"You are pulling it too tight," Gwenhwyfar complained, and Morgaine said stiffly, "I am sorry," and forced her hands to relax. Arthur had been only a boy then, and she a maiden. Lancelet-did he give to Gwenhwyfar what he had withheld from her, or was the Queen content with those childish caresses? Try as Morgaine would, she could not turn her mind from the hateful pictures that haunted it, but she went on calmly braiding, her face a mask.

"There, that will hold-hand me the silver pin," she said, fastening up the braids. Gwenhwyfar surveyed herself, delighted, in the copper mirror which was one of her treasures. "It is beautiful, dear sister-thank you so much," she said, turning and impulsively embracing Morgaine, who stiffened in her arms.

"You owe me no thanks-it is easier to do on another's head than my own," Morgaine said. "Wait, that pin is slipping-" and she refastened it. Gwenhwyfar was glowing, beautiful-and Morgaine put her arms around her, laying her cheek for a moment against Gwenhwyfar's. It seemed enough, for a moment, to touch that beauty, as if something of it could penetrate her and give her some of that glow and loveliness. Then she remembered again what Lancelet had told her, and thought, I am no better than he. I too nurse all manner of strange and perverse desires, and who am I to mock at any?

She envied the Queen, laughing happily as she directed Elaine to go to her chests and seek out cups for prizes for the winners of the games. Gwenhwyfar was simple and open, she was never tortured by these dark thoughts; Gwenhwyfar's griefs were simple, the griefs and troubles of any woman, fear for her husband's safety, grief over her childlessness-for all the charm's working, there had been no sign of pregnancy. If one man could not get her with child, it is likely that two could not, Morgaine thought wickedly.

Gwenhwyfar was smiling. "Shall we go down? I have not greeted the guests-King Uriens is here from North Wales, with his grown son. How would you like to be Queen of Wales, Morgaine? I have heard that Uriens will ask the King for a wife among his wards-"

Morgaine laughed. "You think I would make him a good queen because I am not likely to give him a son to challenge Avalloch's claim to the throne?"

"It is true you would be old to bear a first child," Gwenhwyfar said, "yet I still have hope that I may give my lord and king an heir." Gwenhwyfar did not know that Morgaine had a child, and she should never know.

Yet it nagged at her.

Arthur should know that he has a son. He blames himself that he can give Gwenhwyfar no child-for his own peace of mind he should know. And if it should come to pass that Gwenhwyfar never bears a child, then at least the King has a son. None need know that it is his own sister's. And Gwydion bears the royal line of Avalon. And now he is old enough to be sent to Avalon and be made a Druid. Truly I should have gone to look upon his face, long before this day ... .

"Listen," said Elaine, "the trumpets are blowing in the courtyard- someone important is here, and we must make haste-they will serve mass in the church this morning."

"And Gareth is to be knighted," said Gwenhwyfar. "It is a pity Lot did not live to see his youngest son made knight-"

Morgaine shrugged. "He took no great joy in Arthur's company, nor Arthur in his." So, she thought, Lancelet's protege would be made one of the Companions; and then she remembered what Lancelet had told her about the ritual watch and vigil of knighthood-the mockery of the Mysteries. Is it my task to speak to Arthur about his duty to Avalon? He bore the image of the Virgin into battle at Mount Badon; he laid aside the dragon banner; and now he has turned one of the greater Mysteries over to the Christian priests. I will seek counsel of Taliesin ... .

"We must go down," said Gwenhwyfar, and tied on her pockets at her waist, fastening her keys to her girdle. She looked fine and stately with the braided headdress, in her gown of saffron color; Elaine wore a dress dyed green, and Morgaine her red gown. They went down the stair, gathering before the church. Gawaine saluted Morgaine, saying, "Kinswoman," and bowed to the Queen. Beyond him she saw a familiar face, and frowned a little, trying to remember where she had seen that knight before: tall, burly, bearded, almost as blond as a Saxon or a Northman, then she remembered, Balan's foster-brother Balin. She bowed to him coldly. He was a stupid, narrow-minded fool, yet even so he was bound by the sacred ties of foster-kin to Viviane, who was her nearest and dearest kinswoman.

"I greet you, sir Balin."

He scowled a little but remembered his manners. He was wearing a frayed and ragged surcoat; clearly he had been travelling long and had not yet had time to dress and refresh himself. "Are you going to mass, lady Morgaine? Have you renounced the fiends of Avalon and left that evil place, and accepted our Lord and Saviour Christ, lady?"

Morgaine found the question an offense, but did not say so. With a careful smile, she said, "I am going to mass to see our kinsman Gareth knighted." As she hoped, it changed Balin's direction.

"Gawaine's little brother. Balan and I knew him less well than the others," he said. "It is hard to think of him as a man-in my mind he is always the little lad who frightened the horses at Arthur's wedding, and came near to having Galahad killed." Morgaine recalled that was Lancelet's real name-no doubt the pious Balin was too proud to use any other. Balin bowed to her and went on into the church; Morgaine, following with Gwenhwyfar, watched him, frowning. There was the light of fanaticism about his face, and she was just as well pleased that Viviane was not here, although both the Lady's sons were here-Lancelet and Balan-and they could certainly prevent any real trouble.

The church had been decorated with flowers, and the people too, in their brilliant holiday dress, looked like massed flowers. Gareth had been dressed in a white linen robe, and Lancelet, in crimson, knelt beside him, beautiful and grave, Morgaine thought, the fair and the dark, the white and the crimson-and then another comparison occurred to her: Gareth happy and innocent, joyous at this initiation, and Lancelet sorrowful and tormented. Yet as he knelt, listening to the priest reading the Pentecost story, he looked calm and altogether unlike the tortured man who had poured out his soul to her.

"... and when the day of Pentecost was done, they were all gathered together in one place; and suddenly out of the sky came the sound of a violent wind, which filled the whole house where they were staying. And there appeared tongues as of fire, which divided and sat on them, one to each. And they all were filled with the Holy Breath, and they began to speak in other languages, as the Spirit gave them to utter. Now there were living in Jerusalem Jews of the strict observance, from every race under the sky; and when this sound happened, the whole multitude came together and were confused, because every one of them heard these men speaking in his own language. And they were as men driven out of their minds, saying to one another, 'Look! Are all these preachers not Galileans? And how are we hearing them, each one of us, in our own native languages? Parthians and Medes and Elamites and men out of Mesopotamia, both Judea and Cappadocia, Asia, both Phrygia and Pamphylia, and visitors from Rome, Jews and Cretans and Arabs; but we all hear them talking in our own languages.' And they were all astounded, asking one another, 'What does this mean?' But others said, mockingly, 'These men have drunk too much of sweet new wine, so early in the day.' Then Peter the Apostle raised his voice and said to them, 'Men of Judea, and all of you, listen to my words; these men are not drunk as you imagine, since it is only the third hour; but it is as the prophet Joel has written; God says, in the last days of the world, I will send out my Spirit into all flesh, and your daughters shall prophesy, and your young men shall see visions and your old men shall dream dreams.' "