'It appears she met someone here, lord,' Peredur said, rising from his examination of the tracks. Even without dismounting, I could see the place where two other horses had stood, chafing the dry earth here and there with impatient hooves. 'They rode on that way.' Peredur pointed into the trees on the opposite side of the clearing.

We resumed our pursuit, but not for long; at the other side of the clearing – no more than two or three hundred paces away -the hoofjprints of the three horses simply and suddenly stopped. The marks were there in the dust for everyone to see, and then they were gone.

'It appears they have vanished between one step and the next,' Bedwyr observed, pressing a fingertip into the last print. Not trusting completely to his eyes – less yet to Peredur's or anyone else's – Bedwyr had dismounted for a closer look, and now turned from his scrutiny of the prints in the dirt to regard the jagged circle of sky showing through the close-woven branches above. The short day was far gone, the wan light already fading.

Meanwhile, Cai had carried the search farther along the trail, and some others had quickly scoured the perimeter. Finding nothing, they all returned to await the Pendragon's pleasure.

'What would you have us do, lord?' asked Bors. Arthur stared at the broken trail and said nothing, so we fell to discussing what, in view of this unhelpful discovery, might be the best course.

In the end, it was decided that Rhys and Cador would continue the search with Peredur and a company of men; the rest of us would return to Ynys Avallach – which we did, reaching the Tor long after dark, having ridden in dejected silence all the way back.

Nothing had happened in our absence: the dead were still dead, the Grail was still gone, Llenlleawg had not returned to explain his behaviour, nor had Morgaws been seen. Neither had Gwenhwyvar returned to welcome the search party and tell us we had worried for nothing, that all was well. Exhausted and edgy, we stared blear-eyed at the prospect of another long, hopeless night, and an endless succession of hopeless days to follow.

Thoroughly dejected, we dragged ourselves to the hall to get a bite to eat and a drink, and to rest ourselves from our strenuous, if futile, exertions. More disturbing news awaited us there, however. We entered to find the great room empty save for one of Avallach's servants, who approached us the instant we crossed the threshold, greeted the High King, and said, 'If you please, lord, I have been instructed to tell you that Lord Avallach and Lady Charis have left the palace and returned to work with the good brothers at Londinium. They wish you God's aid in your search.'

Arthur stiffened. 'I see,' he said. 'Was there anything else?'

'No, lord,' the steward replied. 'That is all I was to say.'

While some might have considered this circumstance a blessing in disguise – after all, facing a still-angry Avallach would not have been the most pleasant end to a day already rich with disaster – Arthur took it hard. 'I am disgraced,' he murmured, then, remembering himself, dismissed the servant with a command to bring some food and drink for his men.

We collapsed onto the nearby benches, a sorry-looking group once more. The only good that could be said of this day was that it was soon to end. Well, it could not end soon enough for me. Even so, too tired to eat and too disheartened to sleep, we prolonged the torment; we sat like gloomy lumps on the bench, clenching our cups in unfeeling hands, the bread tasteless in our mouths, each one nursing his disappointment as best he could.

Bors made a halfhearted attempt at lightening the desultory mood with a tale about a hunt in Benowyc. When the effort failed, he dragged himself away to sleep. Bedwyr followed soon after, leaving only Cai, Myrddin, and myself to sit with the king.

After a while, Myrddin rose, drained his cup, and said, 'This avails nothing,' he said. Tomorrow's troubles can wait until tomorrow. Rest while you can.'

With that he left, and Cai and I stood to go, too, but hesitated when Arthur made no move. Cai sat down once more. 'Go on,' he whispered to me. 'I will see him to his bed when he is ready.'

I did not like leaving them like that, but I was swaying on my feet and could not keep my eyes open any longer. 'Very well,' I said, relenting. 'Only see to it that you both get some sleep.'

'Oh, aye,' agreed Cai, turning his gaze to the dejected king. 'Soon.'

I have no doubt they sat there all night, for Cai was red-eyed and irritable the following day, and the Pendragon's disposition had not improved. Nor did the morning light serve to brighten our circumstances.

The day ended in dismal waiting, Arthur's spirits sinking ever lower with the slow, relentless arc of the sun. He fretted and fumed, chafing at the tedium, and then, as the long shadows stretched across the yard, subsided into a wretched silence.

'Cador and Rhys had better appear tomorrow,' muttered Bedwyr as we abandoned the vigil for the night, leaving the king to his misery. But they did not return, and Bedwyr, refusing to endure a third endless day of anxious inaction, took six Cymbrogi and rode out to see what he might find.

He returned at dusk, having done nothing more useful than tire seven horses. Finally, towards evening of the following day, Cador appeared, alone, with ill tidings on his lips.

'We searched in all possible directions,' Cador informed us, his clothes begrimed, his face grey with fatigue, 'and could not raise the trail again. But Peredur found this -' He put his hand to his belt and withdrew a circlet of silver.

In our eagerness we all gathered close for a better look, and I saw, on Cador's extended palm, a silver brooch of the kind used to fasten a cloak. The metal had been worked into the shape of a tore, with two small rubies at the ends. The pin was missing and the brooch was bent – as if a horse had stepped on it – but still it was a handsome piece, no doubt belonging to a man or woman of noble rank. I had never seen it before – at least not that I could remember.

But Myrddin took one look and almost swooned. His knees buckled and Cai took him by the shoulders and bore him up. 'Emrys, are you well? Here, sit you down.'

But Myrddin pushed away from him and staggered forth. 'Give it to me!' he shouted, snatching the brooch from Cador's hand. He studied it closely, then folded his fingers around it and pressed his fist to his forehead. 'Great Light!' he groaned. 'No… no… no,' he murmured in his anguish. 'Not again.'

We stared at him, apprehensive, uncertain what to do, ignorant still of the trouble. What could he see in this simple ornament?

'Is it Gwenhwyvar's?' asked Bors, his voice creaking with apprehension.

'No,' said Arthur. 'It was never Gwenhwyvar's – or Llenlleawg's, either.'

'Then whose?' wondered Cador, as mystified as the rest of us. 'I thought it must be -'

Myrddin gave out a groan. 'Ah, fool…' he said, more to himself, I think, than to anyone else. He looked around, his face ashen. 'It belonged to Pelleas.-'