.

It was growing dark; far away in the castle she heard sounds of music again-Kevin was harping. There was laughter, singing, festivity. Suddenly the door opened, and Arthur himself, carrying a torch in his hand, came in.

"Sister, how does Lancelet?"

"He'll live; his head's too hard to break," she said with a hard flippancy.

"We wanted you among the witnesses when the bride was put to bed, as you witnessed the marriage contract," said Arthur. "But I suppose he should not be left alone, and I wouldn't want him left to a chamberlain, not even to Cai. He's fortunate he has you with him. You are his foster-sister, are you not?"

"No," said Morgaine, with unexpected anger.

Arthur came to the bedside and picked up Lancelet's limp hand. The injured man moaned, stirred, and looked up, blinking. "Arthur?"

"I'm here, my friend," said Arthur, and Morgaine thought she had never heard a man's voice so tender.

"Is your horse-all right?"

"The horse is fine. Damn the horse," Arthur said. "If you'd been killed, what good would a horse be to me?" He was almost weeping.

"How did it-happen?"

"A damned goose flew up. The goose boy's in hiding. I think he knows he'll be beaten within an inch of his life!"

"Don't do that," Lancelet said. "He's only a poor stupid creature without all his wits. He's not to blame that the geese are cleverer than he is, and one wandered loose. Promise me, Gwydion." She was astonished that he used the old name. Arthur pressed his hand, and bent down to kiss Lancelet on the cheek, carefully avoiding the bruised side.

"I promise, Galahad. Sleep, now."

Lancelet gripped his hand hard. "I came close to wrecking your wedding night, didn't I?" he said, with something Morgaine recognized as her own hard irony.

"Believe you did-my bride has wept so hard over you, I wonder what she would do if 7 had broken my head?" Arthur demanded, laughing.

Morgaine said fiercely, "Arthur, even if you are the King, he must be kept quiet!"

"Right." Arthur straightened. "I will send the Merlin to look in at him tomorrow; he should not be left alone tonight, though-"

"I'll stay with him," she said angrily.

"Well, if you are sure-"

"Go you back to Gwenhwyfar! Your bride is waiting for you!"

Arthur sighed, subdued. After a moment he said, "I don't know what to say to her. Or what to do."

This is ridiculous-does he expect me to instruct him, or to instruct his bride? At the look in his eyes she lowered her own. She said, very gently, "Arthur, it is simple. Do as the Goddess prompts you."

He looked like a stricken child. At last he said, hoarsely, fighting the words, "She-she isn't the Goddess. She's just a girl, and she's-she's frightened." After a moment he blurted out, "Morgaine, don't you know that I still-"

She could not bear what he might be going to say. "No!" she said violently, holding up her hand, commanding silence. "Arthur, remember one thing at least. To her you will always be the God. Come to her as the Horned One ... ."

Arthur crossed himself and shivered. He whispered at last, "God forgive me; this is the punishment ... " and fell silent. They stood, looking at each other, unable to speak. Finally he said, "Morgaine, I have no right -will you kiss me once?"

"My brother-" She sighed, stood on tiptoe and kissed his forehead. Then she signed his head with the sign of the Goddess. "Bless you," she whispered. "Arthur, go to her, go to your bride. I promise you, I promise in the name of the Goddess, it will be well, I swear it to you."

He swallowed-she saw the muscles in his throat move. Then he broke away from her eyes and muttered, "God bless you, sister." The door closed behind him.

Morgaine dropped down on a chair, and sat, unmoving, staring at Lancelet's sleep, tormented by pictures in her mind. Lancelet's face, smiling at her in sunlight on the Tor. Gwenhwyfar, water-draggled, her skirts soaked, clinging to Lancelet's hand. The Horned God, his face smeared with deer's blood, drawing aside the curtain at the mouth of the cave. Lancelet's mouth frantic on her breasts-had it been only a few hours ago?

"At least," she muttered aloud fiercely, "he will not spend Arthur's bridal night dreaming of Gwenhwyfar." She laid herself down along the edge of the bed, pressing her body carefully against the hurt man's body; she lay there silent, not even weeping, sunk in a despairing misery too deep for tears. But she did not close her eyes that night, fighting the Sight, fighting dreams, struggling for the silence and the numb absence of thought she had been taught in Avalon.

And far away, in the furthest wing of the castle, Gwenhwyfar lay awake, looking in guilty tenderness at Arthur's hair shining in the moonlight, his chest that rose and fell with his quiet breathing. Tears trickled slowly down her cheeks.

I want so much to love him, she thought, and then she prayed. "Oh, God, holy Mary Virgin, help me to love him as I ought to do, he is my king and my lord and he is so good, he deserves someone who will love him more than I can love." All around her, it seemed, the night breathed sadness and despair.

But why, she wondered. Arthur is happy. He has nothing with which to reproach me. Whence comes this sorrow in the very air?

7

On a day in late summer, Queen Gwenhwyfar, with several of her ladies, sat in the hall at Caerleon. It was afternoon and very hot; most of them were making a pretense of spinning, or of carding the last of that spring's wool for spinning, but the spindles moved sluggishly, and even the Queen, who was the best needlewoman among them, had ceased to set stitches in the fine altar cloth she was making for the bishop.