The Last Enchantment - Mary Stewart [94]
"Gawain."
"He has a strong look of his father."
Her lids drooped. "Both my sons," she said gently, "have a strong look of their father."
"Both?"
"Come, Merlin, where is your art? Did you believe the dreadful news when you heard it? You must have known it was not true."
"I knew it was not true that Arthur had ordered the killing, in spite of the calumny you laid on him."
"I?" The lovely eyes were wide and innocent.
"Yes, you. The massacre may have been Lot's doing, the hot fool, and it was certainly Lot's men who threw the babies into the boat and sent them out with the tide. But who provoked him to it? It was your plan from the first, was it not, even to the murder of that poor child in the cradle? And it was not Lot who killed Macha, and lifted the other child out of the blood and carried him into hiding." I echoed her own half-mocking tone. "Come, Morgause, where is your art? You should know better than to play the innocent with me."
At the mention of Macha's name I saw fear, like a green spark, leap in her eyes, but she gave no other sign. She sat still and straight, one hand curved round the stem of her goblet, turning it gently, so that the gold burned in the hot torchlight. I could see the pulse beating fast in the hollow of her throat.
It was a sour satisfaction, at best. I had been right. Mordred was alive, hidden, I guessed, somewhere in the cluster of islands called the Orkneys, where Morgause's writ ran, and where I, without the Sight, had no power to find him. Or, I reminded myself, the mandate to kill him if found.
"You saw?" Her voice was low.
"Of course, I saw. When could you hide things from me? You must know that everything is quite clear to me, and also -- let me remind you -- to the High King."
She sat still, and apparently composed, except for that rapid beat under the creamy flesh. I wondered if I had managed to convince her that I was still someone to be feared. It had not occurred to her that Lind might have come to me; and why should she ever remember Beltane? The necklet he had made for her jumped and sparkled on her throat. She swallowed, and said, in a thin voice that hardly carried through the hubbub of the hall: "Then you will know that, even though I saved him from Lot, I don't know where he is. Perhaps you will tell me?"
"Do you expect me to believe that?"
"You must believe it, because it is true. I don't know where he is." She turned her head, looking full at me. "Do you?"
I made no reply. I merely smiled, picked up my goblet, and drank from it. But, without looking at her, I sensed in her a sudden relaxation, and wondered, with a chill creeping of the skin, if I had made a mistake.
"Even if I knew," she said, "how could I have him by me, and he as like to his father as one drop of wine to another?" She drank, set the goblet down, then sat back in her chair, folding her hands over her gown so that the thickening of her belly showed. She smiled at me, malice and hatred with no trace of fear. "Prophesy about this, then, Merlin the enchanter, if you won't about the other. Will this be another son to take the place of the one I lost?"
"I have no doubt of it," I said shortly, and she laughed aloud.
"I'm glad to hear it. I have no use for girls." Her eyes went to the bride, sitting composed and straight beside Urbgen. He had drunk a good deal, and the red stood in his cheeks, but he kept his dignity, even though his eyes caressed his bride, and he leaned close to her chair. Morgause watched, then said with contempt: "So my little sister got her king in the end. A kingdom, yes, and a fine city and wide lands. But an old man, rising fifty, with sons already..." Her hand smoothed the front of her gown. "Lot may be a hot fool, as you termed him, but he is a man."
It was bait, but I did not rise to it. I said: "Where is he, that he could not come to the wedding?"
To my surprise she answered quite normally, apparently abandoning the malicious game of chess. Lot, it seemed, had gone east again into Northumbria with Urien, his sister's husband, and was busying himself