As we approached the tiny settlement we could see the good brothers going about their chores. The younger men wore homespun robes of undyed wool; their elders' garments were light brown. The women among them, for many of the monks were married, wore the same simple garb, or more traditional clothing. All were busy about some task or other – toting firewood, building, thatching, tending the fields, feeding pigs, teaching the children of the nearby settlements and holdings – and all with the same jovial zeal. The place fairly hummed with earnest contentment.

We stopped to take this in, then dismounted and entered the compound on foot. I was greeted courteously, and addressed as a king – owing to my tore. 'How may we help you, lord?' the priest asked, taking us in with frank appraisal.

'I am a friend of the bishop here. I wish to see him.'

The monk smiled pleasantly. 'Of course. As you are his friend, you will understand that will be difficult. Our bishop is very old and he is resting at this time of day, as is his custom… ' He spread his hands as if to imply that the matter was beyond his influence, as no doubt it was. 'And then there is his sermon.'

'Thank you,' I told him. 'I would not think of disturbing him. And yet I know he will wish to see me.'

Two more monks had come to greet us and stood looking on, whispering to one another behind their hands. 'Then wait if you will,' replied the monk, 'and I will see to it that your request receives due consideration.'

I thanked him again and asked whether there was a superior I might speak to while I waited. 'That would be Brother Gwythelyn.'

'I was thinking of Salach.'

'Salach? But… ' he searched my face, questioningly, 'our dear brother Salach died years ago.'

I felt the pang of sorrow I usually feel upon receiving such news. In truth, I had forgotten how old he must be. 'Gwythelyn, then. Tell him that Myrddin ap Taliesin is here.'

At the sound of my name the two looking on murmured in surprise. 'Myrddin is here! Here!' They gaped at me and then dashed away to tell the others.

'Lord Myrddin,' said the monk, inclining his head towards me. 'Allow me to lead you to Brother Gwythelyn.'

Gwythelyn was the image of his uncle, Maelwys – as happens in dynasties of strong blood lines, the family resemblance was correspondingly strong. I hesitated as he turned from the manuscript on his table to greet me. 'Is something wrong?' he asked.

'No, nothing. It is just that you remind me of someone else.'

'My grandfather, no doubt. You knew Pendaran Gleddy-vrudd?' He appraised me closely. 'May I know your name?'

The monk who had led us to Gwythelyn's cell had, in his excitement, forgotten to give my name. 'Yes, I knew Red Sword well. I am Myrddin ap Taliesin,' I said simply.

Gwythelyn's eyes grew round. 'Forgive me, Myrddin,' he said, taking my hands and squeezing them in his own. They were hands made to hold a sword, and contrary to my expectation they were not soft; long days of rough labour had made them strong and hard. 'Forgive me, I should have known you.'

'How so? We have never met.'

'No, but from the day of my birth I have heard about you. Until this moment, I confess, I thought I should know you as I knew myself.'

'And I confess that when you turned round just now I thought I was seeing Maelwys in the flesh once more.'

He smiled, enjoying the compliment. 'If I can become half the man he was I will die content.' His smile broadened. 'But Myrddin ap Taliesin ap Elphin ap Gwyddno Garanhir – you see, we all know your illustrious lineage – I had always hoped to meet you one day, and now you are here. It is true, you are a marvel to behold. But tell me, what great event brings you to Llandaff? Will you stay? We have room for you.'

'Your welcome is most heartening, Gwythelyn; worthy of your generous uncle. I can stay but a short while – a day or two, and then I must go on to Londinium.' I went on to tell him about the new High King who would be crowned very soon.

'My brother -' he interrupted, 'Tewdrig, is he..?'

'He is well and will return as soon as the High King has taken the throne. And this is why I have come: I would like Bishop Dafyd to officiate.'

Gwythelyn considered this and then replied slowly, 'It is true that Dafyd has not stepped a dozen paces outside Llandaff in as many years – but… well, we will ask him and see what he says.'

'I would not disturb his rest. I am content to wait until he has awakened.'

'Very well, he is accustomed to taking refreshment after his sleep. We will go to him then. I know he will wish to see you. Until then, perhaps you would not refuse refreshment yourself?'

We did not have long to wait, for no sooner had Pelleas and I finished eating than a young man came, saying, 'Bishop is waking, Brother Gwythelyn. I thought you would like to know.' He addressed his superior, but his eyes never left me.

‘Thank you, Natyn. We will come along at once.'

Dafyd's room was a clean-swept cubicle, bare of all furniture save his bed and one chair. I recognized the chair: it had once sat in Pendaran's hall; likely, Maelwys had given it to him. There was a tiny window covered with an oiled skin, through which light poured like honey, thick and golden. His bed was a straw pallet on a raised wooden frame and covered with fleeces.

On this bed sat a man who appeared to have been carved from fine alabaster. His white hair, ablaze in the light, surrounded his head like a nimbus, a halo of bright flame. On his face, so calm and serene, lingered still the beauty of his dreams. His dark eyes radiated peace to his simple world.

It was Dafyd. Much changed, much aged. Yet there was no mistaking him. He was leaner to be sure, but his flesh was firm and his teeth were good. Despite his advanced age – which must have been well past ninety, I realized with a shock – he looked robust and vital, a man in whom the fires of life burned with energy and passion and zeal.

In short, he appeared a man in whom holiness had nearly completed its transforming work.

As we entered the cell, his gaze shifted and he half rose to receive us. Then he saw me. He stopped. His mouth opened to speak, but his tongue gave no utterance. Emotions played across his features like cloud-shadows chasing over the slopes of a hill. Tears welled up in his eyes – and in mine as well.

I went to him, raised him and clasped him to my breast.

'Myrddin, Myrddin,' he murmured at last, speaking my name as he would one of his holy texts. 'Myrddin, my soul, you are alive. To see you after all these years – alive and well. Oh, but you have not altered a whit. You are the same as my memory of you. Look at you now!'

His hands patted my shoulders and arms, as if he would be reassured that I was indeed flesh and bone before him. 'Oh, Myrddin, to see you is joy itself. Sit. Can you stay? Are you hungry? Gwythelyn! This is Myrddin, of whom I have often spoken. He is here! He has returned!'

Gwythelyn smiled. 'So he has. I will leave you to speak to one another until dinner.' He closed the door silently and left us to our reunion.

'Dafyd, I wanted to come sooner – so many times I thought of you and wanted to come to you… '

'Shh, it is nothing. We are together at last. My prayer is answered. Ever I have prayed for you, Myrddin, that I might see you again before I die. And now you are here. God is good.'

'You look well, Dafyd. I had not hoped -'

‘To see me alive? Oh, aye, I am quite alive – much to the chagrin of the younger monks. I am something of a terror to them.' He winked slyly at me. 'They believe God keeps me alive just to torment them, and they may be right.'

'Latin a torment? Surely not.'

He nodded innocently. 'The mother tongue, language of scholars – a torment. But you know what students are. They complain incessantly. "Better a heart broken in love, than a head broken on Latin," they say. So, I tell them, "Fill your heads with Latin, and let God fill your hearts with love – then neither one can be broken.'"