"Challenge him, someday," Accolon said, laughing, "I did so, and he took all the conceit out of me in five minutes! He may be old, but he has all his skill and strength."
He handed Morgaine and his father into the seats reserved for them. "By your leave, I will go and enter the lists before it is too late."
"And I," said Uwaine, bending to kiss his father's hand. He turned to Morgaine. "I have no lady, Mother. Will you give me a token to bear into the lists?"
Morgaine smiled indulgently and gave him a ribbon from her sleeve, which he tied about his arm, saying, "I have arranged to challenge Gawaine to a trial of strength."
Gwydion said with his charming smile, "Why, lady, you had better take back your favor-would you have your honor so easily disposed of as that?"
Morgaine laughed up at Accolon, and Morgause, watching her face come alight, thought, Uwaine is her son, far more than Gwydion; but Accolon, it is plain to see, is more than that. I wonder if the old king knows-or cares?
Lamorak was approaching them, and Morgause felt warmed and complimented-there were many pretty ladies on the field, he could have a favor from any of them, yet, before them all, before all Camelot, her dear young man would come and bow before her.
"My lady, may I wear a token into battle?"
"With pleasure, my dear." Morgause gave him the rose from the nosegay she wore at her bosom. He kissed the flower; she gave him her hand, pleasantly conscious that her young knight was one of the handsomest men there.
"Lamorak seems enchanted by you," said Morgaine, and although she had given her favor to him before the whole court, Morgause felt herself blush at Morgaine's detached voice.
"Do you think I have need of charms or spells, kinswoman?"
Morgaine laughed. "I should have used another word. Young men seem mostly to want a fair face and little more."
"Well, Morgaine, Accolon is younger than you, and you have certainly captivated him to the point where he has no desire for a younger woman-or a fairer one. I am not the one to reproach you, my dear. You were married against your will, and your husband could be your grandsire."
Morgaine shrugged. "Sometimes I think Uriens knows-perhaps he is glad that I have a lover who will not tempt me to leave him."
A little hesitantly-she had never asked Morgaine any personal question since Gwydion's birth-Morgause said, "You and Uriens are at odds, then?"
Morgaine gave again that indifferent shrug. "I think Uriens cares not enough for me to be at odds one way or the other."
"How like you Gwydion?" Morgause asked.
"He frightens me," said Morgaine. "Yet it would be hard not to be charmed by him."
"What do you expect? He has Lancelet's beauty and your powers of mind-and he is ambitious as well."
"How strange that you should know my son better than I do," Morgaine said, and there was so much bitterness in the words that Morgause, whose first instinct was to rap out a sharp reply-Morgaine had deserted her son, why should it surprise her?-patted the younger woman's hand and said, not unkindly, "Oh, my dear, once a son is grown out of your lap, I think anyone knows him better than his mother! I am sure that Arthur and his Companions, and even your Uwaine, all know Gawaine better than I do, and he is not even a hard man to understand-he's a perfectly simple man. If you had reared him from a babe you still would not understand Gwydion-I freely confess that I do not!"
Morgaine's only answer was an uneasy smile. She turned to look at the lists, where the first events were starting; Arthur's fools and clowns were dancing about in ridiculous mock battles, flapping pig's bladders for weapons and cloth banners, garishly painted, in the place of shields, until the watchers were guffawing at their capers. They bowed at last, and Gwenhwyfar, in an exaggerated parody of the gesture with which she would later bestow prizes to the real winners, flung them handfuls of sweets and cakes. They scrambled for them, to more laughter and applause, then capered away to the good dinner waiting for them in the kitchens.
One of the criers called out that the first match would be a trial combat between the Queen's champion, sir Lancelet of the Lake, and the King's, sir Gawaine of Lothian and the Isles. There was a tumult of applause as they came onto the field-Lancelet slender, dark, and still so handsome, despite the lines in his face and the grey in his hair, that Morgaine felt her breath catch.
Yes, thought Morgause, watching her younger kinswoman's face, she loves him still, despite the years. Perhaps she does not know it herself, but there it is.
The combat was like an elaborately choreographed dance, the two moving round one another, their swords and shields ringing loud. Morgause could not see that either of them had the slightest advantage, and when at last they lowered their swords, bowed to the King, and embraced each other, they were cheered impartially and applauded without the slightest favoritism.
Then came the horse games: demonstrations of fancy riding, a man riding an unbroken horse to master it-Morgause faintly remembered a time when Lancelet had done some such thing, perhaps at Arthur's wedding -it seemed very long ago. After that, there were individual duels on horseback, with blunted spears which could nevertheless unhorse a rider and give him a nasty spill into the field. One young rider fell twisted on his leg and was carried away screaming, the leg sticking out at an improbable angle. This was the only serious injury, but there were bruises, smashed fingers, men flung senseless to the ground, and one who barely escaped being kicked by a badly trained horse. Gwenhwyfar gave prizes at the end of all this, and Morgaine too was called by Arthur and asked to distribute several prizes.
Accolon had won one of the prizes for riding, and as he came to kneel and accept the prize from Morgaine's hands, Morgause was astonished to hear a low, but perceptible hiss of disapproval somewhere in the stands. Someone softly but audibly whispered, "Witch! Harlot!"
Morgaine colored, but her hands did not falter as she handed Accolon the cup. Arthur said in a low voice to one of his stewards, "Find out who that was!" and the man slipped away, but Morgause was sure that in such a crowd, the voice would never be recognized.
When Morgaine came back to her seat at the start of the second half of the entertainment, she looked pale and angry; her hands, Morgause noted, were shaking, and her breath coming fast in her throat.
"My dear, don't worry about it," said Morgause. "What do you think they call me, when it is a year of poor crops, or when someone has had justice done to him and would rather have gotten away with his villainy?"
"Do you think I care what that rabble think of me?" Morgaine said scornfully, but Morgause knew her indifference was pretended. "I am loved well enough in my own country."
The second half of the games began with some Saxon churls demonstrating the art of wrestling. They were huge hairy men, hair not only on their faces but all over their near-naked bodies; they grunted and strained and heaved, with hoarse cries, grappling and wrenching with bone-cracking strength. Morgause leaned forward, shamelessly enjoying the sight of their male strength; but Morgaine turned her eyes away in squeamish distaste.
"Oh, come, Morgaine, you are growing as prudish as the Queen. What a face!" Morgause shaded her eyes with her hand and glanced down to the field. "I think the mock battle is about to begin-Look! Is that Gwydion? What can he be doing?"
Gwydion had leaped into the field, and waving away the crier who hurried to him, called out in a strong, clear voice which could be heard clearly from one end of the field to another, "King Arthur!"
Morgause saw that Morgaine had sunk back, white as death, and was clutching the rails with both hands. What was the lad about? Was he going to make a scene here before half of Arthur's people, demanding the acknowledgment that was his?