Mists of Avalon - Marion Zimmer Bradley [400]
Gwenhwyfar said stiffly, “Morgaine married Uriens with her own consent. You do not think Arthur would marry away his dear sister without asking her!”
Morgause almost snorted, “Morgaine is full enough of life that I do not think she would be content in an old man’s bed,” she said, “and if I had a stepson as handsome as yonder Accolon, I know well I would not!”
“Come, ask the lady of Cornwall to sit with us,” Gwenhwyfar said, to put an end to Morgause’s gossip. “And Morgaine, too, if you will.” Morgaine was safely married to Uriens; what was it to Gwenhwyfar if she made a fool of herself or put her immortal soul at hazard by playing the harlot with this man or that?
Uriens, with Morgaine and his two younger sons, had come to greet Arthur, who took the old king by both hands, calling him “Brother-in-law,” and kissed Morgaine on either cheek.
“But you have come to offer me a gift, Uriens? I need no gifts from kinsmen, your affection is enough,” he said.
“Not only to offer you a gift but to ask a boon of you,” said Uriens. “I beg you to make my son Uwaine a knight of your Round Table and receive him as one of your Companions.”
Arthur smiled at the slender, dark young man who knelt before him. “How old are you, young Uwaine?”
“Fifteen, my lord and king.”
“Well, then, rise, sir Uwaine,” said Arthur graciously. “You may watch this night by your arms, and tomorrow one of my Companions shall make you knight.”
“By your leave,” said Gawaine, “may I be the one to confer this honor on my cousin Uwaine, lord Arthur?”
“Who better than you, my cousin and friend?” Arthur said. “If that is agreeable to you, Uwaine, let it be so. I receive you willingly as my Companion for your own sake, and because you are stepson to my dear sister. Make him a place at table there, you men, and you, Uwaine, may fight in my company tomorrow in the mock battles.”
Uwaine stammered, “I thank you, my k-king.”
Arthur smiled at Morgaine. “I thank you for this gift, my sister.”
“It is a gift to me as well, Arthur,” Morgaine said. “Uwaine has been like a true son to me.”
Gwenhwyfar thought, cruelly, that Morgaine looked her age; her face was touched with subtle lines, and there were streaks of white in the raven hair, though her dark eyes were as fine as ever. And she had spoken of Uwaine as her son, and she looked at him with pride and affection. Yet her own son must be older yet. . . .
And so Morgaine, damn her, has two sons, and I not so much as a fosterling!
Morgaine, seated at Uriens’ side down the table, was conscious of Gwenhwyfar’s eyes on her. How she hates me! Even now when I can do her no harm! Yet she did not hate Gwenhwyfar; she had even ceased to resent the marriage to Uriens, knowing that in some obscure way it had brought her back to what she had once been—priestess of Avalon. Still, but for Gwenhwyfar, I would have been married to Accolon at this moment, and as it is, we are at the mercy of some servant who might spy on us, or blab to Uriens for a reward . . . here in Camelot they must be very discreet. Gwenhwyfar would stop at nothing to make trouble.
She should not have come. Yet Uwaine had wished for her to see him knighted, and she was the only mother Uwaine had ever known.
Uriens could not, after all, live forever—though sometimes, in the dragging years, she felt that he had decided to rival old King Methuselah—and she doubted that even the stupid pig farmers of North Wales would accept Avalloch as king. If she could only bear Accolon a child, then no one would question that