Mists of Avalon - Marion Zimmer Bradley [367]
Accolon was still waiting for her answer, his face turned to her, eagerly. If I willed it, he would kiss me, he would beg me for the favor of a single touch. She knew it and the thought was healing to her pride. She smiled at him, a smile that dazzled him.
“I will indeed, if we can sit far off from your father.”
And it struck her suddenly: Arthur had looked at her like that. That is what Gwenhwyfar fears. She knows what I did not know, that if I stretched my hand to Arthur, I could make him ignore anything she said; Arthur loves me best. I have no desire for Arthur, I would have him only as a dear brother, but she does not know that. She fears that I will beckon with my hand, and with the secret arts of Avalon I will seduce him to my bed again.
“I beg you, go inside and change your—your gown,” said Accolon earnestly, and Morgaine smiled at him again and pressed his hand in her own.
“I will see you at the feast.”
All through the holy day service, Gwenhwyfar had sat alone, striving to compose herself. The Archbishop had preached the usual Pentecost sermon, telling of the descent of the Holy Spirit, and she thought, If Arthur has at last repented all his sins and become a Christian, then I must give thanks to the Holy Spirit for coming on us both today. She let her fingers stray unseen to her belly; today they had lain together, it might be that at Candlemas she would hold in her arms the heir to the kingdom . . . she looked across the church to where Lancelet knelt at Elaine’s side. She could see, jealously, that Elaine’s waist was already swelling again. Another son, or a daughter. And now Elaine flaunts herself, beside the man I loved so long and so well with the son I should have borne . . . well, I must bend my head and be humble a while, it will not hurt me to pretend that I believe her son will follow Arthur on his throne. . . . Ah, I am a sinful woman, I spoke to Arthur of humbling his pride, and I am full of pride.
The church was crowded, as always at this holy day mass. Arthur looked pale and subdued; he had spoken with the bishop, but there had been no time for extended talk before the mass. She knelt beside him and felt that he was a stranger, far more of a stranger than when she had first lain in his bed, terrified of the unknown things ahead of her.
I should have held my peace with Morgaine. . . .
Why do I feel guilty? It was Morgaine who sinned . . . I have repented my sins and confessed them and been absolved. . . .
Morgaine was not in the church; no doubt, she had not had the brazenness to come unshriven to holy services when she had been exposed for what she was—incestuous, heathen, witch, sorceress.
The service seemed to last forever, but at last the blessing was given and the people began to move out of the church. Once for a moment she found herself crushed against Elaine and Lancelet; he had his arm protectively around his wife, that she should not be jostled. Gwenhwyfar raised her eyes to them, so that she need not look at Elaine’s swollen belly.
“It is long since we have seen you at court,” she said.
“Ah, there is much to do in the North,” Lancelet said.
“No more dragons, I trust?” Arthur asked.
“God be thanked, no,” Lancelet said, smiling. “My first sight of a dragon was like to be my last. . . . God forgive me that I mocked at Pellinore when he spoke of the beast! And now that there are no more Saxons to slay, I suppose our Companions must go against dragons and bandits and reavers, and all manner of ill things that plague the people.”
Elaine smiled shyly at Gwenhwyfar. “My husband is like to all men—they would rather go into battle, even against dragons, than stay home and enjoy that peace they fought so hard to win! Is Arthur so?”
“I think he has battle enough, here at court where all men come to him for justice,