Mists of Avalon - Marion Zimmer Bradley [260]
He called to his squire, who stood at the door of the room, to come and take the banner carefully and to raise it above their camp. “For we march at dawn tomorrow,” he said, “and all must see my lady’s banner with the Holy Virgin and the cross flying above the legion of Arthur.”
The squire looked startled. “Sir—my lord—what of the Pendragon banner?”
Arthur said, “Take it to the steward, and bid him lay it somewhere away. We march under the standard of God.”
The squire did as Arthur said, and Arthur smiled at Gwenhwyfar, but there was little gladness in the smile. “I will come to see you at sunset, with your father and some of our kin. We will dine here, and I will have my stewards bring food for us all. Elaine shall not be troubled with providing for so many. Until then, my dear wife,” and he went away.
In the end the small dinner was held in one of the little halls, for Gwenhwyfar’s chamber would not hold so many in comfort. Gwenhwyfar and Elaine put on the best gowns which had remained here at Caerleon and did their hair with ribbons; it was exciting to have some kind of festival after the grim confinement of the last weeks. The feast—though indeed it was not much better than army rations—was spread on trestle tables. Most of Arthur’s older councillors had been sent to Camelot, including Bishop Patricius, but Taliesin the Merlin had been bidden to dine, and King Lot, and King Uriens of Wales, and Duke Marcus of Cornwall, and Lancelet’s older half-brother, Lionel of Less Britain, Ban’s oldest son and heir. Lancelet was there too, and he found a moment to come to Gwenhwyfar’s side and kiss her hand, looking into her eyes with hopeless tenderness.
“Are you recovered, my lady? I was troubled for you.” Under cover of the shadows, he kissed her, only a feather-brushing of soft lips against her temple.
King Leodegranz came too, scowling and fussing, to kiss her brow. “I am sorry for your illness, my dear, and sorry you lost your child, but Arthur should have bundled you off to Camelot in a litter—that is how I would have handled Alienor, if she had gainsaid me,” he scolded. “And now, see, you have gained nothing by staying!”
“You must not rebuke her,” said Taliesin gently, “she has suffered enough, my lord. If Arthur does not reproach her, it is not for her father to do so.”
Elaine tactfully changed the subject. “Who is yonder Duke Marcus?”
“He is a cousin of Gorlois of Cornwall, who died before Uther took the throne,” said Lancelet, “and he has asked Arthur that if we win the day at Mount Badon, he shall have Cornwall by marrying our kinswoman Morgaine.”
“That old man?” said Gwenhwyfar, shocked.
“I think it would be as well to give Morgaine to an older man—she has not the kind of beauty to attract a younger one,” said Lancelet. “But she is clever and learned, and as it happens, Duke Marcus wants her not for himself but for his son Drustan, who is one of Cornwall’s best knights. Arthur has made him one of his Companions now, on the eve of this battle. Though it’s likely, if Morgaine returns not to court, that Drustan will wed with the daughter of the old Breton king Hoell—” He chuckled. “Court gossip of the making of marriages—is there nothing else to speak of?”
“Well,” said Elaine boldly, “when will you tell us of your marriage, sir Lancelet?”
He inclined his head gallantly and said, “On the day when your father offers you to me, lady Elaine, I will not refuse him. But it is likely your father will have you wed a wealthier man than I, and since my lady here is already wedded"—he bowed to Gwenhwyfar but she saw the sadness in his eyes—"I am in no haste