Mists of Avalon - Marion Zimmer Bradley [403]
I dare say he really believes that he and Gwenhwyfar can be no more than friends . . . maybe for him it is so, and Gwenhwyfar has grown so pious, I doubt it not at all. . . .
“So there you are, Lancelet, as always, chattering with the court’s most beautiful ladies,” said a merry voice, and Lancelet turned and caught the newcomer in a bear hug.
“Gareth! How goes it with you in the North country? And so you too are a married man and a householder . . . is it two children your lady has given you now, or three? Handsome, you are better-looking than ever—even Cai could not mock you now!”
“I would like it well to have him back in my kitchens,” laughed Cai, coming up to clap Gareth on the shoulder. “Four sons, is it not? But the lady Lionors has twins, like one of the wildcats of your country, does she not? Morgaine, I think you grow ever younger with the years,” he added, bending over her hand; he had always liked her.
“But when I see Gareth grown, and such a man, I feel older than the hills themselves.” Morgaine too laughed. “A woman knows she is getting old when she looks at every tall young man and says to herself, I knew him before he was breeched. . . .”
“And, alas, ’tis true of me, cousin.” Gareth bent to hug Morgaine. “I remember, you used to carve me wooden knights when I was no more than a babe—”
“You remember still those wooden knights?” Morgaine was pleased.
“I do—one of them Lionors keeps with my treasures still,” Gareth said. “It is bravely painted in blue and red, and my oldest son would gladly have it, but I treasure it too greatly. Did you know I called it Lancelet when I was a babe, cousin?”
The older man laughed too, and Morgaine thought she had never seen Lancelet so carefree and merry as he was now among his friends. “Your son—he is almost as old as my Galahad, I think. Galahad is a fine boy, though he looks not much like my side of the family. I saw him but a few days ago, for the first time since he was out of breechclouts. And the girls are pretty, or they seem so to me.”
Gareth turned back to Morgaine and said, “How does my foster-brother Gwydion, lady Morgaine?”
She said shortly, “I have heard he is in Avalon. I have not seen him,” and turned away, leaving Lancelet to his friends. But Gawaine joined them, bending to give Morgaine an almost filial embrace.
Gawaine was a huge man now, monstrously heavy, with shoulders that looked—and probably were—strong enough to throw down a bull; his face was hacked and bitten with many scars. He said, “Your son Uwaine seems a fine lad. I think he will make a good knight, and we may need such—have you seen your brother Lionel, Lance?”
“No—is Lionel here?” asked Lancelet, glancing around, and his eyes fell on a tall, sturdy man, wearing a cloak of a strange fashion. “Lionel! Brother, how goes it with you in your foggy kingdom beyond the seas?”
Lionel came and greeted them, speaking with so thick an accent that Morgaine found it hard to follow his speech. “All the worse for you not being there, Lancelet—we may have some trouble there, you have heard? You have heard Bors’s news?”
Lancelet shook his head. “I heard nothing later than that he was to marry King Hoell’s daughter,” he said, “I forget her name—”
“Isotta—the same name as the Queen of Cornwall,” said Lionel. “But there has been no marriage as yet. Hoell, you must know, is one who can say never yea or nay to anything, but must ponder forever the advantage of alliance with Less Britain or Cornwall—”
“Marcus cannot give Cornwall to any,” said Gawaine dryly. “Cornwall is yours, is it not, lady Morgaine? I seem to remember Uther gave it to the lady Igraine when he came to the throne, so that you have it of both Igraine and Gorlois, though Gorlois’s lands were forfeit to Uther, if I mind the tale aright—it all befell before