The silence in the great chamber was such that I might have heard the snowflakes alighting in the yard outside. No one, Morcant included, held a single legitimate reason why Arthur should not be High King – save for his own ambitious pride.

Merlin's golden eyes gazed over the assembly and the gathered crowd. The time had come to force the issue. He rose slowly and stepped to the centre of the ring. 'So,' he said softly, 'it is as I thought. No one can speak against Arthur. Now then, I ask you, who will speak for him?'

The first to answer was Ectorius, who leapt to his feet. 'I speak for him. And I own him king!'

'I also own him king.' It was Bedegran.

'I own him king,' said Madoc, rising with him.

Those who had already bent the knee now proclaimed Arthur once again. The throng cheered at this, but the acclamation died in their throats. For no one else recognized Arthur or held him king. The Council of Kings remained divided, and not enough supported Arthur to allow him to claim the throne in spite of the dissenters.

Morcant wasted not a moment. 'We will not accept him as king over us,' he crowed. 'Someone else must be chosen.'

'He holds the sword!' shouted Merlin. 'And that has not changed. Whoever would be king must first take the sword from Arthur's hand. For I tell you truly, none among you will be king without it!'

Morcant's fists balled in his anger. As carefully as he tried to steer the issue around that fact, Merlin managed to guide it back.

'Arthur, come here,' summoned Merlin. The young man joined the Emrys in the circle.

'Here he is,' said Merlin, stepping away. 'Who among you will be first to try?'

Arthur stood alone in the centre of the ring of kings. In the flickering light of the Christ Mass candles, holding the sword easily by the hilt, alert, resolute, unafraid, he appeared an avenging angel, eyes alight with the bright fire of righteousness.

Clearly, anyone wishing to take the sword by force would have a fight on his hands. Fools they were, perhaps, but not fool enough to risk single combat with this unknown young warrior. Merlin's challenge stood.

Even so, Arthur could not demand the High Kingship outright. He had no lands, no wealth, no warband; and his supporters were too few. The issue remained in deadlock. Nothing had changed since the night before.

But Merlin was not finished.

All that winter's day and far into the night the kings' twisted and squirmed, but Merlin held them in his iron grasp and would not let go. He became first a rock, and then a mountain in Arthur's defence. Arthur stood equally unmoved. No power on earth could have prevailed against them…

… just as no power on earth can make a man honour another who does not himself desire it.

In truth, the petty kings did not desire to honour Arthur. He would have to earn their honour and their loyalty. Merlin's great care was to make that possible.

This he accomplished through reviving the tide Dux Britanniarum, Duke of Britain – Uther's old title from the time when he was war leader for Aurelius – and conferring it upon Arthur.

The council agreed to this in the end, for it saved them from having to make Arthur king outright. But once he obtained this compromise, then did Merlin sow his scheme: a warband supported by all the kings equally, for the benefit of all. A free-roving force dedicated to keeping the lands of Britain secure. Beholden to no king, supported equally by all, this roaming warband could strike wherever and whenever needed – without regard for the restrictive pacts and alliances of the petty kings.

Since, it was reasoned, Britain faced a common enemy we would field a common warband, led by a war leader owing allegiance to no one, but serving all equally as need arose.

This, of course, was far less readily agreed upon, for it meant that kings like Morcant and Coledac would have to give up their warring ways – else they would find themselves facing Arthur and the warband they themselves helped to support.

Thus, making Arthur Duke of Britain enforced the peace. This was the beauty of Merlin's plan, and also its greatest weakness. For, in truth, the kings who had no intention of swearing fealty to Arthur would not support him to their own hurt.

Other kings saw a different menace: a free-roving warband they could not rule was scarcely less dangerous than the Saecsen raiders this selfsame warband was supposed to hold at bay.

Yet, as they had already conceded Arthur's title, there was nothing they could do in the end. A War Leader implied a force to command. And no one could deny the need. Arthur would be the War Leader, and the warband would be raised from the pledged support of the council.

True, it was not the High Kingship. But Merlin's scheme gave Arthur what he needed: leave to act to win the kingship. And he did.

When Arthur left the church that night – cold and bright it was, and windy, the black ice shining in the white moonlight – his long legs striding, hastening him away, the Sword of Britain on his hip for good, he was no longer the young man who had entered that morning. The malice of the petty kings, their narrow spites, their biting rancour and jealousy had hardened him. But the All-Wise Spirit moves in mysterious ways: Arthur now knew them for what they were.

In this he had the better of them, for they knew him not at all.

Arthur has always learned quickly. When as a boy in Ectorius' house he laboured at his Latin and numbers with Melumpus, the Gaulish tutor from the abbey at nearby Abercurny, Arthur needed only to be told a thing once and he understood it, twice and it was his for ever.

As often as not, when I came for the boys in the afternoons, to ride or take weapons practice, there would be Arthur patiently explaining a word or sum to Cai while Melumpus dozed in the sun, his hands folded over his paunch. Arthur could teach as well as learn, though he always preferred doing to thinking.

If a thing could be done, Arthur wanted to do it. If it could not be done, better still – that was the thing he wanted most to do.

Nothing comes so vividly to mind in this regard as when we journeyed to Gwynedd on our way to Caer Myrddin to visit Tewdrig. Ectorius and Cai were with us, and Merlin of course, along with a small escort.

It was the summer of Arthur's eleventh year, I believe, and there had been reports of renewed Irish raiding along the western coasts. Merlin wanted to discuss the situation with Tewdrig and Meurig, and see for himself how things stood. He had planned to go quietly, alone. But, once Arthur heard of it, he quickly included himself and Cai, and there was no gainsaying him. Since we could in no wise risk travelling with Arthur unprotected, it was decided that we would all make the journey together.

All went well until we reached Yr Widdfa. Upon seeing those great cold looming mounds of slate, Arthur nearly fell off his horse in astonishment. 'Look at that one! Have you ever seen a higher mountain? There is snow still on it!'

'It is a sight indeed,' agreed Merlin.

'Does it have a name? What is it?'

'It does. All this is Yr Widdfa, Region of Snows.' Merlin pointed to the highest peak. 'The one you are gawking at isEryri.'

'It is… ' he searched for words,'… enormous! Enormous and beautiful.' He gazed in wonder at it, filling his eyes with the sight. 'Has anyone ever climbed it?'

The question caught Merlin off guard. 'I do not believe so,' he answered. 'I do not think it possible.'

That was the wrong thing to say, certainly. 'Good! Then I will be the first,' Arthur declared. He meant it, too. And he meant to begin at once. With a lash of the reins, he rode towards the mountain.