He need not have mentioned the calamity; carcass or no, I was only too aware of the poor beast's demise. Losing a good horse is as bad as losing an arm or a leg. And that is the end of it.

After a time, we gave up searching among the rubble rock shingle and decided to continue in the direction the tracks had been leading when they encountered the quagmire. I freely confess the plan made little sense; there was no good reason to suppose that whoever made the trail had crossed the bog when we could not – unless they knew how and where to ford, and if so, that fording was not to be found by us. Indeed, we discussed this very thing, and the two young warriors were of the opinion that it would be best to range farther downstream, since our quarry might easily have gone the other way.

But something in me urged for pressing on. As it happens, I am not a man given to whims or obscure proddings, and in any event, I seldom receive them. Yet I was seized by such a powerfully insistent urging that I threw aside all reason and followed it. Perhaps because I am unaccustomed to receiving these ethereal promptings, my own inexperience made me gullible. Then again, perhaps something beyond human ken was hard at work, but I was too blind to read the signs.

The three of us proceeded to a nearby hilltop for a better view of our position. We paused to scan our surroundings and found that we had come up out of a valley and onto a wide, hill-crowded barrens. In happier times those same stark hills might have appeared green-clothed and agreeable, a welcoming sight for man and beast alike. After a season or two of drought, however, the sight of numberless bald crests rising one after another into the distance – like so many withered, wind-grizzled heads – failed to lift a heart already labouring under the unrelenting bleakness of that desolate place.

What few trees existed were stunted, twisted things, tortured into strange shapes by the coastal wind. For, yes, I now determined that we were journeying into Llyonesse – a long, ever-narrowing spine of land thrown up by contentious seas to separate and quell their warring natures: the Irish Sea on the right hand, and Muir Nicht on the left. Long deemed an inhospitable land, it is a queer place, a realm more fitting for outcast souls and wild beasts than upright men. Ah, and I remember: it is also the unholy battleground where Myrddin fought the wicked Morgian for his life.

See, now: the disappearance of Pelleas, the Emrys' friend and servant, was but one of the misfortunes issuing from that desperate battle; another was the leaving of my twin and brother, Gwalcmai. Deeply do I miss him, for until that dreadful day my brother and I had rarely been out of sight of one another so much as a single day but that we were together again by nightfall.

While Arthur and the Cymbrogi crossed swords with the Saecsen in the north, Myrddin, warned by signs and portents, had gone alone to confront the Queen of Air and Darkness. When Myrddin did not return, Gwalcmai rode with Bedwyr to discover what had become of him. The two of them found the Wise Emrys bloodied and blind in Llyonesse. Alas! Pelleas, who had taken up the search before them, has never been seen again, and Gwalcmai, overcome with remorse and shame, undertook exile. Or, as Myrddin says, True man that he is, Gwalcmai could no longer abide his tainted lineage and went in search of redemption.'

Tainted lineage! Truly, Morgian is no kin of mine. To speak plainly, the affair sits no more comfortably with me now than it did when I first heard of it. Allowing Gwalcmai to go away like that, however noble the purpose, has always seemed ill-advised to me. Had I been there, you can well believe I would have had a word or two to say about it. Well, I was not there, and nothing can be done about it now – save pray we are reunited one day, which I do, and so look forward to that happy reunion.

These things, then, were in my mind as we made our slow way into the empty hills. I scanned the bleak horizon, alternating this unproductive activity with picking mud-clots off my tunic and trews. After riding a fair while, we came to a small, briar-choked burn snaking along the bottom of a narrow gully. Though much shrunken from the stream it had been, the water was still good, and so we stopped to refresh the horses and replenish the waterskins. Then we washed ourselves and our clothes as best we could and sat down to rest and eat a bite of hard bread. When our clothes had mostly dried, we then journeyed on until the desultory sunlight faded and night stole in around us once more.

At the failing of the sun, a murky, tepid dusk drew over the land. Discouraged by the long and futile day, we halted and made camp in a hollow. While Tallaght busied himself with the horses, Peredur fussed at making a fire; the wood was rotten and unaccountably damp, and produced more smoke than heat. As they were about these chores, I walked a little to the overlooking hilltop to see what might be learned of the night sky.

The haze which had obscured the day yet persisted, thickening as daylight dwindled so as to keep out the light of any stars. A mournful wind from the southwest moaned over the barren hills and set the bare branches of the dwarfed trees chattering like naked teeth. Storms often attend such nights, but there was not the slightest hint of rain in the air, and the wind tasted of sea salt.

Nor was I better encouraged when Peredur called out to advise me that he had found the source of the damp: a small spring of water seeping from the hillside. I left off my scrutiny and went down to attend this new discovery, hopeful that we might get some fresh water at last. I should have guessed my hope, like all else in that dismal realm, would die forlorn. Though Peredur delved with his hands into the hillside and removed several stones, the spring remained little more than a soggy weepage soaking up from the earth.

I dismissed the spring, saying, 'Were it ten times the trickle, it still would not serve the horses.'

Peredur persisted, however, and collected enough in a bowl to give us all a drink. As he had discovered the spring, we granted him first draught – which also became the last: the water tasted of spoiled eggs.

'Gab.!' He spat, wiping his tongue on his sleeve to get the taste out of his mouth.

Tallaght laughed at the pinched expression on Peredur's face, which caused the stricken warrior to rail angrily at his kinsman. Tallaght responded with harsh words, whereupon Peredur took offense at this abuse. If I had not been standing over them, I have no doubt the thing would have come to blows.

'Enough!' I told them sternly. 'It is nothing. Put it behind you.'

They glared at each other and backed away to nurse imagined resentments the rest of the evening. I was only too thankful to let the night smooth our ragged tempers, but this was not to be.

The fretful wind waxed stronger with the setting sun, gusting out of the east, blowing dust from the hilltops, and swirling it around the hollow. At first I hoped merely to ignore it, but the dry thunder mumbling in the distance chased away any thought of sleep. I lay wrapped in my cloak, listening to the storm, and thought I heard the sound of a bell – such as monks often employ to call their brothers to prayer.

It came to me that the sound, tolling regular and slow, was gradually growing louder. I rose and climbed the slope to have a look around, and in the darkness at the summit stumbled over Peredur, who had roused himself with the same notion. He whirled on me with a start and struck me with his fist before I succeeded in convincing him that he was not under attack.

'Peace, lad. It is myself, Gwalchavad.'

'Forgive me, lord,' he said, much relieved. 'I did not know you were awake.'

'The bell woke me,' I replied. The young warrior appeared so confused by this simple declaration, I added, 'The monkish bell – that,' as it tolled again, 'just there.'