'They are a colourful brood,' I remarked, observing the strangers from my place beside Arthur. 'Who are they?'

Arthur's blue eyes narrowed as he scanned the group gathered in the yard. All at once, recognition broke like sunrise across his face. 'Fergus!'

The Duke strode forth to receive his visitor, while I stood gaping in disbelief. Fergus? Here? I thought that we had seen the last of him.

'Hail, Duke of Britain! I give you good greeting,' called Fergus mac Guillomar in his thickly accented tongue. He spoke with due formality, but then swung down from his horse and embraced Arthur like a kinsman.

'What do you here, Irishman?' asked Arthur mildly. Yet the question was direct.

'I have come with my retinue to pay the tribute of gold and hostages that I owe.'

Arthur grinned, obviously pleased. 'I own the right of tribute, it is true. But I have made no demands on you.'

'Am I a barbarian that I repay honour with dishonour?' Fergus demanded. He turned quickly to his retinue, now dismounting, and called one of them forth.

A dark lanky youth with a long, serious face and deep-set black eyes under brooding brows stepped forward. He carried a long spear with a gleaming silver head. Across his shoulders he wore a cloak made from wildcat skins. The tore of braided silver at his throat spoke of nobility.

'This is Llwch Llenlleawg,' said Fergus proudly. 'He is the champion of our people. He is also my sister's son, my fosterling and kinsman. I deliver him as hostage to you. May his service bring you great reward.'

Arthur appraised the young man thoughtfully – not wishing to offend Fergus by rejecting his offer outright. But, before he could speak, the Irish king beckoned another to him: a slender young woman.

I have known and admired many young women, but this one was like no other I had ever seen. Her hair, so black it shimmered with a blue sheen in the sun, was pulled back to fall around her graceful neck and shoulders in a mass of braids: deepest jet against the pure alabaster of her flawless skin. She wore a disdainful expression, her lips pressed firmly together and her chin outthrust, as she regarded Arthur with keen grey eyes the colour of a dove's wing, or the mist that conies down from the mountain in the morning. The high, noble sweep of her brows and straight nose gave her the aspect of a queen.

Her long slender fingers held tightly to the haft of a spear. She carried a golden dagger on one smooth hip, a short sword on the other, and a small bronze-bossed shield on a braided cord over one slim shoulder. Her cloak was soft wool, dyed deepest red, gathered in an enormous golden brooch upon her breast. Most surprising of all, she wore a shirt of Angli mail, but the ringlets were small and exquisite, made of silver. It gleamed as she moved, like shining water rippling over her fair form.

She was dazzling, and despite her battle dress, easily the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. She advanced slowly and came to stand beside Fergus, though her gaze never left Arthur. The look she gave him could have cut steel, I think, but the Duke seemed not to notice.

'This is Gwenhwyvar,' Fergus said, 'my daughter.'

He signalled the druid who came forth with a bundle of cloth in his outstretched hands. The druid gave the bundle to Arthur, and then unwrapped the cloth to reveal four golden tores of the most remarkable quality and design – each more beautiful than the last.

It was clear that Fergus was giving Arthur his most highly prized possessions: his champion, his daughter, the ancient treasures of his people.

Arthur was rightly speechless. He stared at the gold, and then at the girl and the warrior, and back to Fergus. 'I am honoured,' he said at length. 'Your tribute shames my small kindness.'

'I have pledged my life, Duke Arthur, and I know well what my life is worth,' replied Fergus proudly.

'I accept your tribute and your fealty, O King.'

What have you done, Arthur? I wondered. We will never see the end of this now!

Arthur gripped Fergus' arms like a kinsman. 'Come, my friend,' he announced boldly, 'we will share the guest cup.'

Fergus beamed his pleasure, gratified to be treated this way by Arthur. I stood in the yard, gazing after them as they all moved into the hall. I was not the only one disturbed by this development. For, as I turned to follow the others, I saw Myrddin standing a little away.

'Did you hear?' I asked.

'I heard.'

'Well?'

There is much in this that I do not like.'

'Oh, it is trouble,' I agreed. 'All saints bear witness, nothing good comes of accepting gifts from the Irish.'

Myrddin frowned, dismissing my observation with a distracted wave of his hand. 'It is more than that, Jealous One.'

He turned away, and I charged after him. 'Jealous! Me? Why do you call me jealous?'

But Myrddin would not answer. He made his way into the hall and to his place beside Arthur at the hearth table. The cups had been filled and were passing from hand to hand. I reluctantly joined the odd celebration and drank when the cup came to me. I noticed that Myrddin did not drink, however, but hovered at Arthur's shoulder like a guarding angel.

It was not until late afternoon that Myrddin gained opportunity of speaking to Arthur in private. 'A word, Arthur,' he said, and moved off towards the Duke's chamber at the end of the hall. Arthur rose, and since he did not bid me stay, I went with him.

'It is a mistake,' the Emrys said at once, his tone low and serious. 'You cannot accept the tribute.'

Arthur spread his hands helplessly. 'But I have already done so.'

'Undo it.'

'I cannot, even if I wanted to – which I do not.'

'You can and must.'

'What is it, Myrddin? What is troubling you?'

Myrddin was silent for a long moment. 'It is the woman,' he said at last.

'What about her?' asked Arthur innocently. 'I saw nothing in her to cause such dread.'

'She is a queen… ' 'She is Fergus' daughter – '

'It is the same thing with them. Do you not know this? By accepting her, you are agreeing to marry her. Fergus would not have given her to you otherwise.' Arthur gaped stupidly at his Wise Counsellor. 'Well? Nothing to say, Mighty Duke? Did such a thing never occur to you?'

'On my life, I confess that it did not,' replied Arthur indignantly.

'It is true. This champion, Llenlleawg – he is Fergus' champion, yes; but he is the queen's protector first. And the gift of gold – her people's wealth,' said Myrddin in a softer tone. 'Arthur, it is her bride gift, and a greater gift could not be made. Fergus honours you highly – perhaps too highly.'

'What do you mean?' asked Arthur suspiciously. 'Among the Irish the kingship is passed through the woman to her husband.'

'Ha!' I crowed. 'You would be king of Ierne, Bear! Think of that!'

'It is no small thing!' snapped Myrddin. To Arthur he said, Think! The High King of Britain must have a British wife.'

Arthur glared at me and stiffened. 'That is my decision, surely. No man will tell me who I shall take to wife.'

'Your arrogance will cost you the High Kingship. The lords of Britain will never own you king with an Irish.queen for your wife. By accepting Fergus' daughter, you are declaring her above all the noble women of Britain, and so exalting Fergus above all the kings of Britain.'

The Duke folded his arms across his chest. Then so be it! What British king has ever treated me with half as much respect as this enemy has done?'

"Think what you are doing, Arthur. Give her back to Fergus,' Myrddin urged. 'My honour will not allow it!'

'It is pride you are talking about, not honour,' Myrddin Emrys told him flatly. 'If you take this woman, your precious honour will be ruined beyond all hope of repair. It will mean your kingdom and much else besides.'