The woman regarded me suspiciously. 'Those? Even one of those would kill a horse,' she explained as if I should have known better.

Hwyl asked, 'What would you have us do with her?'

'Might she stay here?'

'She does not belong here,' said Hwyl firmly. 'That much I know.'

'Her people may be searching for her,' the woman offered. 'But she is in no wise fit to travel.'

'Perhaps,' I suggested, 'you could take care of her for a few days and bring her with you when you come to the council. There will be people from other settlements in the region; someone may know her.'

'That we will do,' Hwyl replied. 'Now I bid you farewell.'

'I wish our meeting had been otherwise,' I told him. 'I am sorry.'

The chieftain shook his head. 'Urien has brought this calamity upon us, not you. I must speak to the people and decide what is to be done. We will come to the council and give our answer."

We left the settlement then, all thoughts of ale vats far behind us, and rode as far as we could before daylight left us. We made rough camp along the way, and slept under the stars. I was long awake, however, thinking about the young woman we had found, and the strangeness of that finding. But stranger things were to come.

Rejoining the Cymbrogi next day, we found the entire lakeside camp in an uproar. We rode into the midst of a throng, shouting and clamouring outside the tent. Everyone was so excited that it took some moments before I could make myself heard. Finally, leaning down from the saddle, I seized the shoulder of the nearest warrior. 'Why this turmoil?' I demanded. 'What trouble?'

'Trouble!' he cried, twisting around to see me. 'There is no trouble, Lord Gwalchavad,' he replied, grinning, 'unless you think the happy return of our Pendragon a quarrelsome thing.'

'Arthur returned?' I wondered. 'So soon?' Handing the warrior the reins of my horse, I left him to care for the animal as a reward for his impudence, and pushed my way nearer the tent. I caught sight of Cai, attempting to subdue the enthusiasm of the crowd with an inadequate supply of gestures and grimaces.

Pressing my way to him, I said, 'Where is he?'

'Ah, Gwalchavad! Thank God you are here. I could use another hand.'

They say Arthur has returned -'

'Aye,' he confirmed. 'He lies within' – Cai indicated the tent behind – 'and might welcome a mote of peace and quiet.' Turning once more to the crowd, he frowned. 'Listen to them now!'

He made to renew his efforts at silencing the clamorous Cymbrogi, but I restrained him. Putting my hand flat on Cai's chest, I demanded, 'But is he well, brother? Just tell me that.'

'See for yourself,' he replied, brushing off my hand. 'For if you will not help, at least get out of the way.'

Cai's reply gave me little direction for my expectation. I stepped quickly to the tent and reached to withdraw the flap, not knowing whether I should find a king more dead than alive. The mood of the warriors was high, but as downcast as they had been since the High King was taken away, they might have easily mistaken Arthur's return – holding it a thing more hopeful than was otherwise warranted. Crowds, I know, have a way of believing only what they want to believe.

Oh, but I had seen the wound. Men who sustain such injury, even if they survive, rarely recover their full vigour – as many a battle-scarred veteran will attest. Though I am no healer, I know whereof I speak, for ever since I was old enough to throw a spear without falling off my horse, I have followed my king into the fight and have seen the crippled and dying afterwards. May God have mercy, I have myself sent to the Judgment Seat more men than I can remember.

Yes, I had seen Arthur's wound: deep it was, and brutal. The blood ran dark in hot, pulsing rushets. When they carried him from the field, his skin was pale as that of a corpse, his hair lank, and his eyes sunk back in his skull. As I say, I was no stranger to that appearance. Still, I never thought to see Arthur wear it.

Plucking up my courage, I grasped the tent flap, pulled it aside, and stepped quickly in. Scarcely less crowded inside than out, I shouldered my way farther into the tent's interior, straining for a glimpse of Arthur, and saw the back of Bedwyr's head, and beside him Rhys; Cador and Llenlleawg pressed near also. I shoved closer, almost trembling with uncertainty.

I pushed in between Bedwyr and Cador. Bedwyr, glancing back, saw that it was me, and shifted a half step aside. And there was Arthur, sitting in his camp chair, impatient with Myrddin, who was bending over him. Gwenhwyvar stood behind, resting her hands on his broad shoulders, a satisfied smile curving her lips.

Arthur looked up at my appearing, and cried, 'Gwalchavad! Welcome, brother; I hoped you would soon join us.' He made to rise in greeting, but the Emrys tugged him back down into the chair.

'Let me finish,' Myrddin muttered.

'I cannot sit here all day!' Arthur complained. The men are waiting. I must speak to them.'

'We will be at this all day if you do not sit still long enough for me to put this on you!' snapped Myrddin.

'Ah, look at you now,' said Arthur, glancing around and grinning at what he saw. 'It is Earth and sky to see you, brothers.' He reached out to seize Bedwyr by the arm.

'Stop squirming,' Myrddin insisted. 'A moment more.' Arthur raised his eyes heavenward as the Emrys bent over his work. 'There!' said Myrddin finally, stepping back. 'We are finished.'

Arthur glanced down, holding up his arm, bent at the elbow. I saw the dull gleam of red-gold encircling the High King's upper arm. It was an armband, but unlike any I had seen before: a dragon, its serpentlike body encoiled, glaring fearlessly upon the world with red-flecked ruby eyes. A handsome ornament, to be sure; God alone knows where Myrddin got it.

It came to me that the trinket's form was not unlike the image on the standard which Uther had made and carried into battle. Having revived Uther's old title to such magnificent acclaim, Myrddin thought to adorn the occasion with a worthy reminder of Arthur's lineage; tradition, they say, is a powerful and influential friend to those who honour it.

'At last!' said Arthur as he jumped up, making for the tent flap. There was not the least hesitation or difficulty in his movements. If I had not seen him sprawled at death's gate, life ebbing with every beat of his heart, I would have thought myself deceived. Could this be the selfsame man? How was it possible a wound of such dire consequence could be healed so quickly?

He pushed through the crush of onlookers, patting their backs and calling their names, but moving on, eager to get outside. 'We will drink together, friends,' he called, lifting the oxhide flap and stepping through. That was Arthur, truly, forgetting that we had only tepid lake water – and were fortunate to get that, much less any ale! – with which to hail his safe return.

Snagging hold of Llenlleawg as he followed Arthur out, I asked, 'How is it possible?'

The lanky Irishman merely looked at me and grinned, but passed along with no reply. Turning to Myrddin, I said, 'Will no one tell me anything?'

'Greetings, Gwalchavad.' The Emrys spoke soothingly. 'You had a successful journey, I hope?'

'Never mind about me,' I answered. 'How is it that Arthur is healed? What is the meaning of the armband? And why is it that -'

'Peace!' said Myrddin, raising his hands against my onslaught. 'I can answer but one question at a time. We have been to Ynys Avallach,' he said, 'as you know – to obtain for Arthur the healing we could not effect ourselves.'

'You have succeeded marvellously well,' I remarked. The others had quickly cleared the tent, leaving Myrddin and me alone for a moment. Outside, the cheering grew loud and then died away as Arthur began to address the Cymbrogi.