Oh, it was a hard, hard thing, but what else could we do?

With Arthur in this vile humour, there was nothing for it but to quit the chamber. To stay would have served no good purpose. Bedwyr and the others went to the hall, but I could not bring myself to join them.

I went my way alone, wandering wherever my feet would take me, and soon found myself out on the high parapet above the gate – the inner yard on one side, the sloping hill with its twisting path on the other and the lake beyond. I watched as the dull twilight deepened, and with it a dreary fog rose from the marshes and lake to clothe the Tor in a thick, damp, silent cloak – the silence of the grave, Myrddin would say.

My thoughts flittered here and there, restless birds that could find no friendly roost; when I looked around, night had settled uneasily over Ynys Avallach, ending another foul day at last. I noticed, without pleasure, that though the year had turned, the change brought no rain; the drought persisted.

Aching with fatigue and thoroughly dispirited, I left the battlement, but not before casting a last glance towards the woodland to the east where the Grail, and all our brightest hopes, had disappeared. A bank of low cloud, darker even than the night sky, rose over the wood – as if the darkness Myrddin feared was drawing down upon us. I shivered with a wayward chill and hurried inside.

The next day, Arthur did not receive us. Bedwyr went to him for instructions, but returned saying that the king had shut himself in his chamber and would not see anyone.

'This is not right,' Cai asserted.

'Do you blame him?' Bedwyr snapped. His anger flared instantly. 'None of this would have happened if not for us. The fault is ours.' He struck himself on the chest with the flat of his hand. 'The fault is ours!'

'I am going to him,' said Cai, stalking from the hall.

He returned a short while later without having seen the king, and we spent a dismal day in an agony of bitter despair. Cymbrogi came and went throughout the day, anxious for a good word, but there was nothing to tell them. Dispirited, dejected, discouraged, we slipped further into the besetting gloom. At last, unable to stomach the bile of guilt any longer, I left my woeful companions and went in search of Myrddin.

Quitting the hall, I moved along the corridor towards the warriors' quarters, passing by Avallach's private chamber. The door was open slightly, and as I passed, I heard the moan of a man in pain. Pausing, I listened, and when the sound did not come again, I went to the door, pushed it gently open, and stepped inside.

Arthur yet sat in his chair, his head bowed upon his chest, the feeble glimmer of a single candle casting its bravely futile light into the close-gathered gloom. Oh, and it tore at my heart to see him, who was Earth and Sky to me, sitting alone in that darkened chamber. I regretted at once that I had intruded, and turned to go away again. But the king heard the sound of my soft footfall and said, 'Leave me.'

His voice was not his own, and the strangeness of it filled me with dread. I cannot leave him like this, I thought, so turned and advanced. 'It is Gwalchavad,' I whispered, approaching the chair.

At this he raised his head slightly; black shadows clung to him as if to drag him down into the depths. The room had grown chill, and the king sat with neither cloak nor brazier to warm him – a dragon torpid in his winter den. Even so, the eyes that gazed at me from beneath the grief-creased brow were fever-bright.

'Go away,' he muttered. 'You can do nothing for me.'

'I thought I might sit with you,' I said, wondering how it was possible for a man to decline so swiftly and completely. A short while ago he had been aflame with righteous anger, and now it had burned to ashes, and those ashes were cold.

There was no other chair in the room, so I stood awkwardly, certain that I had made a mistake in coming and, for Arthur's sake, regretting the intrusion. I was just thinking how best to make my retreat when the king said, 'He has raised me up only to dash my head against the rocks.' The hopelessness in his tone made me shudder, for I knew whom he meant.

After a moment, he continued, saying, 'I thought the time had come, Gwalchavad. I thought the world would change, and that we would bring peace and healing to the land. I saw the Kingdom of Summer so clearly, and I wanted it so – ' Arthur's voice became a strangled cry. 'God help me… I wanted it so.'

He was silent for another long moment, as if considering what he had just uttered. I stood quietly, and he seemed not to heed my presence any longer. 'Perhaps that is my failing -wanting it too much,' he said at last. 'I thought he wanted it, too. I was so certain. I was never so certain of anything.'

The king sank further into his chair, only to start again out of it as rage suddenly overswept him. 'Three days!' he shouted, his ragged cry ringing in the empty chamber. 'Taliesin's vision! Myrddin's work of a lifetime! The promised realm of peace and light – and it lasts all of three paltry days!' The cry became a moan. 'God, why? Why have you done this to me? There was such good to be gained… why have you turned against me? Why do you scorn me?'

As if remembering my presence once more, Arthur shifted in his chair and looked at me. 'I was betrayed,' he spat, his voice harsh and thick. 'Betrayed by one of my own. I loved him like a brother and trusted him. I trusted him with my life! And he repaid my trust with treachery. He has taken the Grail, and he has taken my wife.'

'If Morgian is at the root of this,' I ventured quietly, 'then Llenlleawg was likely bewitched. He could not have done it otherwise.'

The king seemed not to hear me, however. Clenching his hand into a fist, he struck it hard against his chest, as if to quell the inner pain. He did it again, and I stepped nearer so as to prevent him from injuring himself, should he persist. But the fit passed and he slumped back in his chair, weak with misery.

'Arthur's folly…' he muttered, closing his eyes once more. 'They come – they come to see a miracle, and find nothing but a heap of stone raised by a fool of a king.'

I could no longer bear to see him berate himself so harshly. At risk of rousing his wrath against me, I spoke. 'You could not know any of this would happen,' I said, trying to soothe him.

'King of Fools!' Arthur mocked. 'Hear me, Gwalchavad, never trust an Irishman. The Irish will stab you in the back every time.'

'If it is as the Emrys believes, it was Morgian, not Llenlleawg, who did this,' I said. 'You could never have foreseen that.'

'You hold me blameless?' he sneered. 'Then why has destruction befallen me? Why am I forsaken? Why has God turned against me?'

Fearing I was making matters worse, I hesitated. Arthur seized on my reluctance as confirmation of his failing.

'There!' he shouted. 'You see it, too! Everyone saw it but me. Oh, but I see it now…' He slammed his head sharply against the back of the chair with a cracking thump. 'I see it now,' he said again, his voice breaking with anguish, 'and now it is too late.'

'Arthur, it is not too late,' I countered. 'We will find Llenlleawg and recover the Grail. Everything will be made right again. The Kingdom of Summer has not failed – it must wait a little longer, that is all.'

'I saw it, Gwalchavad,' he said, closing his eyes again. 'I saw it all.'

He was exhausted, and I thought at last he might allow sleep to overtake him if I kept his mind from wandering along the more distressing paths. 'What did you see, lord?'

'I saw the Summer Realm,' he replied, his voice growing soft and dreamy. 'I was dying – I know that. Myrddin does not say it, but I know I must have been very near death when he prevailed upon Avallach to summon the Grail. Avallach was against using the Blessed Cup in that way.'