"He will come if he can," Arthur said, "although Lancelet sent me a message earlier in this week, asking leave to go and aid his brother Bors if he is besieged there. I sent him word to come here, for it might be that we will all go.... Now that Pellinore is gone, Lancelet is king there as Elaine's husband, while their son is a little child. And Agravaine will come for Morgause of Lothian, and Uriens-or perhaps one of his sons. Uriens is marvelously well preserved for his years, but he is not immortal. His elder son is something of a fool, but Accolon is one of my old Companions, and Uriens has Morgaine to guide and counsel him."

"That seems not right to me," Gwenhwyfar said, "for the Holy Apostle said that women should submit themselves to their husbands, yet Morgause rules still in Lothian, and Morgaine would be more than helpmeet to her king in North Wales."

"You must remember, my lady," said Arthur, "that I come of the royal line of Avalon. I am king, not only as Uther Pendragon's son, but because I am son of Igraine, who was daughter to the old Lady of the Lake. Gwenhwyfar, from time out of mind, the Lady ruled the land, and the king was no more than consort in time of war. Even in the days of Rome, the legions dealt with what they came to call client queens, who ruled the Tribes, and some of them were mighty warriors. Have you heard never of the Queen Boadicea?-she who, when her daughters were raped by the men of the legions, and the queen herself flogged as a rebel against Rome, raised an army and nearly drove all the Romans from these shores."

Gwenhwyfar said bitterly, "I hope they killed her."

"Oh, they did, and outraged her body ... yet it was a sign that the Romans could not hope to conquer without accepting that in this country, the Lady rules ... . Every ruler of Britain, down to my father, Uther, has borne the title the Romans coined for a war leader under a queen: dux bellorum, duke of war. Uther, and I after him, bear the throne of Britain as dux bellorum to the Lady of Avalon, Gwenhwyfar. Forget not that."

Gwenhwyfar said impatiently, "I thought you had done with that, that you had professed yourself a Christian king and done penance for your servitude to the fairy folk of that evil island ... ."

Arthur said, with equal impatience, "My personal life and my religious faith are one thing, Gwenhwyfar, but the Tribes stand by me because I bear this!" His hand struck against Excalibur, belted at his side, inside its crimson scabbard. "I survived in war because of the magic of this blade-"

"You survived in war because God spared you to Christianize this land," said Gwenhwyfar.

"Some day, perhaps. That time is not yet, lady. In Lothian, men are content to live under the rule of Morgause, and Morgaine is queen in Cornwall and in North Wales. If the time were ripe for all these lands to fall to the rule of Christ, then would they clamor for a king and not for a queen. I rule this land as it is, Gwenhwyfar, not as the bishops would have it to be."

Gwenhwyfar would have argued further, but she saw the impatience in his eyes and held her peace. "Perhaps in time even the Saxons and the Tribes may come to the foot of the cross. A day will come, so Bishop Patricius has said, when Christ will be the only king among Christian men, and kings and queens his servants. God speed the day," and she made the sign of the cross. Arthur laughed.

"Servant to Christ will I be willingly," he said, "but not to his priests. No doubt, though, Bishop Patricius will be among the guests, and you may feast him as fine as you will."

"And Uriens will come from North Wales," Gwenhwyfar said, "and Morgaine too, no doubt. And from Pellinore's land, Lancelet?"

"He will come," said Arthur, "though I fear, if you wish to see your cousin Elaine again, you must journey thither to make her a visit: Lancelet sent word that she is in childbed again."

Gwenhwyfar flinched. She knew that Lancelet spent little time at home with his wife, but Elaine had given Lancelet what she could not-sons and daughters.

"How old now is Elaine's son? He is to be my heir, he should be fostered at this court," Arthur said, and Gwenhwyfar replied, "I offered as much when he was born, but Elaine said that even if he was to be king one day, he must be brought up to a simple and modest manhood. You too were fostered as a plain man's son, and it did you no harm."

"Well, perhaps she is right," said Arthur. "I would like, once, to see Morgaine's son. He would be grown to manhood now-it has been seventeen years. I know he cannot succeed me, the priests would not have it, but he is all the son I have ever fathered, and I would like, once, to set eyes on the lad and tell him ... I know not what I would like to tell him. But I would like to see him once."

Gwenhwyfar struggled against the furious retort that sprang to her lips; nothing could be gained by arguing this again. She said only, "He is well where he is." She spoke the truth, and after she said it she knew it was the truth; she was glad Morgaine's son was being reared on that isle of sorceries, where no Christian king could go. Schooled there, it was more certain than ever that no sudden swing of fortune would set him on the throne after Arthur-more and more, the priests and people of this land distrusted the sorcery of Avalon. Reared at court, it might be that some unscrupulous person would begin to think of Morgaine's son as a successor more legitimate than Lancelet's.

Arthur sighed. "Yet it is hard for a man to know he has a son and never set eyes on him," he said. "Perhaps, one day." But his shoulders went up and then down in resignation. "No doubt you are right, my dear. What of the Pentecost feast? I know you will make it, as always, a memorable day."

AND SO SHE HAD DONE, Gwenhwyfar thought on that morning, looking out over the expanse of tents and pavilions. The great war-gaming field had been cleared and lined with ropes and banners, and the flags and banners of half a hundred petty kings and more than a hundred knights were moving briskly in the summer wind on the heights. It was like an army encamped here.

She sought out the banner of Pellinore, the white dragon he had adopted after the killing of the dragon in the lake. Lancelet would be there ... it had been more than a year since she had seen him, and then formally before all the court. It had been many years since she had been alone with him even for a moment; the day before he had married Elaine, he had come to seek her out alone and to say farewell.

He had been Morgaine's victim too; he had not betrayed her, they had both been victim of the cruel trick Morgaine had played on them. When he told her about it, he had wept, and she cherished the memory of his tears as the highest compliment he had ever given her ... who had seen Lancelet weep?

"I swear to you, Gwenhwyfar, she trapped me-Morgaine sent me the false message, and a kerchief with your scent. And I think she drugged me, too, or put some spell upon me." He had looked into her eyes, weeping, and she had wept too. "And Morgaine told Elaine some lie too, saying I was sick with love of her ... and we were there together. I thought it was you at first, it was as if I were under some enchantment. And then when I knew it was Elaine in my arms, still I could not stop myself. And then they were all there with torches ... what could I do, Gwen? I had taken the virgin daughter of my host, Pellinore would have been within his rights to kill me then and there in her bed ... " Lancelet cried out, and then, his voice breaking, he had ended, "Would to God that I had rushed on his sword instead ... ."

She had asked him, You do not care at all for Elaine, then? She had known it was an inexcusable thing to say, but she could not live without that reassurance ... but while Lancelet might uncover his own misery to her, he would not speak of Elaine; he had only said, stiffly, that none of this was Elaine's fault, and that he was bound in honor to try to make her as happy as he could.