"Why? Was he one of the Emperor Lucius' men?" asked Morgaine. This talk of the court was a breath of life in the deadness of this isolated place.

Uwaine shook his head. "No ... there was talk that he and Queen Isotta had been overfond of each other," he said. "One can hardly blame the poor lady ... Cornwall is the end of the world, and Duke Marcus is old and peevish and his chamberlains say he is impotent too-hard life for the poor lady, while Drustan is handsome and a harper, and the lady fond of music."

"Have you no gossip of court save of wickedness and other men's wives?" demanded Uriens, scowling, and Uwaine laughed. "Well, I told the lady Shana that her father might send a messenger to you, and I hope, dear father, that when he comes you will not refuse him. Shana is not rich, but I have no great need of a dowry, I won goods enough in Brittany-I shall show you some of my plunder, and I have gifts for my mother, too." He raised his hand to stroke Morgaine's cheek as she bent over him, changing the poultice for a fresh one. "Well I know you are not such a woman as that lady Isotta, to turn your back on my good old father and play the harlot."

Her cheeks stung; she bent over the kettle of steaming herbs, wrinkling her nose at the bitter scent. Uwaine thought her the best of women, and his trust was sweet to her, yet there was the bitterness of knowing it unmerited.

At least I have never made Uriens look a fool, nor yet flaunted any other lover in his face ... .

"But you should go to Cornwall, when my father is well enough to travel," Uwaine said seriously, flinching a little as the heat of the poultice touched a new spot on his festered cheek. "There should be a clear understanding, Mother, that Marcus cannot lay claim to what is yours. You have not shown your face in Tintagel for so long that the common people may forget they have a queen."

"I'm sure it will not come to that," said Uriens. "But if I am well again this summer, I will ask Arthur, when I ride to Pentecost, about this matter of Morgaine's lands."

"And if Uwaine marries into Cornwall," said Morgaine, "he shall keep Tintagel for me-would you like to be my castellan, Uwaine?"

"I would like nothing better," said Uwaine, "except, perhaps, to sleep tonight without forty separate toothaches in my jaw."

"Drink this," said Morgaine, pouring one of her medicines from a small flask into his wine, "and I can promise you sleep."

"I would sleep without it, I think, madam, I am so glad to be in my own home and my own bed, under my mother's care." Uwaine bent and embraced his father, and kissed Morgaine's hand. "But I will take your medicines willingly." He swallowed the medicined wine and beckoned to one of Uriens' men-at-arms to light him to his own room. Accolon came and embraced his father, and said, "I too am for my bed ... lady, are there pillows there, or is the room empty and bare? I have not been home in so long, I expect to find pigeons roosting in that old room where I used to sleep and Father Eian tried to beat Latin into my head through the seat of my breeches."

"I told Maline to be sure you had everything you needed," said Morgaine, "but I will come and see. Will you need me again this night, my lord," she asked, turning to Uriens, "or shall I too go to my rest?"

Only a soft snore answered her, and his man Huw, settling the old man on the pillows, answered, "Go, lady Morgaine. If he wakes in the night I'll look after him."

As they went out, Accolon asked, "What ails my father?"

"He had the lung fever this winter," said Morgaine, "and he is not young."

"And you have had all the weight of caring for him," Accolon said. "Poor Morgaine-" and he touched her hand; she bit her lip at his tender voice. Something hard and cold inside her, frozen there since the winter, was melting and she thought she would dissolve into weeping. She bent her head and did not look at him.

"And you, Morgaine-not a word or a look for me-?" He reached out and touched her, and she said between clenched teeth, "Wait."

She called a servant to fetch fresh bolsters, a blanket or two from the store. "Had I known you were coming, I would have had the best linens and blankets, and fresh bed straw."

He said in a whisper, "It is not fresh straw I want in my bed," but she refused to turn her face to him while the serving-women were making the bed up, bringing hot water and light, and hanging up his armor and outer garments.

When they were all away for a moment he whispered, "Later, may I come to your room, Morgaine?"

She shook her head and whispered back, "I will come to you-I can have some excuse for being out of my chamber in the middle of the night, but since your father has been ill, often they come to fetch me-you must not be found there-" and she gave him a quick, silent pressure of her fingers. It was as if his hand burned her. Then she went with the chamberlain on the last rounds of the castle to make sure that all was locked and secure.

"God give you a good night, lady," he said, bowing, and went away. She tiptoed through the hall where the men-at-arms slept, moving on noiseless feet; along the stairs, past the room where Avalloch slept with Maline and the younger children, the room where young Conn had slept with his tutor and his foster-brothers before the poor lad had succumbed to the lung fever. In the farther wing were Uriens' own chamber, one she now kept for herself, another room usually allotted to guests of importance, and at the far end, the room where she had left Accolon. She stole toward his room, her mouth dry, hoping he had had the sense to keep his door ajar ... the walls were old and thick and there would be no way he could hear her at his door.

She looked into her own room; went in, swiftly, and disarranged the bed clothing. Her own waiting-woman, Ruach, was old and deaf, and in the winter past Morgaine had cursed her for her deafness and stupidity, but now that would serve her ... even so, she must not wake in the morning and find Morgaine's bed untouched; even old Ruach knew that King Uriens was not well enough to share his bed with the queen.

How often have I told myself, I am not ashamed of what I do ... yet she must not bring scandal on her name, or she could accomplish nothing here. But she hated the need for secrecy and furtiveness.

He had left the door ajar. She slipped inside, her heart pounding, and pushed the door shut; felt herself seized in a hungry embrace that waked her body into fierce life. His mouth closed on hers as if he had starved for this as much as she ... it seemed as if the whole winter's desolation and pain fell away and that she was like melting ice, that she would flood and overflow ... . She pressed her body to Accolon's and fought to keep from crying.

All her resolve that Accolon was no more to her than priest of the Goddess, that she would not allow any personal tie between them, had gone for nothing in the face of this wild hunger in her. She had felt so much scorn for Gwenhwyfar, bringing the court to scandal and her king into contempt, because he could not keep his wife in order. But now, in Accolon's arms, all her resolve melted. She sank down in his embrace and let him carry her to his bed.

2

The night was far advanced when Morgaine slipped away from Accolon's side. He lay heavily asleep; she ran her fingers over his hair, kissed him softly, and stole from the room. She had not slept-she had feared to sleep too long and be surprised there by day. It was more than an hour before sunrise. Morgaine rubbed her burning eyes. Somewhere outside a dog barked, a child wailed and was hushed, birds chirped in the garden. Morgaine thought, looking out through a narrow slit in the stone wall, In another moon it will be full daylight at this hour. She leaned for a moment against the wall, overcome by memories of the night past.