Mists of Avalon - Marion Zimmer Bradley [210]
Lancelet, at Arthur’s wedding . . . that had come to nothing, through no fault of their own. And Lancelet has stayed away from the court as often as he might . . . no doubt, so that he need not see Gwenhwyfar in Arthur’s arms! But he is here now . . . and like herself, he was alone this night, among soldiers and horsemen, no doubt dreaming of the Queen, of the one woman in the kingdom he could not have. For surely every other woman at court, wedded or maiden, was as willing to have him as she herself. Save for bad fortune at Arthur’s wedding, she would have had him; and honorable as he was, if he had made her pregnant, he would have married her.
Not that it is likely I would have conceived, with the harm I suffered at Gwydion’s birth . . . but I need not have told him that. And I could have made him happy, even if I could not bear him a son. There was a time he wanted me, before ever he saw Gwenhwyfar, and after too . . . save for mischance, I would have made him forget her in my arms. . . .
And I am not so undesirable as that . . . when I was singing tonight, many of the knights looked on me with desire. . . .
I could make Lancelet desire me. . . .
Elaine said impatiently, “Will you not come to bed, Morgaine?”
“Not yet awhile . . . I think I will walk a little out of doors,” said Morgaine, though this was forbidden to the Queen’s women, and Elaine shrank back, with that timidity which so exasperated Morgaine. She wondered if Elaine had caught it from the Queen like a fever, or a new fashion in wearing veils.
“Are you not afraid with all the men encamped about?”
Morgaine laughed. “Well, think you not I am weary of lying alone?” But she saw that the jest offended Elaine and said, more gently, “I am the King’s sister. None would touch me against my will. Do you really think me so tempting no man could resist me? I am six-and-twenty, not a dainty young virgin like yourself, Elaine.”
Morgaine lay down, without undressing, beside Elaine. In the darkness and silence, as she had feared, her imagination—or was it the Sight?—made pictures: Arthur with Gwenhwyfar, men with women all round her throughout the castle, joined in love or simple lust.
And Lancelet, was he alone too? Memory attacked her again, more intense than imagination, and she remembered that day, bright sunlight on the Tor, Lancelet’s kisses running that first awakening knife-sharp through her body; and the bitterness of regret that she was pledged elsewhere. And then, when Arthur was wedded to Gwenhwyfar, and he had come near to tearing off her clothes and having her there in the stables—he had wanted her then. . . .
Now, sharp as the Sight, the picture came to her mind, Lancelet walking in the courtyard, alone, his face empty with loneliness and frustration . . . I have not used the Sight nor my own magic to draw him to me in selfish purpose . . . it came to me unsought. . . .
Silently, moving quietly so as not to waken the younger girl, she freed herself from Elaine’s arm, slid gently from the bed. She had taken off only her shoes; she stooped now to draw them on, then silently went from the room, moving as noiselessly as a wraith from Avalon.
If it is a dream born of my own imagination, if he is not there, I will walk a little in the moonlight to cool my fever and then go back to my bed, there will be no harm done. But the picture persisted in her mind and she knew that Lancelet was there alone, like herself wakeful.
He too was of Avalon . . . the sun tides run in his blood too. . . . Morgaine, slipping quietly out of the door past the drowsing watchman, cast a glance at the sky. The moon, a quarter full,