Mists of Avalon - Marion Zimmer Bradley [373]
“I have said I will not reproach you with anything that is past, lady Morgaine—”
“You do not understand. It went so ill with me when that child was born that I will certainly never bear another.” A king, I thought, a king would want a fertile bride, even more than his younger son. . . .
He patted my hand. I think he actually meant to comfort me. “I have sons enough,” he said. “I have no need of others. Children are a fine thing, but I have had my share and more.”
I thought: He is foolish, he is old . . . but he is kind. If he had professed a madness of desire for me, I would have been sickened by him, but kindness I can live with.
“Do you grieve for your son, Morgaine? If you wish, you may send for him and have him fostered at my court, and I swear to you that neither he nor you shall ever hear a word of reproach, and he shall be decently reared as befits the son of the Duchess of Cornwall and the Queen of North Wales.”
This kindness brought tears to my eyes. “You are very kind,” I said, “but he is well where he is, in Avalon.”
“Well, if you decide otherwise, tell me,” he said. “I would be glad of another boy about the house, and he would be the right age, I suppose, for a playmate to my youngest son, Uwaine.”
“I thought Accolon was your youngest, sir.”
“No, no, Uwaine is only nine years old. His mother died when he was born . . . you wouldn’t think an old fellow like me could have a boy as young as nine, would you?”
Why, yes, I would, I thought with an ironic smile, men are as proud of their ability to father sons as if it took a great skill. As if any tomcat could not do the same! At least a woman must bear a child in her body for most of a year and suffer to bring it forth, and so she has some reason for pride; but men accomplish their trick with no thought or trouble at all!
But I said, trying to make a jest of it, “When I was a young girl, sir, there was a saying in my country: a husband of forty may not become a father, but a husband of sixty surely will do so.”
I had done this deliberately. If he had gone stiff and offended by the ribaldry of that, I would have known how I must treat him in the future, and taken great care always to speak him modest and quiet. Instead he laughed heartily and said, “I think you and I may agree well enough, my dear. I have had enough of being married to young girls who don’t know how to laugh. I hope you will be content, marrying an old fellow like me. My sons laugh at me because I married again after Uwaine was born, but to tell the truth, lady Morgaine, a man gets used to being married, and I do not like living alone. And when my last wife died of the summer fever—well, it is true that I wished to be akin by marriage to your brother, but also, I am lonely. And it comes to me that you, who are unmarried so many years beyond the women of your age, you may not like it so ill to have a home and a husband, even if he is not young and handsome. I know you were not consulted about this marriage—but I hope you will not be too unhappy.”
At least, I thought, he does not expect me to be madly excited about the great honor of being married to him. I could have said that it would be no change—I had not truly been happy since I left Avalon, and since I would be unhappy wherever I was, at least it would be better to be away from Gwenhwyfar’s malice. I could no longer make pretense to be her loyal kinswoman and friend, and that saddened me somewhat, because there had been a time when we had truly been friends, and it was not I who had changed. I certainly had no wish to rob her of Lancelet; but how could I explain to her that, though I had once desired him, I despised him, too, and would not have had him for husband as a gift. Oh, yes, if Arthur had married us to each other before he was wed to Gwenhwyfar—but even then it was too late. It was always too late after that afternoon beneath the ring stones. If I had let him take me then, none of this would have come about . . . but