Arthur

FOUR

All that winter's day and far into the night the kings' twisted and squirmed, but Merlin held them in his iron grasp and would not let go. He became first a rock, and then a mountain in Arthur's defence. Arthur stood equally unmoved. No power on earth could have prevailed against them…

… just as no power on earth can make a man honour another who does not himself desire it.

In truth, the petty kings did not desire to honour Arthur. He would have to earn their honour and their loyalty. Merlin's great care was to make that possible.

This he accomplished through reviving the tide Dux Britanniarum, Duke of Britain – Uther's old title from the time when he was war leader for Aurelius – and conferring it upon Arthur.

The council agreed to this in the end, for it saved them from having to make Arthur king outright. But once he obtained this compromise, then did Merlin sow his scheme: a warband supported by all the kings equally, for the benefit of all. A free-roving force dedicated to keeping the lands of Britain secure. Beholden to no king, supported equally by all, this roaming warband could strike wherever and whenever needed – without regard for the restrictive pacts and alliances of the petty kings.

Since, it was reasoned, Britain faced a common enemy we would field a common warband, led by a war leader owing allegiance to no one, but serving all equally as need arose.

This, of course, was far less readily agreed upon, for it meant that kings like Morcant and Coledac would have to give up their warring ways – else they would find themselves facing Arthur and the warband they themselves helped to support.

Thus, making Arthur Duke of Britain enforced the peace. This was the beauty of Merlin's plan, and also its greatest weakness. For, in truth, the kings who had no intention of swearing fealty to Arthur would not support him to their own hurt.

Other kings saw a different menace: a free-roving warband they could not rule was scarcely less dangerous than the Saecsen raiders this selfsame warband was supposed to hold at bay.

Yet, as they had already conceded Arthur's title, there was nothing they could do in the end. A War Leader implied a force to command. And no one could deny the need. Arthur would be the War Leader, and the warband would be raised from the pledged support of the council.

True, it was not the High Kingship. But Merlin's scheme gave Arthur what he needed: leave to act to win the kingship. And he did.

When Arthur left the church that night – cold and bright it was, and windy, the black ice shining in the white moonlight – his long legs striding, hastening him away, the Sword of Britain on his hip for good, he was no longer the young man who had entered that morning. The malice of the petty kings, their narrow spites, their biting rancour and jealousy had hardened him. But the All-Wise Spirit moves in mysterious ways: Arthur now knew them for what they were.

In this he had the better of them, for they knew him not at all.

Arthur has always learned quickly. When as a boy in Ectorius' house he laboured at his Latin and numbers with Melumpus, the Gaulish tutor from the abbey at nearby Abercurny, Arthur needed only to be told a thing once and he understood it, twice and it was his for ever.

As often as not, when I came for the boys in the afternoons, to ride or take weapons practice, there would be Arthur patiently explaining a word or sum to Cai while Melumpus dozed in the sun, his hands folded over his paunch. Arthur could teach as well as learn, though he always preferred doing to thinking.

If a thing could be done, Arthur wanted to do it. If it could not be done, better still – that was the thing he wanted most to do.

Nothing comes so vividly to mind in this regard as when we journeyed to Gwynedd on our way to Caer Myrddin to visit Tewdrig. Ectorius and Cai were with us, and Merlin of course, along with a small escort.

It was the summer of Arthur's eleventh year, I believe, and there had been reports of renewed Irish raiding along the western coasts. Merlin wanted to discuss the situation with Tewdrig and Meurig, and see for himself how things stood. He had planned to go quietly, alone. But, once Arthur heard of it, he quickly included himself and Cai, and there was no gainsaying him. Since we could in no wise risk travelling with Arthur unprotected, it was decided that we would all make the journey together.

All went well until we reached Yr Widdfa. Upon seeing those great cold looming mounds of slate, Arthur nearly fell off his horse in astonishment. 'Look at that one! Have you ever seen a higher mountain? There is snow still on it!'

'It is a sight indeed,' agreed Merlin.

'Does it have a name? What is it?'

'It does. All this is Yr Widdfa, Region of Snows.' Merlin pointed to the highest peak. 'The one you are gawking at isEryri.'

'It is… ' he searched for words,'… enormous! Enormous and beautiful.' He gazed in wonder at it, filling his eyes with the sight. 'Has anyone ever climbed it?'

The question caught Merlin off guard. 'I do not believe so,' he answered. 'I do not think it possible.'

That was the wrong thing to say, certainly. 'Good! Then I will be the first,' Arthur declared. He meant it, too. And he meant to begin at once. With a lash of the reins, he rode towards the mountain.

Merlin made to call him back. But Cai intervened. 'Please, Lord Emrys, I would like to climb it, top.'

'You, Cai?' Merlin turned and looked into the ruddy face. The clear blue eyes held all the hope any one human creature can bear. To dash it would have been unthinkable.

And Merlin saw that, much as Arthur wanted to climb the mountain, Cai wanted it more, but for a far different reason.

'Now, Caius, you cannot -' began Ectorius.

Merlin cut him short with a gesture. 'Of course,' Merlin told him, 'I think it is time this mountain was conquered. And you two are just the men to do it. Well, hurry or you will be left behind.' He waved Cai away, and the boy rode after Arthur.

'Do you think it wise?' asked Ectorius, watching his son with some apprehension. Long had he protected his son's lame leg – the result of an accident and a poorly set bone when Cai was first learning to ride.

'No,' replied Merlin, 'it is foolishness itself to let them go.'

‘Then why -?'

Merlin smiled, lifting a hand to the mountain. 'Because if we prevented them now they would never again risk the impossible with a whole and open heart.'

'Is that so important?'

'For ordinary men, no.' Merlin shook his head, watching the boys ride away. 'But, Ector, we are not about making ordinary men.'

‘They could get themselves killed!'

'Then they will die in glorious defeat,' Merlin declared. Ectorius opened his mouth to protest, but my master stopped him, saying, 'Ector, they will die one day in any event and we cannot prevent that. Do you not see it?'

'No, I do not. This is needless hazard.' Ectorius showed his contempt for such an idea.

'The dead are so long dead,' Merlin said. 'Better to have lived while alive, yes? Besides, if they achieve this they will have conquered a giant; they will be invincible!'

'If they do not?'

‘Then they will learn something about the limitations of men.'

'A costly lesson, it seems to me,' muttered Ectorius.

"Then it will be valued all the more. Come, be of good cheer, my friend,' coaxed Merlin, 'If God and his angels stand ready to uphold them, can we do less?'

Ectorius lapsed into a sullen silence, and we turned our horses to follow the boys, catching them up some time later in one of the high meadows beneath the looming slopes, as they, stood discussing the best way to begin.

'Well? What is it to be?' asked Merlin.

'This appears to be the best way,' answered Arthur at once. 'The others are too steep. On this side we can walk a fair way up.'

'Then get on with it,' Merlin told them, casting an eye towards the sun. 'The best of the day is yours. We will make camp and await you here.'

'He is right,' said Arthur to Cai, setting his jaw. 'Let us begin.' Taking only a waterskin apiece and a couple of barley loaves, they bade us farewell and began their assault on Eryri. We, in turn, began making camp and settled down to wait.

Ectorius and some of his men went off hunting just after midday, and returned at dusk with a dozen hares and as many pheasants. The larger game they had let go, since we could neither eat it nor take it with us.

While the men cleaned the game and made our supper, Ectorius described the wealth of game they had seen – casting his eyes now and again at the slopes of the mountain above us. At last, he said, 'Will they stay up there all night, do you think?'

'I expect so,' I answered. 'It is too far to come down, and they cannot have reached the top yet.'

'I do not like to think of them climbing up there in the dark.'

'They are sensible enough,' I assured him. 'They will stop and rest for the night.'

'It is not their rest I am worried about.' Ectorius turned abruptly and went about his chores.

I wondered at Merlin, for he seemed not at all concerned about the enterprise. Usually, he exercised the utmost care where Arthur's safety was concerned. A little later, as the hares and pheasants were roasting on spits over the fire, I sought him at the streamside where he was filling waterskins and watering horses. I asked him about this and he simply replied, 'Be at ease, Pelleas. I see no hurt in this place.'

'What have you seen?'

He stopped and stood, turning his eyes back to the mountain, whose top was aflame with sunset's crimson afterglow. He was silent for a moment, his eyes alight with the strange fire from the heights. 'I have seen a mountain wearing a man's name and that name is Arthur.'

We waited all through the next day, and Ectorius held his peace. But, as night came on and a chill crept into the air, he stalked over to Merlin, hands on hips. 'They have not returned."

'No, they have not,' agreed Merlin.

'Something has happened.' He glanced uneasily up at the darkening mountainside, as if to see the boys clinging there. His mouth worked silently for a moment, then he burst forth: 'Cai's leg! Why the boy can hardly walk as it is – I should never have allowed them to go.'

'Peace, Ector. You have no cause for worry. They will return when they have done what they can do.'

'When they have broken their necks, you mean.'

'I do not think that likely.'

'More like than not!' Ectorius grumbled. But he said no more about it that night.

The next morning the boys had still not returned and I began to feel Ectorius' misgiving. Might Merlin be mistaken?

By midday Ectorius' thin patience had worn through. He stormed silently around the camp, muttering under his breath. He respected Merlin enough not to insult him openly by insisting on going after the boys. But it was on his mind – and for all his great respect he would not wait another night.

Merlin pretended not to notice Ectorius' acute discomfort. He occupied himself walking the valley and gathering those herbs that could not be found further north.

Finally, as the sun disappeared behind the rim of mountains surrounding Eryri, Ectorius decided to take matters into his own hands. He ordered four of his men to saddle their horses, and made ready to begin the search.

'Think what you are doing,' Merlin told him equably.

'I have thought of nothing else all day!' Ectorius snapped.

'Let be, Ector. If you go after them now you will steal their glory; they will know you did not trust them to succeed.'

'What if their broken bodies lie bleeding in a crevice up there? They could be dying.'

'Then let them die like the men you hoped they would one day become!' Merlin replied. 'Ector,' he soothed, 'trust me just a little longer.'

'I have trusted you altogether too long!' Ectorius cried. As deep as his love, so deep was his pain. I believe he held himself to blame for his son's infirmity – the horse had been his own.

'If you cannot trust me, then trust the Good God. Patience, brother. You have borne your misgiving this long, bear it but a little longer.'

'It is a hard thing you are asking.'

'If they have not rejoined us by dawn, you need not lead the search, Ector; / will lead it.'

Ectorius shook his head and swore, but he accepted Merlin's reassurance and stalked off to rescind the orders to his men.

Dusk came on apace. I think night always comes first to the high places of the world. There were stars already winking in heaven's firmament, though the sky still held the day's light, when we sat down to our supper. The men talked loudly of hunting, trying to distract then- lord from his unhappy thoughts.

Merlin heard the shout first. In truth, I believe he had been listening for it most of the day and was beginning to wonder why he had not heard it.

He stood, holding out his hand for silence, his head cocked to one side. Neither I nor anyone else heard anything but the thin, trilling call of mountain larks, as they winged to their nests for the night.

Though I knew better than to doubt him, it seemed he was mistaken. The men grew restless.

'It was only – ' began Ectorius.

Merlin rose and held up a silencing hand. He stood rock still for a long moment and then turned towards the mountain. A slow smile spread across his face. 'Behold!' he said. 'The conquerors return!'

Ectorius jumped up. 'Where? I do not see them!'

'They are coming.'

Ector ran forward a few steps. 'I do not see them!'

Then the shout came again. I heard it: the high, wavering 'halloo' one uses in the mountains. The others were on their feet now, too – all of us straining eyes and ears into the gathering gloom.

'It is them!' cried Ectorius. 'They are coming back!'

We did not see them until they were very close indeed, for in the dusk their clothing did not show against the darkening mountainside. When they shouted again, I made out the two forms hastening towards us.

'Cai! Arthur!' cried Ectorius.

In a moment they appeared, and I shall never forget the expression on then: faces. For I had never seen such triumph and exultation in a human countenance before – and have seen it only once since. They were bone weary, dishevelled, but ablaze with the light of victory. They were heroes. They were gods.

They staggered to the camp fire and collapsed on the ground. Even in the firelight I could see their sunburnt cheeks and noses; Arthur's fair skin was peeling and Cai's neck and brow were as red as his hair! Then- clothes were dirty – torn and ragged at knees and elbows. Their hands were raw, and there were bruises, scrapes and scratches on their arms and legs. They appeared to have passed through walls of hawthorn and thickets of thistle along the way.

'Get them something to drink!' ordered Ectorius, and someone hurried off to fetch the beer. The lord of Caer Edyn stared at his son, pride swelling his chest till he looked like a strutting grouse.

I gathered food from our supper and gave it to them. Arthur took the bread and stuffed half the loaf into his mouth; Cai, too tired to eat, simply held it in his hand and stared at it.

'Here,' said Merlin, handing them a waterskin, 'drink this.'

Cai drank, swallowing great moutbfuls at a time, and then handed the skin to Arthur, who gulped the cool stream water down in noisy draughts.

Ectorius could contain himself no longer. 'Well, how did you fare, son? Did you reach the top?'

'The top,' replied Cai reverently. 'We reached the top, we did.' He turned his face to Arthur and his eyes held the look of a man who has learned a profound and life-changing truth. 'I would never have made it but for Arthur.'

Arthur lowered the waterskin. 'Never say it, brother. We climbed it together – you and I together.' He turned to the rest of us standing over him. 'It was wonderful! Glorious! You should have been there, Merlin – Pelleas! – you should have come with us. You can see from one end of the world to the other! It was – it was… wonderful.' He lapsed into silence, at a loss for words.

'You said it was impossible,' Cai reminded Merlin. 'You said no one had ever done it. Well, we did it! We climbed it all the way to the top!' He paused and added softly, turning once more to Arthur,'… He all but carried me.'

I have seen a mountain wearing a man's name and that name is Arthur, Merlin had said.

I was not to discover the full meaning of these words until many years later when bards learned of Arthur's youthful exploits and began referring to the mountain as The Great Tomb – by which they meant he had conquered and slain the snow-topped giant.

Well, the day he strode from the Council of Kings with the Sword of Britain on his hip, he had another mountain to conquer, and another giant to entomb. That mountain was forging the unity of Britain – the vaunting pride of the small kings was the giant.

These two together made Eryri and its forbidding heights appear but a mound in a maiden's turnip patch.

I have bethought myself many times what was accomplished that dreary day – what was lost, and what the gain.

We lost a High King certainly. We gained a Dux Britanniarum, a war leader – if in title only. There were no legions to command, no auxiliaries, there was no fleet, no mounted ala. Arthur had no warband – he did not even own a horse! And sa the grand Roman title meant nothing and everyone knew it.

Everyone except Arthur. 'I will be their Duke,' he vowed. 'And I will lead the battles so weU and rightly they will be forced to make me High King!'

Still, there was no force to lead. There was only Bedwyr, and Cai, the two pledged to Arthur and one another since childhood. Mind, taken together, the three were a power to be esteemed. Any king would have given the champion's place to any one of them, simply to have such a warrior in his keep.

Arthur's first trial would be to gather a warband. Implicit in this was the support and maintenance of the warriors. It was one thing to raise the men, and quite another to provide sustenance for them: arms, horses, food, clothing, shelter – that took an endless supply of wealth.

Wealth derives from land. The ants in the dust possessed more of that than Arthur.

This lack, however, was soon addressed, for upon returning to Gradlon's house that night we found Meurig arrived from Caer Myrddin with three of his chieftains, all of them exhausted and near frozen to their saddles.

'I am sorry, Lord Emrys; I beg your forgiveness," Meurig said, upon settling himself before the hearth with a warming cup in his hand. And hastily turning to Arthur, added, ' – and yours, Lord Arthur. I am heartily sorry to have missed the council. My father desired so badly to come, but the weather -'

'You missed nothing,' Arthur replied. 'It does not matter.'

'I understand your displeasure,' Meurig began. 'But – '

'What he means,' interrupted Merlin, 'is that your presence, welcome as it is, would not have helped matters.'

'But if I had been here.

'No.' Merlin shook his head gently. 'As it is, you have had a long, cold ride for nothing. Still, since you are here I would have you hail the Duke of Britain, and drink his health. I give you Arthur, Dux Britanniarum!’

'What happened?' Meurig had expected to find Arthur made king.

'In a word,' muttered Ectorius, 'Morcant.'

Meurig gestured rudely at the name. 'I need not have asked. I should have known that old deceiver would put down Arthur's claim. He was not alone?'

True, Meurig had expected to find Arthur made king – it was to his father, Tewdrig, King of Dyfed, that Merlin brought the infant Arthur for protection, the first years of his life. Consequently, Meurig had long since discovered Arthur's identity. Yet even Meurig, close as he was, did not fully appreciate the strength of Arthur's claim to the throne of Britain.

In fairness, few men did in those days. Aurelius' son he might be, well and good; but it took more than that to make a man High King. It took the support of all the kings. Or at very least as many as would silence the dissenters – which, in practical terms, amounted to almost the same thing.

No one fully believed that a youth of fifteen, a mere boy, could accede to the High Kingship, nor would they abet him.

'Morcant had all the help he needed,' replied Merlin sourly.

'I would gladly flay those wattled jowls,' swore Cai, 'if it would do any good.'

'I should have been here,' Meurig repeated. 'My father is not well, or he would have made the journey with us. We were prevented by the weather. As it is, we lost two horses.' He turned to Arthur. 'I am sorry, lad.'

'It does not matter, Lord Meurig,' said Arthur, belying his true feelings, which anyone could see on his face. The unhappy group fell silent.

'Duke of Britain, eh? That is a beginning anyway.' Meurig, feeling responsible, forced a jovial mood. 'What will you do now?'

Arthur had his answer ready. 'Raise a warband – that is first. It will be the greatest warband ever seen in the Island of the Mighty. Only the finest warriors will ride with me.'

'Then you will need lands – to raise horses, grain, meat,' announced Meurig grandly. Arthur frowned, feeling his poverty. Therefore, my father and I are agreed that you shall have the lands south of Dyfed.'

'Siluria? But those lands are yours!' objected Arthur.

'Were mine,' Meurig corrected him. 'My father is old and will rule no longer. I am to rule in Dyfed now. Therefore we need a strong hand in the south and, as I have no heir to follow me, I can think of none better to hold the land than you. Yes?'

Arthur's frown turned to incredulity.

'Now then,' Meurig hurried on, 'there is an old hill fort lying between the Taff and Ebbw rivers, with a port on Mor Hafren – Caer Melyn is its name. It would take a deal of work, but you could make it a serviceable stronghold. The land is good; with care, it will provide.' Meurig beamed bis pleasure in making the gift. 'How now? Nothing to say, young Arthur?'

'I scarce know what to say.'

The young Duke appeared so disconcerted by this news that Ectorius clapped him on the back, shouting, 'Be of good cheer, my son. You will just have to accept your good fortune and get on with life as best you can.'

'Lands and a sword!' called Cai. 'What next? A wife and squalling bairns, no doubt.'

Arthur grimaced at Cai's gibe, and turned to Meurig. 'I am in your debt, my lord. I will do my best to hold the land and rule it as you would yourself.'

'I do not doubt it. You will be to us a wall of steel, behind which the people of Dyfed will grow fat and lazy.' Meurig laughed, and the shadows which had dogged our every move during our stay in Londinium rolled back.

I poured mead from the jar. We drank to the fortune of the Duke of Britain, and then began to talk of establishing Arthur's warband. Ectorius and Cai, it was decided, should return to Caer Edyn as soon as the weather would allow, to begin raising a force that could join Arthur in the south.

Naturally, Arthur could not wait to see his lands. He had visited there as a boy, of course, but had not been in Dyfed for a very long time. Winter lay full upon the land, but Arthur did not care. He would have it that next morning we should ride at once to Caer Melyn to inspect it.

'Wait at least until the snow has melted,' urged Merlin. 'Meurig says that winter has been hard in the southlands this year.'

'What is a little snow?'

'Have a care, Arthur. It is cold!'

Then we will wear two cloaks! I mean to see my lands, Myrddin. What sort of lord would I be if I neglected my holdings?'

'It is hardly neglect to wait until the roads are passable.'

'You sound like a merchant," he scoffed, and proceeded with his plans just the same.

I believe he had it all worked out before ever we left Londinium: how he would raise his warband, how he would support it, how he would build his kingdom, using Caer Melyn and the rich southlands given him as his strong foundation. He saw it so clearly that doubters were forced to join with him or stand aside. In this, as in so many things with Arthur, there could be no middle ground.

So we left Londinium the next morning and hastened west. Upon arriving at the Ebbw river – after more freezing nights along the track than I care to remember – Arthur rode at once to the hill fort. Like all the others in the region it was built on the crown of the highest hill in the vicinity, and offered a long view in every direction. Caer Melyn stood surrounded by a ring of smaller strongholds, a dozen in all, guarding the entrances to the valleys and the river inlets along the nearby coast.

Directly east lay another interlocking ring of hill forts, with Caer Legionis at its centre. The Fort of the Legions stood in ruins, deserted now, worthless. But Meurig had established a stronghold on a high hill a little to the north, above the ruined Roman fortress, and this, like Caer Melyn, was also surrounded by its ring of smaller hill forts.

The whole region was thus protected by these interlinked rings, making all of Dyfed and Siluria secure. Meurig, however, had never lived at Caer Melyn. Indeed, it had been many years since the Irish Sea Wolves had dared essay the vigilance of the southwestern British kings. Consequently the hill forts had been allowed to become overgrown and derelict from disuse. Certainly, Caer Melyn stood in need of repair: gates must be renting, ramparts rebanked, ditches redug, wall sections replaced, stores replenished…

As Meurig had said, it would take a deal of work to make the place habitable. But, to Arthur, it was already a fortress invincible and a palace without peer.

Caer Melyn, the Golden Fortress. It was so called for the yellow sulphur springs nearby, but Arthur saw another kind of gold shining here. He saw it as it would be, imagining himself lord of the realm.

Nevertheless, we were forced to sleep in what was – a forlorn hilltop open to the ice-bright stars and deep winter's bone-rattling blasts. Arthur did not care. The place was his and he was master of it; he insisted on spending his first night in his own lands hi his own fortress.

We banked the fire high and slept close to it, wrapped in our furs and cloaks. Before we slept, Arthur prevailed upon Merlin to sing a tale to mark the occasion. 'As this is the first tale sung hi my hall' – there was no hall – 'it is fitting that it be sung by the Chief Bard of the Island of the Mighty.'

Merlin chose The Dream of Macsen Wledig, changing it just a little to include Arthur. This pleased the young Duke enormously. 'Here will I make my home,' he declared expansively. 'And from this day forth let Caer Melyn be known as the foremost court of all Britain.'

'Of all courts past, present, and yet to come,' Merlin replied, 'this will be chief among them. It will be remembered as long as memory endures.'

Mind, it would be some time before the ruin could be called a caer, let alone a court. On that raw wintry morn when we arose to the frost and blow, beating our arms across our chests to warm ourselves, Arthur had not so much as a hearthstone to his name.

All he had, in fact, was Merlin's shining promise.

That day we rode to several of the surrounding hill forts to further Arthur's inspection of his reaun. He seemed not to mind that the places were fit more for wolf and raven than for men. It was clear that Meurig's gift would exact a price of its own, but Arthur would pay, and with a song on his lips.

As the sun started on its downward arc in the low winter sky, we turned towards Caer Myrddin to join Meurig there. We reached the stronghold as the pale green-tinted light faded from the hills. The horses' noses were covered with frost and their withers steamed as we trotted up the track to the timber-walled enclosure.

Nothing now remained of the old villa that had stood there in the days, now long past, when young Merlin had ruled here as king with Lord Maelwys, Meurig's grandfather. Maridunum it had been in those day's. Now it was Caer Myrddin – after its most famous ruler, though he was not a king any more and had not lived there in many, many years.

Torches already burned in the gate sconces – yellow flame in the deep blue shadows on the hard, frost-covered ground – but the gates were still open. We were expected.

Horses stood unattended in the yard. I wondered at this, and turned to point it out to Merlin who rode beside me. But Arthur had already seen them and knew in his heart what this meant.

'Yah!' he slapped the leather reins across his mount's flanks and galloped into the yard, hardly touching ground as he raced for the hall. Those within must have heard his cry, for as Arthur flung himself from the saddle, the door to Meurig's hall opened and a knot of men burst into the yard.

'Arthur!'

One of the men emerged from the throng and ran to meet him, caught Arthur up in a great bear hug. The two stood there in the pale golden torchlight from the hall, locked in a wrestler's embrace, then drew back, gripping one another's arms in the ancient greeting of kinsmen.

'Bedwyr! You are here.'

'Where should I be when my brother needs me?' Bedwyr grinned, shaking his head. 'Look at you… Duke of Britain, indeed!'

'What is wrong with that?'

'Arthur, the sight of you is earth and sky to me,' replied Bedwyr dryly. 'But if I had been there you would be a king now.'

'How so, brother? Are you Emperor of the West, so that you can play at king-making?'

Both laughed heartily at this exchange and they fell upon one another once more. Then Bedwyr saw us. 'Myrddin! Pelleas!' He hurried to us and hugged us both. 'You have come as well. I had not thought to find you all here. Happy I am to see you. Bright Spirits bear witness, God is wise and good!'

'Hail, Bedwyr! You look a very prince of Rheged,' I told him. It was true. Bedwyr's dark locks were gathered in a thick braid; richly enamelled gold bands glinted at his wrists and arms; his woollen cloak was bright yellow and black, woven in the cunning checked pattern of the north; his soft leather boots painted with serpentine designs reached to his knees. In all, he appeared a Celt of old.

'Pelleas, God be good to you, I have missed you. It has been a long time.' Indeed it had; eight years, in fact.

'How did you come here?' asked Arthur. 'We thought you would wait until the thaw to set out.'

'We have enjoyed the mildest of winters in the north,' Bedwyr replied. 'In consequence, we were forced to stay longer than we might have: Sea Wolves troubled us late into the season, or we might have come in the autumn.' He laughed quickly. 'But I see we have surprised even Myrddin, and that makes the wait worth while!'

'Unexpected, perhaps' Merlin allowed. 'But I count it no surprise to greet one whose company we have so often desired. It is joy itself to see you, Bedwyr.'

Meurig, who had been looking on, approached with torch in hand, beaming his good fortune. 'Let my hall be filled! We will have a feast of friends this glad night.'

And so we did. Of food there was no end, and drink flowed in a ceaseless stream from jar and skin. The hall blazed with pine knot and rushlight, and the hearthfire crackled merrily, casting its ruddy glow all around. Meurig had acquired a harper of some skill, so we did not lack for music. We held forth in song and danced the old step.

The next days were full: hunting, eating and drinking, singing, talking, laughing. Bishop Gwythelyn came from the nearby abbey at Llandaff to bless the merriment and to consecrate Arthur in his new position as protector of Britain. This was done in fine style. I see before me still the image of Arthur kneeling before the good bishop, holding the hem of Gwythelyn's undyed cloak to his lips, while the bishop lays holy hands on him.

It was like that: one moment Arthur was the Duke of Britain, wearing the full honour and responsibility of that title, the next he was the Cymry prince, light-hearted, his laughter easy and free. It was a feast for the soul just to watch him, to be near him.

Sweet Jesu, I cannot remember a happier time. No one enjoyed it more than did Arthur and Bedwyr, who sat together at the board laughing and talking the whole night through. And when the last lights were put out, they still sat head to head, pledging to one another their hopes and dreams for the years ahead.

Each had so much to say to the other, so much lost time to redeem. Arthur and Bedwyr had known one another almost from birth, for Merlin and I had brought Arthur to Tewdrig's stronghold in Dyfed when Arthur was still a babe. Arthur's first years had been spent at Caer Myrddin with King Bleddyn's youngest son, Bedwyr: a slim, graceful boy, as dark as Arthur was fair. Bold shadow to Arthur's bright sun.

The two had become constant friends: golden mead and dark wine poured into the same cup. Every day of those early years they spent together – until separated at the age of seven by the strict necessity of fosterage in different royal houses. Bedwyr had gone to live with King Ennion, his kinsman in Rheged, and Arthur to Ectorius at Caer Edyn. And except for all-too-brief occasions such as Gatherings, or the infrequent royal assembly, they had rarely seen one another. Their friendship had endured long privation, but it had endured.

No one thought ill when the two of them rode out to inspect Arthur's lands one morning and were gone three days. Upon their return Arthur announced that the eastern portion of his lands – these included many deep, hidden valleys – would be given to the breeding of horses, and would be placed under Bedwyr's rule.

They were already thinking far, far ahead, to the day when each horse they could provide would mean one more warrior for Britain.

So, early in that spring the course was set which, for better or worse, would steer the Island of the Mighty through the gathering gale of war. Directly after Pentecost, work began at Caer Melyn. Seven days after Beltane, Cai arrived with the first of Arthur's war band: twenty well-trained young men chosen by Ectorius as the best north of the Wall.

And six days after Lugnasadh, King Morcant decided to test the young Duke's mettle.