'It does?'

'Oh, indeed, it does. There is Pictish land further north. Now that is a forbidding place, where they make their homes.'

'Do the Picti really paint themselves blue?'

'For a fact they do. In various ways. Some of them even stain their skins permanently in the most intricate patterns – the fiercer warriors do this.'

'It must be something to see,' he said cautiously.

'You should see it sometime,' I replied, sensing this was what he wanted from me.

Pelleas shook his head slowly and sighed – I think he had rehearsed it. 'No, that is not for me.'

Again I made the required response. 'Why not?'

'I never can go anywhere.' His voice had risen, and the words were a lament. 'I have never even been to Ynys Avallach!'

Here we had come to the thing he wanted to say. 'What is it, Pelleas?' I asked gently.

He started up from his chair so quickly, some of the wine splashed over the rim of the cup. 'Take me with you. I know you are leaving tomorrow – I want to go with you. I will be your steward. You are a king; you will need someone to serve you.' He paused and added desperately, 'Please, Merlin, I must get away from here or I will die.'

The way he put it, I was not entirely certain that he would not fall down dead immediately upon our departure. I thought about this. I had no real need of a steward, but there might be a place for him in Maelwys' house. 'Well, I will ask Belyn,' I offered.

He threw himself back into the chair in a slump. 'He will never let me go. He hates me."

'That I heartily doubt. No doubt the king has other things on his mind and -'

Things more important than the welfare of his own son?'

'His son – ' I looked at him closely. 'What are you saying?'

He took a hasty sip from the cup. His secret was out and now he was steeling himself for the fight he sensed would come. 'I am Belyn's son.'

'I must apologize,' I told him, remembering our first meeting and how I treated him as a servant. 'I seem to have mistaken a prince for a steward.'

'Oh, that I am. At least, I am no prince,' he sneered.

'Make it plain, please, I am tired.'

He nodded, his eyes downcast. 'My mother is a servant in this house.'

I understood perfectly. Pelleas was Belyn's bastard and the king would not acknowledge him. He felt his only chance to make a life for himself lay as far from Llyonesse as he could get. For the same reason Belyn would not acknowledge him, the king was not likely to let the lad go either. I told him this.

'Would it hurt to try?' He was so desperate. 'Please?'

'No, it will not hurt to try.'

'Then you will ask him?'

'I will ask him.' I rose and took the cup from his hand. 'Now you are leaving and I am going to sleep.'

He rose but made no move towards the door. 'What if he says no?'

'Let me sleep on it tonight. I will think of something.'

'I will come for you in the morning, shall I? We can ask him together.'

I sighed. 'Pelleas, leave it to me. I have said I will help you if I can. That is all I can do at this moment. Let us leave it there for tonight.'

He agreed, apprehensively, but I think he was not displeased. Nevertheless, at cock's crow the next morning, Pelleas, was standing at my door, ready and eager to see which way his fate would swing. As there would be no getting rid of him until the thing was done, I agreed to see Belyn as soon as may be.

In fact, it was not until we were making ready to depart, that I was able to speak to Belyn alone. Thinking my chances were greater without anyone else looking on, I had to wait – and endure Pelleas' pleading stares – to find my chance.

'A word, Lord Belyn,' I said, seizing my opportunity as we walked from the hall. Gwendolau and Baram, and the others, had left moments before and we trailed after.

'Yes?' he said stiffly.

'I am interested in one of your servants.'

He stopped and turned towards me. If he guessed what I had in mind, he did not show it. 'What is your interest, my Lord Merlin?'

'As a new-made king, I am without servants of my own.'

'You want one of mine, is that it?' He smiled frostily and rubbed his chin. 'Well, name him, whoever you fancy, and if I can spare the man he is yours.'

'You are most generous, lord,' I said.

'Which one?' he asked absently, turning to the door once more.

'Pelleas.'

Belyn swung back to face me. His eyes searched mine to determine what I knew.

'I understand he has no formal duties,' I volunteered, hoping to make it easier for him.

'No – no formal duties.' He was working furiously on this, weighing implications and possibilities. 'Pelleas… ah, you have spoken to him about this?'

'Yes, briefly. I did not wish to say too much until I could consult you.'

'That was wise.' He turned away again and I thought he would leave the matter there. Instead, he said, 'What says Pelleas? Would he go, do you think?' 'I believe I could persuade him.'

Then take him.' Belyn took a step towards the door and hesitated, as if to change his mind.

Thank you,' I said. 'He will be well treated, on that you have my word.'

He only nodded and then walked away. I think I sensed relief in his mood as he moved off. Perhaps in this arrangement he saw an answer to an awkward dilemma.

Pelleas, of course, was overjoyed. 'You had better collect your things and saddle your horse,' I told him. There is not much time.'

'I am ready now. My horse was saddled before I came to you this morning.'

'Very certain of yourself, were you not?' 'I had faith in you,~my lord,' he replied happily and ran off to bring his things.

If I thought that was the end of it, I was mistaken. No sooner had Pelleas disappeared than I became aware of a presence watching me. I turned back to the empty hall to see that it was not empty now. A figure, swathed head to foot in black, stood in the centre of the great room.

My first instinct was to flee but, as if in answer to my thoughts, the stranger said, 'No, stay!'

I waited as the figure approached. The full black cloak was ornately worked in tiny, fantastic designs all in black and gold thread, the tall boots likewise; black gloves covered the hands nearly to the elbow, and the head was covered in a hood-like cap that had a gauzy black material attached to it, so that the face was veiled from view.

This strange apparition came to stand before me and I felt a dizzying sensation, as if the stone beneath my feet had lost its solidity, stones become fluid mud. I put out my hand to the doorpost beside me.

The black-robed figure studied me intently for a moment. I could see eyes glittering behind the veil. 'Have we met?' asked the stranger in a voice deceptively cordial – coming, as it was, from so forbidding an aspect. And it was female.

'We have not, lady, for I feel certain I would recall it.'

'Oh, but we know one another, I think.'

She was right in this, for I knew full well who it was that addressed me. My own dread had told me, if nothing else.

'Morgian,' I said, my tongue finding movement of its own. How quickly her name leapt to my tongue.

'Well met, Merlin,' she replied politely.

At the speaking of my name I felt a delicious thrill, sensual and seductive – like that a man might feel in succumbing to some forbidden pleasure. Oh, she had many kinds of power and knew their various uses well. I actually wanted her, at that moment.

'How is my dear sister?' she asked, taking a half step and lifting the gauze from her face. At last we stood face to face.

Morgian was beautiful, very much like Chads; the family resemblance was strong. But at the moment my mother was the furthest person from my mind. I stared into a face of seeming exquisite and compelling beauty.

I say 'seeming', because I am not at all certain now that it was not enchantment. She was of the Fair Folk, of course, and had the natural elegance of her race. But Morgian far exceeded this. Hers was the dreamlike beauty of a vision: heart-rending, flawless, perfect in all its parts.