GWENHWYFAR WAS WEARY of the feasting. She had eaten more than she wanted, and although she had sipped only one glass of wine, she felt overly hot, and slid her veil back, fanning herself. Arthur had come to speak to many of his guests, moving slowly toward the table where she sat with the ladies, and finally reaching her; with him, Lancelet and Gawaine. The women slid along the benches, making room, and Arthur sat beside her.

"It is the first moment I have really had to speak to you, my wife." She held out her small hand to him. "I understand. This is more like a council than a wedding feast, my husband and my lord."

He laughed, somewhat ruefully. "All events in my life now seem to become so. A king does nothing in private. Well," he amended, smiling, seeing the flush that spread over her face, "almost nothing-I think there will be a few exceptions, my wife. The law requires that they must see us put to bed together, but what happens after that need concern no one but ourselves, I trust."

She lowered her eyes, knowing that he had seen her blush. Once again, with the flood of shame, she realized that she had forgotten him again, that she had been watching Lancelet and thinking, with the drowsy sweetness of a dream, how very much she wished it had been to him she had been joined in marriage this day-what damnable fate had made her a High Queen? His eyes fell on her with that hungry look, and she dared not look up at him. She saw him turn his eyes from her even before the shadow fell over them and the lady Morgaine stood there; Arthur made room for her at his side.

"Come and sit with us, my sister, there is always room for you here," he said, his voice so languorous that Gwenhwyfar wondered for a moment how much he had drunk. "When the feast has worn away a little, see, we have prepared something more for entertainment, perhaps something more stirring than the bard's music, beautiful though it is. I did not know you were a singer, my sister. I knew you were an enchantress, but not that you were a musician as well. Have you enchanted us all?"

"I hope not," Morgaine said, laughing, "else I would never dare sing again-what is that old saga, about the bard who sang the evil giants into a circle of ring stones, and there they stand, cold and stone to this day?"

"That one I have never heard," said Gwenhwyfar, "though in my convent there was a tale that these were evil folk who mocked the Christ on his way to his cross, and a saint raised his hand and turned them into crows who fly over the world crying out wailing jests forever ... and another tale of a saint who transformed a circle of sorceresses, at their evil rites, into a circle of stones."

Lancelet said lazily, "If I had leisure to study philosophy instead of being warrior or councillor or horseman, I think I would try to find who built the ring stones and why."

Morgaine laughed. "That is known in Avalon. Viviane could tell you if she would."

"But," said Lancelet, "what the priestesses and the Druids say may be no more truth than your pious nun's fables, Gwenhwyfar-forgive me, I should say, my lady and queen; Arthur, forgive me, I meant no disrespect to your lady, but I called her by her name when she was younger and not yet a queen-" but Morgaine knew that he was simply seeking an excuse to speak her name aloud.

Arthur yawned. "My dear friend, I do not mind if my lady does not. God forbid I should be the kind of husband who wishes to keep his wife locked away in a cage from all other human beings. A husband who cannot keep his wife's kind regards and faithfulness probably does not deserve them." He leaned over and took Gwenhwyfar's hand in his own. "I think this feasting long. Lancelet, how long before the riders are ready?"

"I think they will be ready soon," Lancelet said, deliberately looking away from Gwenhwyfar. "Does my lord and king wish me to go and see?"

Morgaine thought, He is torturing himself, he cannot bear to look on Gwenhwyfar with Arthur, he cannot bear to leave her alone with him. She said, deliberately making a joke of a truth, "I think, Lancelet, our bridal couple wishes to have a few moments to talk together alone. Why do we not leave them here and go down and see ourselves whether the riders are ready."

Lancelet said, "My lord-" and as Gwenhwyfar opened her mouth to protest, he said roughly, "Give me leave to go."

Arthur nodded permission, and Morgaine took his hand. He let her draw him along, but she saw him turn his head halfway, as if he could not take his eyes from Gwenhwyfar. Her heart was wrung; at one and the same time it seemed that she could not bear his pain, and that she would do anything to get him away so that she need not see him look at Gwenhwyfar. Behind her she heard Arthur say, "Until yesterday evening I had no idea that the fates, in sending me a bride, had sent me a beautiful one," and Gwenhwyfar answer, "But it was not the fates, my lord, it was my father." Before Morgaine could hear what Arthur answered, they were out of earshot.

"I remember," Morgaine said, "once, years ago, at Avalon, you spoke of cavalry as the key to victory over the Saxons-that and a disciplined army, like to the Romans. I suppose that is what you plan for these horsemen."

"It is true that I have been training them. I had not imagined that a woman would remember a point of military strategy, cousin."

Morgaine laughed. "I live under fear of the Saxons, like every other woman in these islands. I passed through a village once where a band of them had passed over, and every woman from little girls of five years old to old grandmothers in their nineties with no teeth and no hair had been raped. Whatever offers hope to rid us of them once and for all is meaningful to me, perhaps more than to men and soldiers, who need to fear only death."

"I had not thought of that," Lancelet said soberly. "Uther Pendragon's troops were not above scouring the countryside for willing women-nor are Arthur's-but in general, there is no rape. And I had forgotten, Morgaine, you were trained at Avalon and you think often on things which mean little or nothing to other women." He looked up and clasped her hand in his. "I had forgotten the harps of Avalon. I thought I hated the place, that I never wished to go back. And yet-sometimes-some little thing will take me back there. The sound of a harp. Sunlight on ring stones. The scent of apples and the sound of bees in the sun. Fish splashing in the lake, and the cries of water birds at sunset-"

"Do you remember," she asked softly, "the day we climbed the Tor?"

"I remember." With sudden bitterness he said, "I would to God you had not been sworn to the Goddess, that day."

She said in a low voice, "I have wished it almost as long as I can remember." Her voice suddenly broke, and Lancelet looked with apprehension into her eyes.

"Morgaine, Morgaine-kinswoman, I have never seen you weep."

"Are you like so many men, afraid of a woman's tears?"

He shook his head, and his arm went around her shoulders. "No," he confessed in a low voice, "it makes them seem so much more real, so much more vulnerable-women who never weep frighten me, because I know they are stronger than I, and I am always a little afraid of what they will do. I was always afraid of-Viviane." She sensed that he had been about to say my mother, and had shrunk from the words.

They were passing under the low lintel of the stables; the long line of horses, tied there, shadowed the day. There was a pleasant smell of hay and straw. Outside, she saw men moving back and forth, erecting piles of hay, standing up mannikins of stuffed leather, and men were coming in and out, saddling their horses.

Someone caught sight of Lancelet and shouted, "Will the High King and their lordships be ready for us soon, sir? We don't want to bring the horses out and keep them standing to get restless."