'I recognize you, Morcant,' Merlin replied, 'and I know you for what you are.'

'Trickster!' Morcant sneered. 'It will take more than your enchantments to make this whore's whelp a king.'

Merlin smiled, but his eyes grew cold. 'I will not make him king, Morcant. These lords gathered in this place will do that – and of their own will.'

'Never!' Morcant laughed bitterly. 'On my life, that will not happen.' He turned to those gathered around him, seeking approval for his words. Some gave it outright; others were more uncertain but on the whole agreed with Morcant.

Emboldened by this support, Morcant moved to the attack. 'We do not know this boy; he is no king. Look at him! It is doubtful he is even of noble birth.' He indicated the sword with a scornful flick of his hand. 'Do you expect us to believe that the blade in his hand is the true Sword of Britain?'

'That,' Merlin told him calmly, 'can easily be shown. We have but to step into the churchyard to see the empty stone from which the sword was drawn.'

Morcant was of no disposition to agree with Merlin. But, having pressed the matter, he could not now back down. 'Very well,' he said, 'let us see if this is the true sword or not.'

Pushing, jostling, the crowd, noblemen and all shouting at one another, fought their way out of the church and into the darkened yard, where even in the fitful glow of flickering torchlight everyone could plainly see that the great stone was indeed empty.

This convinced a few, but Morcant was not one of them. 'I would see him take it for myself,' he declared, firm in the belief that it was plainly impossible for Arthur to have drawn it in the first place, and that he would in no wise be able to repeat this miracle. 'Let him put it back,' Morcant challenged, 'and raise it again if he is able.'

'Let him put it back!' cried someone from the crowd, and others shouted, too: 'Put it back! Let him put the sword back!'

At Merlin's nod, Arthur advanced to the stone and replaced the sword, let it stand for a moment, then drew it out again as easily as before.

'Ha!' crowed Morcant, 'that is no true test. Once the spell has been broken, anyone may draw the blade!'

'Very well,' said Merlin flatly. He turned to Arthur. 'Replace the sword.' Arthur did so and stepped aside.

Grinning wickedly, Morcant seized the sword with both hands and pulled. The great king grunted and strained. His face darkened and his muscles knotted with the effort. But the sword was stuck as fast as ever it was before. There was no moving it. He fell back, defeated.

'What enchantment is this?' Morcant snarled, rubbing his hands.

'If it is enchantment,' Merlin told him, 'it is God's enchantment and none of mine.'

'Liar!' screamed Morcant.

Others crowded in around the stone and tried to draw the sword. But, as ever before, the Sword of Britain remained firm-fixed to the keystone. No one among the greatest in the Island of the Mighty could pull it out, save Arthur alone.

When all had tried and failed, King Morcant raged: 'This proves nothing! I will not be tricked by night. Let him lift the sword in the bright daylight, I say! Then we will know that all is as it should be.'

Morcant believed no such thing, of course. He merely wished to put off the test a little longer, in the vain hope that he might yet discover a way to win the sword.

Merlin was of a mind to challenge Morcant in this, but Urbanus came forth, with the holy cross upraised, and appealed to all gathered there in the name of the Christ to put off the test until the morning.

'Tomorrow is the Christ Mass,' the bishop said. 'Come inside the church and pray to the Holy King of all men, that in his great mercy he will show some miracle by which we will know beyond all doubt who shall be High King.'

To some, this sounded like wisdom itself. I could see what Merlin thought of the scheme. I could almost hear his scornful retort: As I stand before God, toe have already had our miracle! How many mare will you require before you believe?

But, to my surprise, Merlin politely acquiesced. 'So be it,' he replied. 'Tomorrow let us assemble here once more and see what God will do.'

With that he turned and started away. Arthur and I followed, leaving the torchlit crowd gaping after us.

'Myrddin, why?' asked Arthur, as soon as we were away from the churchyard. The narrow street was dark and wet with melted snow. 'I could do it again – I am certain of it. Please, Myrddin, let me.'

Merlin stopped in the street and turned to Arthur. 'I know perfectly well that you could. In truth, you could draw the sword fifty times, or five hundred – yet it still would not be enough for them. But this way we give them something to think about. Let them worry with it through the night, and perhaps tomorrow they will see things differently.'

'But tomorrow Lord Morcant might – ' began Arthur.

'Morcant has had fifteen years to find a way to defeat the sword, or find a way round it,' Merlin explained. 'One more night will make no difference.'

We started walking again. Our lodgings were not far from the church, and we soon arrived. Arthur was silent until we reached the doorstep. 'Myrddin, why did you bring me here like this?'

'I have told you, boy. It is time to see what you will become.'

'That is no answer. You knew what would happen. You knew there would be trouble tonight.'

'Come in, Arthur. It is cold.'

'No,' Arthur refused flatly. 'Not until you tell me.'

Merlin sighed. 'Oh, very well. I will tell you. Now, let us go in. Gradlon has a fire. We will drink some of his wine, and I will tell you all that can be told.'

We entered the house where, as Merlin had said, Gradlon the wine merchant had prepared a fire. In the elegant style of old Londinium, there were chairs drawn up to the fire, a small long-legged table bearing a tray with cups of silver, and a fine glass jar filled with ruby-red wine.

Gradlon himself was nowhere to be seen, nor did it appear that any of his servants were about.

'I will see if anyone is here,' I said, and went to look. The rooms of the ground floor were empty. The upper floor contained two rooms – one of them Gradlon's private chamber. The other he kept as a small storeroom and a place to make his accounting. Gradlon was in neither room. The house was empty.

I returned to the hearthroom. Merlin and Arthur were settled before the fire. Three cups stood on the hearthstone, wanning.

'There is no one in the house, lord,' I reported.

Merlin nodded. 'Yet he prepared our welcome. No doubt he was called away and will appear shortly.'

Arthur slumped in his chair, his large hands clasped over his chest. 'I thought they would have my head,' he muttered. 'They would have, too, if you had not stopped them. But why, Myrddin? Why were they so angry? And where is Meurig? And Ectorius and Cai – where are they? And Custennin and Bedwyr? They should all be here to support me.'

'They should,' Merlin agreed. 'But they have been delayed. Perhaps they will arrive tomorrow. Perhaps not.'

'What? Do you not care what happens?' Arthur's voice rose shrilly.

Patiently, Merlin replied. 'Do you doubt me? I only say what is: either they will come tomorrow, or they will not. But whether they come or no, there is little I can do about it.'

Arthur glared darkly, but said nothing. I moved to the hearthstone and poured wine into the warmed cups, handing one first to Merlin, then one to Arthur.

'Fret not, Arthur,' I told him. 'All is as it should be – as it was ordained to be. Meurig and Custennin know well the Christ Mass Council. They know and will come.'

He accepted this with the wine, gulped down a mouthful. 'You said you would tell me everything. You agreed. Well? I am ready to hear it now.'

Merlin appraised him carefully for a moment. 'Are you? Are you ready to hear it all? I wonder.'