Mists of Avalon - Marion Zimmer Bradley [546]
“You should be flattered, my Gwen, that Gwydion does not deal in empty flattery to an aging king, cozening me with lying words. He speaks honestly and I value him for it. I wish—”
“I know what you wish,” she interrupted him, her voice angry. “You wish you could acknowledge him your son, so that he and not Galahad might have your throne after you—”
He colored. “Gwenhwyfar, must we always be so sharp with each other on this subject? The priests would not have him for King, and there’s an end of it.”
“I cannot but remember whose son he is—”
“I cannot but remember that he is my son,” said Arthur gently.
“I trust not Morgaine, and you yourself have found that she—”
His face grew hard and she knew that he would not hear her on this one subject. “Gwenhwyfar, my son was fostered by the Queen of Lothian, and her sons have been the support and stay of my kingdom. What would I have done without Gareth and Gawaine? And now Gwydion stands fair to be like them, kindest and best of friends and Companions. It will not make me think the less of Gwydion that he stood beside me when all my other Companions forsook me for this quest.”
Gwenhwyfar did not want to quarrel with him. She said now, sliding her hand into his, “Believe me, my lord, I love you beyond all else on this earth.”
“Why, I believe you, my love,” he said. “The Saxons have a saying—that man is blessed who has a good friend, a good wife, and a good sword. And all those have I had, my Gwenhwyfar.”
“Oh, the Saxons,” she said, laughing. “All those years you fought against them, and now you quote their sayings of wisdom—”
“Well, what is the good of war—as Gwydion says—if we cannot learn wisdom from our enemies? Long ago, someone—Gawaine, perhaps—said something about the Saxons and the learned men in their monasteries. He said it is like to a woman who is raped, and yet, after the invaders have left our coasts, bears a good son—is it better to have had only the evil, or, when the evil is done and there’s no mending it, to take what good may come from that evil?”
Gwenhwyfar frowned and said, “Only a man, I think, could make such a jest as that!”
“No, I meant not to bring up old sorrows, dear heart,” he protested, “but the harm was done for me and Morgaine years ago.” She realized that for once he spoke his sister’s name without that cold tightening in his face. “Would it be better that no good of any kind should come from the sin I did with Morgaine—for you will have it that it was sin—or should I be grateful that, since the sin was done and there’s no going back to innocence, God has given me a good son in return for that evil? Morgaine and I parted not as friends, and I know not where she is or what has befallen her, nor do I suppose I will ever again look upon her face this side of the day of judgment. But her son is now the very stay of my throne. Should I mistrust him because of the mother who gave him birth?”
Gwenhwyfar would have said, I do not trust him because he was reared in Avalon, but she had no wish to, so she held her peace. But when, at her door, Arthur held her hand and asked softly, “Is it your will that I join you this night, lady?” she avoided his eyes and said, “No—no, I am tired.” She tried not to see the look of relief in his eyes. She wondered if it were Niniane or some other who shared his bed these days; she would not stoop to question his chamberlain. If it is not I, why should I care who it might be?
The year moved on into the darkness of winter, and on toward spring. One day Gwenhwyfar said fiercely, “I wish this quest were done and the knights returned, Grail or no Grail!”
“Hush, my dear, they are sworn,” said Arthur, but later that day, indeed, a knight rode up the track to Camelot, and they saw that it was Gawaine.
“Is it you, cousin?” Arthur embraced him and kissed him on either cheek. “I had no hope of seeing you till a year was done—did you not swear to follow the Grail for a year and a day?”
“I did so,” said Gawaine, “but I am not false to my oath, Lord, and yonder priest need not look at me