So, as we advanced along the Megget, Arthur and the Emrys riding at the head of our great army, we sang the songs of the Cymry – the ancient songs of battle and victory; the songs of honour and valour and courage. And our hearts soared within us, as the eagles riding the high winds above the steep-sided green glens around us.

Three days we marched, giving time for the ships to come round and for Cai's contingent to secure the eastern coast before striking inland to join us. On the fourth, the day before the battle would commence, we camped on the banks of a silvered lake.

We ate well and slept in the afternoon. Many bathed and sported in the cold, clear water of the lake. Some fished, and others looked to their weapons and armour.

From the hillside above, I gazed down upon our thousands ringing the long crescent lake and pride rose within me. Myrddin and Arthur were nearby, playing a game of gwyddbwyll on the grass. 'Has ever such an army of Britons been raised in the Island of the Mighty?' I asked aloud. 'Look at them! Southerners and Men of the North fighting together, side by side, under the command of one war leader. Angels and archangels, it is a stirring sight!'

'There was a time, once,' answered Myrddin presently, guiding sightless eyes to the sound of my voice. 'Aurelius united the kings to fight the Saecsen Hengist and his brood.'

'Were there as many?'

'No,' admitted the Emrys, 'but then, there were fewer Saecsen, too.'

Arthur raised his head from the board and scanned the hillside. Everywhere were tents scattered on the slopes, and behind them long pickets of horses. Supply wagons formed a wall along the water's edge, where the cooking fires were lit and whole oxen roasted day and night to keep the bellies of our warriors filled. Oh, it was indeed a marvellous sight.

'What dp you feel, Artos, to look upon such a thing?' I asked, sitting down beside him on the grass.

'I feel – ' he paused, his blue eyes drinking in the vista before him, 'I feel humble and afraid.'

'Afraid!' I hooted. 'Why afraid? There are ten thousand down there and not a man among them who would not gladly give his life to protect yours. You are the safest man in all Britain.'

'I do not fear death,' Arthur said. 'I fear displeasing God. I fear losing his favour.'

'How so, Bear?'

'When much is given a man, much is required in return. I fear giving less than I have been given,' he explained, and I began to see it. He raised his hand and spread his fingers out across the lake. 'And look you, Bedwyr, my brother, I have been given more than any man in Britain. What will be required of me, do you think?'

'Any man as desperate to please God as you are, Bear, cannot fail.'

The Emrys sang that night beside the lake, his voice echoing in the empty hills, the moon high and fair to look upon, the wavelets shining silver at his feet. The harp nestled against his shoulder poured forth its matchless gift of song, and our hearts soared high in the star-flecked sky. Myrddin sang of battles fierce and hot, of courage, valour, and honour. He sang us the victory and the glory. He sang the old songs, and some I have never heard.

He sang of the Kingdom of Summer and its excellent king. His clear, strong voice conjured images hi our minds and the images lived. His song took life and grew until it became more real to us than the dull earth beneath our feet. To hear the Emrys was to see, and to see was to believe.

The Summer Realm lived in our midst; the yearning of our hearts gave it shape and substance. We tasted the sweetness of its fragrance on our lips, and heard the gentle music of its fair winds rising within us. The gleam of its unfailing light filled our eyes.

We were made for this, I thought. We were made for the Kingdom of Summer, and it was made for us. Sweet Jesu, let it be.

We awakened to a blood-red dawn and a white mist upon the lake. We ate the food that had been prepared for us through the night: fresh barley bread and brose, and good roast meat. Fare to fill a warrior's stomach with warmth, and his spirit with courage.

Arthur walked among the men, talking to them, laughing with them, stirring their mettle with bold words, praising their valour, encouraging them, exhorting them.

The other kings saw how he was with his men – and how the Cymbrogi repaid his respect – and they began to follow the Duke's example. When the time came to don battle dress and mount horse, the battle flame had already begun to burn in our hearts.

I do not think a more gallant army will ever be seen in the Island of the Mighty than the one that rode along the lake that brilliant, sunlit morning. We moved like a great silence through the empty hills. The forest lay directly ahead of us to the east. We marched swiftly along the Yarow river towards where the Yarow water met the Etric and the forest together – a good flat place of wide shallow water surrounded by thick-wooded hills behind, and Celyddon before.

Upon leaving the glen we came upon something very strange and little seen any more: a band of Hill Folk. We saw them on the ridgeway above us and, as we passed by, three of their number rode down to meet us on their shaggy, thick-legged little ponies. Arthur, Myrddin and I turned aside to receive them while the army continued on.

Although I was there and heard every word, I will not pretend to know what they said. I heard only the words kentigem and tyrfa drwg gelyn ffymig. I would not have understood those but for the fact that they were repeated several times with great emphasis. Still, the airy ripple that passes for speech among those quaint folk was meaningless to me.

'What do they want?' I asked Arthur. 'And who are they?'

Arthur turned to Myrddin at his right hand, who did not answer but held conversation for some moments with the Hill Folk leader. This gave me the opportunity to observe them carefully, which I did with great fascination. They were small men, yet fair of form; straight of limb, fine featured, and fully grown – yet none of them above the height of a boy of twelve summers. They were dressed in scraped skins and wore gold liberally about them: gold ear-rings and neck rings, armbands and bracelets. Each had a small blue mark on his right cheek: four tiny slashes.

When they finished speaking, Myrddin turned to Arthur. 'They are of the Wolf Clan,' he explained, 'and have come looking for the leader of Bear fhain. That is you, Arthur. They want to fight the beast-men who have been destroying their crannogs and killing their children.'

'But how do they know me?'

'They heard that the Ken-ti-gern, the Wise One of the Tallfolk – that is me – had raised a mighty son who is to drive the beast-men into the sea. They have come to see this miracle, and to lend their aid.'

Their aid?' I wondered in amusement, regarding the slender bows and short, fragile-looking reed arrows the Hill Folk carried. 'What can they do?'

'Do not dismiss them lightly,' Myrddin warned. 'The flint arrowheads carry a poison that kills with the slightest scratch. And their accuracy with the bow is astonishing.'

'But can they fight?' asked Arthur.

'Oh, yes. In their own fashion. Their ways are different, but most effective. They mean to join the battle whether you will or no, so you need not question their courage.'

Arthur laughed. 'If that is the way of it, then I give them full freedom to join us.'

Myrddin inclined his head, as if in deference to Arthur's judgement, and loosed a long string of wispy sounds. Whereupon the Hill Folk turned their ponies and galloped off without a blink. They disappeared over the ridge with their tiny warband and we did not see them again.

When we regained the head of the army, the dark, bristled mass of Celyddon lay directly ahead. And across a flat meadow and the dull-glinting Etric water, stood the barbarian host in the accustomed wedge-shape. Baldulf, with his kinsmen Ebbisa, Boerl and Oesc, and the Irish king Fergus, had drawn up before the forest at a wide ford on the river.