And all countries are alike to me
When I cannot see the fair fields and meadows of my home.
So I shall arise and follow my heart in its wandering
For what is the fair meadow of home to me
When I cannot see the face of my king
And the weight on my arm is but a band of gold
When the heart is empty of the weight of love.
And so I shall go roaming
Over the fishes' road
And the road of the great whale
And beyond the country of the wave
With none to bear me company
But the memory of those I loved
And the songs I sang out of a full heart,
And the cuckoo's cry in memory.
GWENHWYFAR BENT HER HEAD to hide tears. Arthur's head was lowered, his eyes covered by his hand. Morgaine was staring straight ahead and Gwenhwyfar could see the stripes of tears making wet streaks down her face. Arthur rose and came around the table; he put his arms round Lancelet and said in a voice that was not steady, "But you are again with your king and your friend, Galahad."
The old bitterness stabbed at Gwenhwyfar's heart. He sang of his king, not of his queen and his love. His love for me was never more than a part of his love for Arthur. She closed her eyes, unwilling to see them embrace.
"That was beautiful," said Morgause softly. "Who would ever think that a Saxon brute could write music like that-it must have been Lancelet, after all-"
Lancelet shook his head. "The music is theirs. And the words only a poor echo of their own ... ."
A voice that was like an echo of Lancelet's said gently, "But there are poets and musicians among the Saxons, as well as warriors, my lady," and Gwenhwyfar turned toward the voice. A young man in dark clothing, slender, dark-haired, a blur beyond her sight; but the voice, accented softly with the tones of the North country, still sounded like Lancelet's, the very pitch and timbre of his.
Arthur beckoned him forward. "There sits one at my table I do not know-and at a family party, that is not right. Queen Morgause-?"
She stood up in her place. "I had meant to present him to you before we went to table, but you were busy talking with old friends, my king. This is Morgaine's son, who was fostered at my court-Gwydion."
The youth came forward and bowed. "King Arthur," he said, in the warm voice that was like an echo of Lancelet's. For a moment a dizzied joy struck through Gwenhwyfar; this was Lancelet's son, surely, not Arthur's -and then she recalled that Morgaine's aunt, Viviane, was Lancelet's mother too.
Arthur embraced the youth. He said, in a voice too shaken to be audible three yards distant, "The son of my dearly beloved sister shall be received as a son at my own court, Gwydion. Come and sit beside me, lad."
Gwenhwyfar looked at Morgaine. She had spots of crimson on her cheek, as bright as if they were painted, and she was worrying her lower lip between her small, sharp teeth. Had Morgause not prepared her, then, to see her son presented to his father-no, to the King, Gwenhwyfar reminded herself sharply; there was no reason to think the boy had any idea who his father was. Though if he had ever looked in a mirror, no doubt he would come to believe, whatever anyone might say, that he was Lancelet's son.
Not a boy, after all. He must be near enough to five-and-twenty; he was a man.
"Your cousin, Galahad," Arthur said, and Galahad impulsively put out his hand.
"You are closer kin to the King than I, cousin-you have a better right than I to be where I am now," he said, with boyish spontaneity. "I wonder you don't hate me!"
Gwydion smiled and said, "How do you know I do not, cousin?" and for a moment Gwenhwyfar was jolted, until she saw the smile. Yes, he was Morgaine's son, he had the cat-smile she could show sometimes! Galahad blinked, then decided the words were meant as a jest. Gwenhwyfar could follow Galahad's transparent thoughts-Is this my father's son, is Gwydion my bastard brother by Queen Morgaine? He looked hurt, too, like a puppy whose playful proffer of friendship has been rebuffed.
"No, cousin," Gwydion said, "what you are thinking is not true." Gwenhwyfar thought, her breath catching in her throat, that he even had Lancelet's sudden breathtaking smile that transformed a rather dark and somber face into an overwhelming brilliance, as if a ray of sun had come out and transformed it.
Galahad said defensively, "I was not-I did not-"
"No," said Gwydion, kindly, "you did not say anything, but it is all too obvious what you are thinking, and what everyone in this room must be thinking." He raised his voice, just a little, that voice so like Lancelet's, although overlaid with the soft North-country accent: "In Avalon, cousin, we take our lineage from the line of the mother. I am of the old royal line of Avalon, and that is quite enough for me. It would be arrogance for any man to claim to be father to the child of a High Priestess of Avalon. But of course, like most men, I would like to know who fathered me, and what you thought has been said before-that I am the son of Lancelot. That likeness has been remarked upon before this-especially among the Saxons where I spent three years learning to be a warrior," he added. "Your reputation among them, lord Lancelet, is still much remembered there! I could not count how many men said to me that it was no disgrace to be the bastard son of a man like you, sir!" His low chuckle was like an eerie echo of the man he faced, and Lancelet looked uneasy too. "But in the end I always had to tell them that what they thought was not true. Of all the men in this kingdom who could have fathered me, one I know is not my father. And so, I must inform them that it is only a family likeness, no more. I am your cousin, Galahad, not your brother." He leaned lazily back in his chair. "Will it embarrass you too much-that everyone who sees us will think so? After all, we cannot go around telling everyone the truth!"
Galahad looked confused. "I would not have minded if you were truly my brother, Gwydion."
"But then I should have been your father's son and perhaps the King's heir, too," Gwydion said, and smiled-and it struck Gwenhwyfar suddenly that he actually took pleasure in the discomfort of the people around the table; that he was Morgaine's son, if only in that touch of malice.
Morgaine said, in that low voice which carried so clearly without being loud, "It would not have been displeasing to me, either, if Lancelet had fathered you, Gwydion."
"No, I suppose not, lady," Gwydion said. "Forgive me, lady Morgaine. Always I have called Queen Morgause my mother-"
Morgaine laughed. "If I seem an unlikely mother to you, Gwydion, you seem just as unlikely a son to me. I am grateful for this family party, Gwenhwyfar," she said. "I might have been confronted with my son tomorrow at the great feast, without warning."
Uriens said, "I think any woman would be proud of such a son, and as to your father, whoever he may have been, young Gwydion, it is his own loss that he did not claim you for his own."
"Oh, I don't think so," Gwydion said, and Gwenhwyfar thought, watching the small flicker of his eyes toward Arthur, He may say for some reason that he does not know who is his father, but he is lying. Somehow that made her uncomfortable. Yet how much more uncomfortable it would be if he were to face Arthur and demand to know why he, the son, was not also the heir.
Avalon, that accursed place! She wished it would sink into the sea like the lost land of Ys in the old tale, and never be heard of again!
"But this is Galahad's special night," Gwydion said, "and I am taking attention away from him. Are you to watch by your arms this night, cousin?"
Galahad nodded. "It is the custom for Arthur's Companions."
"I was the first," Gareth said, "and it is a good custom. I suppose it is the nearest a layman can come to being a priest, to take vows that he will always serve his king and his land and his God with his arms." He laughed and said, "What a fool of a boy I was-my lord Arthur, have you ever forgiven me, that I refused your offer to knight me with your own hands, and instead asked that Lancelet might do so?"