"Why do you think I am any more happy or contented than you?" she demanded, her voice shaking. "At least you can choose whether to stay or to go, but I was given into Arthur's hands without even so much as 'will you or no?' Nor can I rise and ride forth from court when things go not to my will, but must stay here within walls and do what is expected of me ... if you must go, I cannot say, Stay; and if you stay, I cannot say to you, Go! At least you are free to go or to stay as makes you happiest!"

"Do you think there is happiness for me, either in staying or going?" Lancelet demanded, and for a moment she thought that he would weep. Then he mastered himself and said, "Love, what do you want me to do? God forbid I should give you more unhappiness. If I am gone from here, then is your duty plain, to be a good wife to Arthur, no more and no less. If I stay here-" He broke off.

"If you feel it is your duty to go," she said, "then you must go." And tears flooded down her face, blurring her sight.

He said, and his voice was strained as if he had had a mortal wound, "Gwenhwyfar-" He so seldom spoke her formal name, it was always my lady or my queen, or when he spoke to her in play it was always Gwen. When he spoke it now, it seemed to her she had never heard a sweeter sound. "Gwenhwyfar. Why do you weep?"

Now she must lie, and lie well, because she could not in honor tell him the truth. She said, "Because-" and stopped, and then, in a choking voice, she said, "because I do not know how I shall live if you go away."

He swallowed hard and took her hands between his own and said, "Why, then-why, love-I am not a king, but my father has given me a small estate in Brittany. Would you come with me away from this court? I-I know not, perhaps it would be the more honorable way, than stay here at Arthur's court and make love to his wife-"

He loves me, then, Gwenhwyfar thought, he wants me, this is the honorable way ... but panic flooded through her. To go forth alone, so far, even with Lancelet... and then the thought of what everyone would say of her, should she be so dishonored ... .

He lay clasping her hand in his. He said, "We could never return, you know-never. And it's likely we should be excommunicated, both of us- that would mean little to me, I am not so much a Christian as all that. But you, my Gwenhwyfar-"

She put up her veil over her face and wept, knowing what a coward she was.

"Gwenhwyfar," he said, "I would not lead you into sin-"

She said bitterly, "We have sinned already, you and I-"

"And if the priests are right we will be damned for it," Lancelet said bitterly, "and yet have I never had more of you than these kisses-we have had all the evil and the guilt, and none of the pleasure which is said to come from sin. And I am not so sure I believe the priests-what sort of God goes about every night like a night watchman, peeping here and prying there like an old village gossip to see if any man beds with his neighbor's wife-"

"The Merlin said something like that," Gwenhwyfar said, low. "And sometimes it seems to me sensible, and then again I wonder if it is the Devil's work to lead me into evil ... ."

"Oh, talk not to me of the Devil," he said, and pulled her down beside him again. "Sweetheart, my own, I will go away if you want me to, or I will stay, but I cannot bear to see you so unhappy ... ."

"I do not know what I want," she wept, and let him hold her, sobbing. At last he murmured, "We have paid for the sin already ..." and his mouth covered hers. Trembling, Gwenhwyfar let herself surrender to the kiss, his eager hands searching at her breast. She almost hoped that this time he would not be content with that, but there was a sound in the hallway and Gwenhwyfar drew herself upright, in sudden panic. She sat on the edge of the bed as Lancelet's esquire came into the room. He coughed and said, "My lord? The lady Morgaine told me you were ready to go to your rest. By your leave, my lady-?"

Morgaine again, damn her! Lancelet laughed and let go of Gwenhwyfar's hand. "Yes, and I doubt it not, my lady is weary. Will you promise to come and see me tomorrow, my queen?"

She was both grateful and angry that his voice sounded so calm. She turned away from the light the serving-man carried; she knew her veil was crushed and her dress rumpled, her face smeared with crying and her hair coming down. How she must look-what would the man think they had been doing? She put her veil over her face and rose. "Good night, sir Lancelet. Kerval, care you well for my king's dear friend," and went out, hoping forlornly that she could get down the hall to her own room before she burst into weeping again. Ah God, how-how dare I pray to God that I may sin further? I should pray to be free of temptation, and I cannot!

16

A day or two before Beltane-eve, Kevin the Harper came again to Arthur's court. Morgaine was glad to see him; it had been a long and weary springtime. Lancelet had recovered from the fever and gone north to Lothian, and Morgaine had thought she should ride to Lothian too, to see how it was with her son; but she did not want to go in Lancelet's company, nor would he have wished for her as a travelling companion; she thought, My son is well where he is, another time I will go and see him.

Gwenhwyfar was sorrowful and silent; in the years Morgaine had been absent, the Queen had altered from a lighthearted, childish woman to a silent, thoughtful one, more pious than was reasonable. Morgaine suspected that she pined after Lancelet, and knowing Lancelet, Morgaine thought with a touch of contempt that he would neither leave the woman in peace nor lead her wholeheartedly into sin. And Gwenhwyfar was a good match for him-she would neither give in to him nor give him up. She wondered what Arthur thought, but it would have taken a braver woman than she to ask him.

Morgaine welcomed Kevin to court, and to herself she thought it not unlikely that they would keep Beltane together-the sun tides ran hot in her blood, and if she could not have the man she wanted (and she knew it was still Lancelet to whom she was drawn), it might be as well to take a lover who found delight in her; it was good to be cherished and sought after. And, as neither Arthur nor Lancelet would do, Kevin spoke with her freely of affairs of state. She thought, with a moment of bitter regret, had she stayed in Avalon, by now, she would be consulted in all the great affairs of her time.

Well, it was too late for that; done was done. So she greeted Kevin in the great hall and had him served food and wine, a task Gwenhwyfar gladly gave over to her-Gwenhwyfar liked well enough to hear Kevin play on the harp, but she could not bear the sight of him. So Morgaine served him, and spoke to him of Avalon.

"Is Viviane well?"

"Well, and still resolved to come to Camelot at Pentecost," said Kevin, "and it is well, for Arthur would scarce listen to me. Though he has promised not to forbid the Beltane fires this year, at least."

"It would do him little good to forbid them," said Morgaine. "But Arthur has trouble nearer home, too." She gestured. "Beyond that window, almost within sight from the heights of the castle, lies the island kingdom of Leodegranz-had you heard?"

"A chance-come traveller told me he was dead," Kevin said, "and he left no son. His lady Alienor died with her last child, a few days after his death. The fever was cruel in that country."

"Gwenhwyfar would not travel thither for the burying," Morgaine said. "She had little to weep for-hers was not a loving father. Arthur will have consulted her about setting a regent there-he says that now the kingdom is hers, and if they should have a second son, that son shall have it. But it seems not likely now that Gwenhwyfar will have even one."