Mists of Avalon - Marion Zimmer Bradley [376]
“True, true—but if I do not go, they will think their king does not care for them,” Uriens said. “But perhaps when the roads are bad next winter I will do so. . . .”
“You had better,” she said. “If you have chilblains again, you could lose the use of your hands.”
“The fact is, Morgaine,” he said, smiling his good-natured smile at her, “I am an old man, and there is nothing that can be done about it. Do you think there is roast pork for supper?”
“Yes,” she said, “and some early cherries. I made sure of that.”
“You are a notable housekeeper, my dear,” he said, and took her arm as they went out of the room. She thought, He thinks he is being kind to say so.
The household of Uriens was assembled already for the evening meal: Avalloch; Avalloch’s wife, Maline, and their young children; Uwaine, lanky and dark, with his three young foster-brothers and the priest who was their tutor; and below them at the long table the men-at-arms and their ladies, and the upper servants. As Uriens and Morgaine took their seats and Morgaine signalled to the servants to bring food, Maline’s younger child began to clamor and shout.
“Granny! I want to sit on Granny’s knee! Want Granny to feed me!”
Maline—a slender, fair-haired, pale young woman, heavily pregnant—frowned and said, “No, Conn, sit down prettily and be quiet!”
But the child had already toddled to Morgaine’s knee, and she laughed and lifted him up. I am an unlikely grandmother, she thought; Maline is almost as old as I. But Uriens’ grandsons were fond of her, and she hugged the little boy close, taking pleasure in the feel of the small curly head digging into her waist, the grubby little fingers clutching at her. She sliced bits of pork with her knife and fed them to Conn from her own plate, then cut him a piece of bread in the shape of a pig.
“See, now you have more pork to eat . . .” she said, wiping her greasy fingers, and turned her attention to her own meal. She ate but little meat, even now; she soaked her bread in the meat juices, but no more. She was quickly finished, while the rest were still eating; she leaned back in her chair and began to sing softly to Conn, who curled up contentedly in her lap. After a time she grew aware that they were all listening to her, and she let her voice drop away.
“Please go on singing, Mother,” Uwaine said, but she shook her head.
“No, I am tired—listen, what did I hear in the courtyard?” She rose and signalled to one of the serving-men to light her to the doorway. Torch held high, he stood behind her, and she saw the rider come into the great courtyard. The serving-man stuck his torch into one of the wall brackets and hurried to help the rider dismount. “My lord Accolon!”
He came, his scarlet cape swirling behind him like a river of blood. “Lady Morgaine,” he said, with a deep bow, “or should I say—my lady mother?”
“Please do not,” Morgaine said impatiently. “Come in, Accolon, your father and brothers will be happy to see you.”
“As you are not, lady?”
She bit her lip, suddenly wondering if she would weep. She said, “You are a king’s son, as I am a king’s daughter. Do I have to remind you how such marriages are made? It was not my doing, Accolon, and when we spoke together, I had no idea—” She stopped, and he looked down at her, then stooped over her hand.
He said so softly that even the serving-man did not hear, “Poor Morgaine. I believe you, lady. Peace between us, then—Mother?”
“Only if you do not call me Mother,” she said, with a shred of a smile. “I am not so old. It is well enough for Uwaine—” and then, as they came back into the hall, Conn started upright and began to cry out again for “Granny!” Morgaine laughed, mirthlessly, and went back to pick up the toddler. She was aware of Accolon’s eyes on her; she cast her own down at the child in her lap, listening silently as Uriens greeted his son.
Accolon came formally