I put my hand on his shoulder. 'Worry not, Pelleas. Nothing will happen to me that is not ordained. And as I said, we go with them not because they want me to, but because I choose it.'

He remained sceptical, so I added, 'Besides, it is the quickest way I know to announce to the world that Myrddin Emrys has returned to the land of the living.'

Vortigern, he of the thin red beard and narrow, wary eyes, had been an able battlelord once upon a time. Now he sat on his handsome throne, a jaded, sated old glutton; world weary, wretched, and sick with dread. His once-strong shoulders drooped and his paunch spread beneath his richly-woven mantle, the firm muscle of a warrior running to flesh and fat.

His pouched eyes still maintained the guile and cunning that had brought him to this place, however; and, for all his troubles, he still managed the air of a king, sitting in his great hall surrounded by his minions and mercenaries.

My first glimpse of the man who had brought so much ruin upon the Island of the Mighty did little to alter my opinion of him: in truth he was a bane and a curse upon the land. But as I watched him struggle with his dignity – a battle-scarred old badger backed to the wall – I understood him better, and I determined not to hold against him the things he had done. Justice would find him soon enough, of that I was certain sure, and it was not for my hand to hold die balance.

Looking back on it now, I see he was a shrewd and calculating man who had survived desperate times. If he had acted too much for love of himself first and his people last – and he had, oh yes, he had – some of his designs at least stemmed the on-rushing Saecsen tide. Because that, too, had been in his selfish interest.

True, he was reaping the harvest of his folly now, but not all of his decisions had been bad. He had done what he could with the sorry mess he had found, always making the best of a bad bargain. Indeed he had little enough help from the mewling, squabbling lords and chieftains around him. And if I in my madness had not forsaken my people and my land, who knows? – perhaps Vortigern would not have found the foothold he needed to ascend to the high throne.

Things might have been very different, indeed, if I had not deserted Britain.

None of that could be helped. What had happened, had happened, and there was no undoing it. Nevertheless, the day of reckoning was dawning for Vortigern and he knew it. But at least I would not raise my hand against him, and I would show him what mercy I could. God knows, he was a man in need of a friend.

The four who had sought me – the druid and three of Vortigern's bodyguard – brought me with all haste to where he waited in Yr Widdfa. We had travelled quickly and uneventfully, leaving the forest for the open hills two days after starting out. I was glad to see the wide, empty hillscape once more; after the closeness of the forest, the open spaces seemed like freedom itself.

It was not all gladness to me, however, for in the end I bade farewell to Wolf. A creature of the forest, she stopped at Celyddon's furthest edge and would go no further.

Farewell, faithful friend, your long vigil is over. You are free to go your way.

Upon reaching the king's camp, I was ushered before him without demonstration. The High King sat in the sunshine outside his tent, surrounded by mounds of stone and building material, and scores of labourers. Vortigern rubbed his grizzled chin and stared at me, a curious gleam lighting his hooded eyes. In his demise he had gathered to himself a body of druids, looking once more to the old ways for his hope, no doubt. Vortigern's druids regarded me with icy contempt; they knew me and hated me with the lively enmity of lost men confronting their doom.

'You are the one they call the Emrys?' Vortigern asked, finally. He was not, I suppose, much impressed by what he saw before him, expecting, as men do, someone of greater stature, or more marked appearance.

'I am known by many names,' I replied. 'Emrys is one of them, Merlin is another. Among my people I am called Myrddin.'

'Do you know why I have sought you?' He turned the heavy amber ring on his finger, and waited for me to answer.

'Work on your stronghold is going badly. Your druids blame an evil spirit for the failure of your masons to raise a decent wall.' I shrugged and added, 'In short, you require the blood of a virgin-born man to secure your foundations.'

This threw the druids into an indignant fluster. I think they really believed they could deceive me in the matter. But Vortigern only smiled at their consternation. 'What did you expect?' he told them. 'Is there any doubt this is the man we require?'

'He is an evil spirit himself,' said Vortigern's chief druid, a malevolent creature named Joram. 'Do not listen to him, my king, or he will confuse you with his lies.'

Old Vortigern waved the druid silent and said, 'And are you indeed a fatherless child?'

'My father was Taliesin ap Elphin ap Gwyddno Garanhir,' I told him. 'Names that used to be lauded in this land.'

'I know these names,' Vortigern said respectfully. 'They were men of great renown in Cymry.'

'Ah, but this Taliesin was not mortal!' declared Joram. 'It is well known to the Learned Brotherhood that he was an Otherworld being.'

'That will be news to my mother,' I replied coolly, 'and to anyone who knew him.' Some of those attending Vortigern laughed aloud.

'And where are they who knew him?' The chief druid stepped menacingly towards me with his rowan staff before him. It was so sad to see that fool mimicking the Learned Masters of old. Hafgan would quake with wrath to see it; he would have broken the man's staff over his insufferable head. 'Where are they who knew Taliesin?' demanded Joram triumphantly, as if proving me guilty beyond doubt. Guilty of what, I cannot say.

'Dead and in their graves,' I admitted. 'It has been a long time. Men grow old and they die.'

'But not you, eh, Myrddin Emrys?'

'I am as you see me.'

'I see a young man before me,' replied Vortigern, seeking, I think, to divert Joram and save my life, 'one who has not long used a razor – surely he cannot be the son of this Taliesin who died long before I myself was born.'

'Lord and King,' replied Joram quickly, 'do not let his appearance dissuade you from your plan. He is of the Fair Folk who live long and do not age as other men.'

'Hmmrn,' uttered Vortigern. I could see he was in a spot. He bore me no ill will, and was even sorry, now that he had seen me, to have carried the scheme this far. 'Well, perhaps, if he is the son of Taliesin, he knows a thing or two – how about it, Myrddin? Do you know a way out of our difficulty?'

I addressed Joram with my answer. 'Let Joram say before us all why the stones fall each night and lay waste the day's work.'

Joram puffed out his cheeks, but remained silent.

'Come now,' I insisted. 'If you cannot tell us why the work fails, how is it you can declare with full certainty that my sacrificed blood will save it?'

He glared at me, and turned to his lord in protest, but Vortigern silenced him. 'Well, we are waiting, Joram.'

'It is well known already,' the false druid said. 'Each night while the workmen sleep, the evil spirit of this place troubles the foundation and overturns the stones. No matter how high the wall is built during the day, by morning it is rubble.' He took a deep breath and continued condescendingly. "Therefore, the remedy is sure – the blood of a man virgin-born will bind the stones fast and the evil spirit will trouble it no more.'

'The evil is in your mind, Joram,' I told him. 'There is no evil spirit at work here, and no man virgin-born, save one only.'

Vortigern smiled craftily. 'Tell us, Wise Myrddin, what is the cause?'