Morgause nodded. But there was no need to frighten the child. She wiped her eyes with her kirtle.

Gareth looked upward and said, "Please, dear Goddess, bring my cousin Morgaine a strong son, so we can grow up and be knights together."

Against her will, Morgause laughed and stroked the chubby cheek. "Such a prayer I am sure the Goddess will hear. Now I must go back to Morgaine."

But she felt Lot's eyes on her as she left the hall, and remembered what he had said to her earlier-that it might be better for them all if Morgaine's son did not survive.

I shall be content if Morgaine comes alive through this, she thought, and almost for the first time, she regretted that she had learned so little of the great magics of Avalon, now, when she needed some charm or spell that could ease this struggle for Morgaine. It had gone so hard, so frightfully hard with the girl, her own childbed had been nothing to this ... .

She came back into the women's hall. The midwives had Morgaine kneeling upright in the straw now, to help the child slip from the womb; but she was slumping between them like a lifeless thing, so that two of them had to hold her upright. She was crying out now in gasps, then biting her lip against the cries, trying to be brave. Morgause went and knelt before Morgaine in the blood-flecked straw; she held out her hands, and Morgaine gripped them, looking at Morgause almost without recognition.

"Mother!" she cried out. "Mother, I knew you would come-"

Then her face convulsed again and she flung back her head, her mouth squared with unvoiced screams. Megan said, "Hold her, my lady-no, behind her like that, hold her upright-" and Morgause, gripping Morgaine beneath the arms, felt the girl shaking, retching, sobbing as she fought and struggled, blindly, to get away from them. She was no longer capable of; helping them or even letting them do what they must, but screamed aloud when they touched her. Morgause shut her eyes, unwilling to see, holding Morgaine's frail convulsing body with all her strength. She screamed again, "Mother! Mother!" but Morgaine did not know whether she was calling '1 on Igraine or on the Goddess. Then she slumped backward into Morgaine's arms, all but unconscious; there was the sharp smell of blood in the room, and Megan held up something dark and shrivelled-looking.

"Look, lady Morgaine," she said, "you have a fine son-" then she bent over him, breathing into the little mouth. There was a sharp, outraged sound, the cry of a newborn shrieking with fury at the cold world into which he had come.

But Morgaine lay collapsed in Morgause's arms, utterly exhausted, and could not even open her eyes to look at her child.

THE BABE HAD BEEN washed and swaddled; Morgaine had swallowed a cup of hot milk with honey in it, and herbs against the bleeding, and now she lay drowsing, weary, not even stirring as Morgause bent to kiss her lightly on the brow.

She would live and heal, though Morgause had never seen a woman struggle so hard, and yet live, with a living child. And the midwife said that after all they had had to do to deliver this one alive, it was unlikely Morgaine would ever bear another. Which, Morgause thought, was just as well. She realized now that her own birthings, which had not been easy, had been nothing to this.

She picked up the swaddled child, looking down at the small features. He seemed to be breathing well enough, though sometimes, when a child did not cry at once and it was necessary to breathe into his mouth, the breathing would fail again later and he would die. But he was a healthy pink, even the tiny nails rosy. Dark hair, perfectly straight, dark, fine down on the small arms and legs-yes, this one was fairy-born, like Morgaine herself. It might indeed be Lancelet's son, and so doubly near to Arthur's throne.

The child should be given to a wet nurse at once ... and then Morgause hesitated. No doubt, when she was a little rested, Morgaine would want to hold and suckle her child; it always happened that way, no matter how difficult the birth. And the harder the birth, the more joy the mother seemed to have in nursing her babe; the worse the struggle, the more was the love and delight when the babe was actually put to her breast.

And then she thought, against her will, of Lot's words. If I want to see Gawaine on the throne, this child stands in his way. She had not wanted to listen when Lot said it, but with the child actually in her hands, she could not help thinking it would not be so evil a thing if this child were overlaid by his nurse, or too weak to take suck. And if Morgaine had never held him or suckled him, she would not feel as much grief; if it was the will of the Goddess that he should not live ...

I want only to spare her sorrow ... .

Morgaine's child, probably by Lancelet, both of the old royal line of Avalon ... should harm come to Arthur, the people would accept this child for his throne.

But she was not even sure it was Lancelet's child.

And although Morgause had borne four sons, Morgaine was the little girl she had petted and cared for like a doll, carried in her arms; she had brushed her hair and washed her and brought her gifts. Could she do this to Morgaine's own child? Who was to say Arthur would not have a dozen sons by his queen, whoever she was?

But Lancelet's son ... yes, Lancelet's son she could abandon to death without a qualm. Lancelet was no closer kin to Arthur than Gawaine, yet Arthur preferred him, turned to Lancelet in everything. Just as she herself had always stood in Viviane's shadow, the unregarded sister, passed over for High Queen-she had never forgiven Viviane that she had chosen Igraine for Uther-just so, the loyal Gawaine would always stand in the shadow of the more flamboyant Lancelet. If Lancelet had played with Morgaine or dishonored her, all the more reason to hate him.

For there was no reason Morgaine should bear Lancelet's bastard child in secrecy and sorrow. Did Viviane think her precious son too good for Morgaine, perhaps? Morgause had seen that the girl wept in secret all during these long months; was she sick with love and abandonment?

Viviane, damn her, uses lives like knucklebones to be cast in play! She flung Igraine into Uther's arms without thought for Gorlois, she claimed Morgaine for Avalon; will she make wreck of Morgaine's life too?

If she could only be sure it was Lancelet's child!

As she had regretted, when Morgaine was in labor, that she had not enough magic to ease the birth, so now she regretted how little she knew of magic. She had not, when she dwelt in Avalon, had the interest nor the persistence to study the Druid lore. But still, as Viviane's fosterling, she had learned one thing and another from the priestesses, who had petted and spoilt her; offhand and good-naturedly, as one indulges a child, they had shown her certain simple spells and magics.

Well, now she would use them. She shut the doors of the chamber and lighted a new fire; she clipped three hairs from the silky down on the child's head, and bending over the sleeping Morgaine, cut a few of her hairs too. She pricked the child's finger with her bodkin, rocking him after to hush the fitful squalling; then, casting secret herbs on the fire with the hairs and blood, she whispered a word she had been taught, and stared into the flames. And caught her breath in silence as the flames swirled, died, and for a moment a face looked out at her-a young face, crowned with fair hair and shadowed by antlers casting a darkness over the blue eyes that were like Uther's ... .

Morgaine had spoken truth when she said he had come to her as the Horned God; yet she had lied. ....orgause should have known; they had made the Great Marriage for Arthur, then, before his crowning. Had Viviane planned this too, a child that should be born of the two royal lines? There was a small sound behind her and she looked up, to see that Morgaine had struggled to her feet and was standing there, clinging to the bed frame, her face white as death.