"It will be full spring before I can sit a horse again," he observed gloomily to Gwenhwyfar, who stood close to the courtyard wall, her blue cloak wrapped tight around her.

"It may well be," Lancelet said, "and longer, my dear lord, if you take cold in your wound before it is full healed. Come within doors, I beg you -look, there is snow on Gwenhwyfar's cloak."

"And in your beard, Lance-or is that only the first grey?" Arthur asked, teasing, and Lancelet laughed.

"Both, I suppose-there you have the advantage of me, my king, your beard is so fair the grey will not show when it conies. Here, lean on my arm."

Arthur would have waved him away, but Gwenhwyfar said, "No, take his arm, Arthur, you will undo all our fine leechcraft if you fall-and the stones are slippery underfoot, with this snow melting as it comes down."

Arthur sighed and leaned on his friend's arm. "Now have I had a taste of what it must be like to be old." Gwenhwyfar came and took his other arm, and he laughed. "Will you love me and uphold me like this when indeed there is grey in my beard and hair and when I go on a stick like the Merlin?"

"Even when you are ninety, my lord," said Lancelet, laughing with him. "I can see it well, Gwenhwyfar holding you by one arm and I by the other as our ancient steps totter toward your throne-we will all be ninety or thereabout!" Abruptly he sobered. "I am troubled about Taliesin, my lord, he grows feeble and his eyes are failing. Should he not go back to Avalon and rest his last years in peace?"

"No doubt he should," said Arthur. "But he says he will not leave me alone, with only the priests for councillors-"

"What better councillors than the priests could you have, my lord?" Gwenhwyfar flared. She resented the unearthly word Avalon; it frightened her to think that Arthur was sworn to protect their heathenish ways.

They came into the hall where a fire was burning, and Arthur made a gesture of annoyance as Lancelet eased him into his chair. "Aye, set the old man by the fire and give him his posset-I marvel that you let me wear shoes and hose instead of a bedgown!"

"My dear lord-" Gwenhwyfar began, but Lancelet laid a hand on her shoulder.

"Don't fret yourself, kinswoman, all men are so, peevish when they are ill-he knows not when he is well off, being nursed by fair women and tended with dainty foods and clean linen and those possets he scorns. ... I have lain with a wound in a field camp, nursed by a sour old man too lame to fight, and lying in my own shit because I could not shift myself and no one came near to help me, with nothing brought but some sour beer and hard bread to soak in it. Stop grumbling, Arthur, or I shall try to see to it that you nurse your wound in manly fashion as befits a true soldier!"

"Aye, and he would do it, too," said Arthur, with an affectionate smile at his friend. "You go not in much fear of your king, Prince Galahad-" He took the horn spoon from his wife's hand and began to eat the concoction of warmed wine with bread and honey soaked in it. "Aye, this is good and warming-it has spices in it, has it not, those same spices you bade me send for from Londinium ... ."

Cai came to them, when Arthur had finished, and said, "So, how goes the wound after an hour of walking on it, my lord? Is there still much pain?"

"Not as much as the last time, and that is all I can say," Arthur said. "It is the first time I have known what real fear was, fear I might die with my work still undone."

"God would not have it so," Gwenhwyfar said.

Arthur patted her hand. "I told myself that, but a voice within kept saying to me that this was the great sin of pride, fearing that I or any man could not be spared from what God wishes to be done-I have thought long about such things while I lay unable to set foot to the ground."

"I cannot see that you have so much undone, save for the final victory over the Saxons, my lord," said Cai, "but now you must go to your bed, you are weary with the out of doors."

When Arthur was stretched out on the bed, Cai took his clothes away and examined the great wound which still, faintly, oozed matter through the cloths. Cai said, "I will send for the women, and you must have hot cloths on this again-you have strained it. It is well you did not break it open while you were walking." When the women had brought steaming kettles and mixed the compresses of herbs and hot water, laying folded cloths upon the wound so hot that Arthur winced and roared, Cai said, "Aye, but you were lucky even so, Arthur. Had that sword struck you a hand span to one side, Gwenhwyfar would have even more cause to grieve, and you would be known far and wide as the gelded king ... as in that old legend! Know you not the tale-the king wounded in the thigh and as his powers fade, so fades the land and withers, till some youth comes who can make it spring fertile anew ... ."

Gwenhwyfar shuddered, and Arthur said testily, shifting in pain under the heat of the compress, "This is no tale to tell a wounded man!"

"I should think it would make you more aware of your good fortune, that your land will not wither and be sterile," Cai said. "By Easter, I dare say, the Queen's womb could be quick again, if you are fortunate-"

"God grant it," Arthur said, but the woman winced and turned away. Once again she had conceived, and once again all had gone awry, so quickly that she had scarce known she had been with child-would it be so always with her? Was she barren, was it the punishment of God on her that she did not strive early and late to bring her husband to be a better Christian?

One of the women took away the cloth and would have replaced it; Arthur reached for Gwenhwyfar. "No, let my lady do it, her hands are gentler-" he said, and Gwenhwyfar took the steaming hot cloth-so hot it was she burned her fingers, but she welcomed the pain as penance. It was her fault, all her fault; he should put her away as barren, and take a wife who could give him a child. It was wrong that he should ever have married her-she had been eighteen, and already past her most fruitful years. Perhaps ...

If only Morgaine were here, I would indeed beseech her for that charm which could make me fruitful ... .

"It seems to me now that we have need of Morgaine's leechcraft," she said. "Arthur's wound goes not as it should, and she is a notable mistress of healing arts, as is the Lady of Avalon herself. Why do we not send to Avalon and beseech one of them to come?"

Cai frowned at her and said, "I do not see that there is need of that. Arthur's wound goes on well enough-I have seen much worse come to full healing."

"Still, I would be glad to see my good sister," said Arthur, "or my friend and benefactor, the Lady of the Lake. But from what Morgaine has told me, I do not think I will see them together ... ."

Lancelet said, "I will send a message to Avalon and beg my mother to come, if you will have it, Arthur," but it was at Gwenhwyfar he looked, and their eyes met for a moment. In these months of Arthur's illness, it seemed he had been ever at her side, and such a rock of strength to her that she knew not what she would have done without him; in those first days, when none believed that Arthur could live, he had watched with her, tireless, his love for Arthur making her ashamed of her thoughts. He is Arthur's cousin, even as Gawaine, he stands as near to the throne, the son of Igraine's own sister; if aught came to Arthur, then would he be as much a king as we have need of... in the old days the king was naught but the husband of the queen ... .

"Shall we send, then, for the Lady Viviane?" Gwenhwyfar asked.

"Only if you have a wish to see the Lady," said Arthur, with a sigh. "I think now, all I need is a greater share of that patience to which the bishop counselled me when I spoke last with him. God was good to me indeed, that I lay not thus disabled when the Saxons first came, and if he goes on showing me his grace, I will be able to ride when they come again. Gawaine is off gathering the men to the north, is he not, for Lot and Pellinore?"