Mists of Avalon - Marion Zimmer Bradley [288]
“Lancelet has gone there, but he should return quickly,” said Morgaine, and Kevin added, “Viviane, too, would ride to Lothian for some reason, though we thought, all of us, that she was too old for such a journey.”
Why, then, she will see my son. . . . Morgaine’s heart leapt, and there was a tightness like pain, or weeping, in her throat. Kevin seemed not to see.
“I met not with Lancelet on the road,” he said. “No doubt he took another road, or stayed to greet his mother, or perhaps"—he grinned slyly—"to keep the Beltane feast. That would give joy to every woman in Lothian, if he tarried there. Morgause would not let such a tender morsel escape her clutches.”
“She is his mother’s sister,” Morgaine said, “and I think Lance is too good a Christian for that. He has courage enough to face the Saxons in battle, but small courage for that battle.”
Kevin raised his eyebrows. “Oh ho, is it so? I doubt not you speak from knowledge,” he said, “but for politeness’ sake we will say it is from the Sight! But Morgause would like well to see Arthur’s best knight brought low by scandal—then would Gawaine stand nearer to the throne. And the lady is liked well by all men—she is not so old, either, but still beautiful, her hair still red as ever without a line of grey—”
“Oh,” said Morgaine caustically, “they sell henna from Egypt in the markets of Lothian.”
“And her waist is slim, and they say she practices magic arts to spellbind men to her,” Kevin said, “but this is gossip and no more. I have heard she has ruled well enough in Lothian. Do you dislike her so much, Morgaine?”
“No. She is my kinswoman and has been good to me,” Morgaine said, and started to say, She fostered my child, and that would open the way to ask if he had heard news of Gwydion . . . then she stopped herself. Even to Kevin she could not confess that. She said, instead, “But I like it not that my kinswoman Morgause should be the common talk of Britain as a bawd.”
“It is not so bad as that,” Kevin said, laughing, and put away his wine cup. “If the lady has an eye to handsome men, she would not be the first or last. And now Morgause is widowed, no man can call her to account for who lies in her bed. But I must not keep the High King waiting. Wish me fortune, Morgaine, for I must bring ill news to my king, and you know the doom meted of old to him who brought the king news he had no mind to hear!”
“Arthur is not that sort,” said Morgaine. “But if it is not secret, what ill news do you bring?”
“Not news at all,” said Kevin, “for it has been said more than once that Avalon will not have it that he rule as a Christian king, whatever his private faith may be. He shall not allow the priests to put down the worship of the Goddess, nor touch the oak groves. And if he does so, then am I to say to him from the Lady: the hand which gave him the sacred sword of the Druids can turn it in his hand to smite him.”
“That will not be pleasant hearing,” said Morgaine, “but perhaps it will call his oath to mind.”
“Aye, and Viviane has still one other weapon she can use,” said Kevin, but when Morgaine asked what, he would tell her no more.
When he had gone from her, Morgaine sat thinking of the night to come. There would be music at dinner, and later—well, Kevin was a pleasant lover, gentle and eager to please her, and she was wearied of sleeping alone.
She was still sitting in the hall when Cai came to announce that another rider had come—"A kinsman of yours, lady Morgaine. Would you greet him and serve him wine?”
Morgaine agreed—had Lancelet returned so soon already?—but the rider was Balan.
She hardly knew him at first—he was