"And your elder daughter?" asked Arthur.
"Sire, she is in a nunnery," Lancelet said.
"Is that what Elaine told you?" Morgaine asked, and again there was the flash of malice in her eyes. "She is in your own mother's place in Avalon, Lancelet. Did you not know?"
He said peacefully, "It is all one. The priestesses of the House of Maidens are much like to the nuns of holy church, living lives of chastity and prayer, and serving God in their own way." He turned quickly to Queen Morgause, who was approaching them. "Well, Aunt, I cannot say you are unchanged by time, but the years have treated you kindly indeed."
She looks so like Igraine! I have heard only the jests and have laughed at her, but now I can well believe that young Lamorak is beglamoured by her for love and not ambition! Morgause was a big woman, and tall, her hair was still rich and red, flowing in loose braids, over her green gown-a vast expanse of brocaded silk, embroidered with pearls and golden threads. A narrow coronet set with shining topaz twinkled in her hair. Gwenhwyfar held out her arms and embraced her kinswoman, saying, "You look much like Igraine, Queen Morgause. I loved her well, and still I think often of her."
"When I was younger that statement would have had me frantic with jealousy, Gwenhwyfar-I was maddened that my sister Igraine was more beautiful than I, and had so many kings and lords at her feet. Now I remember only that she was beautiful and kind, and I am glad to know I resemble her still." She turned to embrace Morgaine, and Gwenhwyfar saw that Morgaine was lost in the bigger woman's embrace, that Morgause towered over her ... . Why did I ever fear Morgaine? She is just a little thing after all, and the queen of an unregarded kingdom ... . Morgaine's dress was a simple dark wool, and she wore no ornament but a silver torque about her throat and some kind of silver bracelet about her arms. Her hair, dark and rich as ever, was simply braided and wound around her head.
Ardiur had come up to embrace his sister and his aunt. Gwenhwyfar took Galahad's hand in hers. "You shall sit by me, kinsman." Ah, yes, this was the son I should have borne to Lancelet-or to Arthur ... . She said, as they sat down, "And now you have come to know your father, have you discovered, as Morgaine said, that he is no saint but merely a very lovable man?"
"Ah, but what else is a saint?" asked Galahad, his eyes shining. "I cannot think of him as only a man, lady, he is surely more than that. He is the son of a king too, and I am sure that if they chose the best rather than the eldest son, he would reign in Less Britain. I think that man is happy whose father is also his hero," he said. "I had some time to speak with Gawaine-he despised his father and thought little of him, but no man has ever spoken of my father save with admiration!"
"I hope, then, that you see him always as a hero untarnished," said Gwenhwyfar. She had placed Galahad between herself and Arthur, as befitted the adopted heir to the kingdom; Arthur had chosen to seat Queen Morgause next to him, with Gawaine beyond, and next to him, Uwaine, who was Gawaine's friend and protege, as Gareth had been Lancelet's when they were younger.
At the table next to them were Morgaine and her husband, and other guests; they were all kin, but she could not see their faces clearly. She craned her neck and squinted to see, reproving herself-squinting would make her ugly-and rubbed at the right wrinkle beneath her brows. She wondered suddenly whereby her old fear of open spaces when she was a girl had simply come from being so shortsighted? Had she feared what the world was like only because she could not really see?
She asked Arthur across Galahad, who was eating with the hearty appetite of a healthy boy still growing, "Did you bid Kevin dine with us?"
"Aye, but he sent a message that he could not come. Since he could not be in Avalon, perhaps he keeps the holy day in his own fashion. I bid Bishop Patricias as well, but he keeps the vigil of Pentecost in the church -he will see you there at midnight, Galahad."
"I think that being made a king must be a little like being made a priest," said Galahad clearly; there was a lull in the conversation that made his young voice audible from one end of the table to another. "They are both sworn to serve man and God and to do what is right-"
Gareth said, "I felt something like that, lad. God grant you see it always so."
"I have always wanted my Companions to be men dedicated to the right." said Arthur. "I do not demand that they be godly men, Galahad, but I have hoped they would be good men."
Lancelet said to Arthur, "Perhaps these youngsters may live in a world where it is easier to be good," and it seemed to Gwenhwyfar that he sounded sad.
"But you are good, Father," said Galahad. "All up and down this land it is told that you are King Arthur's greatest knight."
Lancelet chuckled, embarrassed. "Aye-like that Saxon hero who tore the arm from the Lake monster. My works and deeds have been made into song because the true tale is not exciting enough to tell by the fireside in winter."
"But you did slay a dragon, did you not?" Galahad said.
"Oh, yes-and it was a fearful beast enough, I suppose. But your grandsire did as much as I in killing it," said Lancelet. "Gwenhwyfar, my lady, we dine never so well as at your table-"
"Too well," said Arthur cheerfully, patting his middle. "If feasts like this came often, I would be as fat as one of those beer-guzzling Saxon kings. And tomorrow is Pentecost, and another feast for even more folk-I do not know how my lady does it!"
Gwenhwyfar felt a small glow of pride. "This feast is mine, that of tomorrow is sir Cai's pride-for that one the beeves are already roasting in their pit. My lord Uriens, you are eating no meat ... "
Uriens shook his head. "A wing of one of those birds, perhaps. Since my son was slain, I have vowed never again to eat the flesh of swine."
"And your queen shares your vow?" said Arthur. "As always, Mor-gaine is all but fasting-no wonder you are so small and spare, my sister!"
"It is no hardship for me not to eat swine's flesh."
"Is your voice sweet as ever, my sister? Since Kevin could not join us, perhaps you would sing or play-"
"If you had told me you wished it, I would not have eaten so well. I cannot sing now. Later, perhaps."
"Then you, Lancelet," Arthur said.
Lancelet shrugged and gestured to a servant to bring the harp. "Kevin will sing this tomorrow-I am no match for him. I made the words from a Saxon poet. I said once I could live with the Saxons, but not with what they called music. Then, when I dwelt among them last year, I heard this song and wept when I heard it, and tried in my poor way to put it into our tongue." He left his seat to take the small harp. "It is for you, my king," he said, "for it speaks of what sorrow I knew when I dwelt far from court and from my lord-but the music is Saxon. I had thought, before this, that all their songs were of war and battle and fighting."
He began to play a soft, sorrowful melody; his fingers were not as skillful as those of Kevin, but the sad song had a power of its own, which gradually quieted them. He sang, in the husky voice of an untrained singer:
"What sorrow is like to the sorrow of one who is alone?
Once I dwelt in the company of the king I loved well,
And my arm was heavy with the weight of the rings he gave,
And my heart weighed down with the gold of his love.
The face of the king is like the sun to those who surround him,
But now my heart is empty
And I wander alone throughout the world.
The groves take on their blossoms,
The trees and meadows grow fair,
But the cuckoo, saddest of singers,
Cries forth the lonely sorrow of the exile,
And now my heart goes wandering,
In search of what I shall never see more;
All faces are alike to me if I cannot see the face of my king,