Gwenhwyfar said stiffly, "Morgaine married Uriens with her own consent. You do not think Arthur would marry away his dear sister without asking her!"

Morgause almost snorted, "Morgaine is full enough of life that I do not think she would be content in an old man's bed," she said, "and if I had a stepson as handsome as yonder Accolon, I know well I would not!"

"Come, ask the lady of Cornwall to sit with us," Gwenhwyfar said, to put an end to Morgause's gossip. "And Morgaine, too, if you will." Morgaine was safely married to Uriens; what was it to Gwenhwyfar if she made a fool of herself or put her immortal soul at hazard by playing the harlot with this man or that?

Uriens, with Morgaine and his two younger sons, had come to greet Arthur, who took the old king by both hands, calling him "Brother-in-law," and kissed Morgaine on either cheek.

"But you have come to offer me a gift, Uriens? I need no gifts from kinsmen, your affection is enough," he said.

"Not only to offer you a gift but to ask a boon of you," said Uriens. "I beg you to make my son Uwaine a knight of your Round Table and receive him as one of your Companions."

Arthur smiled at the slender, dark young man who knelt before him. "How old are you, young Uwaine?"

"Fifteen, my lord and king."

"Well, then, rise, sir Uwaine," said Arthur graciously. "You may watch this night by your arms, and tomorrow one of my Companions shall make you knight."

"By your leave," said Gawaine, "may I be the one to confer this honor on my cousin Uwaine, lord Arthur?"

"Who better than you, my cousin and friend?" Arthur said. "If that is agreeable to you, Uwaine, let it be so. I receive you willingly as my Companion for your own sake, and because you are stepson to my dear sister. Make him a place at table there, you men, and you, Uwaine, may fight in my company tomorrow in the mock battles."

Uwaine stammered, "I thank you, my k-king."

Arthur smiled at Morgaine. "I thank you for this gift, my sister."

"It is a gift to me as well, Arthur," Morgaine said. "Uwaine has been like a true son to me."

Gwenhwyfar thought, cruelly, that Morgaine looked her age; her face was touched with subtle lines, and there were streaks of white in the raven hair, though her dark eyes were as fine as ever. And she had spoken of Uwaine as her son, and she looked at him with pride and affection. Yet her own son must be older yet ... .

And so Morgaine, damn her, has two sons, and I not so much as a fosterling!

Morgaine, seated at Uriens' side down the table, was conscious of Gwenhwyfar's eyes on her. How she hates me! Even now when I can do her no harm! Yet she did not hate Gwenhwyfar; she had even ceased to resent the marriage to Uriens, knowing that in some obscure way it had brought her back to what she had once been-priestess of Avalon. Still, but for Gwenhwyfar, I would have been married to Accolon at this moment, and as it is, we are at the mercy of some servant who might spy on us, or blab to Uriens for a reward ... here in Camelot they must be very discreet. Gwenhwyfar would stop at nothing to make trouble.

She should not have come. Yet Uwaine had wished for her to see him knighted, and she was the only mother Uwaine had ever known.

Uriens could not, after all, live forever-though sometimes, in the dragging years, she felt that he had decided to rival old King Methuselah -and she doubted that even the stupid pig farmers of North Wales would accept Avalloch as king. If she could only bear Accolon a child, then no one would question that Accolon, at her side, would reign rightly.

She would have risked it-Viviane, after all, had been nearly as old as she was now when Lancelet was born, and she had lived to see him grown. But the Goddess had not sent her even the hope of conception, and to be honest, she did not want it. Uwaine was son enough for her, and Accolon had not reproached her for childlessness-no doubt he felt that no one would seriously believe it was Uriens' son, though Morgaine doubted not she could persuade her old husband to acknowledge the child his own; he doted on her in everything, and she shared his bed often enough-too often, for her taste.

She said to Uriens now, "Let me fill your plate. That roast pig is too rich for you, it will make you ill. Some of those wheaten cakes, perhaps, sopped in the gravy, and here is a fine fat saddle of rabbit." She beckoned to a serving-man carrying a tray of early fruits and chose some gooseberries and cherries for her husband. "Here, I know you are fond of these."

"You are good to me, Morgaine," he said, and she patted his arm. It was worth it-all the time she spent in cosseting him, caring for his health, embroidering him fine cloaks and shirts, and even now and then, discreetly, finding a young woman for his bed and giving him a dose of one of her herb medicines which would allow him something like normal virility; Uriens was convinced that she adored him, and never questioned her devotion or denied her anything she asked.

The feasting was breaking up now-people moving about the hall, nibbling at cakes and sweets, calling for wine and ale, stopping to speak to kinsmen and friends whom they saw only once or twice a year. Uriens was still munching his gooseberries; Morgaine asked leave to go and speak to her kinswomen.

"As you like, my dearest," he mumbled. "You should have cut my hair, my wife, all the Companions are wearing their hair shorn-"

She patted his scanty locks and said, "Oh, no, my dear, I think it is better suited to your years. You do not want to look like a schoolboy, or a monk." And, she thought, there is so little of your hair that if you cut it short, your bald spot would shine through like a beacon! "Look, the noble Lancelet still wears his hair long and flowing, and Gawaine, and Gareth- no one could call them old men!"

"You are right, as always," Uriens said smugly. "I suppose it is fitted to a mature man. It is all very well for a boy like Uwaine to clip his hair short." And Uwaine, indeed, had shorn his hair close to the nape of his neck in the new fashion. "I mark there is gray in Lancelet's hair as well-we are none of us young anymore, my dear."

You were a grandsire when Lancelet was born, Morgaine thought crossly, but she only murmured that none of them was as young as they had been ten years ago-a truth with which no one could possibly argue-and moved away.

Lancelet was still, she thought, the finest-looking man she had ever seen; next to him even Accolon seemed too perfect, his features too precise. There was grey in his hair, yes, and in the smoothly trimmed beard; but his eyes twinkled with the old smile. "Good day to you, cousin."

She was surprised at his cordial tone. Yet, she thought, it is true what Uriens said, we are none of us so young anymore, and there are not many of us who remember that time when we were all young together. He embraced her, and she felt his curly beard silky against her cheek.

She asked him, "Is Elaine not here?"

"No, she bore me another daughter but three days since. She had hoped the child would be already born, and she well enough to ride to Pentecost, but it was a fine big girl and she took her own time in coming. We had hoped to have her three weeks ago!"

"How many children have you now, Lance?"

"Three. Galahad is a big lad of seven, and Nimue is five years old. I do not see them very often, but their nurses say they are clever and quick for their age, and Elaine would name the new little one Gwenhwyfar, for the Queen."

"I think I shall ride north and visit her," Morgaine said.

"She will be glad to see you, I am sure. It is lonely there," said Lancelet. Morgaine did not think Elaine would be glad to see her at all, but that was between her and Elaine. Lancelet glanced toward the dais where Gwenhwyfar had taken Isotta of Cornwall to sit at her side while Arthur spoke with Duke Marcus and his nephew. "Know you yonder Drustan? He is a fine harper, though not like to Kevin, of course."