"Make for the stables," he gasped. "Horses, and out of here, fast."

"Wait!" She caught at his arm. "If we throw ourselves on Arthur's mercy-or you escape and I will stay and face Arthur-"

"Gareth might have seen justice done. But with Gwydion's hand in it, do you think either of us would ever reach the King alive? I named him well Mordred!" He hurried her into the stables, swiftly flung a saddle on his horse. "No time to find yours. Ride behind me, and hold on well-I'm going to have to ride down the guards at the gate." And Gwenhwyfar realized she was seeing a new Lancelet-not her lover, but the hardened warrior. How many men had he killed this night? She had no time for fear as he lifted her on his horse and sprang up before her.

"Hang on to me," he said. "I'll have no time to look after you." He turned then, and gave her one hard, long kiss. "This is my fault, I should have known that infernal bastard would be spying-well, whatever happens now, at least it's over. No more lies and no more hiding. You're mine forever-" and he broke off. She could feel him trembling, but he turned savagely to grip the reins. "And now we go!"

MORGAUSE LOOKED ON in horror as Gwydion, weeping, bent over her youngest son.

Words spoken in half earnest, years ago-Gwydion had refused to take the lists on the opposite side from Gareth, even in a mock battle. It seemed to me that you lay dying, he had said ... and I knew it was my doing you lay without the spark of life ... . I will not tempt that fate.

Lancelet had done this, Lancelet whom Gareth had always loved more than any other man.

One of the men in the room stepped forward and said, "They're getting away-"

"Do you think I care about that?" Gwydion winced, and Morgause realized that he was bleeding, that his blood was flowing and mingling with Gareth's on the floor of the chamber. She caught up the linen sheet from the bed, tore it, and wadded it against Gwydion's wound.

Gawaine said somberly, "No man in all of Britain will hide them now. Lancelet is everywhere outcast. He has been taken in treason to his king, and his very life is forfeit. God! How I wish it had not come to this!" He came and looked at Gwydion's wound, then shrugged. "No more than a flesh cut -see, the bleeding is slowed already, it will heal, but you will not sit in comfort for some days. Gareth-" His voice broke; the great, rough, greying man began to weep like a child. "Gareth had worse fortune, and I will have Lancelet's life for it, if I die myself at his hands. Ah God, Gareth, my little one, my little brother-" and Gawaine bent and cradled the big body against him. He said thickly, through sobs, "Was it worth it, Gwydion, was it worth Gareth's life?"

"Come away, my boy," said Morgause, through a tightness in her own throat-Gareth, her baby, her last child; she had lost him long ago to Arthur, but still she remembered a fair-haired little boy, clutching a wooden painted knight in his hand. And one day you and I shall go on quest together, sir Lancelet ... always Lancelet. But now Lancelet had overreached himself, and everywhere in the land every man's hand would be against him. And still she had Gwydion, her beloved, the one who would one day be King, and she at his side.

"Come, my lad, come away, you can do nothing for Gareth now. Let me bind up your wound, then we shall go to Arthur and tell him what has befallen, so that he may send out his men to seek for the traitors-"

Gwydion shook her grip from his arm. "Get away from me, curse you," he said in a terrible voice. "Gareth was the best of us, and I would not have sacrificed him for a dozen kings! It was you and your spite against Arthur always urging me on, as if I cared what bed the Queen slept in- as if Gwenhwyfar were any worse than you, when from the time I was ten years old you had this one or that one in your bed-"

"Oh, my son-" she whispered, aghast. "How can you speak so to me? Gareth was my son too-"

"What did you ever care for Gareth, or for any of us, or for anything but your own pleasure and your own ambition? You would urge me to a throne, not for my sake but for your own power!" He thrust away her clinging hands. "Get you back to Lothian, or to hell if the devil will have you, but if ever I set eyes on you again, I swear I will forget all except that you were the murderer of the one brother I loved, the one kinsman-" and as Gawaine urgently pushed his mother from the chamber, she could hear Gwydion weeping again. "Oh, Gareth, Gareth, I should have died first-"

Gawaine said shortly, "Cormac, take the Queen of Lothian to her chamber."

His strong arm was holding her upright, and after they had moved down the hall, after that dreadful sobbing had died away behind her, Morgause began to draw breath freely again. How could he turn on her this way? When had she ever done anything except for his sake? She must show decent mourning for Gareth, certainly, but Gareth was Arthur's man, and surely Gwydion would have realized it, sooner or later. She looked up at Cormac. "I cannot walk so fast-hold back a little."

"Certainly, my lady." She was very much aware of his arm enfolding her, holding her. She let herself lean a little on him. She had bragged to Gwenhwyfar of her young lover, but she had never yet actually taken him to her bed-she had kept him delaying, dangling. She turned her head against his shoulder. "You have been faithful to your queen, Cormac."

"I am loyal to my royal house, as all my people have ever been," the young man said in their own language, and she smiled.

"Here is my chamber-help me inside, will you? I can scarce walk-"

He supported her, eased her down on her bed. "Is it my lady's will that I call her women?"

"No," she whispered, catching at his hands, aware that her tears were seductive. "You have been loyal to me, Cormac, and now is that loyalty to be rewarded-come here-"

She held out her arms, half shutting her eyes, then opened them, in shock, as he pulled awkwardly away.

"I-I think you are distraught, madam," he stammered. "What do you think I am? What do you take me for? Why, lady, I have as much respect for you as for my own grandmother! Should I take advantge of an old woman like you when you are beside yourself with grief? Let me call your waiting-woman, and she will make you a nice posset and I will forget what you said in the madness of grief, madam."

Morgause could feel the blow in the very pit of her stomach, repeated blows on her heart-my own grandmother ... old woman ... the madness of grief.... The whole of the world had suddenly gone mad-Gwydion insane with ingratitude, this man who had looked on her so long with desire turning on her ... she wanted to scream, to call for her servants and have him whipped till his back ran crimson with his blood and the walls rang with his shrieking for mercy. But even as she opened her mouth for that, the whole weight of her life seemed to descend on her in deadly weariness.

"Yes," she said dully, "I do not know what I was saying-call my women, Cormac, and tell them to bring me some wine. We will ride at daybreak for Lothian."

And when he had gone, she sat on the bed without the strength to lift her hands.

I am an old woman. And I have lost my son Gareth, and I have lost Gwydion, and I will never now be Queen in Camelot. I have lived too long.

17

Clinging to Lancelet's back, her gown pulled up above her knees and her bare legs hanging down, Gwenhwyfar closed her eyes as they rode hard through the night. She had no idea where they were going. Lancelet was a stranger, a hard-faced warrior, a man she had never known. There was a time, she thought, when I would have been terrified, out like this under the open sky, at night ... but she felt excited, exhilarated. At the back of her mind was pain too, mourning for the gentle Gareth who had been like a son to Arthur and deserved better of life than to be struck down so - she wondered if Lancelet even knew whom he had killed! And there was grief for the end of her years with Arthur, and all they had shared for so long. But from what had happened this night there could be no going back. She had to lean forward to hear Lancelet over the rushing of wind. "We must stop somewhere soon, the horse must rest - and if we ride in daylight, my face and yours are known all through this countryside."