Marion Bradley - The Mists of Avalon

Arthur said with a glimmer of amusement, "Then, no doubt, you think these twenty years and more of peace have endangered Camelot, and we need more wars and fighting to bring us into the world again? It is easy to see you are not a warrior, young man. I have no such romantic view of war as that!"

Gwydion smiled back. "What makes you think I am not a warrior, my lord? I fought among your men against Lucius who would have been emperor, and I had ample time to make up my own mind about wars and their worth. Without wars, you would be more forgotten than the least of those kings in Wales and in Eire-who now can call the roll of the kings of Tara?"

"And you think one day it may be so with Camelot, my boy?"

"Ah, my uncle and my king, would you have the wisdom of a Druid or the flattery of a courtier?"

Arthur said, laughing, "Let us have the crafty counsel of a Mordred."

"The courtier would say, my lord, that the reign of Arthur will live forever and his memory be forever green in the world. And the Druid would say that all men perish, and one day they will be, with all of their wisdom and their glories, like unto Atlantis, sunken beneath the waves. The Gods alone endure."

"And what would my nephew and my friend say, then?"

"Your nephew"-he put just enough emphasis on the word that Gwenhwyfar could hear that it should have been your son-"would say, my uncle and my lord, that we are living for this day, and not for what history may say of us a thousand years hence. And so your nephew would advise that your stables should once again reflect the noble days when Arthur's horses and his fighting men were known and fearful to all. No man should be able to say, the King grows old and with all his knights on quest, cares nothing to keep his men and horses in fighting trim."

Arthur gave him a friendly clap on the shoulder. "So let it be, dear boy. I trust your judgment. Send to Spain, or to Africa if you will, for horses such as best suit the reputation of Arthur's legion, and see to their training."

"I shall have to find Saxons for that," said Gwydion, "and the Saxons know little of our secrets of fighting a-horse-you have always said they should not. Is it your will that since the Saxons are our allies now, they should be trained in our fighting skills?"

Arthur looked troubled. "I fear I must leave that, too, in your hands."

"I shall try to do my best for you," Gwydion said, "and now, my lord, we have sat overlong in this talk, and wearied the ladies-forgive me, madam," he added, inclining his head to Gwenhwyfar with that winning smile. "Shall we have music? The lady Niniane, I am certain, would be happy to bring her harp and sing to you, my lord and my king."

"I am always happy to hear my kinswoman's music," said Arthur gravely, "if it is pleasing to my lady."

Gwenhwyfar nodded to Niniane, who fetched her harp and sat before them, singing, and Gwenhwyfar listened with pleasure to the music- Niniane played beautifully, and her voice was sweet, though not so pure or strong as Morgaine's. But as she watched Gwydion, his eyes on Taliesin's daughter, she thought, Why is it that we, a Christian court, must always have here one of those damsels of the Lady of the Lake? It worried her, although Gwydion seemed as good a Christian as anyone else at court, coming always to mass on Sunday, as did Niniane herself. For that matter she could not remember how Niniane had come to be one of her ladies, save that Gwydion had brought her to court and asked the Queen to extend her hospitality as a kinswoman of Arthur and as Taliesin's daughter. Gwenhwyfar had only the kindest memories of Taliesin, and had been pleased to welcome his daughter, but somehow it seemed now that, without ever putting herself forward, Niniane had assumed the place of the first among her ladies. Arthur always treated her with favor and often called to her to sing, and there were times when Gwenhwyfar, watching them, wondered if he looked on her as more than kinswoman.

But no, surely not. If Niniane had a paramour here at court it was more than likely to be Gwydion himself. She had seen him look at her ... and yet her heart grew sore within her; this woman was fair, fair as she herself had been, and she was but an aging woman with her hair fading, the color gone from her cheeks, her body sagging .....nd so when Niniane had put up her harp and withdrawn, she frowned as Arthur came to escort her from the hall.

"You look weary, my wife, what ails you?"

"Gwydion said you were old-"

"My own dear wife, I have sat on that throne of Britain for one-and-thirty years, with you at my side. Do you think there is anyone in this kingdom who can still call us young? Most of our subjects were not yet born when we came to the throne. Though indeed, my dear, I know not how it is that you look ever so young."

"Oh, my husband, I was not seeking to be praised," she said impatiently.

"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?