Nor were there any tears in her eyes when she rose a few moments later and, gazing steadily at Uther, stepped round Gorlas' body to stand beside him. Uther put his arm around her shoulders and drew her to him. They turned together and walked back down the hill to the High King's camp. Not a word had been spoken between them.

Uther did not return to Caer Uintan, but occupied the caer and stayed on through the summer at Tintagel. Why not? It was a fine stronghold and well situated to keep an eye on his contrary lords.

Shocked into contrition by Gorlas' death, they renounced their treason and, in the end, accepted Uther's terms, pledging the king tribute for their misdeeds and making hostages of their best warriors, which he immediately placed in his warband.

No longer needed – indeed, the High King was embarrassed to have me near him, for the rumours that he had plotted Gorlas' death from the beginning and had sent me to accomplish it – I returned to Ynys Avallach. Gorlas was buried and Uther married on the same day, I am told.

But then, men tell many tales about this affair. I have even heard it said that Ygerna was Gorlas' wife – imagine that! – and I, by deep enchantments, transformed Uther into Gorlas' likeness and led him to her bed. Or that I gave Ygerna a draught that made her believe Uther to be Aurelius, her husband, come back from the grave. Or, stranger yet, that Aurelius himself actually returned from the Otherworld to lie with her.

People will believe anything!

If it had not been for the babe, I would not have seen Uther alive again. I very nearly did not go anyway: Pelleas and I had just returned to Ynys Avallach after visiting some of the humbler places in the realm – the smaller settlements and holdings where men speak their minds and misgivings forthrightly. Upon our return, I sent Pelleas to Llyonesse to discern how matters stood there. I was anxious to discover how Morgian's influence, which seemed to be stronger there, affected Belyn's court. The last thing I desired was a long ride back to Tintagel alone.

But Uther must be stopped from carrying out that hideous scheme of his, and there was no one else to do it. No one else knew.

I saw it all in a vision.

Tired from a day's fishing and riding with Avallach and Charis, we had eaten a simple supper of stew and bread, and I had fallen asleep early in my chair by the fire. A sound – a dog barking outside, I think – awakened me. I stirred and opened my eyes. The fire had burned low on the hearth before me and I saw in the glowing embers a newborn babe, a manchild, hanging by its heel in the grasp of someone pressing the cold steel of a sword against the soft pink flesh. A terrified woman stood in the shadow, her white hands over her face.

I recognized the blade: Uther's great war weapon, the Imperial sword of Maximus.

'What is it, my Hawk?' asked Charis. She eyed me closely from where she sat across the hearth, a bookroll in her lap. Her healing work had sent her back to the old books for remedies and medicines, and she often spent her evenings reading from among the texts she had saved from Atlantis. 'You look as if you have seen your death.'

I shook my head slowly, sick to my stomach with dread. 'Not my death,' I replied. 'Another's.'

'Oh, Merlin… I did not mean to -'

'No,' I tried to smile, 'it has not taken place. I may yet prevent it.'

'Then you must try,' she said.

Oh, there was never any question. If not for the sake of the babe, then for Uther's, to prevent him from making a most grievous mistake. Nevertheless, it was not without some reluctance that I made my way back to Tintagel – clothed simply as a wandering harper for I did not wish my journey to attract unnecessary attention. My affairs were becoming common knowledge from one end of the island to the other and, as there were enough eyes spying out my every move, I did not need more speculation about this visit. The less known about this sordid matter, the better for everyone.

The Island of the Mighty in late summer – what place on earth can compare to it? The hills flame with heather and copper-coloured bracken; the valleys shimmer golden with grain; all the fruits of the year's labours are ripening wealth beneath shining skies so high and clean and blue; the days are still warm and the nights soft and full of light. It is a time that makes a man glad to be alive.

It is the time of Lugnasadh, the day of First Fruits, when harvest begins. A most ancient and sacred celebration, to be sure, and one that even the church observes, for it is a high and holy day of thanksgiving to the Gifting God for his largesse. Great fires flare from every hilltop, and every stone ring becomes, once again, a sacred circle: a centre of power where, on this night, the veil between the Othenvorld and this worlds-realm grows thin and allows the initiated a glimpse at what was, or will be.

And now that the old Roman towns are falling into ruin and the people are moving back into the countryside, I believe there are more Lugnasadh celebrations than ever. Men look to the old ways more often these days, seeking what comfort they can find in the beliefs of a simpler time.

I travelled lightly, unhindered by the weather, arriving at Tintagel a few days after Lugnasadh. The gateman took one look at my harp and threw the gate open. At least my arrival cheered someone, even if it did not exactly lift Uther to the heights of song.

He was suspicious and closed from the beginning, and I saw that it would be heavy going. In the end, there was no hope for it but to confront him bluntly.

'We are friends, you and I,' yes, he required that reminder, 'and I know you, Uther. There is no use denying that there is a child and that you plan to kill it when it is born.' I did not expect him to admit it to me, but I wanted him to know that lying to me was useless.

Ygerna stood a little way off, watching me, worrying her mantle into knots, her expression mingling relief and apprehension. I think in her secret heart she had hoped that something like this would happen and Uther would be diverted from his plan.

'Do you think me mad?' he cried, defensively it seemed to me. 'The child could be male. It could well be my heir we are talking about!'

Damned from his own mouth. Still, he did not realize what he had said. For if he entertained so much as the merest suspicion that the child was his none of this would be taking place. No, the seed growing in Ygerna's womb was Aurelius' and he knew it. Uther had, typically, spoken what lay closest to his heart: his heir.

'Doubtless the child is your heir,' I replied. Whether Uther's or Aurelius', the babe would be recognized as a legitimate heir to the High Kingship. Whether he would be king was another matter entirely.

'You know what I mean, Meddler.' Uther dismissed my comment with an impatient gesture. 'In all events, I am not a murderer – despite what they are telling of me.'

This was a reference to the baseless rumours that he had killed Gorlas outright so that he could marry Ygerna. 'I did not come here to call you murderer,' I soothed. 'My only concern is for the child.'

'At least we agree on something, then,' he said, his eyes flicking to Ygerna and back to me. 'What do you propose?'

'Need I propose anything?'

'You mean to tell me that you came all this way just to see if I meant to kill an infant?' He laughed guiltily; a less mirthful sound I could not imagine.

'It would not be the first time a king decided to clean up an untidy problem with the sharp edge of his sword. But I am glad to hear that my fears were groundless.'

'Not entirely so, I should think.' He twisted the red-gold bracelet on his arm – a dragon, his emblem from now on. 'There are, I am thinking,' he said slowly, speaking low as if he feared someone overhearing him, 'many who would dearly pay to see this child removed.'