'Then speak it out, lad.'

I told him what I had witnessed of the Fisher King's behaviour. As I spoke, the Emrys' eyes narrowed. 'I did not think to ask him,' he murmured.

'Who is this Morgian?' I inquired, little knowing what I asked. Great the grief. I wish I had never heard the name, nor let it pass my lips.

Weary pain pinched the Emrys' features. 'She is… ' he began, and halted. Then shaking his head, he said, 'Have you never heard of the Queen of Air and Darkness?'

'No,' I told him with a shrug. 'The name means nothing to me.'

'Can it be?' the Emrys wondered. 'Men's memories are short, but evil endures long.' He turned back to his contemplation of the sea, but I knew that he did not see it. For his sight had turned inward and he no longer travelled the bright sea-path before us.

Four days before Lugnasadh the Pendragon returned to Caer Lial. Three hundred of the Cymbrogi followed in his retinue. He rode at their head on a milk-white stallion, wearing a high helm of burnished steel set about with gold, the famed sword Caliburnus at his side. On his shoulder he wore Prydwen, the shield with the cross of the Christ painted in crimson upon its white washed surface. Caval, his enormous hound, trotted beside him, head up proud and high. Before him went the Red Dragon, the High King's standard wrought of fine red-gold and carried by Rhys, whose honour it was to go before all.

I stood on the rampart of the wall as the High King drew near. People from the city ran out from the gates below me and onto the road, waving bits of coloured cloth and calling out to him in greeting. All my life I had heard about Arthur, Wonderful Pendragon, High King of the Island of the Mighty, fairest monarch that is in the world – but nothing of all that I had heard prepared me for the glory of the man I saw riding towards me on the road.

The Bear of Britain was a mighty man, tall and strong, quick of eye and wit, steady of hand and purpose, keen as the sword at his side, and bright as the sun that shone upon him. Lord of Summer he was called and, God be praised, it was not a boast.

Gwalchavad and Bors rode at the king's left hand, and the exalted Llenlleawg at his right. I would have known those champions anywhere, though I had never clapped eyes on them before that moment. They rode high-stepping steeds, and carried spears with gleaming silver heads. Bold men, and brave; they wore their valour with authority, like the bright-coloured cloaks folded upon their shoulders.

The High King and the Cymbrogi – who, because of the Red Dragon standard, had become known as the Flight of Dragons – passed through the high timber gates and into the city. Caer Lial had been prepared for the Pendragon's return; the queen saw to it. The streets had been washed with water, and everywhere hung garlands of flowers gathered from the hills and woven into long strands. The people clamoured for their king, and shouted loud praises and welcome to him. To all, the Pendragon bestowed the estimable honour of his glad greeting. Clearly, Caer Lial had become the chief residence of his heart. Here was he loved and revered; here was he honoured above all.

Leaving the rampart, I ran to the palace, racing through the throng, its lusty acclaim loud in my ears. In the palace yard the crowd gathered, so tight-pressed that I could not move. The High King dismounted and climbed the steps, where he paused to deliver a message of greeting to the people. But I was so far removed, and the throng so noisy, I could not hear a word.

Only when the Pendragon had gone inside, and the crowds dispersed, could I make my way to the rear of the palace where I could enter. Everyone had gathered in the hall and Queen Gwenhwyvar had mead vats prepared and cups filled and ready. They were drinking the success of the High King's southern journey, for he had mediated and ended a long-running dispute between the Saecsens and Britons over farmland along the border between these two peoples.

In consequence, Bretwalda Aelle and his house carles had come to Caer Lial with Arthur to show his fealty to the High King, and to attend the ceremony of the Round Table. Other lords of southern Britain had also come, notably Idris and Cador, along with men of their warbands.

The sweet yellow mead circled around the hall in cups. Queen Gwenhwyvar stood proudly beside the king, who held her with his hand around her waist, and gazed out upon the glad company. The Emrys stood near, with Cai and Bedwyr beside him. So that I could remain with them, I took up a jar and filled it from a mead vat and began serving it out. Cai summoned me to him and offered his cup.

'Aneirin, bring your jar!' he called, and I was not slow to obey. I poured his cup full, and Bedwyr's as well, whereupon the Seneschal said, 'Arthur's cup is empty, lad. Fill it!'

I turned to see the Pendragon's clear blue eyes upon me. He smiled and held out his gold-rimmed horn. Trembling, I lifted the jar, not daring to raise my head before him. I felt a touch on my hand. The High King placed his hand beneath mine to steady the jar, saying, 'Be easy, young friend.' He regarded me carefully. 'What is your name?'

'I am Aneirin ap Caw,' I replied. 'I am yours to command, Pendragon.'

'Bold lad!' laughed Cai.

'I remember you,' replied Bedwyr, 'though I confess I did not recognize you – covered in stone dust the last I saw you!'

'Indeed, Bedwyr!' chided the queen nicely. 'I remember seeing you with Myrddin,' Gwenhwyvar said. 'Forgive me, Aneirin, I did not know you were Caw's son.'

'He has been serving me at the shrine and at Ynys Avallach,' the Emrys said, stepping close. 'Already he has proven himself a worthy friend and ally.'

It pleased me overmuch to hear myself praised in this way, and I blushed crimson to hear it.

'Stay near, Aneirin ap Caw,' said the High King amiably. 'This looks to be a thirsty gathering. We may have need of your jar before long.'

'Oh, aye!' cried Cai. 'Do not wander far, lad, and keep your beaker filled.'

With such high-flown encouragement ringing in my ears, I slaved the night away, stopping only once, when the Emrys sang with his harp. The whole vast hall fell silent as a forest glade – indeed, the world itself seemed to hold breath to hear him! – and, with the True Bard's music filling my heart, I vowed that I would ever seek the noble path, and prayed I would be allowed to remain in Arthur's service for ever!

The next day the king and queen left Caer Lial and made their way to the Round Table. Only those whose names had been inscribed inside the monument were allowed to ride with them. I went, because the Emrys deemed my service valuable. Someone had to take care of the horses. And, since I already knew the whereabouts of the shrine, better to take me than another.

Upon coming within view of the rotunda, King Arthur dismounted and walked the remaining distance, saying that, out of respect for the sacrifice of those who had given mean ing to the monument, he would not draw near save humbly afoot. He mounted the hill and knelt before the shrine with great reverence.

Gwenhwyvar watched her husband intently, dark eyes filled with deep feeling for him and for this day, continually clasping and unclasping her hands in expectation.

The High King rose and, laying aside his sword, entered the Round Table. Whereupon, his captains followed him in solemn procession: Cai, Bedwyr, Bors, Gwalchavad, Llenlleawg – each putting off his weapons before entering. The Emrys, Gwenhwyvar and I remained outside for a little. Then the queen went in, and the Emrys last.

I settled myself at the picket with the horses near the stream, fully intending to stay there. The others had been inside the shrine only a short while when I heard the galloping hoofbeats of a rider approaching along the sea-strand below. I ran to the hillside and looked down to see a lone warrior pounding along the wave-washed sand.