Mists of Avalon - Marion Zimmer Bradley [461]
Gareth pursed his lips and whistled soundlessly. But then he clapped his foster-brother on the shoulder. “Nay, but I put small faith in dreams and visions, youngster. And fate, no man can escape. Did they not teach you that in Avalon?”
“Aye,” Gwydion said softly. “And if you fell, even at my hand, in battle, fate then it would be . . . but I will not tempt that fate in play, my brother. Some ill chance might guide my hand to strike amiss. . . . Let it be, Gareth. I will not take the field this day, let them say what they will.”
Gareth still looked distressed. “Well, do as you will, lad. Stay beside our mother, then, since Lamorak will take the field beside Lancelet.” He bent to kiss his mother’s hand, and went; Morgause, frowning, started to ask Gwydion what he had seen; but he was scowling, staring at the ground, and she forbore, saying only, “Well, if I am to have a young courtier to sit beside me, will you bring me a dipper of water before I go to my seat again?”
“Certainly, Mother,” he said, and went off toward the water butts.
To Morgause, the final scrimmage battle was always something of a blur; her head had begun to ache with the sun and she was eager for it to be over. She was hungry, too, and could smell, from a distance, the meat roasting in the pits.
Gwydion sat beside her and explained it to her, though she knew little of the fine points of fighting, nor cared to. But she did note that Galahad acquitted himself well, unseating two riders; she was a little surprised, he seemed so gentle a boy. But then, Gareth too had seemed a gentle child to her, and he was the most fearsome of fighters. At the end, he took the prize on the King’s side where Gawaine was at the head of the fighting. To no one’s surprise, Galahad won the prize on Lancelet’s side; this was customary for a young man who had been knighted that day, and she said so.
“You could have had a prize too, Gwydion,” she said, but he laughed and shook his head. “I need it not, Mother. Why spoil this day for my cousin? And Galahad fought well—no one begrudges him the prize.”
There were many smaller prizes, and when they were all given, the knights went to be sluiced with buckets of water from head to toe by their squires, and to put on fresh clothing. Morgause went with the ladies of the King’s household to a room put at their disposal, where they could arrange their gowns and hair, and wash off the dust and sweat of the stands.
“How do you think?” Morgause asked. “Has Lancelet made himself an enemy?”
Morgaine said, “I think not. Did you see them embrace?”
“They looked like father and son,” said Morgause. “Would that they were!”
But Morgaine’s face was like stone. “It is many years too late to speak of that, Aunt.”
Morgause reflected, Perhaps she has forgotten that I know whose son he really is. But before Morgaine’s frozen calm she could only say, “Would you like me to help with your braids at the back?” and took up the comb as Morgaine turned. “Mordred,” she said, as she worked. “Well, he showed crafty counsel here, God knows! Now he has won himself a place by valor and impudence, so he need not demand one from Arthur on the grounds of his parentage. The Saxons named him well. But I knew not he was so much of a fighter. He has certainly managed to carry away the luster of the day! Even though Galahad won the prize, no one will talk about anything but Mordred’s daring gesture.”
One of the Queen’s ladies came up to them. “Lady Morgaine, is sir Mordred your son? I never knew you had a son—”
Morgaine said steadily, “I was very young when he was born, and Morgause fostered him. I had come near to forgetting it myself.”
“How proud you must be of him! And isn’t he handsome? As good-looking as Lancelet himself,” the woman said, and her eyes glistened.
“He is, isn’t he,” agreed Morgaine, her tone so courteous that only Morgause, who knew her well, knew that she was angry. “It has been an embarrassment to them both, I dare say. But Lancelet and I are first cousins, and when I was a little girl,