Dodging burning branches, running, running, headlong and heedless, we fled into the wood beyond the fire's greedy reach. Thus we came through the flames and found ourselves deep in the forest once more, dazed by the devilish assault and the dangers just braved. Like the others, I called out so that we might locate one another by the sounds of our voices, and reform the warband.

But the forest began to exert its malign power over us, for what should have been a simple matter of drawing our scattered forces together soon descended into a nightmare of futility. Once beyond the curtain of fire, all sense of direction vanished. For the life of me, I could not tell where I was, or where I was going.

I heard men calling and hastened towards the sound, only to hear them again, somewhat further off, and often in another direction. Once, I heard two men shouting – they could not have been more than fifty paces away – and they answered when I called. I told them to wait and I would come to them… only to discover that they were not there when I reached the place. I heard them twice again, calling for me, but farther away each time. I did not hear anyone after the last.

Strange, to hear men all around me – some near, some farther off- and not be able to reach them. It was as if the forest itself were drawing us apart, dividing us, keeping us from reaching one another – either that, or some other, more powerful force for which the wood was merely a single expression. Be that as it may, I kept my head, and when I heard the jingle of a horse's tack just ahead, I rushed for the place, crashing through the wood and shouting: Tor God's sake, wait for me!'

'Who is it?' called the nearest of the two as I stumbled through the entangling brush and branches.

I recognized the voice at once. 'Bors!'

'Gwalchavad?' he wondered. 'However did you get there? We heard you ahead of us but a moment ago.'

'Stay where you are,' I insisted, struggling forward and tugging my reluctant mount behind me. A ghostly shifting light from the fire some little distance behind shimmered in the low clouds above and reflected on the surprised faces of Bors and the young warrior called Gereint.

'Finally,' I said, wiping sweat from my face, 'I have found someone.'

'We have been hearing Cymbrogi all around us,' Gereint said, 'but never can find them. You are the first.'

'Let us hope I am not also the last,' I answered. 'Have you seen Arthur?'

'How are we to see anything in this murk and tangle?' Bors growled. 'Three of us came through the fire together, and held on to one another.'

'I see but two before me now,' I ventured.

'I know!' Bors cried. 'I could not keep even the three of us together, much less find anyone else!' He puffed out his cheeks in exasperation. 'No one will stay in one place!'

'Listen,' said Gereint, 'they are getting further away.'

Even as we listened, the sounds around us dwindled. We all shouted and shouted again, but there came no answer, and in a few moments we could hear nothing at all. 'Well,' I concluded, breaking the silence after a time, 'it seems we are on our own.'

'So it appears,' agreed Bors. 'We can either stay here until morning and see if we can raise a trail then, or we can go on and try to find some others.'

'Morning?' I wondered. 'You amaze me, Bors. Do you even now believe that this foul night will end? I am thinking it never will.'

Stalwart Bors regarded me placidly. Then let us rest a little at least, for I grow weary of stumbling through this godforsaken wood in the dark, bashing my shins at every turn.'

Seeing no harm in the suggestion, I agreed, and we settled the horses and sat down to rest before continuing the search. 'I did not mind the fire,' Bors said after a time. 'At least it was warm. My clothes are still wet.' He yawned, and added, 'I am starving.'

'We best not dwell on that,' I said, and suggested that we should try to sleep instead.

'I will take the first watch,' volunteered Gereint.

'Very well,' I agreed. 'Rouse me when you get tired and I will take the second watch.'

'Wake us if you hear anything,' Bors instructed through a yawn. In a few moments I heard the gentle burr of a soft snore as Bors drifted off. Though weary to the bone, I could not sleep, so I merely closed my eyes and let my mind wander where it would.

I thought again about my dead swordbrothers, and a pang of grief cut me like a spear thrust in the heart. Great Light, I thought, using Myrddin's term, gather my fallen comrades in your loving hands and bear them safely to your strong fortress. Give them the welcome cup in your halls of splendour, and make a place for them in the forerank of your Heavenly Host. May they know peace and joy and feasting forever in your company, Lord of All, and grant me the strength to abide my trials until I, too, lay down my sword and take my place among them.

This I prayed, not as the brown-hooded priests pray, but as a cry from my own bruised heart. I felt better for having unburdened myself in this way and, though I still rued the deaths of my swordbrothers, was in some small way comforted by the thought that they would be welcomed and received in Heaven's bright hall. So I lay back, listening to Bors' soft snoring.

Here was a wonder: a man who could sleep in the midst of the enemy's camp, untroubled by fear or the frets of an uneasy heart. Here was a man so secure and peaceful within himself that he could forget his troubles the instant he lay down his head. Like a child, with a child's trust in the moment – here, surely, was a true soul.

'Gwalchavad,' came a quiet voice in the darkness. 'Are you asleep?'

'No, lad,' I answered.

'I have been thinking.'

'So have I, Gereint,' I replied. I heard him shift in the darkness as he moved closer. 'Have you thought of a way we might find our lost companions?'

'No,' he said. 'I have been thinking that it must have been difficult for the Pendragon – seeing all his men killed like that, and then being attacked by his own champion.'

'I should think that would be difficult, yes,' I agreed. 'But Arthur has been in many a difficult place, and he has never been defeated. Think of that.'

'He is the greatest lord I have ever known," Gereint confessed. There was nothing in his voice but awe and praise -as if the distress of our present adversity, and all that went before it, were nothing at all to him.

'When did you join the Cymbrogi?' I asked the young warrior.

'Cador came to us and said the Pendragon needed help to defeat the Vandali. Tallaght, Peredur, and I answered the summons and joined the warband.'

'Then you are Cador's kinsmen?'

'That we are,' Gereint confirmed.

'He was a good man, and a splendid battlechief. I was proud to call him my friend. He will be sadly missed.'

'Indeed,' the young warrior replied, 'and we will lament his death when we have leisure to do so.' He paused and added sadly, 'Tallaght and Peredur also.'

My forgetfulness shamed me. In truth, the deaths of my own friends and swordbrothers had driven poor Tallaght's demise completely from my thoughts. We fell silent, each to his own bitter memories, and I recalled the time Peredur, Tallaght, and I had gone to inform the people of Rheged of their lord's rebellion and the resulting forfeiture of their lands. It was on that errand that we had found Morgaws. Would that I had never laid eyes on Morgaws! And now Tallaght was dead, along with so many other good men, and probably Peredur, too.

Silent was the wood, and dark, as I say – dark as the night when the moon has gone to rest and the sun not yet risen. The air did not move and there was no sound. The darkness and unnatural quiet put me in a mournful mood, and I began to think about my dead swordbrothers: Bedwyr, and Cai, and Cador, and all the rest – dead and gone. I ached for the loss of them. The darkness seemed to gather me into itself and cover me over. I would have given myself to my black grief, but something in me resisted – a hard knot of stubborn wariness that refused to yield itself to either sadness or acceptance.