Mists of Avalon - Marion Zimmer Bradley [247]
“Gwen, my dearest!” he said. “I had hoped Gawaine’s message would keep you safe in Tintagel—”
“Are you angry that I have come back?”
He shook his head. “No, of course not. So the roads are still safe, then, and you were lucky,” he said. “But I suppose this must mean that my mother . . .”
“She died two days ago, and was buried within the convent walls,” Gwenhwyfar said, “and I set out at once to bring you the news. And now you have nothing but reproach for me that I did not stay safely at Tintagel because of this war!”
“Not reproach, my dear wife,” he said gently, “concern for your safety. But sir Griflet cared well for you, I can see. Come and sit with us here.” He led her to a bench and seated her at his side. The silver and pottery dishes had vanished—she supposed they too had been sent to Camelot, and she wondered what had happened to the fine red dish of Roman make which her stepmother had given her at her wedding. The walls were bare and the place stripped, and they ate their food out of plain wooden bowls, the crude carved stuff of the markets. She said, dipping a piece of bread into the dish, “Already this place looks as if a battle had swept over it!”
“It seemed as well to me that everything should be sent ahead to Camelot,” he said, “and then we had the rumors of the Saxon landings and all’s confusion. Your father is here, my love—no doubt you will want to greet him.”
Leodegranz was seated near, though not in the inner ring of those around Arthur. She came and kissed him, feeling his bony shoulders under her hands—always her father had been a big man to her, big and imposing, and now suddenly he seemed old and wasted.
“I told my lord Arthur he should not have sent you travelling about the countryside at this time,” he said. “Ah, yes, no doubt it was well done of Arthur that he wished to send you to his mother’s deathbed, but he had a duty to his wife too, and Igraine has an unwedded daughter who should have been with her mother—where is the Duchess of Cornwall that she did not go?”
“I do not know where Morgaine is,” said Arthur. “My sister is a woman grown, and her own mistress. She need not seek my leave to be here or there.”
“Aye, it is ever so with a king,” said Leodegranz querulously, “he is lord of all save his womenfolk. Alienor is the same, and I have three daughters, not even old enough to marry, and they think they rule my household! You will see them at Camelot, Gwenhwyfar. I have sent them there for safekeeping, and the oldest, Isotta, is old enough—you might wish to make her one of your ladies, your own half-sister? And since I have no sons living, I want you to ask Arthur to marry her to one of his best knights when she is old enough.”
Gwenhwyfar shook her head in amazement at the thought of Isotta, her half-sister—old enough to come to court? Well, she had been almost seven years old when Gwenhwyfar was married—now she must be a great girl of twelve or thirteen. Elaine had been no older when she was brought to Caerleon. No doubt, if she asked, Arthur would give Isotta to one of his best knights, Gawaine perhaps, or possibly—since Gawaine would be king of Lothian some day—to Gaheris, who was the King’s own cousin. She said, “I am certain that Arthur and I together will find someone for my sister.”
“Lancelet is still unwed,” suggested Leodegranz, “and so is Duke Marcus of Cornwall. Though no doubt it would be more suitable if Marcus married the lady Morgaine and they combined their claims, then would the lady have someone to keep her castle and defend her lands. And, though I understand the lady is one of the damsels of the Lady of the Lake, no doubt Duke Marcus could tame her.”
Gwenhwyfar smiled at the thought of Morgaine being tamely married to someone they thought suitable. And then she grew angry. Why should Morgaine please herself? No other woman was allowed to do her own will, even Igraine who was mother to the King had been married as her elders thought good. Arthur should exert his authority and get Morgaine properly married