You sat down again. The boys clustered at your shoulders, uncertain as to what was expected of them. “Sit down, lads,” Ginevra said gently. “Be at ease.”
Well schooled in how to respond to the queen of Britain, they obediently found places for themselves. Gwalchmei and Gaheris competed with good nature for space on the ledge opposite Goewin; young Gareth sat shyly next to Lleu as though offering tentative friendship. Only Agravain remained standing by your shoulder, his long copper hair so like yours, his mouth set in obstinate, defensive pride. Silently, stubbornly, he insisted on allegiance to you.
You appear ever serene to unfamiliar eyes. To see you, no one could have guessed you had been traveling for weeks; but you had not been in the garden long, and I realized you had only just then been introduced to the prince and princess. Gazing still at Lleu, you addressed him suddenly: “Lleu son of Artos, Lleu the son of the Dragon, Lleu the young lion; the youngest child of the high king. And luckiest! Bright One, Fair One, and now prince of Britain.”
At this spate of names and titles Lleu stopped fidgeting and straightened. “My lady? Aunt? Queen Morgause?” he answered boldly.
“How proud and brave you are”—you smiled—“for one so slight, so young. I would have my children pledge you their loyalty as have the rest of the high king’s Comrades.”
“There will be time for that,” Ginevra said, with a sharp glance at Artos.
He finished her thought, ignoring any web you might attempt to weave. “Let them at least speak to each other first.”
“Have your boys seen the estate yet?” I asked, and when you answered that they had not, I said quickly, “Then let me show them.” For I could not sit at ease with you in the garden.
The twins came as well, and with your four children we walked over the grounds of the estate. Lleu and Goewin, merely by doing what was expected of them and acting with friendly courtesy, quickly gained the devotion of their two younger cousins; for Gaheris is rarely treated with courtesy, and Gareth is easy to like. Not so with Agravain, the jealous one, the dour one. He is a few years older than Lleu and Goewin, but not, as is Gwalchmei, old or wise enough for the twins to feel they must respect him. So, your four children were subject now to the careless arrogance of the prince of Britain, who could not keep straight the K stm. So, youir names.
The villa was by that summer restored and intact. The windows were clear and clean, and the, mosaics awash with light even on cloudy days. The drought and famine were as well as forgotten. Here was wealth, and ancient splendor, artistry and perfection. Beneath Gofan’s curious wrought-iron lampstands, the cushions of the low couches in the atrium were bright and luxurious in the sunlight, and the air was fresh with the green scent of the little lemon trees that Ginevra had set about the spacious room. Your children stepped cautiously across the glinting floors, openly admiring. But they too are princes, and even in the Orcades enjoyed a certain degree of luxury; so after we had been through Caius’s well-kept stables, Gwalchmei turned to Lleu as prince to prince and offered, “Would you like to see the animals Mother brought with her? They’re supposed to be gifts for your father.”
They were caged, of course, for the journey. There were small wildcats and highland deer, a monkey and a remarkable collection of birds. There were hawks and songbirds, and there were peacocks. “These could be let free to roam the grounds,” Gwalchmei said. “If they’re well fed they won’t disturb your gardens, and they can’t fly far.”
“I’ve never seen a real one,” Goewin said. “Mama has a mosaic of one with its tail spread on the floor of her chamber. Do they spread their tails?”
“Only when they feel like it,” Agravain said, and Gareth added, “They’re very conceited.”
“Where did you get them?” Lleu asked.
“Mother sends for them. She always keeps peacocks,” Gareth explained.
“They’re beautiful,” Lleu said, his attention fixed on the haughty birds, rapt.
“Mother will be pleased you like them,” Gaheris ventured.
Agravain told him, “Mother didn’t bring these for the prince.” All their conversation ever referred back to you.
They were anxious to test Lleu’s swordsmanship, and over the next week they organized several duels with him. Gwalchmei and I, and sometimes Goewin, would sit on the back wall of the estate as judges, kicking our heels against the dry stone; and on the grass lawn before us Gareth, Gaheris, and Agravain took turns trying to outwit Lleu, and failing. The two younger boys did not seem to mind and enjoyed the challenge and practice. But Agravain was not pleased at being consistently trounced by one younger and slighter than himself.
It chokes me to think of the day you happened upon us during one of these sessions. Agravain could hardly bear for you to watch, and even Gareth began to feel the derision in your gaze. Finally, resting from his last bout, Gaheris asked Lleu, “Could you take on two of us at once?”
“All right,” Lleu said.
“No. Three of us,” Agravain demanded harshly.
“That’s not fair!” said Goewin.
“I’ll do it,” Lleu said amiably.
Only Gareth was dubious. “She’s right.”
“I’ll take on as many as you like,” Lleu said carelessly, and turned to Agravain to ask, “You do want me beaten, don’t you?”
“No, my lord,” Agravain said in blushing apology, caught, while you laughed quietly. “I only thought t Knlylign="o test your skill.”
“I won’t fight three against one,” Gareth said.
“Oh, come on,” Lleu coaxed, confident. “It’s only in play.”
“It’s not fair,” said Gareth.
Agravain argued, “If it’s all right with Lleu, then it’s fair. If Gareth won’t do it, Gwalchmei can.”
“I won’t do it, either,” Gwalchmei said mildly. Artos had already made him one of the Comrades; he had no need to prove himself. “You will have to fend for yourselves.”
“Medraut,” you said suddenly. “You join them.”