Tewdrig ordered food to be brought, and beer in the guest cup – a huge silver bowl with double handles – offered me by a comely girl with long dark braids. 'This is Govan, my wife,' Tewdrig offered, by way of introduction.

'Welcome, friend,' Govan replied demurely. 'Health to you, and success to your journey.'

With that I took the cup from Govan, lifted it by the handles and drank. The liquid was pale, frothy and cool, reviving my appetite admirably. 'It appears the brewer's art has reached new heights since last I held such a cup as this,' I commented. 'This is a draught worthy of any king.'

'You shall have a butt of it to take with you when you have concluded your business here,' Lord Tewdrig replied.

He was trying his best to get me to speak of my errand, without asking outright, which would have been ungracious. I could imagine the thoughts spinning in his head. If Myrddin, the former lord and king of this realm, had returned, it could be for one reason only: to reassert his claim to the throne and take back his lands. Where, he wondered, did that leave him exactly? The fact that I had not arrived with a warband at my command was not lost on him, and it made him wonder.

'I thank you most heartily,' I told him, replacing the cup. At that moment food was brought from the kitchens and the platters laid on the board. We took our places – I sat on his left, Govan with his infant son Meurig on his right – and we began to eat.

While we ate, I remarked on the changes I'd noticed in the town, and in the caer. Tewdrig lamented the passing of the town, and the necessity that had occasioned the construction of the hillfort. 'The villa could not be saved,' he said, 'although we have kept what treasures we could.' He pointed to the floor near the hearth, where I saw the old mosaic floor of red, white and black tiles that had adorned Gleddyvrudd's hall.

So sad, to lose something so fine. And we were losing so much that would never be replaced. 'Was it very bad?' I asked, wondering.

He nodded his head slowly. 'Bad enough. The same raid that took Maelwys, took the town and villa also. My father, Teithfallt, saved what he could, but there was not much.'

When supper was finished, a few of the younger boys who had seen the harp behind my saddle pushed one of the braver of their number forward to beg their lord's indulgence; they had a request of me.

Tewdrig was on the point of sending the audacious lad away with a stern rebuke for his affrontery, but I interceded. 'I would be most happy to sing them a song, Lord Tewdrig.'

The boy's eyes grew round, for he assumed I had known his request even before he spoke it. In truth, I had seen the same look on too many young boys' faces in the presence of a bard not to know what it meant.

'Bring me my harp, Gelli,' I told him. He stared, wondering how I knew his name. Like so many things since my madness, I did not know myself, until I had said it. But once spoken, I knew the thing I said to be true.

'Well,' said Tewdrig, 'do not stand there gaping like a fish on the beach. Fetch the harp, lad, look you quick!'

I sang from the tale of the Daughters of Llyr and pleased the whole of Caer Myrddin. They clamoured for more when I finished, but I was tired and so laid my harp aside, promising I would sing again another time, and people began shuffling off to their sleeping-places. Queen Govan bade us good night and carried the yawning Meurig away. Tewdrig ordered more beer and we withdrew, accompanied by Pelleas and two of the king's advisers, to his private chamber behind a woven wicker partition at the end of the hall.

It was clear that the lord of Caer Myrddin meant to have a full explanation of my presence, if it took all night. I had seen enough that evening to know that Tewdrig was an honourable man; and, no matter how things fell between us, he would do what honour required.

Therefore I decided to put a quick end to his anxiety.

We settled in chairs facing one another; a rushlight hung from the beam above, casting a ruddy circle of light, like a glimmering mantle thrown over us. One of his men filled silver-rimmed horns with beer and passed them to us. Pelleas stood behind my chair, silent, expressionless, his tall, handsome form like that of a protecting angel – which, in a way, he was.

Tewdrig drew a big draught and wiped the foam from his drooping moustache with a thumb and forefinger, eyeing me all the while. I noticed that neither of his men drank with him. 'It has been,' he said slowly, amiably, 'an interesting night. Too long have the songs of the bard been absent from my hearth. Thank you for filling my hall with joy tonight. I would reward you for your song… ' he paused and looked at me squarely, 'but something tells me you would accept nothing but what you came here to receive.'

'Lord and king,' I said quickly, 'have no fear for your throne on my account. I have not come to claim it – although I could make good that claim if that were my intent.'

'But it is not?' He rubbed his chin absently.

'No, it is not. I have not come to take back my lands, Tewdrig.'

His eyes went to his men and a secret signal passed between them, for instantly the tension in the room – subtle, but quite present – melted away. More beer was poured and they all drank. A crisis had been averted.

'I tell you the truth, Myrddin,' said Tewdrig. 'I did not know what I would do with you. This is your realm, and rightly; I avow it before you. I would not challenge your right… but I have been king here these many years, and my father before me… '

There is no need to explain, Tewdrig. I well understand. For this reason I deem it best to let my claim lapse. Too much has happened, too many years have passed for me to take back my throne. Myrddin will not be king again.'

Tewdrig nodded sympathetically, but offered no response.

'No,' I continued, 'I will not be king again, but in remembrance of a time past when I was a king of Dyfed, I have come to ask your support for another who desperately needs your help.'

'If he is a friend of yours, Myrddin,' Tewdrig said expansively – it was relief talking, to be sure – 'we will offer whatever aid you deem best. You have but to name it.'

I leaned forward. 'Wiser not to promise before the boon is asked. Nevertheless, the need is such that I would hold you to it regardless. But no, no, it cannot be like that, for it is no small thing I ask.'

'Ask it, friend.'

'High King Vortigern is dead -'

'Vortigern dead!'

'How?' asked one of Tewdrig's men. 'When?' asked the other.

'Only a few days ago. He was killed by Aurelius, son of Constantine, the true High King. Aurelius has taken his father's place for now, but there are many who consider themselves more worthy to sit the High King's throne. Even now, those who fought at his side turn against him. I expect Aurelius will not last the summer -'

'Without support.'

'Without friends,' I said.

'I had little love for Constantine, and less for Vortigern; they were both arrogant, foolish men. It is because of Vortigern that we suffer the Saecsen wrath now.' Tewdrig paused and took a long drink, then placed the horn aside. 'If Aurelius had come here himself to ask for aid, I would have sent him away right quick. But you, you, Myrddin, you intercede for him. Why?'

'Because, my lord Tewdrig, he is all that stands between us and the Saecsen horde.'

Tewdrig chewed on that for a while. 'Is this so?'

'If it were not so, I would not have come to you like this. In truth, Aurelius is all we have.'

'But we have arms,' insisted one of Tewdrig's advisers. 'And we have men and horses to use them. We are more than a match for any Saecsen warband.'

'Are you indeed?' I asked scornfully. 'When was the last time you stood with a naked blade in your hand under the blast of Saecsen battlehorns, while a host of Saecsen Berserkers flew towards you over the battleground?' The man made no reply. 'I tell you that Hengist has assembled the greatest war host yet seen in the Island of the Mighty. And, before the summer is through, he means to have the throne – he will have it, too, for we are too busy squabbling among ourselves to take arms against him.'