Merlin smiled grimly. He banged the butt of his staff on the ground three times. 'Well done, Arthur! Well done!' He raised bis hand to Cai. 'And well done, Cai. You kept your head and followed the wiser course.' His words praised, but his tone mocked.

'You agree, Myrddin? It is the wisest course? It is a good plan, yes?'

'Oh, a very good plan, Arthur. But even the best plans can fail.'

'Do you think it will fail?' asked Bedwyr.

'It matters little what I think,' replied Merlin diffidently. 'I am not the one to convince. It is for your warriors to decide.'

'As to that,' stated Arthur, 'I do not know a single man among them who would not welcome the chance to lay down his sword for a day or two.'

'Even if he knew it was only to take up the sickle and flail?' Bors grimaced with distaste.

'Never worry, Lord Bors,' Arthur soothed, 'you will not have to touch that dread implement. You will lead your men on harassment forays, diversions – anything you like, so long as you keep those hounds occupied while we steal their grain.'

That I will do! By the God who made me, that I will do.'

They fell at once to making plans for keeping the rebel kings occupied, and for transporting the grain once they had it. Merlin left them to their plans, moving silently from the tent and out into the early twilight.

I followed him and joined him as he stood gazing up at the lingering blush of red in the western sky. I stood with him for a moment, and then said, 'What is it?'

Merlin did not answer, but continued looking at the sky, and at a flock of crows winging to their roosts in a hilltop wood nearby.

'Is it the grain raid? Will it fail?'

'In truth, I do not know… '

'What is it, then? What have you seen?'

He was long in answering, but when he spoke at last his words were, 'Ships, Pelleas, and smoke. I have seen the sharp prows dividing the foam, and many feet splashing onto the shore. I have seen smoke, heavy and black, flattening on the wind.'

'Saecsens?'

Merlin nodded, but did not take his eyes from the sky. 'In the north… I think Eboracum has fallen.'

Eboracum fallen to the Saecsens? We had heard nothing of this. I did not doubt my master, however; his word would prove true.

'What is to be done?'

'What is to be done?' He turned to me, golden eyes dark with sudden anger. 'End this senseless rebellion. The waste, the waste! We tear at one another and the Saecsen brazenly seize the land. It must end. There must be an end.'

He turned and started down the hill towards the stream. After a few paces he paused and glanced back over his shoulder. 'Will the grain raid succeed?' he called, then answered. 'Pray, Pelleas! Pray with everything in you that it does succeed. For the time is here and now gone when we can suffer the Saecsen kind to take root among us.'

The men of the settlement stood mute and angry as they watched Arthur's warriors heave the last sack of grain onto the overloaded wain. When the driver came with the goad to turn the oxen onto the trail, an old man – one of the fanners who had been watching the grain disappear – stepped forward to stand before Cai.

'It is not right that you take everything,' the farmer accused. 'You should leave us something.'

'If you have a grievance, take it to your lord,' Cai told him flatly. 'This is Cerdic's doing.'

'We will go hungry this winter. If you leave us nothing we will die.'

'Then die!' Cai shouted, vaulting to his mount. From the saddle he challenged them. 'I tell you the truth: we would not be stealing your grain if Cerdic had not broken his sworn oath to support Arthur. As it is, we take only what has been promised to us.' With that, he wheeled his horse and trotted off to take his place behind the wain.

As at the other settlements, no one lifted a hand to stop us. Not that it would have made a difference if they had. The silent accusation in their eyes was enough. We all felt like barbarians and worse for our part in the scheme.

'Bear it but a little longer,' Arthur told us all repeatedly. 'It is soon over and the war will end.'

Only Arthur's assurance, solid and unfailing, kept us at it. At one holding after another, three and four at a time, we hastily gathered the year's crops of barley and corn, and cattle and sheep in fair numbers also. All the while, Bors occupied the massed war host of the rebel lords with cunning little raids and forays designed both to annoy and to keep them far away from us.

It worked, yes. Perhaps too well. We succeeded too easily. This should have been a warning.

But, when Cerdic and the rebel lords finally discovered what we were doing, the grain was safely behind Caer Melyn's walls. In fact, we could not keep it all – our stores would not hold it. We sent a good portion to Meurig, and what he could not take we piled on the ground in the yard and covered with hides.

The weather broke early that year. Indeed, the autumn rains started as the last wagons began their ascent of the hill to the caer. As the warriors rode ahead to get in out of the rain, Arthur stood at the gate and welcomed them.

'Well, that is that,' he said, as the last wain trundled into the yard a little while later. He stood looking out across the hills and made no move when Bedwyr joined him. 'That is the last of it,' Arthur said.

'I hope so.' Bedwyr shook his head slowly.

Arthur cocked an eye at him. 'Then why do you frown so?'

'I tell you the truth, Artos, I am ashamed.'

'Would you rather be dead?' Arthur snapped. 'Cerdic will oblige you.'

'Na, na,' Bedwyr replied soothingly. 'I agree it is necessary. For the love of God, Artos, I know it is. But that does not mean I have to like it. And I will rest easier over this when Bors has returned.'

'He is late, that is all.' Arthur made a dismissing motion with his hand, and moved away to where the wains were being unloaded. One of the wet grain sacks slipped and fell, landing on the ground before Arthur, where it burst and poured forth a golden flood over his feet.

He glared at the spilled grain for a moment, the colour rising to his face. 'Clean it up!' Arthur shouted angrily. The men stopped their work to stare at him. 'Clean it up at once, do you hear? For I will not allow a single kernel to be wasted.' He shook the grain from his boots and stalked off.

Yes, Bors was late. It was on everyone's mind. He should have returned days ago, but there had been no word or sign and we feared that something had happened to him.

Days passed and Arthur grew more edgy and short-tempered, as did we all. Rhys, Bors' harper, sang in the hall each night, doing what he could to lift our spirits. Unfortunately, playing to an ill-tempered and unappreciative audience, he could do very little.

'I am going after him,' Arthur declared one night. 'Jesu knows, we cannot sit here like this all winter.'

The morning came dark and damp with a thick curling mist. Arthur chose twenty warriors to ride with him. As they were saddling their mounts, we heard a cry from the gates. 'Open! Let Tegal in!'

Immediately, the gates swung open and the rider – a watchman at one of the border watchtowers – reined up and slid from the saddle. At once a knot of people gathered round the rider.

'What is it?' demanded Arthur, pushing his way through the throng.

'My lord, a war host approaches.'

'How many?'

'Five hundred.'

'Cerdic.' Arthur's voice was flat and sharp-edged as his sword. 'Very well, today we will settle it once and for all.' He turned to his warriors. 'Arm yourselves! We ride to meet them.'

The caer was thrown into instant chaos as men ran to don arms and saddle horses. But we did not ride out that day. In fact, we did not even leave the caer.

For, as we assembled in the yard – in this we followed the Roman generals, readying ourselves in orderly ranks before riding into battle – there came a messenger from Cerdic, riding under the sign of safe conduct: a willow branch raised in his right hand.