I froze, gripping the water jar tight in my hand lest I drop it.

The stranger stood full in the doorway, motionless, peering into the shrine. I do not believe he could see me in the darkness, but I imagined his eyes stripping away the shadow and revealing me. No, it was more than imagined, I think: I really felt something – the force of his presence, perhaps, groping, searching, penetrating the obscurity, and finally brushing against me. That fleeting touch chilled me and my heart lurched in my chest.

Blessed Jesu, Bright Protector, save me! I prayed – though I do not know why.

All at once, the figure turned and disappeared. I heard only the swish of a cloak and nothing more. I waited for a moment – but only that – and then crept slowly to the entrance. Peering cautiously outside, I looked left and right before emerging. I made a quick circuit round the shrine. The stranger had gone, I decided; there was no one on the hill or below it.

Where had he gone? I heard no horse, and it did not seem possible that anyone could arrive and depart so quickly. Per-haps.I had simply imagined seeing someone.

Nevertheless, I slept inside the rotunda and without a fire that night, lest I should attract any more intruders with my light. In the morning I found the bundle on the steps and suddenly felt very foolish.

My intruder was only one of the Hill Folk who brought the food each day. He had brought me this bundle and, not seeing anyone about, stopped to look inside the shrine. I had at long last chanced to see one of my providers and I had behaved like a child. I was only glad no one else was there to witness my shame.

Two days later, the party from Caer Lial arrived to inspect the monument. In the excitement, I forgot all about my mysterious visitor.

Queen Gwenhwyvar appeared at once more fierce than I could ever have imagined, and more lovely. She was a dark-smouldering flame clothed in the finely-formed body of a woman; an ardent, passionate soul, alive to everything around her. Because of the stories I had heard, I expected a towering, majestic figure like those famed Roman matriarchs of old.

Elegant she was, and graceful as the swan in flight, but she was not at all the forbidding matriarch. Her black hair gleamed; her eyes burned bright with delight as she beheld the wonder the Exalted Emrys had worked in the Fortress of Larks.

She stood before the steps and gazed at the marvellous shrine, beaming her pleasure. The others, including the Emrys and myself, waited a little away, watching her reaction. Gwenhwyvar remained a goodly time, merely looking up at the smooth curves of the monument. Then, lifting her soft-booted foot, she slowly mounted the steps and went in.

Gwenhwyvar had laboured long over her wedding gift to Arthur. And endured much in the way of contempt and derision. The ignorant said that Arthur had married a maid of the bhean sidhe and it was rumoured that she employed druid enchanters to summon Otherworld beings to move the sacred stone from Ierne, and had with spells and incantations raised the stone and rendered the site invisible lest anyone stumble upon it unawares.

Pure superstition, of course. Fiery Gwenhwyvar was not of the Hill Folk, nor was she a Pict. She was Irish, though proud as any Fair Folk maid; she could also command a warband with the skill of the best of Arthur's captains.

Some of the stone came from Ierne, it is true – but from Gwenhwyvar's father, King Fergus mac Guillomar. The beautiful blue stone was cut from the mountains and floated across the sea in ships, then dragged by ox-drawn sledge to the site which, although hidden, was not invisible. She employed the best quarrymen, masons and carpenters to work the stone and raise it – not druid enchanters.

In all, the queen was simply following the practice of her race; women of her rank provided for the survival of their fhain, or family clan, in life and death and beyond. Gwenhwyvar, foremost of all queens of the Island of the Mighty, meant to give Arthur a monument that would endure for ever.

Thirteen years is a long tune to wait for a wedding gift. It is also a long time to wait for an heir. More than a few of Arthur's lords had begun grumbling against Gwenhwyvar because the queen had given Arthur no sons. This, they thought, was more important than any monument.

Upon completing her inspection of the shrine, she emerged triumphant. 'Myrddin Emrys,' the queen said, taking his hands into her own, 'I am for ever beholden to you. No other in all the wide world could have accomplished this great work.' She turned and indicated the whole of the shrine with an arcing sweep of her hand. 'It is all I hoped it would be.'

'Thank you,' replied Myrddin simply. 'I am honoured.'

With the queen had come Tegyr and Bedwyr, and a few others of her retinue, and now they began to talk excitedly, praising the Emrys for his magnificent achievement. 'Arthur will be pleased,' Gwenhwyvar said. 'He will love this place as I do. It will be his sanctuary. There is peace here; nothing will disturb him here ever.'

The queen referred to Arthur's continued clashes with the lords and petty kings of the south, who worried at him constantly. If it was not one thing with them, it was another. Nothing ever made them happy – except baiting the Bear of Britain, which they considered good sport. Woe to them!

The northern kings knew better. The wars, only a minor vexation in the south, and now long forgotten, still lived in the memories of the people whose lands had been seized and families slaughtered by the barbarians. The tribes of the north revered their Pendragon, where the southern men merely tolerated him. More and more, Arthur looked upon the north as his home and he sojourned there whenever he could – but always at Eastertide and the Christ Mass.

Gradually, as the High King's sentiments had shifted, the heart of his realm had moved away from the south as well. Wherefore the lords of the south made greater cause against him. Petty dogs, all of them! The knew not when they were well off.

The queen did not stay at the rotunda. Having made her inspection, she was eager to return to the palace to begin ordering the celebration. Before the retinue left, the Emrys came to me. 'I am going to see my mother and Avallach settled in their new home. I want you to come with me.'

I had assumed that I would stay at the shrine. Indeed, I looked upon it as my duty. But I did as I was bade, and I went with him. We reached Caer Lial at twilight, slept in the palace, and departed again early the next morning. A ship waited in the harbour to take us to the Isle of the Fisher King, the island men of the north now call Avallon, or sometimes Ynys Sheaynt, Island of Blessed Peace.

I did not know where this island might be, nor how long our voyage would last. I did not care. For, with the sunrise on the sparkling water, my dread left me and all I could think was that I was on my way to meet the mysterious Fisher King and his renowned daughter. I had never seen Fair Folk – save the Emrys, if he was one – and anticipation flourished in me. The ship could not sail fast enough.

The island lies off the western coast midway between Ierne and Britain, a good day's sailing. It is the peculiar quality of this sea-girt land that it disappears from time to time. The Cymry say this is because Manannan ap Llyr, Lord of the Sea, grows jealous of this most fortunate isle and covers it with the Lengel, the Veil of Concealment, so that men will not covet it for themselves.

Avallon lies surrounded by deep blue waters, overarched by Ha??ling blue skies, caressed by gentle winds and weather. Fish of all types abound in its warm seas, and its broad plains bring forth grain in unmatched quantity, sheep and cattle grow fat on its hillsides. Indeed, it is a Fortunate Isle; fair in every way. Arthur had claimed this island and provided for a church and monastery to crown its unsung glory; these were to be overseen by Avallach.