Morgaine laid aside the carded wool for spinning and sighed. At this season of the year she was always homesick, longing for the mists that crept in from the sea over the cliffs at Tintagel ... she had not seen them since she was a little child.

Arthur and his men, with the Caerleon legion, had ridden out to the southern coast, to examine the new fort that the Saxons of the treaty troops had built there. This summer had brought no raid, and it might well be that the Saxons, except for those who had made treaty with Arthur and were living peacefully in the Kentish country, would give up Britain for lost. Two years of Arthur's horse legion had reduced the Saxon fighting to a sporadic summer exercise; but Arthur had taken this season of quiet to fortify all the defenses of the coasts.

"I am thirsty again," said Pellinore's daughter, Elaine. "May I go, my lady, and ask for more pitchers of water to be sent?"

"Call Cai-he will attend to it," Gwenhwyfar said.

Morgaine thought: She has grown a great deal; from a scared and timid child she has become a queen.

"You should have married Cai when the King wished for it, lady Morgaine," said Elaine, returning from her errand and sitting down on the bench beside Morgaine. "He is the only man under sixty in the castle, and| his wife will never lie alone for half a year at a time."

"You are welcome to him, if you want him," Morgaine said amiably.

"I still wonder that you did not," Gwenhwyfar said, as if it were an | old grievance. "It would have been so suitable-Cai, the King's foster-brother and high in his favor, and you, Arthur's sister and Duchess of Cornwall in your own right, now that the lady Igraine never leaves her nunnery!"

Drusilla, daughter of one of the petty kings to the east, snickered. "Tell me, if the King's sister and brother marry, how is it other than incest?"

"Half-sister and foster-brother, you goose," said Elaine. "But tell me, lady Morgaine, was it only his scars and lameness that deterred you? Cai is no beauty, certainly, but he would be a good husband."

"I am not deceived by you," Morgaine retorted, pretending a good humor she did not feel-did these women think of nothing but marriages? "You care nothing for my wedded happiness with Cai, you merely wished for a wedding to break the monotony of the summer. But you should not be greedy. Sir Griflet was married to Meleas last spring, and that should be weddings enough for now." She glanced at Meleas, whose dress had already begun to grow tight over her pregnant body. "You will even have a babe to fuss and coo over this time next year."

"But you are long unmarried, lady Morgaine," said Alienor of Galis. "And you could hardly have hoped for a better match than the King's own foster-brother!"

"I am in no great haste to be wed, and Cai had no more mind to me than I to him."

Gwenhwyfar chuckled. "True. He has a tongue near as waspish as your own, and no sweet temper-his wife will need more patience than the saintly Brigid, and you, Morgaine, are ever ready with a sharp answer."

"And besides, if she should marry, she would have to spin for her household," Meleas said. "As usual, Morgaine is shirking her share of the spinning!" Her own spindle began to twirl again, and the reel sank slowly toward the floor.

Morgaine shrugged. "It is true I had rather card wool, but there is no more to card," she said, and reluctantly took up the drop spindle.

"You are the best spinner among us, though," said Gwenhwyfar. "Your thread is always even and never breaks. Mine breaks if one looks at"

"I have always been neat-handed. Perhaps I am simply tired of spinning, since my mother taught me when I was so young," Morgaine conceded, and began, reluctantly, to turn the thread in her fingers.

True-she hated spinning and shirked it when she could ... twisting, turning the thread in her fingers, willing her body to stillness with only her fingers twisting as the reel turned and turned, sinking to the floor . .. down and then up, twist and twist between her hands ... all too easy it was to sink into trance. The women were gossiping over the little affairs of the day, Meleas and her morning sickness, a woman who had come from Lot's court with scandalous tales of Lot's lechery ... I could tell them much if I would, not even his wife's niece escaped his lecherous hands.... It took me all my thought and sharp tongue to keep out of his bed; he cares not, maiden or matron, duchess or dairy maid, so it wears a skirt ... twist the thread, twist again, watch the spindle turning, turning. Gwydion must be a great boy by now, three years old, ready for a toy sword and wooden knights such as she had made for Gareth, instead of pet kittens and knucklebones. She remembered Arthur's weight on her lap when she was a little girl here at Caerleon in Uther's court ... how fortunate it was that Gwydion did not resemble his father; a small replica of Arthur at Lot's court would have made tongues wag indeed. Soon or late, someone would still put together reel and spindle and spin the right thread to the answer ... . Morgaine jerked her head up angrily. It was all too easy to fall into trance at the spinning, but she must do her share, there must be thread to weave this winter, and the ladies were making a cloth for banquets ... . Cai was not the only man under fifty in the castle; there was Kevin the Bard, who had come here with news from the Summer Country ... how slowly the spindle moved toward the floor ... twist, twist the thread, as if her fingers had life of their own, apart from her own life .. even in Avalon she had hated to spin ... in Avalon among the priestesses she had tried to take more than her share of the work among the dye pots, to avoid the hated spinning, which sent her mind roaming as her fingers moved ... as the thread turned, it was like the spiral dance along the Tor, round and round, as the world turned round the sun in the sky, though ignorant folk thought it was the other way ... . Things were not always as they seemed, it might be that the reel went round the thread, as the thread went round itself over and over, spinning like a serpent ... like a dragon in the sky... if she were a man and could ride out with the Caerleon legion, at least she need not sit and spin, spin, spin, round and round ... but even

the Caerleon legion went round the Saxons, and the Saxons went round them, round and round, as the blood went round in their veins, red blood flooding, flooding ... spilling over the hearth-

Morgaine heard her own shriek only after it had shattered the silence in the room. She dropped the spindle, which rolled away into the blood which flooded crimson, spilling, spurting over the hearth ... .

"Morgaine! Sister, did you prick your hand on the reel? What ails you?"

"Blood on the hearth-" Morgaine stammered. "See, there, there, just before the King's high seat, slain there like a slaughtered sheep before the King ... "

Elame shook her; dizzied, Morgaine passed her hand before her eyes. There was no blood, only the slow crawl of the afternoon sun.

"Sister, what did you see?" asked Gwenhwyfar gently.

Mother Goddess! It has happened again! Morgaine tried to steady her breathing. "Nothing, nothing ... I must have fallen asleep and dreamed for a moment."

"Didn't you see anything?" Calla, the fat wife of the steward, peered avidly at Morgaine. Morgaine remembered the last time, more than a year ago, when she had gone into trance over her spinning and foreseen that Cai's favorite horse had broken its leg in the stables and must have its throat cut. She said impatiently, "No, nothing but a dream-I dreamed last night of eating goose and I have not tasted it since Easter! Must every dream be a portent?"

"If you are going to prophesy, Morgaine," teased Elaine, "you should tell us something sensible, like, when will the men be home so we may have the wine warmed, or whether Meleas is making swaddling bands for a girl or a boy, or when the Queen will get pregnant!"