'I am sorry,' Paulus said, calling over his shoulder; 'we have no other choice. The plague is far worse in the city, where people live close together – that makes it more virulent, I think.'

'Everything is worse in the city,' I concurred, then inhaled some of the stinking smoke and was overcome by a fit of coughing.

Paulus led me past the pit and along the wall to another section of the camp and still more hovels and still more bodies lying on the ground. But here, at least, robed monks passed among the plague-struck bearing jars of healing elixir. 'Not all die,' Paulus told me. 'Many of these may yet recover. Those who have that chance are brought here, where we can care for them.'

Just then a figure emerged from a nearby hovel, moved to one of the victims on the ground. I saw that it was Chads, Lady of the Lake, her fair hair bound in a length of cloth and wound around her head, her tall, elegant form clothed in a simple coarse robe such as the monks around her wore. Kneeling beside the sufferer – a young woman with waxy yellow skin -she placed her hand gently on the young woman's forehead. The stricken woman came awake at the touch and, seeing the one who attended her, smiled. Despite the agony of her distress, she smiled at Chads and I saw the killing plague retreat, if only for a moment.

Charis offered her charge a few words of comfort, at which the young woman closed her eyes and rested again, but more comfortably, I think, for her features appeared serene as Charis rose and continued on her way. Paulus made to call Charis, but I stopped him, saying, 'Please, no. I will go to her.'

I watched for a while as Charis moved among the stricken and suffering, here stooping to touch, there stopping to offer a word. Like the monks, she carried a jar of the elixir, which she gave out, pouring a few precious drops of Paulus' healing draught into the victims' bowls and cups, then helping the sufferer to drink. Wherever she went, I imagined peace and solace followed – a healing presence, like a light, clearer and finer than sunlight, which soothed and calmed, easing the pains of disease and death.

Upon reaching the last of her charges, Charis stood, smoothed her robe, turned, and looked back along the ranks of victims. She closed her eyes and stood there for a moment, head bowed, lips moving slightly. Then she opened her eyes and, glancing up, saw me and smiled in greeting. In that smile she became the Fair Folk queen I remembered. Oh, they are a handsome race, there is no doubt. I saw the light come up in her eyes, and the breath caught in my throat.

I watched as she approached, feeling both humble and proud to be accounted worthy to converse with such nobility. 'You have come from Arthur, I think,' she said upon joining us.

'I give you good greeting, Lady Chads,' I replied, inclining my head in respect. 'The Pendragon has indeed sent me to find you.'

'Have you come to help us?' she inquired with a smile. 'Or brought supplies, perhaps?'

'Bishop Elfodd has sent a fair store of provisions, but I have come to escort you back to Ynys Avallach.'

'I see.' The smile faded instantly, and I watched as grey fatigue repossessed her features.

'Forgive me,' I said, and explained about the Grail Shrine and Arthur's concern to have it consecrated at the Christ Mass observance. I must have told it poorly, for a frown appeared, grew, and darkened, like a shadow of apprehension, as she listened.

'So,' she said with crisp indignation when I had finished, 'Arthur deems the building of this shrine more important than the saving of lives. What of my son – does Merlin encourage this enterprise?'

'Lady,' I said, 'it is the king's hope that the consecration of the Grail Shrine will drive both disease and war from our land forever. Arthur believes it will be the saving of us. Myrddin, as ever, aids his king.'

Charis regarded me with a keen eye. 'You avoid my question. I wonder why.'

'Forgive me, Lady Charis, but the Wise Emrys does not often vouchsafe his confidences to me.'

'But you have eyes, do you not? You have a mind to question what you see. Do you think this Grail Shrine will end plague and war?' she demanded. 'Do you believe it will be the saving of Britain?'

My mind whirled, searching for a suitable reply. 'I believe,' I answered slowly, 'that the Swift Sure Hand is upon our king to accomplish many things. Who am I to say whether the Good God should bless Arthur's efforts?'

Charis relented. 'You are right, of course. My question was unkind. I am sorry, Gwalchavad.' She smiled again, and again I saw fatigue in her clear eyes; like Paulus, she was on the knife-edge of exhaustion. She glanced along the long row of hovels and shook her head. 'You see how it is here. I cannot leave.' She spoke softly, as if to herself. Then, turning to me, she said, 'At the risk of incurring the king's displeasure, I fear you must tell Arthur that I cannot attend the ceremony. I am needed here.'

Paulus stepped forward and laid his hand on her arm. 'You have been summoned by the High King; you must go.' His tone became quietly insistent. 'Go now, and return to us when you have rested.'

'I have brought a horse for you,' I told her, glad to have the monk's approval. I had seen enough of pestilence and death and was anxious to get away. 'If you are willing, we could leave at once.'

Charis hesitated. 'Go,' Paulus urged. 'Gwalchavad is right. Arthur's new shrine may be just as important in this battle as your presence here. He would not have summoned you otherwise.'

'Very well,' Charis decided. To me she said, 'Tend to the horses. It is best for you not to linger. I will join you as soon as I am ready.'

I thanked Paulus and asked him where he would like the supplies to be stored. 'Just leave them,' he advised. 'That would be best. We can collect them when you have gone.'

I hastened to the horses, removing myself from the hateful camp as swiftly as possible. I carefully stacked all the bundles and casks in a neat pile, and sat down to wait. In a little while, Charis joined me, and without a backward glance we were riding for Ynys Avallach. Earlier, I had marked a stream – one of the few I encountered that had not yet dried up completely -and stopped there for the night. I was heartily glad to have left the plague behind, though it was not until I had washed myself head to sole that I felt hale again.

While I kept watch, my companion slept soundly and well -grateful, I reckon, for a respite from her unendurable duties -and the next morning we journeyed on. The return took a little more time than the outward journey, for I chose another trail, which kept us well away from the forest. Having braved the unseen watcher once, I saw no need to do so again; besides, I thought it a reproach to tax the Heavenly Host with my protection when I could so easily avoid trouble in the first place.

Thus, we skirted the forest and arrived at the Tor by another way, passing within sight of the Grail Shrine. Though I had been away only a handful of days, I found the site altered beyond recognition.

Gone were the wagons and the heaps of rock-broken stone; gone, too, the ropes and lumber and ranks of workers swarming over a half-finished building. In place of all the clutter and activity stood a silent, graceful structure of whitewashed stone, glistening in the dawn light. Elegant in its simplicity – the Master Gall had done his work well – the shrine appeared to shimmer with an inner radiance. The drought heat had long since blasted the surrounding grass to thin, withered wisps of palest yellow, so that the whole place, with hill and shrine included, glowed in the early morning with the lustre and radiance of gold.

We stopped to marvel at the glorious sight. In all, it was a fitting house for the Christ's Holy Cup. What is more, for the first time since I had heard Arthur's plan, I thought he was right. It is magnificent, I thought; truly, it betokens a new and glorious reign of peace and well-being.