Mists of Avalon - Marion Zimmer Bradley [552]
15
That summer there was war again, the Northmen raiding the western coasts, and Arthur’s legion rode forth to battle, this time riding at the head of the Saxon kings from the southern country, Ceardig and his men. Queen Morgause remained in Camelot; it was not safe to take the road alone to Lothian, and none could be spared to escort her.
They returned late in the summer. Morgause was in the women’s hall with Gwenhwyfar and her ladies when they heard the trumpets from the heights.
“It is Arthur returning!” Gwenhwyfar rose from her seat. Immediately all of the women dropped their spindles and clustered around her.
“How do you know?”
Gwenhwyfar laughed. “A messenger brought me the news last night,” she said. “Do you think I am dealing in sorcery at my age?” She looked around her at the excited girls—to Morgause it seemed that all of Gwenhwyfar’s ladies were but little girls, fourteen and fifteen, who made every excuse to leave off spinning; and now the Queen said indulgently, “Shall we go and watch them from the heights?”
Chattering, giggling, gathering in groups of two and three, they ran off, leaving the dropped spindles where they had fallen. Good-naturedly, Gwenhwyfar called one of the serving-women to put the room to rights and, at Morgause’s side, followed at a more dignified pace to the brow of the hill, where they could see the wide road leading up to Camelot.
“Look, there is the King—”
“And sir Mordred, riding at his side—”
“And there is the lord Lancelet—oh, look, he has a bandage round his head, and his arm is in a sling!”
“Let me see,” said Gwenhwyfar and pushed them aside, while the girls stared. Morgause could make out Gwydion, riding at Arthur’s side; he appeared unwounded, and she drew a sigh of relief. She could see Cormac back among the men, too—he had ridden to war with all the men, and he too seemed unhurt. Gareth was easy to find among them—he was the tallest man in Arthur’s whole company, and his fair hair blazed like a halo. Gawaine, too, at Arthur’s back as always, was upright in his saddle, but as they came nearer she could see a great bruise on his face, darkening his eyes, and his mouth swollen as if he had had a tooth or two knocked out.
“Look, sir Mordred is handsome—” one of the little girls said. “I have heard the Queen say that he looks exactly as Lancelet did when Lancelet was young,” and then she giggled and dug her neighbor in the ribs. They clung together, whispering, and Morgause watched, sighing. They seemed so young, all of them, so pretty with their hair silky-soft and bound in plaits and curls, brown or red or golden, their cheeks soft as petals and smooth as a baby’s, their waists so slim, their hands so smooth and white—she felt, suddenly, wild with jealousy; once she had been more beautiful than any of them. Now they were nudging one another, whispering about this knight and that.
“Look how the Saxon knights are all bearded—why do they want to look shaggy like dogs?”
“My mother says,” one of the maidens said impudently—she was the daughter of one of the Saxon noblemen, her name was something barbarian which Morgause could hardly pronounce, Alfreth or something of that sort—"that to kiss a man without a beard is like kissing another maiden, or your baby brother!”
“Yet sir Mordred shaves his face clean, and there is nothing maidenly about him,” said one of the girls, and turned laughing to Niniane, standing quietly among the women, “is there, lady Niniane?”
Niniane said, with a soft laugh, “All these bearded men seem old to me—when I was a little girl, only my father and the oldest Druids ever went bearded.”
“Even Bishop Patricius now wears his beard,” said one of the girls. “I heard him say that in heathen times men deformed their faces by cutting their beards and men should wear their beards as God made them. Maybe the Saxons think it so.”
“It is but a new fashion,” said Morgause. “They come and they go—when I was young, Christian and pagan alike shaved their faces clean, and now the fashion has changed—I think not it has anything to do with holiness