Ygerna gave a little cry.

'True enough,' I replied. 'But a king can always protect his own. Besides, it happens so rarely that -'

'Not as rarely as you think,' Uther insisted. 'Are you forgetting what happened to Aurelius? These are dangerous times we live in.' He allowed himself a shrewd smile. 'Dangerous men abound.'

'Come to the point. What are you getting at?'

'It would not be safe for the child to remain here.'

'Where would be safer?'

'You would know, Merlin. You could find a place.'

I will give him his due. When pressed to it, Uther could think on his feet with the best of them. Ygerna saw where the king's line of reasoning was leading and stepped forward. 'He is right, Myrddin Emrys, you could find a place.'

I wondered at this, but I suppose it was only natural, in a way. In her mind, if Uther did not kill the child, someone else would. Even if that could be avoided, the child would surely stand between her and her husband – which was worse. She was only choosing the best of several alternatives, all of them bad.

Better to give the child up to a safe obscurity than keep it near her and live in constant fear for its life, and resent it for living.

And Uther was right. If Aurelius could so easily be murdered, how much more easily might a defenceless infant be killed? While it was true that the child would be in constant danger from ambitious, proud, and powermad fools like Dunaut and Morcant and Coledac – and there would be others like them, always, Heaven help us! – that was not all Uther was thinking. I understood his mind: let this child be put aside in favour of my own son.

I saw merit in the plan, too; though for a different reason. For, if something should happen and Uther fail to get an heir for one reason or another, Aurelius' son would still be alive to step forward. I did not mention this at the time, however.

Ygerna stepped close and laid a hand on my arm. 'Please, Myrddin Emrys, find a good place, a safe place for my baby. I could not do this if it were not for you.'

She looked at me with those big, dark eyes, so full of hope and apprehension – it would have been a cruelty to refuse her. It was for the best in any event. 'I will do what I can, my lady. But,' I raised my finger in warning, 'it must be as I say. And once agreed there can be no going back. Think about it; there is time, you do not have to decide now.'

'No,' she said, 'it must be now. I have already decided. I will trust you, Myrddin Emrys. Do what must be done.'

'Yes, I trust you, too, Merlin. Whatever you say, we will do.'

Uther could be quite magnanimous when he wished. Why not? He had, so he reckoned, solved his problem and saved his name all in the same brilliant stroke. He was pleased, and proud of himself. There would be more sons, after all. And, having once made up his mind, he would be resolved to the end.

We talked some more and it was agreed that I would come and receive the babe upon its birth – Ygerna did not believe she could part with it otherwise – and take it to be raised in a place that only I would know.

Fair enough. But what seemed a simple matter at the time – the fostering of an unwanted child – very soon developed into a tangled and thorny affair for all involved. For this was no ordinary infant.

I returned then to Ynys Avallach to await the birth. Pelleas had returned from Llyonesse with distressing news: Belyn was deathly ill and would not last the winter. A new king would be chosen upon his death, of course, but as Belyn left no legitimate heirs the kingship would pass to Avallach's line: the sons of Charts or Morgian. And, since Charis stood hi direct line of inheritance from Avallach, more than likely the choice would fall to the first of Morgian's sons.

The old Atlantean custom of inheritance, developed and refined over countless ages and bound by tradition, was as far removed from the straightforward, simple observances of the Britons as the Isle of the Everliving from the Island of the Mighty. But Avallach gravely confirmed Pelleas' assessment that one of Morgian's offspring would very soon come to power.

That my brother should die saddens me greatly,' the Fisher King said. 'But that Morgian and her spawn should benefit grieves me more.' He said nothing more about it, brooding in silence for two full days before announcing, 'I will go to Llyonesse, and I will ask the brothers of the Shrine to accompany me. Perhaps, if we may not ease his suffering in this life, we might at least prevent it in the life to come.'

Charis offered to go with him, as did I, but he replied, 'It is better that I go alone. There is much between us that must be spoken – no, I know you would not intrude – but we will speak more freely if we are left alone to do it. The monks will attend to all else we require.'

He did not speak the fear central to his thinking – that Morgian would appear while he was there. If so, Avallach intended to face her and did not want Charis or me anywhere near when that happened.

The Fisher King left the Tor as soon as arrangements could be made and provisions gathered. He took only two stewards as escort, and six brothers from the monastery below the Shrine – although the good brothers were educated in swordthrust and spearthrow as well as Latin and the Gospels. Indeed, more than a few monks across the land had worn steel before donning the undyed wool, and it was not accounted a shameful thing at all.

The days turned cool. Pelleas and I hunted for the winter table, riding the hills and wooded vales surrounding the Tor through days crisp as new apples. We watched and waited, and sought the signs that would tell us how Avallach fared. But there were none, neither was there any word from Uther.

In the absence of signs we turned to our own affairs: finding a place for Uther's son to live. We were determined to find the safest home possible, but one after another our choices were quickly reduced and we were left with three: Tewdrig in Dyfed, Custennin in Goddeu, and Hoel in Armorica.

I did not seriously entertain the idea of raising the child at Ynys Avallach, although the thought did occur to me. The boy would not benefit from an upbringing that did not fit him for the world in which he must live. 'Life on the Tor,' Pelleas pointed out, 'has more in common with life in the Otherworld than it does with life in this worlds-realm.' 'It suited me,' I replied.

'Certainly, but I do not think it would suit another.' Pelleas thus confirmed my own misgivings.

'So, we must look to one of the three,' I mused. 'Two,' Pelleas suggested. 'Hoel is willing, and though he is getting old, he is a strong and able lord yet. But he is too far away.'

'There is safety in distance,' I remarked. 'Safety from the casual assassin perhaps,' Pelleas agreed, 'but not from the most determined. Besides, anyone murder-bent would think of looking there first since Hoel fostered Aurelius and Uther.'

'That leaves only Tewdrig and Custennin,' I mused. 'Tewdrig is strong and loyal enough, but Dyfed is surrounded by prying eyes. Morcant and Dunaut are near, and will certainly discover that the child raised in Tewdrig's care is Uther's heir.

'While Custennin's stronghold in the north is far enough away to be free of spies, by the same token it is too far to the north to remain as secure as Tewdrig's.' I held my hands palm up, level, indicating that the balance was even between them. 'Which, then, will you choose?'

Pelleas' brow furrowed in a thoughtful frown. 'Why must we choose between them at all?' He brightened as the idea took hold inside him. 'Why not let the child be reared in both places depending on time and need?' 'Why not, indeed?'

A sound idea, that. Let the child receive the benefit of both hearths; let him learn the ways of two very different lords and kings. It was inspired.