'Then you will need lands – to raise horses, grain, meat,' announced Meurig grandly. Arthur frowned, feeling his poverty. Therefore, my father and I are agreed that you shall have the lands south of Dyfed.'

'Siluria? But those lands are yours!' objected Arthur.

'Were mine,' Meurig corrected him. 'My father is old and will rule no longer. I am to rule in Dyfed now. Therefore we need a strong hand in the south and, as I have no heir to follow me, I can think of none better to hold the land than you. Yes?'

Arthur's frown turned to incredulity.

'Now then,' Meurig hurried on, 'there is an old hill fort lying between the Taff and Ebbw rivers, with a port on Mor Hafren – Caer Melyn is its name. It would take a deal of work, but you could make it a serviceable stronghold. The land is good; with care, it will provide.' Meurig beamed bis pleasure in making the gift. 'How now? Nothing to say, young Arthur?'

'I scarce know what to say.'

The young Duke appeared so disconcerted by this news that Ectorius clapped him on the back, shouting, 'Be of good cheer, my son. You will just have to accept your good fortune and get on with life as best you can.'

'Lands and a sword!' called Cai. 'What next? A wife and squalling bairns, no doubt.'

Arthur grimaced at Cai's gibe, and turned to Meurig. 'I am in your debt, my lord. I will do my best to hold the land and rule it as you would yourself.'

'I do not doubt it. You will be to us a wall of steel, behind which the people of Dyfed will grow fat and lazy.' Meurig laughed, and the shadows which had dogged our every move during our stay in Londinium rolled back.

I poured mead from the jar. We drank to the fortune of the Duke of Britain, and then began to talk of establishing Arthur's warband. Ectorius and Cai, it was decided, should return to Caer Edyn as soon as the weather would allow, to begin raising a force that could join Arthur in the south.

Naturally, Arthur could not wait to see his lands. He had visited there as a boy, of course, but had not been in Dyfed for a very long time. Winter lay full upon the land, but Arthur did not care. He would have it that next morning we should ride at once to Caer Melyn to inspect it.

'Wait at least until the snow has melted,' urged Merlin. 'Meurig says that winter has been hard in the southlands this year.'

'What is a little snow?'

'Have a care, Arthur. It is cold!'

Then we will wear two cloaks! I mean to see my lands, Myrddin. What sort of lord would I be if I neglected my holdings?'

'It is hardly neglect to wait until the roads are passable.'

'You sound like a merchant," he scoffed, and proceeded with his plans just the same.

I believe he had it all worked out before ever we left Londinium: how he would raise his warband, how he would support it, how he would build his kingdom, using Caer Melyn and the rich southlands given him as his strong foundation. He saw it so clearly that doubters were forced to join with him or stand aside. In this, as in so many things with Arthur, there could be no middle ground.

So we left Londinium the next morning and hastened west. Upon arriving at the Ebbw river – after more freezing nights along the track than I care to remember – Arthur rode at once to the hill fort. Like all the others in the region it was built on the crown of the highest hill in the vicinity, and offered a long view in every direction. Caer Melyn stood surrounded by a ring of smaller strongholds, a dozen in all, guarding the entrances to the valleys and the river inlets along the nearby coast.

Directly east lay another interlocking ring of hill forts, with Caer Legionis at its centre. The Fort of the Legions stood in ruins, deserted now, worthless. But Meurig had established a stronghold on a high hill a little to the north, above the ruined Roman fortress, and this, like Caer Melyn, was also surrounded by its ring of smaller hill forts.

The whole region was thus protected by these interlinked rings, making all of Dyfed and Siluria secure. Meurig, however, had never lived at Caer Melyn. Indeed, it had been many years since the Irish Sea Wolves had dared essay the vigilance of the southwestern British kings. Consequently the hill forts had been allowed to become overgrown and derelict from disuse. Certainly, Caer Melyn stood in need of repair: gates must be renting, ramparts rebanked, ditches redug, wall sections replaced, stores replenished…

As Meurig had said, it would take a deal of work to make the place habitable. But, to Arthur, it was already a fortress invincible and a palace without peer.

Caer Melyn, the Golden Fortress. It was so called for the yellow sulphur springs nearby, but Arthur saw another kind of gold shining here. He saw it as it would be, imagining himself lord of the realm.

Nevertheless, we were forced to sleep in what was – a forlorn hilltop open to the ice-bright stars and deep winter's bone-rattling blasts. Arthur did not care. The place was his and he was master of it; he insisted on spending his first night in his own lands hi his own fortress.

We banked the fire high and slept close to it, wrapped in our furs and cloaks. Before we slept, Arthur prevailed upon Merlin to sing a tale to mark the occasion. 'As this is the first tale sung hi my hall' – there was no hall – 'it is fitting that it be sung by the Chief Bard of the Island of the Mighty.'

Merlin chose The Dream of Macsen Wledig, changing it just a little to include Arthur. This pleased the young Duke enormously. 'Here will I make my home,' he declared expansively. 'And from this day forth let Caer Melyn be known as the foremost court of all Britain.'

'Of all courts past, present, and yet to come,' Merlin replied, 'this will be chief among them. It will be remembered as long as memory endures.'

Mind, it would be some time before the ruin could be called a caer, let alone a court. On that raw wintry morn when we arose to the frost and blow, beating our arms across our chests to warm ourselves, Arthur had not so much as a hearthstone to his name.

All he had, in fact, was Merlin's shining promise.

That day we rode to several of the surrounding hill forts to further Arthur's inspection of his reaun. He seemed not to mind that the places were fit more for wolf and raven than for men. It was clear that Meurig's gift would exact a price of its own, but Arthur would pay, and with a song on his lips.

As the sun started on its downward arc in the low winter sky, we turned towards Caer Myrddin to join Meurig there. We reached the stronghold as the pale green-tinted light faded from the hills. The horses' noses were covered with frost and their withers steamed as we trotted up the track to the timber-walled enclosure.

Nothing now remained of the old villa that had stood there in the days, now long past, when young Merlin had ruled here as king with Lord Maelwys, Meurig's grandfather. Maridunum it had been in those day's. Now it was Caer Myrddin – after its most famous ruler, though he was not a king any more and had not lived there in many, many years.

Torches already burned in the gate sconces – yellow flame in the deep blue shadows on the hard, frost-covered ground – but the gates were still open. We were expected.

Horses stood unattended in the yard. I wondered at this, and turned to point it out to Merlin who rode beside me. But Arthur had already seen them and knew in his heart what this meant.

'Yah!' he slapped the leather reins across his mount's flanks and galloped into the yard, hardly touching ground as he raced for the hall. Those within must have heard his cry, for as Arthur flung himself from the saddle, the door to Meurig's hall opened and a knot of men burst into the yard.

'Arthur!'

One of the men emerged from the throng and ran to meet him, caught Arthur up in a great bear hug. The two stood there in the pale golden torchlight from the hall, locked in a wrestler's embrace, then drew back, gripping one another's arms in the ancient greeting of kinsmen.