'Here! Here, now!' I cried, fending off the blows as well as I could.

Peredur leapt to my aid and pulled him off me. 'Peace!' he bellowed. 'Peace, brother!' Wrapping his arms around Tallaght's torso, he threw him to the ground and fell on top of him to hold him down, all the time shouting, 'Peace! We are your friends.'

Kneeling beside him, I struck the struggling warrior sharply on the cheek. Tallaght, wake!'

At the sound of his name, the fight went out of him. He looked from one to the other of us with frightened eyes as recognition slowly came to him. 'Oh!' he said, squeezing his eyes shut.

'Let him up, Peredur,' I said, and we raised him between us, where he stood wobbling on his feet like a man with a headful of ale.

'It is over, Tallaght. You are back among the living,' I told him.

He lurched towards me and seized my arm with both hands. 'Lord Gwalchavad, forgive me. I thought… I thought you were -' He released my arm and clutched his head as if it hurt him. 'Oh, Jesu save me, I had the strangest dream.'

'It is over, lad,' I said. 'Are you well?'

'I feel as if I have slept a thousand years,' he answered dreamily, 'and yet, as if I had closed my eyes but a moment ago.' He then began babbling about his curious dream, but I brought him to a halt before he could gallop any further. 'Plenty of time to talk once we are on the trail,' I told him sharply. 'The horses are ready; we are leaving at once.'

I left him to Peredur and turned to Llenlleawg, who, though stiff and aching from his beating, at least had his natural wits about him. He roused himself slowly when I woke him, and made to sit up, wincing with pain at the effort. I put my arm beneath his shoulders and raised him. 'How do you feel, brother?'

'Never better,' he rasped, his voice raw as a wound. He then hacked up a gob of blackened gall and spat it on the ground. 'Have I been long asleep?'

'Not long,' I allowed. 'Only all night and half the day besides.'

'I see.' He licked his dry lips. 'How did you find me?'

'We saw the smoke. Can you sit a horse?'

'I will sit a goat if it bears me from this place,' he answered.

'Bring it on, brother, and the sooner we quit this accursed ruin, the better I will be. Have you seen the girl?'

'We have seen no one here but you,' I told him. 'Was she with you?'

When he made no reply to this, I said, 'Llenlleawg, was she with you? Did she have a hand in this?'

Llenlleawg attempted to sit up again; his face contorted against the pain. 'Wait a moment,' I told him. 'Let me help you.' So saying, I retrieved a spear and put it in Llenlleawg's right hand. Then, squatting behind him, I took him under the left arm; the Irish champion gripped the spear shaft and pulled himself up as I lifted, and with much groaning and clenching of teeth we got him standing – shakily, and swaying like a wind-tossed sapling, but standing all the same. Then he was racked with coughing; I steadied him as he cleared his lungs of yet more black muck.

'It is not as bad as I thought,' Llenlleawg gasped, squinting and pressing his left hand to his side as he leaned on the spear. 'At least,' he wheezed, '…there is no blood.'

The young woman, Llenlleawg – was she here?' I asked again.

'I cannot remember.'

'But you were following her,' I insisted. 'You must have followed her into Llyonesse. She must have led you here.'

Llenlleawg regarded me dully, then turned his face away. 'As I said, I do not remember.'

'What do you remember?'

'Nothing much,' he said, shaking his head slowly. 'I remember following the trail and crossing into Llyonesse. There was a beacon, and I went to see what it meant, and' – he paused abruptly – '…and I cannot remember anything after that.'

Obviously, there was more he would not say, but I did not know how to make him tell me. 'Well,' I conceded, 'you are safe now, and we are returning to Ynys Avallach. No doubt you will remember more later.' He nodded grimly, and I shouted for Peredur to bring one of the horses. 'Come,' I said, taking Llenlleawg by the arm, 'lean on me; I will bear you up.'

Together, Peredur and I lifted the tall Irishman between us, boosted him to the saddle, and put the reins into his hands. 'Let us be gone from here,' I said, leading the horse forward.

We quit the ruined fortress, passing once more beneath the crumbling tower and out through the gate. We crossed the ditches and headed north, hastening back along the trail that had brought us, travelling quickly and quietly – at least as quietly as four men might, and as quickly as possible when two of the four must go afoot. Peredur and I walked beside our two ailing companions to help steady them in the saddle and keep them from falling. We allowed ourselves but little rest, so, despite the footling pace, we made good distance on the day.

Indeed, by the time the gloomy twilight gathered round us, we were well on our way home. We camped in the dry streambed of a little cramped glen, and ate from our dwindling store of provisions, took turns at the watch through the night, and pushed on at first light next morning. No further disasters befell us, nor did anything out of the ordinary give cause for alarm. However, when we came in sight of the estuary where I had lost my horse to the quicksand some days before, a sense of dire foreboding came upon me.

There was, of course, no visible reminder of that terrible event, but the place seemed steeped in dolour and gloom. I could almost feel its spirit, restless with anguish, sad and hungry and forlorn. I felt cold and unhappy, and thoughts of death and desolation swarmed in my head.

There was nothing for it but to continue on, and to put as much distance as we could between us and the sinister place before turning aside to make camp for the night. The rest of the journey to Ynys Avallach proved uneventful, and Tallaght so improved that, though we travelled no more swiftly, at least we were able to share the horse between us. Thus, on the evening of the sixth day, we came in sight of the Fisher King's stronghold – glinting like white gold in the dusky light, its fine walls and towers reflected in the reed-fringed pool below. Weary, and more than a little footsore – I suppose I have spent too much time in the saddle these past years – we paused to gaze upon that tranquil sight and let it fill our souls with the pleasure of its serenity.

Then, our hearts lifted, and the vision of our destination lending speed to weary feet, we hastened on, arriving just as the abbey bell tolled for evening prayers. I know the good monks have a word for this, as they have a word for everything else in their peculiar world, but I know not what it is; or if I have been told, I remain ignorant of it. No matter what its name, this prayer at the closing of the day has always seemed to me one of the finer things of their occupation. Perhaps one day, when sword and spear no longer rule my days, I may give myself to such pleasant contemplation as those good brothers now enjoy.

As the slow-tolling bell rang out over the Summer Realm, we passed the silent shrine and put our feet to the upward-winding path leading to the Tor, pausing at the top to look out upon the land below, softly fading into the pale blue shadows. Then, as we turned to enter the yard, I heard a cry of welcome. Rhys came running, bursting with questions I had no wish to answer more than once.

'Peace, brother,' I said, gripping his shoulder. 'All will be told – and there is much to tell – only let us get a drink down our throats first.'

'Leave the horses,' Rhys said. 'I will send someone to attend them.' Turning to the others, he called, 'Come inside. The Pendragon has been waiting for you, he has given -' It was then that he caught sight of Llenlleawg – head down, slumped in the saddle, almost fainting with exhaustion – and Peredur holding the reins and walking beside him. 'What is this?' Rhys exclaimed, dashing to his side. 'Is he wounded?'