Marion Bradley - The Mists of Avalon

Arthur spread his hands with a laugh. "Don't worry about it-boys run to stables like fleas to dogs. I have been told how I rode my father's stallion when I was scarce six years old! I don't remember; it was only a little before I went to be fostered with Ectorius," he said, and Morgaine shivered suddenly, remembering a fair-haired child lying like death and something like a shadow in a bowl of water-no, it was gone.

"Does your ankle pain you much, sister?" Gwenhwyfar asked solicitously. "Here, lean against me-"

"Gawaine will look after him," Arthur said offhandedly. "I think he's the best man we have at training the young knights and riders."

"Better than the lord Lancelet?" asked Gwenhwyfar. Morgaine thought, She only wants to speak his name. But it is me he wanted, not long ago, and tonight it will be too late ... better that than break Arthur's heart. I will tell Gwenhwyfar if I must.

Arthur said, "Lancelet? He's our best rider, though too much of a daredevil for my taste. The lads all adore him, of course-look, there's your little Gareth, Aunt, tagging after him like a puppy-they'll do anything for a kind word from him. But he's not as good at teaching the boys their business as Gawaine; he's too flamboyant and he likes to show off. Gawaine takes them slow and easy and makes them learn the art step by step, and they never get hurt through carelessness-Gawaine's my best arms master. Look, there's Lancelet on that horse he's training for me-" He burst into a laugh, and Igraine said, "That little devil!"

For Gareth had swung like a monkey from the saddle leather, and Lancelet, laughing, scooped up the boy in front of him on his saddle and broke into a fast gallop, racing directly up the hill toward the sheltered place where the royal party sat watching. They raced at breakneck speed straight toward them, so that even Arthur gasped and Igraine stepped back, her face white. Lancelet pulled up the horse so that it reared into the air and wheeled it round.

"Your horse, lord Arthur," he said with a flourish, holding the reins with one hand, "and your cousin. Aunt Morgause, take this little scapegrace and tan his breeches for him!" he added, letting Gareth slide down almost into Morgause's lap. "He could have been killed under the stallion's feet like that!"

Gareth heard not a word of Morgause's scolding, looking up at Lancelet, his blue eyes wide with adoration.

"When you get older," Arthur said, laughing, aiming a playful cuff at the child, "I will make you a knight and you shall ride out to conquer giants and evil raiders, and rescue fair ladies."

"Oh no, my lord Arthur," said the child, his eyes still fastened on the white horse which Lancelet was riding up and down. "The lord Lancelet shall make me a knight, and we will go on a quest together."

Ectorius chuckled and said, "Young Achilles has found his Patroclus, so it would seem."

"I am quite in the shade," Arthur said good-naturedly. "Even my new-made wife cannot take her eyes from Lancelet, and begs him to call her by her Christian name, and now little Gareth would rather be made knight by him! If Lance were not my closest friend, I should be mad with jealousy."

Pellinore was watching the rider cantering up and down. He said, "That damnable dragon is still hiding in a lake on my lands, and coming out to kill my tenants or their cows. Perhaps if I had a horse like that, who would stand to fight ... I think I will train a battle horse and go after it again. Last time I barely got away with my life."

"A dragon, sir?" asked little Gareth. "Did it breathe fire?"

"No, lad, but it had an almighty stench and a noise like sixty packs of hounds all baying together from his belly," said Pellinore, and Ectorius said, "Dragons do not breathe fire, my lad. That comes from the old way of calling a shooting star a dragon, for they have a long tail of fire-there may have been dragons once who breathed fire, but not in the memory of any living man."

Morgaine was not listening, though she wondered how much of Pellinore's tale was true, and how much exaggerated to impress the child. Her eyes were on Lancelet, putting the horse through its paces.

Arthur said to Gwenhwyfar, "I could never train a horse like that- Lancelet is training it to battle for me. Look, two months ago that one was wild as one of Pellinore's dragons, and now look at him!"

"He seems still wild to me," said Gwenhwyfar. "But then, I am afraid even of the gentlest horses."

"A horse to be ridden in battle must not be meek as a lady's palfrey," said Arthur. "He must have spirit-God in heaven!" he cried out, rising up suddenly. From somewhere there was a blur of white; a bird of some kind, a goose perhaps, had suddenly flapped upward, right under the horse's hooves. Lancelet, riding at ease, his vigilance relaxed, started as the horse reared upright with a frantic whicker; fought for control, slid off almost under the hooves; half senseless, managed to roll away.

Gwenhwyfar screamed. Morgause and the other ladies echoed the scream, while Morgaine, quite forgetting she was supposed to have an injured ankle, leaped up and ran toward Lancelet, dragging him out from under the horse's hooves. Arthur too dashed for the horse's bridle, grabbing it, wrestling the horse by main force away from where Lancelet sprawled unconscious. Morgaine knelt beside him, quickly feeling his temple, where a bruise already darkened and a trickle of blood mingled with the dust. "Is he dead?" Gwenhwyfar cried. "Is he dead?"

"No," Morgaine said with asperity. "Bring some cold water, and there ought to be some of that bandage linen left. He's broken his wrist, I think; he broke his fall with it so as not to break his neck! And the clout on his head-" She bent down, laying her ear against his chest, feeling the warm rise and fall of it. She took the basin of cold water Pellinore's daughter handed her, sponging his brow with a bit of linen. "Someone catch that goose and wring its neck-and give the goose boy a good thrashing. The lord Lancelet could have broken his head, or damaged the High King's horse."

Gawaine came and led the horse back to the stables. The near tragedy had dampened the festivities, and one by one the guests began to drift away to their own pavilions and quarters. Morgaine bound up Lancelet's head and his broken wrist, mercifully completing the work of splinting the wrist before he stirred and moaned and clutched at it in agony; then, in conference with the housekeeper, sent Cai for some herbs which would make him sleep and had him carried to bed. She stayed with him, though he did not know her, only moaned and stared about with eyes that refused to stay in focus. Once he stared at her, and muttered "Mother-" and her heart sank. After a while he fell into a heavy, restless sleep, and when he woke, he knew her.

"Morgaine? Cousin? What happened?"

"You fell off a horse."

"A horse? What horse?" he asked, confused, and when she told him he said positively, "That's ridiculous. I don't fall off horses," and dropped off to sleep again.

Morgaine sat beside him, letting him clutch at her hand, and felt that her heart would break. The mark of his kisses was still on her mouth, on her aching breasts. Yet the moment had passed, and she knew it. Even if he should remember, he would not want her; he had never wanted her, except to dull the agony of thinking of Gwenhwyfar and of his love for his king and cousin.

It was growing dark; far away in the castle she heard sounds of music again-Kevin was harping. There was laughter, singing, festivity. Suddenly the door opened, and Arthur himself, carrying a torch in his hand, came in.

"Sister, how does Lancelet?"

"He'll live; his head's too hard to break," she said with a hard flippancy.

"We wanted you among the witnesses when the bride was put to bed, as you witnessed the marriage contract," said Arthur. "But I suppose he should not be left alone, and I wouldn't want him left to a chamberlain, not even to Cai. He's fortunate he has you with him. You are his foster-sister, are you not?"