Uriens looked down at his gnarled old wrists. The blue tattoos there had almost faded and were no more than pale stains. "Well are you called Morgaine of the Fairies-the Old People could have no better advocate. Since you plead for their shelter, my lady, I will spare the grove while I live, but after me, Avalloch must do as he will. Will you fetch me my shoes and robe, so that I may dine in hall like a king, and not an old dodderer in bedgown and slippers?"
"To be sure," said Morgaine, "but I cannot lift you now. Huw will have to dress you."
But when the man had finished his work, she combed Uriens' hair and summoned the other man-at-arms who awaited the king's call. The two men lifted him, making a chair between their arms, and carried him into the hall, where Morgaine placed cushions about his high seat and watched as the thin old body was deposited there.
By that time she could hear servants bustling about, and riders in the courtyard ... Uwaine, she thought, hardly raising her eyes as the young man was escorted into the hall.
It was hard to bear in mind that this tall young knight, with broad shoulders and a battle scar along one cheek, was the scrawny little boy who had come to her, like a wild animal tamed, in her first lonely, desperate year at Uriens' court. Uwaine kissed his father's hand, then bent before Morgaine.
"My father. Dear mother-"
"It's good to see you home again, lad," said Uriens, but Morgaine's eyes were on the other man who followed him into the hall. For a moment she did not believe it, it was like seeing a ghost-surely if he were really here I would have seen him with the Sight... and then she understood. I have been trying so hard not to think of Accolon, lest I go mad ...
Accolon was slenderer than his brother, and not quite so tall. His eyes darted to Morgaine, one swift furtive look as he knelt before his father, but his voice was wholly correct when he turned to her. "It is good to be home again, lady-"
"It is good to have you here," she said steadily, "both of you. Uwaine, tell us how you got that dreadful scar on your cheek. Since the defeat of Emperor Lucius, I thought all men had pledged to Arthur to make no further trouble!"
"The usual," said Uwaine lightly. "Some bandit who moved into a deserted fort and amused himself by preying on the countryside and calling himself a king. Lot's son Gawaine went with me and we made short work of him, and Gawaine got himself a wife out of it-the lady is a widow with rich lands. As for this-" He touched the scar lightly. "While Gawaine fought the master I took the man-an ugly bastard who fought left-handed and got through my guard. Clumsy, too-I'd rather fight a good swordsman than a bad, any day! If you'd been there, Mother, I wouldn't have quite such a scar-the surgeon who stitched it up for me had hands like cabbages! Has it spoilt my looks as much as that?"
Morgaine reached out and gently touched her stepson's slashed cheek. "You will always be handsome to me, my son. But perhaps I can still do something-there is festering there and swelling; before I sleep I will make you a poultice for it, so that it will heal better. It must pain you."
"It does," Uwaine admitted, "but I thought myself lucky not to get the lockjaw from it, which one of my men did. Ai, what a death!" He shuddered. "When the wound swelled, I thought I was for it, too, and my good friend Gawaine said, as long as I could drink wine I was in no danger -and he kept me well supplied, too. I swear I was drunk for a fortnight, Mother!" He guffawed. "I would have given all the plunder of that bandit's castle for some of your soup-I couldn't chew bread or dried meat, and I nearly starved to death. I did lose three teeth ... ."
She rose and peered at the wound. "Open your mouth. Yes," she said, and gestured to one of the servants. "Bring sir Uwaine some stew, and some stewed fruit, too," she said. "You must not even try to chew hard food for a while. After supper, I'll see to it."
"I won't say no to that, Mother. It still hurts like the devil, and besides, there's a girl at Arthur's court-I don't want her to shrink away as if I were a devil face." He chuckled. But for all the pain in his wound he ate hugely, telling tales of the court until they were all laughing. Morgaine dared not take her eyes from her stepson, but all through the meal she could feel Accolon's eyes on her, warming her as if she were standing in sunlight after the winter's chill.
It was a merry meal, but at last Uriens began to look weary and Morgaine summoned his body servants. "This is the first day you have left your bed, my husband-you must not weary yourself too much."
Uwaine rose and said, "Let me carry you, Father." He stooped and lifted the sick man as if he were a child. Morgaine, following, turned back before leaving the dining hall to say, "See to all things here, Maline-I will bandage Uwaine's cheek before I go to rest."
Soon Uriens was tucked into bed in his own chamber, Uwaine standing beside him while Morgaine went to the kitchens to brew a poultice for his cheek. She had to prod the cook awake and set him to heating more water over the kitchen fire ... she should have a brazier and a cauldron in her own rooms if she was going to do this kind of work, why had she never thought of it before? She went up and sat Uwaine down so that she could poultice his cheek with the hot cloths wrung in steaming herb brew, and the young man sighed with relief as the poultice began to draw out the soreness from the festered wound.
"Oh, but that's good, Mother-that girl at Arthur's court wouldn't know how to do this. When I marry her, Mother, will you teach her some of your craft? Her name is Shana, and she's from Cornwall. She was one of Queen Isotta's ladies-how is it that Marcus calls himself king in Cornwall, Mother? I thought Tintagel belonged to you."
"So it does, my son, from Igraine and Duke Gorlois. I knew not that Marcus thought to reign there," Morgaine said. "Does Marcus dare to claim Tintagel as his own?"
"No, for the last I heard he had no champion there," Uwaine said. "Sir Drustan has gone into exile in Brittany-"
"Why? Was he one of the Emperor Lucius' men?" asked Morgaine. This talk of the court was a breath of life in the deadness of this isolated place.
Uwaine shook his head. "No ... there was talk that he and Queen Isotta had been overfond of each other," he said. "One can hardly blame the poor lady ... Cornwall is the end of the world, and Duke Marcus is old and peevish and his chamberlains say he is impotent too-hard life for the poor lady, while Drustan is handsome and a harper, and the lady fond of music."
"Have you no gossip of court save of wickedness and other men's wives?" demanded Uriens, scowling, and Uwaine laughed. "Well, I told the lady Shana that her father might send a messenger to you, and I hope, dear father, that when he comes you will not refuse him. Shana is not rich, but I have no great need of a dowry, I won goods enough in Brittany-I shall show you some of my plunder, and I have gifts for my mother, too." He raised his hand to stroke Morgaine's cheek as she bent over him, changing the poultice for a fresh one. "Well I know you are not such a woman as that lady Isotta, to turn your back on my good old father and play the harlot."
Her cheeks stung; she bent over the kettle of steaming herbs, wrinkling her nose at the bitter scent. Uwaine thought her the best of women, and his trust was sweet to her, yet there was the bitterness of knowing it unmerited.
At least I have never made Uriens look a fool, nor yet flaunted any other lover in his face ... .
"But you should go to Cornwall, when my father is well enough to travel," Uwaine said seriously, flinching a little as the heat of the poultice touched a new spot on his festered cheek. "There should be a clear understanding, Mother, that Marcus cannot lay claim to what is yours. You have not shown your face in Tintagel for so long that the common people may forget they have a queen."