Mists of Avalon - Marion Zimmer Bradley [561]
“I am glad for your sake that you will come with us quietly,” said Gwydion. “Mother"—he turned into the shadows, and Gwenhwyfar saw, with consternation, Queen Morgause standing there—"see to the Queen. She shall be in your charge until Arthur may deal with her.”
Morgause advanced on the bedside. Gwenhwyfar had never noticed before how large a woman Morgause was, and how ruthless her jaw line.
“Come along, my lady, get into your gown,” she said. “And I will help you peg your hair—you do not want to go naked and shameless before the King. And be glad there was a woman here. These men—” she looked contemptuously at them—"meant to wait until they could catch him actually inside you.” Gwenhwyfar shrank from the brutality of the words; slowly, with lagging fingers, she began to draw on her gown. “Must I dress before all these men?”
Gwydion did not wait for Morgause to answer. He said, “Don’t try to cozen us, shameless woman! Dare you pretend you have anything left of decency or modesty? Put on that gown, madam, or my mother shall bundle you into it like a sack!”
He calls her mother. No wonder Gwydion is cruel and ruthless, with the Queen of Lothian to foster him! Yet Gwenhwyfar had seen Morgause so often as merely a lazy, jolly, greedy woman—what had brought her to this? She sat still, fastening the laces of her shoes.
Lancelet said quietly, “It is my sword you want, then?”
“You know it,” Gawaine said.
“Why, then"—moving almost more swiftly than the eye could follow, Lancelet leaped for Gawaine, and in another catlike movement, had Gawaine’s own sword in his hand—"come and take it, damn you!” He lunged with Gawaine’s sword at Gwydion, who fell across the bed, howling, bleeding from a great slash in his backside; then, as Cai stepped forward, sword in hand, Lancelet caught up a cushion from the bed and pushed Cai backward with it so that he fell into the advancing men, who tripped over him. He leaped up on the bed and said, low and short to Gwenhwyfar, “Keep perfectly still and be ready!”
She gasped, shrinking back and making herself small in a corner. They were coming at him again; he ran one of them through, briefly engaged another, and over that one’s body, lunged and slashed at a shadowy attacker. The giant form of Gareth crumpled slowly to the floor. Lancelet was already fighting someone else, but Gwydion, bleeding, cried out, “Gareth!” and flung himself across the body of his foster-brother. In that moment of horrified lull, while Gwydion knelt, sobbing, over Gareth’s body, Gwenhwyfar felt Lancelet catch her up on his arm, whirl, kill someone at the door—she never knew who it was—and then she was on her feet in the corridor, and Lancelet was pushing her, with frantic haste, ahead of him. Someone came at him out of the dark and Lancelet killed him, and they ran on.
“Make for the stables,” he gasped. “Horses, and out of here, fast.”
“Wait!” She caught at his arm. “If we throw ourselves on Arthur’s mercy—or you escape and I will stay and face Arthur—”
“Gareth might have seen justice done. But with Gwydion’s hand in it, do you think either of us would ever reach the King alive? I named him well Mordred!” He hurried her into the stables, swiftly flung a saddle on his horse. “No time to find yours. Ride behind me, and hold on well—I’m going to have to ride down the guards at the gate.” And Gwenhwyfar realized she was seeing a new Lancelet—not her lover, but the hardened warrior. How many men had he killed this night? She had no time for fear as he lifted her on his horse and sprang up before her.
“Hang on to me,” he said. “I’ll have no time to look after you.” He turned then, and gave her one hard, long kiss. “This is my fault, I should have known that infernal bastard would be spying—well, whatever