Mists of Avalon - Marion Zimmer Bradley [398]
Well, it was done, Morgaine had had her will. So she would see Lancelet and welcome him as her husband’s kinsman, no more. The other madness was past and gone, but she would see him and that was better than nothing. She tried to banish all this with thoughts of the feast. Two oxen were being roasted, would it be enough? And there was a huge wild boar taken in hunting a few days ago, and two pigs from the farms nearby, being baked in a pit yonder; already it smelled so good that a group of hungry children were hanging around sniffing the good smell. And there were hundreds of loaves of barley bread, many of which would be given away to the countryfolk who came to crowd around the edges of the field and watch the doings of the nobles, the kings and knights and Companions; and there were apples baked in cream, and nuts by the bushel, and confectionery for the ladies, honey cakes, and rabbits and small birds stewed in wine . . . if this feast was not a success, certainly it would not be for the want of good and abundant food!
Some time after the noon hour they gathered, a long line of richly dressed nobles and ladies coming into the great hall and being ushered to their proper places. The Companions, as always, were shown to their places at the great round mead-hall table; but huge as it was, it would no longer place all the assembled company.
Gawaine, who was always closest to Arthur, presented his mother, Morgause. She was leaning on the arm of a young man Gwenhwyfar did not for a moment recognize; Morgause was slender as ever, her hair still thick and rich, braided with gems. She sank in a curtsey before Arthur, who motioned her to rise and embraced her.
“Welcome, Aunt, to my court.”
“I have heard that you ride only white horses,” said Morgause, “and so I have brought you one from the Saxon country. I have a fosterling there who sent it as a gift.”
Gwenhwyfar saw Arthur’s jaw tighten, and she too could guess who the fosterling must be. But he only said, “A kingly gift truly, Aunt.”
“I will not have the horse led into the hall, as I am told is the custom in the Saxon countries,” Morgause said gaily. “I do not think the lady of Camelot would like having her high hall, garnished for guests, turned into a byre! And, no doubt, your stewards have enough to do, Gwenhwyfar!” She embraced the Queen; the younger woman was enveloped in a warm wave, and close by she could see that Morgause’s face was painted, her bright eyes lined with kohl; but she was beautiful no less.
Gwenhwyfar said, “I thank you for your forbearance, lady Morgause—it would not be the first time a fine horse or dog had been led before my lord and king here in this hall, and I know ’tis meant as courtesy, but I have no doubt your horse will be waiting outside quite content—I do not think the hospitality of Camelot means much even to the finest of horses. He would rather dine in his stall! Though Lancelet used to tell us a tale of some Roman who had his horse fed on wine in a golden trough and gave him honors and laurel wreaths—”
The handsome young man at Morgause’s side laughed and said, “I remember, Lancelet told that story at my sister’s wedding. It was the Emperor Gaius the God, who made his favorite horse one of his senators, and when he died, the next emperor said something like, at least the horse had given no evil counsel and done no murder. But do not the same, my lord Arthur—we have no chairs fit to hold such a Companion, should you see fit to name your stallion as one of them!”
Arthur laughed heartily and took the young man by the hand, saying, “I will not, Lamorak,” and with a start, Gwenhwyfar realized who the young man at Morgause’s side must be: he was Pellinore’s son. Yes, she had heard some rumor of this—that Morgause had taken the young man as her favorite, even before her whole court—how could the woman share her bed with a man young enough to be her son? Why, Lamorak was only five-and-twenty, even now! She looked with fascinated horror and secret envy at Morgause. She looks so young, she is still so beautiful despite all her paint, and