"Lancelet, you should not say these things to me, not to me. Some man -Taliesin-a priest-"

"What can a priest know of this?" he demanded in despair. "No man, I think, has ever felt such-God knows I hear enough of what men desire, they talk of nothing else, and now and then some man reveals something strange he may desire, but never, never, nothing so strange and evil as this! I am damned," he cried out. "This is my punishment for desiring the wife of my king, that I should be held in this terrible bondage -even Arthur, if he knew, would hate and despise me. He knows I love Gwenhwyfar, but this not even he could forgive, and Gwenhwyfar-who knows if she, even she, would not hate and despise me-" His voice choked into silence.

Morgaine could only say the words she had been taught in Avalon. "The Goddess knows what is in the hearts of men, Lancelet. She will comfort you."

"But this is to spurn the Goddess," Lancelet whispered, in frozen horror. "And what of the man who sees that same Goddess in the face of the mother who bore him ... I cannot turn to her.... Almost I am tempted to go and throw myself at the feet of the Christ. His priests say he can forgive any sin, however damnable, as he spoke words of forgiveness to those who crucified him ... ."

Morgaine said sharply that she had never seen any sign that his priests were so tender and forgiving with sinners.

"Aye, no doubt you are right," said Lancelet, staring bleakly at the flagstones. "There is no help anywhere, till I am slain in battle or ride forth from here to throw myself in the path of a dragon ... ." He poked with his shoe at a little clump of grass that was growing up through the stones in the courtyard. "And no doubt sin and good and evil are all lies told by priests and men, and the truth is only that we grow and die and wither even as this grass here." He turned on his heel. "Well, I will go and share Gareth's vigil, as I promised him ... he at least loves me in all innocence, like a younger brother or my son. I should fear to kneel before that altar, if I believed one word of what their priests say, damned as I am. And yet- how I wish there were such a God as could forgive me and let me know myself forgiven ... ."

He turned to go, but Morgaine caught at the embroidered sleeve of the festival gown he had put on. "Wait. What is this of a vigil in the church? I knew not that Arthur's Companions had grown so pious."

"Arthur thinks often of his kingmaking on Dragon Island," said Lancelet, "and he said once that the Romans with their many Gods, and the old pagan folk, had something which was needed in life, that when men took on some great obligation, they should do it prayerfully, and be in mind of its great meaning and dedication. And so he spoke with the priests, and they have made it so in ritual, that when any new Companion, not seasoned by battle-where he is tried by the very confrontation with death-when an unblooded man joins with the Companions, there is this special testing, that he shall watch and pray all night by his arms, and in the morning confess all his sins and be shriven, and then be made knight."

"Why, then, it is a kind of initiation into the Mysteries that he would give them. But he is no maker of Mysteries, he has no right to confer the Mysteries on another or give initiation, and all garbled in the name of their Christ God. In the name of the Mother, will they even take over the Mysteries?"

Lancelet answered defensively, "He consulted with Taliesin, who gave countenance to it," and Morgaine was startled that one of the highest Druids would so compromise the Mysteries. Yet there had been a time, so Taliesin said, when Christian and Druid worshipped in common.

"It is what happens in the soul of the man," said Lancelet, "not whether it is Christian or pagan or Druid. If Gareth faces the mystery in his heart, and it makes him a better man in his soul, does it matter whence it comes, from the Goddess or from Christ or from that Name the Druids may not speak-or from the very goodness within himself?"

"Why, you argue like Taliesin's very self!" said Morgaine sourly.

"Aye, I know the words." His mouth twisted with terrible bitterness. "Would to God-any God-I could find something in my heart which believed them, or some such comfort as that!"

Morgaine could only say, "I would that you might, cousin. I will pray for you."

"But to whom?" Lancelet asked and went away, leaving Morgaine sorely troubled.

It was not yet midnight. In the church she could see the lights where Gareth and now Lancelet kept vigil. She bent her head, remembering the night when she herself had kept watch, her hand automatically going to her side for the touch of a little crescent knife that had not hung there for many years.

And I cast it away. Who am I to speak of profaning the Mysteries?

Then the air suddenly stirred and swirled like a whirlpool before her, and she felt she would sink down where she stood, for Viviane stood before her in the moonlight.

She was older and thinner. Her eyes were like great burning coals set beneath her level brows, her hair almost all white now. She looked on Morgaine, it seemed, with sorrow and tenderness.

"Mother-" she stammered, not knowing whether she spoke to Viviane or to the Goddess. And then the image wavered and Morgaine knew that Viviane was not there; a Sending, no more.

"Why have you come? What do you want of me?" Morgaine whispered, kneeling, feeling the stir of Viviane's robes in the night wind. About her brow was a crown of wicker-withes like to the crown of the queen of the fairy country. The apparition stretched forth her hand, and Morgaine could feel the faded crescent burning on her brow.

The night watchman strode through the court, the light of his lantern flaring; Morgaine knelt alone, staring at nothing. Hastily she scrambled to her feet before the man could see.

She had lost, suddenly, all desire to go to Kevin's bed. He would be waiting for her, but if she did not come, he would never think of reproaching her. She stole quietly through the hallways to the room she shared with Gwenhwyfar's unmarried maidens, and into the bed she shared with young Elaine.

I thought the Sight forever gone from me. Yet Viviane came to me and stretched out her hand. Is it that Avalon has need of me? Or does it mean that I, like Lancelet, am going mad?

3

When Morgaine woke, all around her the castle was already waking to the noise and confusion of a holiday. Pentecost. In the courtyard there were banners flying, and people were streaming in and out of the gates, servants were setting up lists for the games, pavilions were sprouting all over Camelot and on the slopes of the hill like strange and beautiful flowers. There was no time for dreams and visions. Gwenhwyfar sent for her to dress her hair-no woman in all Camelot was so deft with her hands as Morgaine, and Morgaine had promised her that this morning she would braid the Queen's hair in the special plaits with four strands which she herself used on high festivals. While she was combing out and separating Gwenhwyfar's fine silky hair for braiding, Morgaine glanced sidewise at the bed from which her sister-in-law had risen. Arthur had already been dressed by his servants and gone out. The pages and chamberlains were spreading the covers, taking away soiled clothes to be cleaned and washed, laying out fresh gowns for Gwenhwyfar's approval.

Morgaine thought: They shared that bed, all three of them, Lancelet, Gwenhwyfar, Arthur-no, such a thing was not wholly unknown; she remembered something in the fairy country that would not come clear in her mind. Lancelet was tormented, and she could have no idea how Arthur regarded all this. As her small quick hands moved on Gwenhwyfar's hair, she wondered what her sister-in-law felt. Suddenly her own mind was flooded with erotic images, memory of that day on Dragon Island when Arthur, waking, had drawn her into his arms, of the night she had lain in Lancelet's arms in the field. She lowered her eyes and went on twisting the fine hair.