The next morning I walked out to the place where Gwendolau was buried and I prayed for the Good God's mercy on his soul. It was evening when the reason for my visit arose. 'Well, Myrddin Wylt,' said Custennin, slapping a dog leash against his leg, 'what news of the wider world beyond this forest?'

We were walking together at the near fringe of the forest; a new dog which Custennin was training ran on ahead of us. 'There is news at last,' I replied; this was the king's way of saying that he was ready now to talk. 'Vortigern is dead.'

'Good!' He stared at the trail ahead. 'Health to his enemies!'

'Yes, and there were not a few of them.'

'Who is to be High King in his place?'

'Need anyone?' I asked, probing his mind on the subject.

He glanced quickly at me to see if I was serious. 'Oh, yes, I think so. Despite what Vortigern became, it is a good thing. Each year the Saecsen grow bolder; they take more. For each king to defend his own little patch – that is becoming too difficult. We must help one another if any of us are to survive. If a High King can make this happen, I support him.' He broke off abruptly.

'But?'

Custennin stopped walking and turned to me. 'But what we need is not another Vortigern, sitting in his mead hall, drunk on ambition and power, bloated with gold-lust, feasting the Saecsen and giving them land because he is too much a coward to confront them on the field of battle… ' He spat his venom and then paused. When he spoke again he was cooler. 'What we need is a war leader – a battlechief over all others, leading all the armies as his own.'

'A Dux Britanniarum,' I said, musing, 'Duke of Britain – supreme commander of all armies in the land.'

'Yes, that is what we need – not another Vortigern.' He started walking again.

'We would still need a High King,' I ventured, 'to keep the other kings in their place.'

'Oh, aye,' agreed Custennin, 'and to keep the war host supplied from the coffers of the kings beneath him. But on the battleground the supreme commander must wield a power above even the High King. In battle there is enough to worry about, without having to wonder whether you will offend this lord or that in some obscure way, or run out of supplies because someone did not send the aid he promised. The way we fight,' he lamented, 'it is a wonder we are still here at all.'

A plan was taking shape in my mind. 'What if I told you your thoughts could become reality?'

Custennin laughed. 'I would say you were an enchanter indeed – the Chief Enchanter of the Island of the Mighty!'

'But would you support the man?'

'How could I not? I have already said I would.' He looked at me slyly. 'Does such a man exist?'

'Not yet, but he will. Soon.'

'Who?'

'The man who killed Vortigern… men, rather. There were two of them – brothers.'

'Brothers.'

'What is more, they have already won the support of the kings of Dyfed for their claim to the High Kingship.'

Custennin mulled this over in his mind for a moment. 'Who are these remarkable men?'

'Aurelius and Uther, sons of Constantine. I believe that with the Cymry kings and the kings of the north on his side, Aurelius will be High King.'

'And the other – this Uther?'

'He could well be the battlelord you speak of.'

Custennin began to see what I was seeing. He nodded, then asked, The lords of the west will follow him?'

'They will,' I assured him. 'I have spoken to them as I am speaking to you now. On their behalf, Tewdrig sends his adviser – the one who rides with me – so that you will know that what I say is true: the lords of the west support Aurelius.'

Custennin slapped the leash sharply across his palm. 'Then the lords of the north will support him as well.' He smiled grimly. 'And by the god you serve, Myrddin, I pray that you are right.'

'Right or wrong,' I said, 'this new king and his brother are the only hope we have.'

The next day Custennin sent messengers out to his lords and chieftains to gather in Goddeu to voice their approval of his plans to support Aurelius as High King, and Uther as his supreme war leader. I could guess what Custennin's lords would think of the idea, but I did not know what Uther would say.

That, I would soon discover.

I cannot say Uther was overjoyed to hear what the lords of the north had decided: that they would support Aurelius, if Uther would lead the war host. Uther, fancying himself High King material, rebelled at the thought, considering it somehow beneath him.

I delivered the ultimatum only moments after our arrival from Goddeu. Custennin, like Tewdrig, had sent advisers with me, and Aurelius had seen them as we entered camp – cold and wet, for it had been misting rain all day. The king summoned me before I could even change into dry clothing. Both Aurelius and Uther had listened to my summary, and Uther spoke first:

'So, the yapping dog is to be thrown a bone to keep him quiet – is that it?' I did not reply, so he continued, thrusting his fist in my face. 'You put them up to this! You, Merlin the Meddler.'

Aurelius looked on placidly. 'Uther, do not take on so -'

'How should I not, brother dear? I am to be made a simple spear-bearer and you sit by and say nothing,' Uther sulked. 'I should be a king at least.'

'It was Custennin's idea,' I told him. 'And it was his lords who added the condition of your leading the war host, not me. Still, I think it is no bad thing.'

'Consider it, Uther,' said Aurelius, seeking to smooth his brother's ruffled feathers, 'of the two of us, you are the better warrior.'

'True,' sniffed Uther.

'And as I am the older, the kingship falls to me.' Aurelius fixed him a stern glance.

'Also true,' Uther admitted.

'Then what is to prevent you from becoming this Supreme Commander?'

'It is an insult,' sneered Uther.

I bit back the words that were stinging my tongue like wasps.

Aurelius put a hand on his brother's shoulder. 'Since when is it an insult to lead the greatest army in the world?'

Uther softened. Aurelius pressed home his point. 'Is it an insult to be the Supreme Commander of all the Britons? Think of it, Uther! Hundreds of thousands of men at your command – a thousand thousand! – all looking to you, trusting you for their lives. You will win great renown, and your name will be remembered for ever.'

Shamelessly, Aurelius preened his brother's vanity. And not without the desired effect.

‘The greatest army in the Empire,' Uther murmured.

'In an older time,' I put in, 'the war leader was called Dux Britanniarum. It means Duke of Britain. Magnus Maximus held the title before he became emperor.'

'You see? Not since Emperor Maximus have we had a Dux Britanniarum. A noble title, Uther, and it is yours – yours alone.' Here Aurelius broke off. He stepped backward a pace and raised his arm in the old Roman salute. 'Hail, Uther, Duke of Britain!'

Uther could not help himself any longer; he burst into a grin, answering, 'Hail, Aurelianus, High King of the Britons!'

They fell laughing into one another's arms like the overgrown boys they were. I let them have their fun, and then announced, 'Now then, Tewdrig and Custennin await an answer from you both. Their advisers are gathered in my tent and wish to speak with you before riding back to report to their lords. I suggest you do not keep them waiting even a moment longer.'

I do not know where Aurelius had come by his tact, but it was a well-honed tool with him and he used it like a craftsman. And that was not all; he also possessed a high and noble dignity which he could wield when it suited him, and this, on more than one occasion, won the day for him when words alone were not enough. To say that he coaxed and flattered the advisers who had come to see him would cheapen his art, for he was far more subtle than that.