Mists of Avalon - Marion Zimmer Bradley [455]
But when the final prayer came, including one for the dead, she discovered that she had tears in her eyes. She missed Lot—his cynical cheerfulness, his steadfast loyalty to her; and he had, after all, given her four fine sons. Gawaine and Gareth knelt near her, among Arthur’s own household—Gawaine, as always, close to Arthur; Gareth side by side with his young friend Uwaine—Morgaine’s stepson; she had heard Uwaine call Morgaine mother, heard a genuine maternal note in Morgaine’s voice when she spoke to him, something she had never thought Morgaine capable of.
With a rustle of gowns and the small chink of scabbarded swords and such gear, Arthur’s household arose and moved to the church porch. Gwenhwyfar, though a little haggard, was still beautiful with the long bright golden braids over her shoulder and her fine gown belted in with a brilliant golden girdle. Arthur looked splendid, too. Excalibur hung in its scabbard at Arthur’s side—the same old red velvet scabbard he had worn for more than twenty years now. She supposed that Gwenhwyfar could have embroidered him a handsomer one at any time in the past ten years.
Galahad knelt before the King; Arthur took from Gawaine a handsome sword and said, “For you, my dear kinsman and adopted son, this.” He gestured to Gawaine, who belted it around the boy’s slender waist. Galahad looked up with his boyish smile and said clearly, “I thank you, my king. May I bear it only and always in your service.”
Arthur laid his hands on Galahad’s head. He said, “I gladly receive you among the company of my Companions, Galahad, and confer on you the order of knighthood. Be always faithful and just, and serve the throne and the righteous cause always.” He raised the youngster, embraced him and kissed him. Gwenhwyfar kissed him too, and the royal company went out toward the huge field, the others behind him.
Morgause found herself walking between Morgaine and Gwydion, with Uriens, Accolon, and Uwaine just behind them. The field had been decorated with green staves wound with ribbons and pennants, and the marshals of the games were pacing off the fighting areas. She saw Lancelet with Galahad, embracing him and giving him a plain white shield. Morgause said, “Will Lancelet fight today?”
Accolon said, “I think not—I heard he is to be master of the lists; he has won the field too many times. Between ourselves, he is no longer so young, and it would hardly suit the dignity of the Queen’s champion to be unseated from his horse by some youth hardly made knight. I’ve heard that he’s been beaten by Gareth more than once, and once by Lamorak—”
Morgause said smiling, “I think well of Lamorak that he forbore to boast of that conquest—few men could resist bragging that they had overcome Lancelet even in a mock battle!”
“No,” said Morgaine quietly, “I think most young knights would be unhappy at the thought that Lancelet was no longer king of the field. He is their hero.”
Gwydion chuckled. “Do you mean that the young stags forbear to challenge the knight who is King Stag among them?”
“I think none of the older knights would do so,” said Accolon, “and of the young knights, there are few with enough strength or experience to challenge him. If they did, he would show them a trick or two still.”
“I would not,” said Uwaine quietly. “I think there is no knight at this court who does not love Lancelet. Gareth could overthrow him any time now, but he will not shame him at Pentecost, and he and Gawaine have always been evenly matched. Once at a Pentecost like this they fought for more than an hour, and once Gawaine knocked his sword from his hand. I do not know if I could best him in single combat, but he may stay champion while he lives, for all I will ever do to challenge it.”
“Challenge him, someday,” Accolon said, laughing, “I did so, and he took all the conceit out of me in five minutes! He may be old, but he has all his skill and strength.”
He handed Morgaine and his father into