He left me then, and stalked away. I saw him disappear into the throng gathered at the hearth, and so I determined to see who else might be less than complete in enthusiasm for the honoured lady. After a time, I located the elusive Llenlleawg, who I expected would feel something akin to the distaste Peredur expressed. If anyone had reason to distrust Morgaws, Llenlleawg certainly did. Much to my amazement, however, I could not have been more wrong.

'She is a wonder, is she not?' he said as I came to stand beside him. There was no question about whom he meant: he stood staring at her from a distance across the hall, where she, all smiles and demure replies, conversed nicely with Arthur, Gwenhwyvar, and Elfodd, who had joined us from the nearby abbey.

'She is that, I suppose,' I answered, regarding him closely.

Ignoring my ambivalence, Llenlleawg continued. 'Truly, she is one of the Tuatha DeDannan.' Happy with his comparison, he said, 'Indeed, she is a very Sidhe. How her face shines beneath her flaming locks! And her eyes…' His voice drifted off in tones of such rapture I turned and looked my friend full in the face. Had I ever known him to speak so? No. Never.

'Can this be the same man,' I said, 'who suffered so much in her pursuit?'

'She had nothing to do with any of that,' he declared. 'Nothing at all.'

'Does that mean you have remembered something of your ordeal?'

'No,' he said flatly, 'I remember nothing about what happened. But she was not the cause of it – that much I know.'

'If you cannot remember, how can you be certain?'

The tall Irishman gave me a darkly disapproving look, and stalked away.

Unable to make sense of his reaction, I took my search elsewhere. At the entrance to the hall, I found Myrddin, standing alone, watching the regal diners at the board. Seeing where his attention lay, I put my head close to his and said, somewhat carelessly, 'Well, it seems Morgaws has won a place among us.'

'Oh, she is adept at insinuating herself into men's affections,' Myrddin replied, his mouth twisting wryly. 'Mark me, Gwalchavad, there is no end to the question of Morgaws. I look at her and see only questions begging answers. Why did she leave us only to return like this? Her fine clothes – where did she get them? She speaks with the easy loftiness of a noblewoman – but who is her family? Why does everyone forget themselves whenever she is near?'

'Llenlleawg has certainly forgotten himself,' I replied, intending to tell Myrddin of my conversation. 'Did you know that he -' I began, but the Wise Emrys was no longer listening. He had turned and was gazing at Morgaws. The frown had vanished in a look of rapture.

'Ah, but she is beautiful, there is no denying it,' he murmured. This simple remark filled me with greater anxiety than anything else he could have said. I stared at him, but, heedless of my presence, he moved away.

I slept ill that night, and the next morning rode early to the site of the new shrine, hoping to take my mind from the problem of Morgaws. Once at the site, I was amazed to see how much had been accomplished since Gall's arrival.

As it happened, the hill chosen for the shrine was a low, humpbacked mound within sight of both Avallach's Tor and the abbey, and roughly equal distance from each. Early as I was, as I came in sight of the place I could see the workers swarming over the hillside. Wagons trundled to and fro, some with stone for the shrine, some with stone for the path leading to the shrine; still others, having delivered their loads, were rumbling away for more.

I dismounted, tied my horse on the picket line, and walked to the base of the hill, stopping now and then to talk to some of the Cymbrogi who were helping construct the path of stone cobbles. They all worked with cheerful vigour beside the masons, their banter high-flown and easy; the Cymbrogi fetched the stones, which the masons selected with deft efficiency, tapping them into place with wooden mallets. I greeted those I knew, commended their zeal, and walked on, slowly mounting to the top of the hill, which had been levelled to provide a precise, and striking, site for the shrine.

Pits had been dug at the four corners and filled with rubble stone; then an extensive bed of small stones had been laid down on which the foundation would be placed – the first few stones had been placed the previous day. Now the labourers were busily erecting a rough timber support along the proposed line of the wall.

I found the affable Gall blissfully employed shouting commands to a group of Cymbrogi endeavouring to drag a wagonload of stone up the hill. 'Stop the wheels!' he was crying. 'Use the timber to stop the wheels!' Turning to me, he said, 'They fill them too full, you see. I tell them half loads are easier on the oxen. The shrine will not be raised in a day, I tell them, but they refuse to listen.' Then, regarding me more closely: 'Do I know you, lord?'

'I am Gwalchavad, and I am at your service,' I replied, warming to the man at once. Open-faced, his features glowing with health and good-natured exasperation, he looked out upon the world through a pair of mild brown eyes, the sun glinting off his rosy bald pate.

For a moment he stood blinking at me, sturdy arms folded, mouth puckered in thought. And then: 'Good lord! Gwalchavad, of course. Yes. One of the famed Dragon Flight. In the name of Christ, I give you good greeting.' He smiled, his agitation at the heedless volunteers already forgotten. 'My name is Gall. If it were not for the fact that the High King of Britain presses me daily to know when the work will be completed, I would invite you to break fast with me. But there is no rest for the wicked!'

Though his speech was couched in the form of a complaint, he seemed not to mind his hardship in the least. 'You have no end of helpers,' I observed.

He peered at me doubtfully. 'Have you come to help me, too?'

'Fear not,' I replied lightly, 'for unless you discover some task requiring my particular attention, I will happily stand aside and watch from afar.'

'Good man.'

The overloaded wagon crested the hill just then and the master mason bustled off to order the deposition of the stone. I walked around the site, looking out at the surrounding fields, blasted by heat and drought. How much longer could the land survive without good, ground-soaking rain? I could not help thinking that, despite the late warmth, harvest time was soon upon us, and what a poor harvest it would be. At least the dry weather hastened the masons' work. But would the people hereabouts view the king's shrine in any kindly light when both grainstore and belly were empty?

Before I could wonder further, my meditations were arrested by a call from below. I turned and looked down the slope of the hill to see Cai trudging up to meet me. Upon exchanging greetings, he said, 'I have been looking for you, brother. This is the last place I expected to find you.'

'Yet find me you did.'

He nodded, glanced quickly around the hilltop at the work in progress, then said, 'Arthur has summoned the Dragon Flight to attend him in council.'

'This is sudden. Do you know why?' I asked, already starting down the hill to where the horses were waiting.

'As it happens,' said Cai, falling into step beside me, 'I believe he is going to tell us about his plans for guarding the shrine.' At my questioning glance, Cai continued, in tones suggesting he felt it beneath him to explain the obvious. 'Once the Holy Cup is established in the shrine, it must be guarded, you know. Who better than the Dragon Flight, the finest warriors in all Britain?'

'Who better indeed?' I replied. 'But where is the cup now?' 'Avallach has it, I expect. But soon it will belong to everyone.' 'Maybe Myrddin is right,' I countered, 'and we should leave it alone. It seems to me Avallach has kept it safe enough all these years.'