'This is a great and subtle truth, Aneirin. Think on it.'

I d'd, but could make no headway. 'But,' I said, returning to the former discussion, 'if the Holy God is good and yet evil overtakes me, what am I to say?'

'Only say, "Evil has overtaken me." God did not wish it, but being God he can use even that which is evil and meant for evil and turn it to good end. It is his labour in the world, and ours, to raise up the fallen and to turn the evil into good.' He raised a hand to his face. 'Even my blindness was turned to good in the end.'

This surprised me. 'Because your sight was restored?'

'No,' he replied. 'Because it was not.'

Now I was confused. The Emrys saw me struggling with this and said, 'It is because you do not believe that you do not understand.'

'But I want to understand.'

Then hear me: God is good; his gifts are granted each in its own season, and according to his purpose. I endured blindness that I might discern the subtle ways of darkness, and treasure light the more. When I learned this truth, it pleased God to restore my sight – which he did in time.'

I knew that all this had something to do with Morgian, but I could not think how. The Emrys talked like a priest instructing his flock. I knew the words he spoke to be true, but the truths they revealed were too deep for me then. That, or else I was a vessel too shallow. I cannot say which.

That night, when we ate our meal before the fire, Myrddin Emrys told me of his time with the Hill Folk – how he had become separated from his people, lost, and found by the bhean sidhe of Hawk Fhain; how he had almost been sacrificed; how he had learned their ways, and the lore of their Gern-y-fhain, the clan's Wise Woman.

As he told me of his life, I began to understand the meaning of his words: so much is passing away. It was clear to me that the world I knew was much changed from the one he described – and was still changing rapidly in almost every way.

Behold! The Summer Realm blooms and the old world must make way. Peace! So be it!

We left the shrine a few days later and returned to Caer Lial. The Pendragon's court was busy with the affairs of Britain now that the High King was in residence. A steady stream of lords and landholders passed through the Pendragon's hall and chambers.

Priests and holy men came before him with petitions of need. The High King established churches, founded holy orders, and granted land to monasteries. Queen Gwenhwyvar aided this work with zeal. With her own resources and out of her own wealth she planted seeds of righteousness and nurtured good works of every kind. She was formidable in virtue, and fierce in piety. She was dauntless in love. No less a warrior than Arthur, she battled wickedness and ignorance, never granting quarter.

I watched all, heard all, and remembered all – hiding it away in my memory like treasure, as it seemed right to do. I talked long with Bedwyr, who became my friend. Bedwyr had the soul of a bard and the memory of a druid. Often we began to talk of an evening and rose to find dawn's ruby rays stealing into the hall.

Cai and I also became friends, and he aided me as he could. But Cai's unquestioning loyalty made it difficult to discover what actually happened in the battles. 'Well,' he would say, 'Arthur is Arthur, yes? He is the Bear. No one like him in battle – who can stand against him?' This would suffice for an enure campaign!

Two more councils were held at the Round Table shrine that year: one at the autumnal equinox, and the other at the winter solstice, just before the Christ Mass. I did not attend the former of these, but at the latter I served my customary function in caring for the horses.

I spent three cold, wet days at a crackling fire below the rotunda hill with the wild wind blowing snow off the sea. When the others emerged from the council at last, I was near frozen. They came out singing into the winter squall, their voices loud and joyous. I knew something important had taken place. I spared no time finding out.

'What is the cause of this singing, Wise Emrys?' I asked, running to him.

King Arthur heard my inquiry and answered. 'It is a day for celebration!' he cried. 'A great work is to be accomplished. Greater than any seen in the Island of the Mighty since Bran the Blessed raised his golden throne.' By this he meant the legendary Judgement Seat – Bran's chair of gold on which he sat to dispense justice to his people. Bran's judgements, ingenious in fairness, became law for a thousand years. In elder times, Bran's law was the only law in the land and it was just.

'What is to happen, Pendragon?' I asked.. 'The holiest object that is in the world is to become enshrined in the Round Table.' He smiled and clapped a hand to my shoulder, nearly knocking me off my feet. He and the Emrys moved on to the fire, leaving me no wiser than before.

Bedwyr came to my aid. 'What do they mean?' I asked. 'What is this holiest object?'

'Have you never heard of the Lord's Cup?' he said, moving on. I fell into step beside him. 'The Grail of Jesu at the last supper of his earthly life; the one he took and blessed with the sacrament of wine – where he said, 'This is my blood, shed for you, my faithful brothers. Drink of it often and remember me.'

'That cup,' I replied. 'Of course I know it. But what is it to do with us?'

'That cup, as you call it, is here in Britain. The Emrys has seen it, and so, I am told, has Avallach and others as well.'

'Where is it?'

Bedwyr laughed. 'That is for us to discover.'

'How?'

'How indeed!' He laughed at me for my curiosity – it is and always was my bane – and then explained. 'Not by force of arms, you may be certain. Nor by cunning or stealth or treachery. But,' he said thoughtfully, 'perhaps by constancy of faith and strength of rightdoing, by the true heart's firm devotion – these might win it, I think.'

'A man would have to be an angel,' I observed.

Bedwyr looked at me with his keen, dark eyes and nodded, the light hint of his smile touching his lips. 'Now are men called to be angels in this world, Aneirin, and to do the angels' work.'

What he meant by that, I only now have discovered and too late. It was so close I did not see it. May I be forgiven, I was young and there was so much I did not understand about the world.

The Christ Mass at Caer Lial… it is the closest thing to heaven that I know. That mass, above all others, was observed in my father's house, but it never called forth the celebration I witnessed in Arthur's court. Bishops and archbishops, priests and monks, kings and lords and their retinues, descended upon Arthur's city in numbers enough to do battle. Which, in a way, perhaps they were.

I was kept busy running from dawn's break to past time for bed, serving as groom and porter, cup bearer and steward. Now in the stables, now in the kitchens, now in the chamber – wherever another pair of hands was needed. I worked hard and went to sleep exhausted. But never was I happier.

For Arthur's palace, always a happy place, became filled with a spirit of ecstatic joy, of rapture sweet as honeyed mead, of kindly harmony and accord. Oh, it was a heady balm; I was dizzy and delirious with it! I still hear the laughter ringing in the furthest corners and echoing in the yards. Cups raised in friendship, voices raised in song.

The sainted Samson of Dol drew the honour of performing the mass itself, attended by Columcill, his pupil. He stood tall and gaunt, reading out the holy writ, his deep voice falling upon our ears like the tolling of a bell. He read the sacred text and lifted that extraordinary voice in prayer, and any of the Devil's ilk lurking near were surely put to flight, even as our own souls were lifted to rapturous heights of holiness.

After the mass there was feasting, and more singing, and the giving of gifts. I myself received a gold-handled knife from the High King and a fine blue gemstone from Bedwyr.