Upon our arrival at the Tor, we were greeted by Arthur and Gwenhwyvar, who appeared in the yard as we dismounted. Gwenhwyvar and Charis embraced one another warmly, and Arthur stood by, beaming his good pleasure. Out of the corner of my eye, I glimpsed the elusive Avallach standing beside a pillar, arms crossed over his chest. Since coming to the Tor, I had rarely seen him – most often in the long evening when he was fishing with Bedwyr or Myrddin – and then only from a distance.

I knew that the Fisher King suffered from an incurable malady which often kept him confined to his quarters. I assumed that was why we had not seen much of him since our arrival. Thus, I was surprised to see him standing in the shadows nearby. He stood for a moment, gazing at the tight group before him, then stepped out to join it.

'Chads!' he said, throwing his arms wide for his daughter. His voice boomed like friendly thunder, and he hugged his daughter and told her how much he had missed her. 'You are the sun of my happiness,' he said, 'and now it is summer again.'

'Have you seen the shrine?' asked Arthur, unable to rein in his curiosity any longer.

'I have indeed,' replied Lady Charis, and pronounced the shrine the work of a master who both knew and respected the object to be protected within.

'It is that,' affirmed the Fisher King – somewhat reluctantly, I thought.

'Arthur,' Charis said, 'are you certain this is the way?' She gripped Arthur by the arm as if to hold him to account.

'As certain as the sun and stars,' the Pendragon replied, his gaze as steady as his unwavering grip. 'The Summer Kingdom is here. We stand at the threshold of an age the like of which has never been seen since the beginning of our race. The nations will look up in wonder when they hear what we have done. The blessing begins here, and it will flow throughout all Britain and to the ends of the earth. People of lands far distant from these will come to witness the miracle. Britain will be foremost among the nations, and our people will be exalted."

Avallach nodded, resignation heavy in his eyes. Arthur reached out and squeezed the Fisher King's arm. 'We are so close, my friend. So very close. Have faith, and watch what God will do!'

Arthur spoke with such passion and assurance that it would have been a dead heart indeed not to beat more quickly at his words. His zeal was a flame, burning away the straw of opposition. Who could stand against the Pendragon when heart and will and mind were united in the pursuit of so lofty a purpose?

Who, indeed?

As we were yet talking, others of Arthur's court came to greet Avallach and welcome the Lady of the Lake: Cai and Bedwyr first, then Cador and Rhys. I looked for Llenlleawg but did not see him, and it was not until we were all gathered in the hall for our supper that the Irishman emerged from hiding.

The hall was prepared for the Lady of the Lake's return, and Avallach had already called for his guests to be seated and we were making way to our places – some of us more slowly as we hailed this one or another. Myrddin and Charis arrived and were talking quietly just inside the doorway while others entered the hall.

It was then I saw Llenlleawg appear in the doorway, Morgaws at his side. The two stepped into the hall and moved towards their places at one of the nearer boards. As I was slowly making my way to the board myself, I had opportunity to mark their entrance and observe what followed.

See, now: the Emrys, his head low and a little forward, is speaking earnestly to his mother, who listens intently. She senses a movement beside her, however, and glances to the side to see Llenlleawg pass by. She recognizes him, of course, for I see it in her eyes as her lips begin a smile – a smile that instantly freezes when she also takes in the sight of Morgaws.

It is only the merest glance, but the queerest thing happens: as if acutely mindful of Charis' attention, the young woman turns her head; their eyes meet. Morgaws falters, her foot catching in mid-step. She lurches sideways as if struck by a spear hurled from across the hall. She stumbles, her features twisted in pain, or rage, and I fear she will fall. But Llenlleawg's hand is at her elbow; he steadies her arm and bears her up. Incredibly, Morgaws recovers both balance and aplomb in her stride; the moment passes in a twinkling, and I, the only one to have seen it, am left to wonder at what I have witnessed.

The two latecomers turn away and lose themselves in the convivial mingling at the board. I look once more to where Myrddin and Charis stand. The Emrys is still speaking, but his mother is no longer listening. Instead, she stares at the place where Morgaws and Llenlleawg appeared, her expression one of horror, the colour drained from her face. Strange to say, but I am put in mind of the first time Peredur laid eyes on the woman when we found her in the wood – his expression combined the same shock and terror at her appearance.

Sensing that his words are no longer attended, Myrddin looks up; his mother's stark features halt the flow of his words and he touches her arm. The Lady of the Lake quickens at his touch; she comes to herself once more – as if suddenly starting from a dream – sees her son, and smiles, her hand rising to her face. Myrddin, ever alert, turns to see what has so shattered his mother's composure. But there is now nothing to see; Morgaws and her escort have disappeared in the crowd. Myrddin takes his mother by the arm and walks with her to their places at table with Arthur and Gwenhwyvar.

I settled in next to Bedwyr, and noticed his dark brow furrowed in serious rumination. Thinking to lighten his sombre mood, I said, 'It seems friend Llenlleawg has become champion to the mysterious Morgaws. I wonder if Arthur kens this shift of loyalty.'

'Never have I seen a man wear a more haunted look. He is sick with it, our Llenlleawg. I fear what may become of him.'

'Well, no doubt he will recover. Love seldom proves fatal – so I am told.'

Bedwyr gave a mirthless, scornful chuckle.

'What? Has something happened while I was away?'

'Ah,' he replied, his smile as bitter as his tone, 'Arthur's shrine races to its completion, and we are all deliriously happy, of course.'

One of the serving boys appeared just then and placed cups before us. Bedwyr raised his cup to me and took a deep draught.

'And yet?' I prodded, nudging him with an elbow.

'Yet,' Bedwyr continued, 'the Pendragon communes with God and the angels, and the concerns of earthly mortals are not to be mentioned.' Bedwyr's rueful smile turned sour. 'In short, our king stands with his head in the clouds and his feet on the dung heap. The odour, he imagines, is meadow-sweet, but it smells like manure to me.'

'You surprise me, brother. If anyone can bring the Summer Kingdom to fruition, it is Arthur. It could happen just as he says.'

Bedwyr drank again, put aside his cup, and said, 'Do not mind me, Gwalchavad, I am only mourning the past. Or maybe I am jealous – she is a beautiful young woman, is she not?' He laughed, forcing himself to rise above his melancholy, yet there was a bitter edge to his voice when he said, 'Two days, my friend – two days and all doubts and suspicions shall be swept away. In two days the shrine is consecrated and the Grail is established, and the Kingdom of Summer begins. I am certain all will be well.'

Despite his dubious assurance, Bedwyr's conviction appeared as shaky as my own, but after my harrowing visit to the plague camp, I had tried to believe the miracle could take place. What if, as Myrddin had said, the Swift Sure Hand was on Arthur to bring about the restoring of this worlds-realm? Who could oppose God?