His tone was firm but gentle, and there are few indeed able to defy his commands. Still, I knew full well the young woman lacked the power of speech… and therefore was my astonishment compounded when she answered, 'Forgive me, Lord Emrys, I am called Morgaws.'

Excitement rippled through the gathering: 'She speaks!' some exclaimed. 'What does it mean?' asked others.

Arthur pushed through the throng to join them, Gwenhwyvar at his heel. 'It is a wonder!' he proclaimed, beaming his pleasure at this unexpected turn. 'How has this transformation come about?'

Myrddin, still watching the young woman narrowly, made no move as Morgaws stepped before the king. 'Thank you, Lord Arthur,' she said, inclining her head prettily. 'I am beholden to your kindness.' She spoke in a voice both hoarse and low, as if rusty from disuse. 'A year ago a curse was laid on me by a woman of our holding and I lost the power of reason and speech. Since then, I have wandered where I would, a captive within myself, neither knowing who I was nor where I belonged.'

'Yet you appear to have recovered yourself most remarkably well,' Gwenhwyvar observed, pushing in beside her husband. 'I would hear how that came about.'

The two women eyed each other with cool appraisal. Morgaws put her hands together neatly and said, 'I have indeed, noble queen. Yet I am at a loss to explain it. All I know is that, upon coming in sight of the Tor, I felt a great confusion overwhelm me. I knew nothing but that I must get away.'

'You left us all too suddenly,' Gwenhwyvar pointed out crisply. 'We worried for your safety, and sent good men in search of you. They faced dangers and endured severe hardships for your sake – one is suffering still. It would have saved us great pain and no little trouble if you had but given us some small sign. We might have helped you.'

Morgaws lowered her eyes demurely. 'Alas, I can but beg your forgiveness, my queen. My imprudence was poor reply to the great benevolence you had shown me. I was not in my right mind, I confess. I fled into the wood nearby, and rode until I could ride no more. Then I slept, and when I awoke, the confusion had left me and I was myself again. After so long a time, I could not rest until I returned home and restored my fortunes.' She smiled prettily. 'I have come to thank those who cared for me in my affliction.'

A doubtful frown played on Gwenhwyvar's lips. 'And where is your home?'

'Not far from here,' Morgaws answered. 'My home is near Caer Uintan – and…' She paused, as if reflecting unhappily, but then resumed: 'Upon restoring myself, I could not rest until I had returned here to thank you for the kindness you have shown me.' Although she answered the queen, I noticed her eyes never left Arthur; and when she finished, she smiled at him.

'You returned to us alone?' said Myrddin. 'After all that has happened to you, I would have expected your people to take better care of you than that. Certainly, it is unwise for a young woman to travel unaccompanied.'

The question appeared to unnerve Morgaws somewhat. Her glance shifted away from Arthur, and she bent her head, hesitating – as if searching for a suitable answer. The king saved her from her predicament, however. Arthur, expansive and generous, said, 'I, too, am interested to hear your tale, but there is plenty of time for explanations later. You are healed now, and that is cause enough to be thankful. Come, let us sit down together and celebrate your safe return.'

With that the king then led his elegant guest to the table, where he seated her near him. Gwenhwyvar, catlike in her wariness, stayed close and nothing passed that she did not see or hear. As ever, the Wise Emrys kept his own thoughts to himself; but I could not help noticing he did not join them at table that night.

For the next few days, talk of Morgaws' unexpected return was exceeded only by discussions about the Grail Shrine. Though I listened to all that was said, further enlightenment was not forthcoming. Regarding the lady, some said one thing, and some another. Various speculations about her plight and marvellous restoration became hopelessly tangled, and genuine facts seemed difficult to come by. She was a noblewoman, some said, whose settlement was destroyed and her people slaughtered by the Vandali. Others had it that she was the daughter of a Belgae tribe whose people had fled to Armorica because of the plague, leaving her behind. Still others held other ideas, but no one seemed at all certain which of the various stories were true.

All the while, work on the shrine continued apace, and the days settled into a peaceable rhythm. Safely back at Ynys Avallach among friends and swordbrothers once more, I considered the fearful events in Llyonesse increasingly trivial; with each passing day the memory faded, growing more and more distant and insignificant. I even convinced myself that my dream of Morgian was the result of light-headedness brought on by fatigue, worry, and too much time in a too hot bath.

It is, I suppose, only human to put aside fear and pain, to move away from all unpleasantness as quickly as possible. I was no different from anyone else in this respect. Even Morgaws' return failed to kindle any lasting suspicion. After all, Gwenhwyvar and Arthur accepted her; the queen's wariness having given way to genuine welcome and affection, they all but doted on her. Who was I to question their sentiments?

I told myself: the lady has obviously suffered greatly, and her release from her affliction is cause for celebration. I told myself: we have no proof she has done anything wrong. I told myself: she has every right to enjoy the attentions of Arthur's court. These things I told myself repeatedly, and half believed them. Still, from time to time, doubt crept up on me – little more than vague twinges of misgiving – so, despite my repeated self-assurances and the excitement and gaiety bubbling around me, I could not make myself feel glad for her. Nor was I the only one to take a sour view of the matter. Peredur, too, held himself distinctly apart from the merrymaking.

One night, some while after Morgaws' return, I saw him sitting at the board, cup at his elbow, watching the king and queen with their enchanting guest. Sliding onto the bench beside him, I said, 'Why the scowl, friend? I thought you would rejoice at the wanderer's return like everyone else.'

'I might,' he muttered darkly, 'if everyone else was not smitten blind with adoration. I find little enough to admire in that woman.'

'Morgaws?'

He regarded me with suspicion, and slowly turned his scowl back to the crowded hall. 'Morgaws,' he said, his voice so low I could hardly hear him.

'You do not like her much, I see.'

Peredur shrugged. 'I do not think of her one way or another.' Reaching for his cup, he drained it in a draught. 'Why should I?' he demanded. 'She is nothing to me. I wish I had never laid eyes on the slut.'

I wondered at this uncommon vehemence, but instead replied, 'I know what you mean, brother. I, too, feel uneasy about our mysterious guest.'

'You were the one who found her.' His tone suggested that every misfortune in the world flowed directly from my hand. 'You did not seem uneasy about her then.'

It was true, I suppose. When we first came upon her in the forest, I had felt nothing but sympathy for her plight. Peredur, as I recall, had been dismayed by her from the first moment he saw her.

'Well,' I allowed, 'it may be as you say. No doubt my view has been altered by our sojourn in Llyonesse. And I will tell you something else: we are not the only ones to harbour misgivings.'

Peredur merely grunted at this.

'Myrddin, too, withholds his blessing.'

'Then perhaps Myrddin Emrys is as wise as men say.' With that the young warrior threw aside his empty cup; it struck the board with a thump, whereupon he stood abruptly. 'You must forgive me, Lord Gwalchavad, I find myself out of temper tonight. I assure you I meant no offense. Please, take no notice.'