"Well, come then," said the Merlin pleasantly. "Let us have the marriage signed and witnessed, and then for feasting and revelry."

Morgaine thought the bishop looked sober, but he too said amiably enough, "Now that our spirits are all lifted up and in charity, indeed, let us make merry as is suitable for Christian folk on such a day of good omen."

Standing beside Gwenhwyfar at the ceremony, Morgaine sensed that the girl was trembling. Her mind went back to the day of the deer hunting. At least she herself had been stimulated and exalted by ritual, but even so she had been frightened, she had clung to the old priestess. Suddenly, with an impulse of kindness, she wished she could give to Gwenhwyfar, who after all had been convent-reared and had none of the old wisdom, some of the instruction given to the younger priestesses. Then she would know how to let the life currents of sun and summer and earth and life flood through her. She could truly become the Goddess to Arthur and he the God to her, so that their marriage would not be an empty form, but a true inner binding on all the levels of life.... She almost found herself searching for the words, then remembered that Gwenhwyfar was a Christian, and would not thank Morgaine for such teaching. She sighed, frustrated, knowing she would not speak.

She raised her eyes and met Lancelet's, and for a moment he held her glance; she found herself remembering that sun-flooded moment on the Tor, when they should have been bound as man and woman, Goddess to God . .. she knew he was remembering too. But he dropped his eyes and looked away, signing himself, as the priest had done, with the cross.

The simple ceremony was over. Morgaine affixed her name as witness to the marriage contract, noting how smooth and flowing her own hand was next to Arthur's sprawling signature, Gwenhwyfar's clumsy and childish letters-had the nuns of Glastonbury so little learning? Lancelet signed, too, and Gawaine, and King Bors of Brittany, who had come as witness, and Lot, and Ectorius, and King Pellinore, whose sister had been Gwenhwyfar's mother. Pellinore had a young daughter with him, whom he solemnly beckoned forward.

"My daughter, Elaine-your cousin, my lady and queen. I beg you to accept her service."

"I shall be happy for her company among my ladies," Gwenhwyfar said, smiling. Morgaine thought that Pellinore's daughter was very like Gwenhwyfar, pink and golden, though a little dimmer than Gwenhwyfar's bright radiance, and wearing simple linen dyed with saffron, which dulled the coppery gold of her hair. "What is your name, cousin? How old are you?"

"Elaine, my lady, and I am thirteen years old." She dropped a deep curtsey, so deep that she stumbled and Lancelet caught her to steady her. She blushed deeply and hid her face behind her veil. Lancelet smiled indulgently, and Morgaine felt a sickening pang of jealousy. He would not look at her, he would look only at these pale gold-white angels; no doubt he too thought her little and ugly. And at that moment all her kindness for Gwenhwyfar faded into anger, and she had to turn her face away.

Gwenhwyfar had to spend the next hours welcoming, it seemed, every king in the whole of Britain, and being presented to their wives, sisters, and daughters. When it came time to sit at the feast, in addition to Morgaine and Elaine and Igraine and Morgause, she had to show courtesy and graciousness to Flavilla, Arthur's foster-mother and mother of Sir Cai; to the queen of North Wales, who had her own name, Gwenhwyfar, but was dark and Roman-looking; and to half a dozen others. She whispered to Morgaine, "I do not know how I am ever to remember all their names! Shall I simply call them all 'my lady' and hope they don't know why?"

Morgaine whispered back, momentarily sharing the sense of fun in her voice, "That is one thing about being a High Queen, madam, no one will dare to ask you why! Whatever you do, they will think it well done! Or if they do not, they will not dare to tell you so!"

Gwenhwyfar giggled a little. "But you must call me by my name, Morgaine-not just madam. When you say madam, I look about for some stout old lady like Dame Flavilla, or King Pellinore's queen!"

At last the feast began. Morgaine had more appetite now than she had had at Arthur's crowning. She sat between Gwenhwyfar and Igraine, and ate with a good appetite; the abstemious ways of Avalon seemed far behind her. She even ate some meat, though she did not like it, and, since there was no water on the table and beer mostly for the servants, drank the wine she really disliked. It made her head swim a little, though it was not as fiery as the strong barley liquors common at the court of Orkney, which she hated and never touched.

After a time Kevin came forward to play, and the conversation died. Morgaine, who had not heard a fine harper since leaving Avalon, listened, letting the past slip away. Suddenly she longed for Viviane. Even when she raised her eyes and saw Lancelet-who, as Arthur's closest Companion, sat nearer to him than any other, even Gawaine his heir, and shared his dish -she thought of him only as the companion of those years at the Lake.

Viviane, not Igraine, is my real mother, and it was for her I cried out ... . She bent her head, blinking back tears she did not know how to shed.

The music died away, and she heard Kevin's rich voice. "We have another musician here," he said. "Will the lady Morgaine sing for this company?"

How, she wondered, did he know I was pining for the touch of my harp? "It will be a pleasure to play your harp, sir. But I have not touched a fine one for many years, only a makeshift at Lot's court."

Arthur said, and sounded ill-pleased, "What, my sister, sing like a hired musician for all these people?"

Kevin looked offended, as well he might, thought Morgaine. In a sudden rage, she rose from her seat, saying, "What the Master Harper of Avalon condescends to do, I am honored to do! In music, the Gods only are served!" She took the harp from his hand, seating herself on a bench. It was larger than her own harp and for a moment her hands fumbled on the strings; then she found the set and her hands moved more surely, playing a northern song she had heard at Lot's court. She was suddenly grateful for the wine that had cleared her throat; she heard her own voice rich and sweet -it had come back as strong as ever, though she had not recognized it till this moment. Her voice was contralto, deep and strong, trained by the bards at Avalon, and she was proud, again. Gwenhwyfar may be beautiful, but I have the voice of a bard.

And even Gwenhwyfar crowded close when she was done, to say, "Your voice is very lovely, sister. Did you learn to sing so well in Avalon?"

"Why yes, madam, music is sacred-did you not learn the harp in your nunnery?"

Gwenhwyfar shrank. "No, it is unseemly for a woman to raise her voice before the Lord ... ."

Morgaine chuckled. "You Christians are overfond of that word unseemly, especially when it relates to women," she said. "If music is evil, then it is evil for men as well; and if it is a good thing, should not women do all the good things they can do, to make up for their supposed sin at the beginning of the world?"

"Still, I would not have been allowed-once I was beaten for touching a harp," said Gwenhwyfar wistfully. "But you have cast a spell over us, and I cannot think but this magic is good."

Kevin said, "All the men and women of Avalon learn something of music; but few have such gifts as the lady Morgaine. A fine voice is born, not trained. And if it is a gift of God, then seems it to me that it is arrogant to look down and think little of such a gift, be it given to man or woman. We cannot believe God has made a mistake in giving such a gift to a woman, since God makes no mistakes, so we must accept it wherever it is found."