Well, it was done, Morgaine had had her will. So she would see Lancelet and welcome him as her husband's kinsman, no more. The other madness was past and gone, but she would see him and that was better than nothing. She tried to banish all this with thoughts of the feast. Two oxen were being roasted, would it be enough? And there was a huge wild boar taken in hunting a few days ago, and two pigs from the farms nearby, being baked in a pit yonder; already it smelled so good that a group of hungry children were hanging around sniffing the good smell. And there were hundreds of loaves of barley bread, many of which would be given away to the countryfolk who came to crowd around the edges of the field and watch the doings of the nobles, the kings and knights and Companions; and there were apples baked in cream, and nuts by the bushel, and confectionery for the ladies, honey cakes, and rabbits and small birds stewed in wine ... if this feast was not a success, certainly it would not be for the want of good and abundant food!

Some time after the noon hour they gathered, a long line of richly dressed nobles and ladies coming into the great hall and being ushered to their proper places. The Companions, as always, were shown to their places at the great round mead-hall table; but huge as it was, it would no longer place all the assembled company.

Gawaine, who was always closest to Arthur, presented his mother, Morgause. She was leaning on the arm of a young man Gwenhwyfar did not for a moment recognize; Morgause was slender as ever, her hair still thick and rich, braided with gems. She sank in a curtsey before Arthur, who motioned her to rise and embraced her.

"Welcome, Aunt, to my court."

"I have heard that you ride only white horses," said Morgause, "and so I have brought you one from the Saxon country. I have a fosterling there who sent it as a gift."

Gwenhwyfar saw Arthur's jaw tighten, and she too could guess who the fosterling must be. But he only said, "A kingly gift truly, Aunt."

"I will not have the horse led into the hall, as I am told is the custom in the Saxon countries," Morgause said gaily. "I do not think the lady of Camelot would like having her high hall, garnished for guests, turned into a byre! And, no doubt, your stewards have enough to do, Gwenhwyfar!" She embraced the Queen; the younger woman was enveloped in a warm wave, and close by she could see that Morgause's face was painted, her bright eyes lined with kohl; but she was beautiful no less.

Gwenhwyfar said, "I thank you for your forbearance, lady Morgause -it would not be the first time a fine horse or dog had been led before my lord and king here in his hall, and I know 'tis meant as courtesy, but I have no doubt your horse will be waiting outside quite content-I do not think the hospitality of Camelot means much even to the finest of horses. He would rather dine in his stall! Though Lancelet used to tell us a tale of some Roman who had his horse fed on wine in a golden trough and gave him honors and laurel wreaths-"

The handsome young man at Morgause's side laughed and said, "I remember, Lancelet told that story at my sister's wedding. It was the Emperor Gaius the God, who made his favorite horse one of his senators, and when he died, the next emperor said something like, at least the horse had given no evil counsel and done no murder. But do not the same, my lord Arthur-we have no chairs fit to hold such a Companion, should you see fit to name your stallion as one of them!"

Arthur laughed heartily and took the young man by the hand, saying, "I will not, Lamorak," and with a start, Gwenhwyfar realized who the young man at Morgause's side must be: he was Pellinore's son. Yes, she had heard some rumor of this-that Morgause had taken the young man as her favorite, even before her whole court-how could the woman share her bed with a man young enough to be her son? Why, Lamorak was only five-and-twenty, even now! She looked with fascinated horror and secret envy at Morgause. She looks so young, she is still so beautiful despite all her paint, and she does what she will and cares not if all men criticize her! Her voice was chill as she said, "Will you come and sit beside me, kinswoman, and leave the men to their talk?"

Morgause pressed Gwenhwyfar's hand. "Thank you, cousin. I come so seldom to court, I am happy to sit for once among ladies and gossip about who is married and who has taken a paramour and all the new fashions in gowns and ribbons! I am kept so busy in Lothian with the ruling of the land that I have small time for women's matters, and it is a luxury and a pleasure for me." She patted Lamorak's hand and, when she thought no one noticed, brushed his temple with a surreptitious kiss. "I leave you to the Companions, my dear."

Her ample fragrance, the warm scent of her ribbons and the folds of her gown, almost dizzied Gwenhwyfar as the Queen of Lothian sat beside her on the bench. Gwenhwyfar said, "If you are kept so busy with affairs of state, cousin, why do you not find a wife for Agravaine, and let him rule in his father's place, and give over the ruling of Lothian? Surely the folk there cannot be happy without a king-"

Morgause's laugh was warm and merry. "Why, then I should have to live unwedded, since in that country the queen's husband is king, and my dear, that would not suit me at all! And Lamorak is overyoung to rule as king, though he has other duties, and I find him most satisfactory-"

Gwenhwyfar listened with fascinated distaste; how could a woman Morgause's age make a fool of herself with so young a man? Yet his eyes followed Morgause as if she were the most beautiful and fascinating woman in the world. He hardly looked at Isotta of Cornwall, who was bending before the throne now at the side of her elderly husband, Duke Marcus of Cornwall. Isotta was so beautiful that a little murmur went all down the hall; tall and slender, with hair the color of a new-struck copper coin. But no doubt Marcus had thought more of the Irish gold she wore at her throat and at the clasp of her cloak, and the Irish pearls braided into her hair, than the treasure of her beauty. Isotta was, Gwenhwyfar thought, the most beautiful woman she had ever seen. Next to Isotta Morgause looked raddled and overblown, but still Lamorak's eyes followed her.

"Aye, Isotta is very beautiful," Morgause said, "but it is told in the court of Duke Marcus that she has more of an eye for his heir, young Drustan, than for old Marcus himself, and who can blame her? But she is modest and discreet, and if she has sense enough to give the old man a child -though, heaven knows, she might fare better at such craft with the young Drustan, at that." Morgause chuckled. "She looks not like a woman over-happy in her marriage bed. Still, I do not suppose Marcus wants much more of her than a son for Cornwall. Marcus wants only for that, I think, before he declares that Cornwall belongs to him who keeps it, not to Morgaine, who has it from Gorlois-where is my kinswoman Morgaine? I am eager to embrace her!"

"She is there with Uriens," said Gwenhwyfar, looking to where the King of North Wales waited to approach the throne.

"Arthur would have done better to marry Morgaine into Cornwall," Morgause said. "But I think he felt Marcus was too old for her. Though he might well have married her to yonder young Drustan-his mother was kindred to Ban of Less Britain, and he is a distant cousin to Lancelet, and handsome almost as Lancelet himself, is he not, Gwenhwyfar?" She smiled merrily and added, "Ah, but I had forgotten, you are so pious a lady, you look never on the beauty of any man save your own wedded husband. But then, it is easy for you to be virtuous, married to one so young and handsome and gallant as Arthur!"

Gwenhwyfar felt that Morgause's chatter would drive her mad. Did the woman think of nothing else? Morgause said, "I suppose you must speak a word or two of courtesy to Isotta-she is newcome to Britain. I have heard she speaks little of our tongue, only that of her Irish homeland. But I have heard, too, that in her own country she was a notable mistress of herbs and magic, so that when Drustan fought with the Irish knight the Marhaus, she healed him when none thought he could live, and so he is her faithful knight and champion-or at least he said that was his reason," Morgause chattered on, "though she is so beautiful, I would not wonder ... perhaps I should make her known to Morgaine, she too is a great mistress of herb lore and spells of healing. They would have much to speak of, and I think Morgaine knows a little of the Irish tongue. And Morgaine, too, is married to a man old enough to be her father-I think that was ill done of Arthur!"