Arthur rose too, and embraced his heir. "Bless you, Galahad. Go to keep your vigil."

The boy bowed and turned to embrace his father; Gwenhwyfar could not hear what Lancelet said to him. She reached out her hand and Galahad bent to kiss it. "Give me your blessing, lady."

"Always, Galahad," Gwenhwyfar said, and Arthur added, "We will see you to the church. You must keep your vigil alone, but we will come a little way with you."

"You do me too much honor, my king. Did you not keep vigil when you were crowned?"

"He did indeed," said Morgaine, smiling, "but it was far other than this."

AS THE WHOLE PARTY MOVED toward the church, Gwydion dropped back until he was walking at Morgaine's side. She looked up at her son-he was not as tall as Arthur, who had the height of the Pendragons, but at her side he seemed tall.

"I had not expected to see you here, Gwydion."

"I had not expected to be here, madam."

"I heard that you had been fighting in this war, among Arthur's Saxon allies. I knew not that you were a warrior,"

He shrugged. "You have had little opportunity to know much of me, lady."

Abruptly, not knowing what she was going to say until she heard herself saying it, she asked, "Do you hate me that I abandoned you, my son?"

He hesitated. "Perhaps-for a time when I was young," he said at last. "But I am a child of the Goddess, and this forced me to be so in truth, that I could look to no earthly parents. I bear you no grudge now, Lady of the Lake," he said.

For a moment the path blurred around her; it was as if the young Lancelet stood at her side ... her son steadied her gently with his arm.

"Take care, the path here is not smooth-"

She asked, "How is it with all in Avalon?"

"Niniane is well," he said. "I have few ties with any other there, not now."

"Have you seen Galahad's sister there, the maiden called Nimue?" She frowned, trying to remember how old Nimue would be now. Galahad was sixteen-Nimue would be at least fourteen, almost grown.

"I know her not," said Gwydion. "The old priestess of the oracles- Raven, is it?-has taken her into the silence and into seclusion. No man may look upon her face."

I wonder why Raven did that? A sudden shudder went through her, but she said only, "How does Raven, then? Is she well?"

"I have not heard that she was otherwise," said Gwydion, "though when I last saw her at the rites she seemed older than the very oaks. Still, her voice was sweet and young. But I have never had private speech from her."

Morgaine said, "Nor has any man living, Gwydion, and few women. Twelve years I spent there as a maiden, and I heard her voice but half a dozen times." She did not wish to speak or to think of Avalon and said, trying to keep her voice commonplace, "So you have had battle experience with the Saxons?"

"True, and in Brittany-I spent some time at Lionel's court. Lionel thought me Lancelet's son and would have had me call him Uncle and I told him nothing contrary. It will do Lancelet no harm to be thought capable of fathering a bastard or so. And, even as with the good Lancelet, the Saxons around Ceardig gave me a name. Elf-arrow they called him-any man who accomplishes anything gets a name from those folk. Mordred, they called me -it means in our tongue something like to 'Deadly counsel' or even 'Evil counsel,' and I think not that they meant it as compliment!"

"It takes not much craft in counsel to be wilier than a Saxon," she said, "but tell me, then, what prompted you to come hare before the time I had chosen?"

Gwydion shrugged. "I felt I might well see my rival."

Morgaine glanced fearfully around her. "Say that not aloud!"

"I have no reason to fear Galahad," he said quietly. "He looks not to me like one who will live long enough to rule."

"Is that the Sight?"

"I need not the Sight to tell me it would take one stronger than Galahad to sit on the throne of the Pendragon," Gwydion said. "But if it will ease your mind, lady, I will swear to you by the Sacred Well, Galahad will not die by my hand. Nor," he added after a moment, seeing her shiver, "by yours. If the Goddess does not want him on the throne of the new Avalon, I think we may leave it to her."

He laid his hand for a moment on Morgaine's; gentle as the touch was, she shivered again.

"Come," he said, and it seemed to Morgaine that his voice was as compassionate as a priest's giving absolution. "Let us go and see my cousin to his arms. It is not right that anything should spoil this great moment of his life. He may not have many more."

5

As often as Morgause of Lothian had come to Camelot, she never tired of the pageantry. Now, conscious that as one of Arthur's subject queens and the mother of three of his earliest Companions, she would have a favored place at the mock games which marked this day, she sat beside Morgaine in church; at the end of the service, Galahad would be knighted, and he knelt now beside Arthur and Gwenhwyfar, pale and serious and shining with excitement.

Bishop Patricius himself had come from Glastonbury to celebrate the Pentecost mass here in Camelot; he stood now before them in his white robes, intoning: "Unto thee have we offered this bread, the body of the Only-begotten ... ."

Morgause put a plump hand over her mouth, smothering a yawn. However often she attended Christian ceremonies, she never thought about them; they were not even as interesting as die rites at Avalon where she had spent her childhood, but she had thought, since she was fourteen or so, that all Gods and all religions were games which men and women played with their minds. None of them had anything to do with real life. Nevertheless, when she was at Pentecost, she dutifully attended mass, to please Gwenhwyfar-the woman was her hostess, and the High Queen, after all, and a close relative-and now, with the rest of the royal family, she went forward to receive the holy bread. Morgaine, attentive at her side, was the only one in the King's household who did not approach the communion table; Morgause thought lazily that Morgaine was a very great fool. Not only did she alienate the common people, but the more pious among the King's household called Morgaine witch and sorceress, and worse things, among themselves. And, after all, what difference did it make? One religious lie was as good as another, was it not? King Uriens, now, he had more sense of what was expedient; Morgause did not think Uriens had any more religion than Gwenhwyfar's pet house cat. She had seen the serpents of Avalon around his arms; yet, like his son Accolon, he went forward to take part.

But when the final prayer came, including one for the dead, she discovered that she had tears in her eyes. She missed Lot-his cynical cheerfulness, his steadfast loyalty to her; and he had, after all, given her four fine sons. Gawaine and Gareth knelt near her, among Arthur's own household-Gawaine, as always, close to Arthur; Gareth side by side with his young friend Uwaine-Morgaine's stepson; she had heard Uwaine call Morgaine mother, heard a genuine maternal note in Morgaine's voice when she spoke to him, something she had never thought Morgaine capable of.

With a rustle of gowns and the small chink of scabbarded swords and such gear, Arthur's household arose and moved to the church porch. Gwenhwyfar, though a little haggard, was still beautiful with the long bright golden braids over her shoulder and her fine gown belted in with a brilliant golden girdle. Arthur looked splendid, too. Excalibur hung in its scabbard at Arthur's side-the same old red velvet scabbard he had worn for more than twenty years now. She supposed that Gwenhwyfar could have embroidered him a handsomer one at any time in the past ten years.