'Who is she?' he asked, glancing at her once more. Bedwyr leaned close to hear what I had to say.

'I cannot say, but – '

'Why is she here?'

'Again, I cannot say,' I replied.

Turning to me, Arthur grinned. 'If this passes for acquaintance with you, Gwalchavad, I wonder that you ever meet a stranger.'

'Arthur, please,' I begged. 'I only meant that I have seen her but once before – when I rode to Urien's stronghold to summon Hwyl to the council.'

'She is Hwyl's kinswoman, then?' wondered Arthur, stealing another glance at her.

'No, lord,' I answered, and quickly explained how I had come upon her in the forest. 'She seemed in distress from the sun and hunger,' I said, 'so I left her in Hwyl's care. At my suggestion, he has brought her to the council to see if anyone knows who she might be.'

'Why?' asked Bedwyr. 'Can she not speak for herself?'

'That is the problem,' I told them. 'She is mute. She cannot speak a word.'

Arthur nodded, and then stood, raising his hands to quiet the complaint that was threatening to overtake us once more. 'Friends!' he called. 'Calm yourselves. There is no cause for concern here. I have it that this young woman is a mute who has lost her way. I ask you now if anyone among you knows who she may be, or where her people might be found.'

There followed a short interval wherein the noblemen and chieftains discussed the matter among themselves, and when they had done so, it emerged that no one knew her, nor did anyone know whether any clan might be missing one of its members.

Not satisfied with this reply, Arthur appealed to them once more, asking them to search their memories. The council resented the suggestion and reacted swiftly and angrily. It was quickly established that no one, save Hwyl and his folk, had so much as set eyes on her before this day. On this, at least, they all agreed – almost as vehement in their agreement as they had been in their contention with Arthur.

Curious, I thought, that the mere presence of the young woman should arouse such passionate denial. The assembled noblemen were fervent in their protests of ignorance. Shouts of 'She's not of our kin!' and 'Never seen the like of her!' formed the general opinion, and I was put in mind of Hwyl's brusque rejection when he had first set eyes to her.

Looking on the maid, fair as she was and not at all displeasing in any aspect, I wondered what could provoke such ardent animosity. This, and she had not so much as breathed a word. What was it that men saw in her that frightened them so?

Turning to Myrddin, Arthur shrugged. 'I think she is not known in these lands. What should be done with her?'

Upon hearing the question, I glanced at the Wise Emrys, expecting his answer, and was startled by what I saw. Myrddin's countenance, formerly flintlike in the heat of the opposition against Arthur, was now transformed. Eyes wide, he stared openly, with an expression of such melancholy tenderness that I was embarrassed to see it. What is more, he seemed not to have heard Arthur speak, but continued gazing in this foolish, love-struck fashion until the Pendragon nudged him and asked again for his advice. Only then did the Emrys come to himself.

'Do with her?' he asked, regarding Arthur with mild distaste – as if the king had blurted a stupidity. 'Let her remain with us until we find her kinsfolk, of course.'

Arthur ordered Rhys to take the girl and deliver her into the care of some of the women. Rhys, unaccountably, grew discomfited by this simple command; he blushed crimson to the tops of his ears, and stuttered a hasty reply under his breath, begging to be spared this duty. Though he fumbled for words, his eyes pleaded most eloquently, and he even began to sweat as he stammered out his excuse. So distracted was he that Gwenhwyvar stepped in for him and said that perhaps it would be best for all if she made provision for the young woman instead.

The Pendragon, anxious to get on with the council, readily agreed with his queen, and Gwenhwyvar stepped forth to take the girl aside. But the young woman had other ideas, for even as the queen moved from the throne, the girl started forward; she took three steps towards us. Gwenhwyvar hesitated, allowing her to approach.

The fair stranger came nearer, but it became apparent that she was not looking at Arthur, nor the queen, nor any one of us. Her bright green eyes were firmly fastened on another. I looked around me to see who it might be: Myrddin? Bedwyr? No, neither of these. Rhys? Cai? Cador? No.

The young woman moved nearer, and I saw that she stopped before Llenlleawg, who stood at rigid attention, spear at his shoulder, gazing into the distance above her head, as if trying mightily to ignore her. But she would not be ignored, for she put out her hand and took him boldly by the arm, as if claiming him for her own. Only then did he lower his gaze to regard her with an expression devoid of any warmth or welcome.

'It appears she has chosen her champion,' Arthur observed dryly, 'and I cannot fault the choice.' He then called to the Irishman to lead the young woman away. Gwenhwyvar went with them, and as soon as they had gone, the council began to grind ahead once more, but more slowly this time and with less roaring and breast-beating – as if all their anger had been expended and their passions leeched away by the curious interruption.

In the end, the noblemen were persuaded to the virtue of accepting Arthur's terms. Any lingering resistance melted away at Mercia's arrival. The Vandal prince strode at once to where Arthur sat on his camp chair, and prostrated himself at the High King's feet, stretching himself full length upon the ground, his face in the dust. The barbarian then took hold of the Pendragon's foot and placed it on his neck and lay as dead before his sovereign lord.

Arthur then raised the barbarian to his feet and allowed him to embrace the High King like a brother. This unabashed display of submission and acceptance went some distance towards convincing the yet reluctant nobles that the Vandali were earnest in their regard for Arthur. Unwilling to be bested by barbarians in displaying loyalty to the High King, the Britons made a point of renewing their vows of allegiance, placing themselves likewise beneath the Pendragon's sovereignty.

Arthur acclaimed them one and all. 'Rejoice, mighty chieftains,' he told them, bestowing the favour of his winning smile, 'for a great good has been born in Britain today. You have put battle and bloodshed behind you and welcomed the stranger in your midst in order that peace should obtain throughout the land. For this I commend you, and I make bold to prophesy that from this day, as the Realm of Mercia prospers, so Britain will prosper.'

He then declared a feast in honour of the new accord, and even made a joke at his own expense, saying that any king who feasted his lords on bread and water, instead of meat and ale, was a king who risked his life in a lion's den.

A small jest, but the noblemen laughed heartily, for by this they understood that the drought was just as hard, if not harder, on the High King as it was for them, and that he had allowed himself no greater luxury and largesse than the least of them possessed. Truly, I believe this endeared Arthur to them and bound them to him far more tightly than anything else he could have said or done. They loved him for it, and the mistrust and hurt feelings of the day dwindled to insignificance.

Thus, the council ended, and the noblemen departed, hailing one another loudly, and talking together as they made their way to the place of feasting. 'That was well done, Bear,' Bedwyr said, watching them go. 'You have carried the battle.'

'Let us pray the peace endures,' Arthur replied. Rhys then called him away to attend another matter, and the others departed also, leaving me and Myrddin alone beside the empty throne.