The truth is a bitter draught, but drain the cup and we will find our strength in it. We are not weak; we are not bereft of hope. Our hope is where it always was: in our own hearts, and in the strong steel in our hands.

Yes, I began seeing the vision of a free people ruling themselves without let or hindrance from distant emperors whose hearts had grown cold; a nation of Britons ruling Britons for the good of all who sheltered in this fair land, high and low alike…

It was Taliesin's vision: the Kingdom of Summer.

The heavenly star-host wheels through the sky, the seasons spin away in the slow dance of years. I squat on my rock and the rags of my clothes flap around me. Summer sun bakes and blisters, winter wind slices flesh from bone, spring rain soaks to the soul, autumn mists chill the heart.

Yet, Merlin endures. Destiny waits while Merlin squats on his rock above dark Celyddon. Forest Lord… Cernunnos' Son… Wild Man of the Wood… Myrddin Wylt… Merlin… he of the Strong Enchantment, who walked with kings, the very same, who now grubs among rotting apples for his food – and the future must wait.

How is that, Wolf? The kingmaking? Have I not? Then I will tell you.

Dafyd came to Maridunum the day of the victory feast, and he performed a rite of consecration for me as part of my kingmaking. With Maelwys and Charis, and several of the chiefs who had been summoned by news of the raid, Dafyd and I rode to the chapel, where, crowded together in the sweet silence round the altar, we all knelt and prayed for God's blessing on my reign.

Dafyd then anointed me with holy oil, touching my forehead in the sign of the cross; and he anointed my sword as well, saying, 'Behind this wall of steel shall Our Lord's church flourish.'

We all said 'Amen' to that. He blessed me from the holy text, then kissed me with a holy kiss, and I him, whereupon each of the others in the room knelt and stretched forth their hands to cover my feet as sign of their submission to me. All except Maelwys, of course, but he embraced me like a father.

In this way was I made King of Dyfed.

I began my reign in the usual way, I suppose: I shared wine with the men who would follow me. I distributed gifts among them and accepted their pledges of fealty. There was singing – Blaise came with four of the Learned Brotherhood, who gave us such song as is reserved for, well, for a king's ears alone – and the feasting continued for three more days.

Between the time Blaise had handed me my kingship – I still think of it as his doing; but what of that?; the druids of old were kingmakers and it was their right – and the time of my crowning, he had vanished. Only to reappear again with a golden tore. Pendaran had said he would give me his tore and also the throne he had occupied for nearly fifty years. But as he was still somewhat active in the affairs of the realm, that hardly seemed right. Since there had never been a time when three kings ruled in Dyfed at once, Maelwys ordered a new tore to be made instead.

Blaise must have guessed that this would be the case, and he swept into the hall bearing the tore in his hands, as if it were the kingship itself that he held. At his appearance the hall fell silent. Men stared at the object he held. Had they never seen that ring of gold before?

I admit, his entrances and exits could be arresting, but I saw nothing unusual about his bearing a tore to me. Perhaps it was because I saw it in the hand of a friend, while others saw it in the hand of the bard, and the more significant for that. However it was, he caused quite a stir.

He bade me kneel before him while he stood over me with the tore, as if with a talisman of power. In the eyes of the Cymry, I suppose it was a charmed thing. The church had power, most would allow, but so did the images and rites of old, which had the additional benefit of being hallowed by long tradition. It was all well and good to be anointed by the priest in the chapel in the wood. Better still to receive the tore of kingship from the hand of a druid.

Well, I had both.

'Is this necessary?' I hissed under my breath. The hall had fallen silent; every eye was on me. 'I've already been consecrated.'

'Is it killing you?' he whispered as he bent the soft yellow metal in his hands, spreading the ends to fit around my neck. 'Just be quiet and let me do this.'

He held the tore before me, and I saw that it had two bears' heads carved at the ends; their eyes were tiny sapphires, and each wore a collar of equally small rubies. I stared in astonishment. Where on earth did he get it?

'Did you steal it?' I whispered to him as he placed the tore around my neck.

'Yes,' he said. 'Now be quiet.'

He gently pushed the two ends of the tore together and, lifting his hands to my head, made the kingship speech in the old tongue. It is doubtful anyone in the hall, or even in all of Dyfed, knew the old Briton language any more – the Dark Tongue, men called it, from before Rome came. Nevertheless, they appreciated the significance of it just then.

Blaise, Jesu bless him, was trying his best to help me with all he had. He was showing the people gathered there that in the new king all past and future were brought together. He was reminding them of the old ways, in the same way Dafyd had shown the way of the future.

But the old ways are evil ways – I have heard that said by more ignorant clerics than bears thinking about. Convenient, perhaps, to a priesthood neither knowledgeable nor tolerant of things belonging to another priesthood and another time. Much in elder days was evil, I admit; I am not like one of those pig-headed fools who stare into the embers of a dying fire and think to see the kindling of tomorrow's flame. But neither do I deny the good where I find it.

And there was some good, I assure you. In every age, there is some good. God is ever present, ever eager to be found if men will look. I know I searched.

Blaise understood this, too. He wanted me to enjoy the dual blessings of past and future, thinking that the people would follow me more readily. He too believed in the Kingdom of Summer.

Unlike me, however, he thought the people would need to be coaxed towards it. I believed I had only to throw the doors open wide and all would rush in gladly. But then, I was very young.

Blaise, of course, knew better – which is why he went round telling all those stories about me. 'What men believe, Hawk,' he told me once, 'that is what they follow. Their hearts are willing – all men want to believe. Very few can follow a dream, even a true and beautiful dream. But they will follow a man with a dream. So,' he smiled deviously, 'I am giving them a man.'

When he put the bear's head tore on my neck, I tell you I felt a king. It was without doubt a king's tore and, wherever he had found it, I knew a king had worn it. Perhaps many kings. Indeed, it was a thing of power.

The tore, Wolf, I wear it still. See? Ganieda liked it, too. Yes, she did.

After that Maelwys and I began making plans for repairing the hillforts – not that they were in poor repair. But none of them were supplied any more, nor stocked with grain and water; a few lacked strong gates, and most had gaps in the walls, and mud-choked wells. The people were using thorn bushes or briar hedges to close them – which worked well enough to keep cattle from wandering, but would be no defence at all against Saecsen or Irish spears. No one actually lived in the hillforts any more, had not for a long, long time. But Maelwys foresaw the day when fully stocked and gated forts would be required.

We also began planning the series of coastal beacons; the first, as I have said, were built that summer when the warriors began arriving. From the beginning, there was much activity around the villa, and in Maridunum. The mood was high. In all it was a good summer.