He sang the ballad of the Fisher King, who dwelt in a castle at the middle of a great wasteland; and as the king grew ancient and his powers waned, so did the land fade and put forth no crops, till some younger man should come and strike the stroke of mercy which would pour out the blood of the ancient king upon the land. Then the land would grow young again with the new king, and bloom with his youth.

"Say you so?" demanded Arthur uneasily. "That the land where an old king rules can only be a land which fades?"

"Not so, my lord. What would we do without the wisdom of your many years? Yet in the ancient days of the Tribes it was even so, where the Goddess of the Land alone endures, and the king rules while he shall please her. And when the King Stag grew old, another would come from the herd and throw him down ... but this is a Christian court, and you have no such heathen ways as that, my king. I think perhaps that ballad of the Fisher King is but a symbol of the grass which, even as it says in your Scriptures, is like to man's flesh, enduring but a season, and the king of the wasteland but a symbol of the world which yearly dies with the grass and is renewed with spring, as all religions tell... even Christ withered like the Fisher King when he died the death of the cross and returns again with Easter, ever new ... " and he touched the strings and sang softly:

"For lo, all the days of man are as a leaf that is fallen and as the grass that withereth.

Thou too shalt be forgotten, like the flower that falleth on the grass, like the wine that is poured out and soaks into the earth.

And yet even as the spring returns, so blooms the land and so blooms life which will come again ... "

Gwenhwyfar asked, "Is that Scripture, Gwydion? A verse perhaps of a psalm?"

Gwydion shook his head. "It is an ancient hymn of the Druids, and there are those who say it is older than that, brought perhaps from those lands which now lie beneath the sea. But each religion has some such hymn as that. Perhaps indeed all religion is One ... "

Arthur asked him quietly, "Are you a Christian, my lad?"

Gwydion did not answer for a moment. At last he said, "I was reared a Druid and I do not break the oaths I have sworn. My name is not Kevin, my king. But you do not know all the vows I have made." Quietly he rose from his place and went forth from the hall. Arthur, staring after him, did not speak even to reprove his lack of courtesy, but Gawaine was scowling.

"Will you let him take leave with so little of ceremony, lord?"

"Oh, leave it, leave it," Arthur said. "We are all kinsmen here, I ask not that he should treat me always as if I were on the throne! He knows well that he is my son, and so does every man in this room! Would you have him always the courtier?"

But Gareth was frowning after him. He said softly, "I wish with all my heart that Galahad would return to court. God grant him some such vision as mine, for you need him more here than you need me, Arthur, and if he comes not soon, I shall go forth myself to seek him."

IT WAS only a few days before Pentecost when Lancelet finally came home.

They had seen the approaching procession-men, ladies, horses and pack animals-and Gareth, at the gates, had summoned all men to welcome them, but Gwenhwyfar, standing at Arthur's side, paid little heed to Queen Morgause, except to wonder why the Queen of Lothian had come. Lancelet knelt before Arthur with his sorrowful news, and Gwenhwyfar too felt the pain in his eyes ... always, always it had been like this, that what smote his heart was like a lash laid to her own. Arthur bent and raised Lancelet to his feet and embraced him, and his own eyes were wet.

"I have lost a son, no less than you, dear friend. He will be sorely missed." And Gwenhwyfar could bear it no more, and stepped forward to give Lancelet her hand before them all and say, her voice trembling, "I had longed for you to return to us, Lancelet, but I am sorry that you must come with such sad news."

Arthur said quietly to his men, "Let him be taken to the chapel where he was made knight. There let him lie, and tomorrow he shall be buried as befits my son and heir." As he turned away, he staggered a little, and Gwydion was quick to put his hand beneath his arm and support him.

Gwenhwyfar did not often weep now, but she felt she must weep at Lancelet's face, so marred and stricken. What had befallen him in this year when he followed the Grail? Long sickness, long fasting, weariness, wounds? Never had she seen him so sorrowful, even when he came to speak with her of his marriage to Elaine. Watching Arthur leaning heavily on Gwydion's arm, she sighed, and Lancelet pressed her hand and said softly, "I can even be glad now that Arthur came to know his own son and to value him. It will soften his grief."

Gwenhwyfar shook her head, not wanting to think of what this would mean for Gwydion and for Arthur. Morgaine's son! Morgaine's son, to follow after Arthur-no, there was no help for it now!

Gareth came and bowed before her and said, "Madam, my mother is here-" and Gwenhwyfar recalled that she was not free to stay among the men, that her place was with the ladies, that she could not speak a word of comfort to Arthur or even to Lancelet. She said coldly, "I am happy to welcome you, Queen Morgause," and it came to her mind, Must I confess this then as a sin, that I lie to the queen? Would it somehow be more virtuous if I said to her, I welcome you as duty demands, Queen Morgause, but I am not glad to see you and I wish you had stayed in Lothian, or in hell for all I care! She saw that Niniane was at Arthur's side, that Arthur was between her and Gwydion, and she frowned.

"Lady Niniane," she said coolly, "I think that the women will withdraw now. Find a guest room for the Queen of Lothian, and see that everything is made ready for her."

Gwydion looked angry, but there was nothing to be said, and Gwenhwyfar reflected, as she and her ladies left the courtyard, that there were advantages to being a queen.

ALL THAT DAY, the Companions and knights of the Round Table were riding back toward Arthur's court, and Gwenhwyfar was busy with the preparations for the feast on the morrow, which would be the funeral. On the day of Pentecost, such of Arthur's men as had returned from this quest would be reunited. She recognized many faces, but some, she knew, would never return: Perceval, and Bors, and Lamorak-she turned a gentler face on Morgause, who, she knew, sincerely mourned for Lamorak. She had felt that the older woman had made a fool of herself with her young lover, but grief was grief, and when at the funeral mass for Galahad the priest spoke of all those others who had fallen on this quest, she saw Morgause hiding tears behind her veil, and her face was red and blotched after the mass.

The night before, Lancelet had watched by his son's body in the chapel, and she had had no chance for private words with him. Now, after the funeral mass, she bade him sit beside her and Arthur at dinner, and when she filled his cup, she hoped that he would drink himself drunk and be past mourning. She grieved over his lined face, so drawn with pain and privation, and over the curls around his face, so white now. And she who loved him best, she could not even embrace him and weep with him in public. For many years she had felt it like a deep pain that she would never have any right to turn to him before other men, but must sit at his side and be only a kinswoman and his queen. And now it seemed to her more dreadful than ever, but he did not turn to her, he did not even meet her eyes.

Standing, Arthur drank to the knights who would never return from the quest. "Here before you all, I swear that none of their wives or children shall ever know want while I live and Camelot stands with one stone upon another," he said. "I share your sorrow. The heir to my throne died in the quest of the Grail." He turned, and held out his hand to Gwydion, who came slowly to his side. He looked younger than he was, in a plain white tunic, his dark hair caught in a golden band.