The council had just reconciled itself to Lot's presence when Ygerna appeared. With an escort of Uther's chieftains – those who were still with her – she strode purposefully into the church, looking stern and strong and beautiful. Arrayed regally and simply, Ygerna wore a dove-grey cloak over a white mantle edged in silver; a slim golden tore encircled her throat. Every line of her body spoke eloquently of authority and reserve. Her grace and poise served a rebuke to the fatuous posing of the petty kings.

That these two should arrive so suddenly, and on the heels of one another, was perhaps more than coincidence. It was certainly uncanny in the effect it had on the council. For suddenly the mood of the assembly changed, as the lords evaluated the newcomers and calculated how best to make use of these unknown quantities. No one, I am quite convinced, had given a thought to either of them, or considered that they might have a part in the proceedings.

Indeed, in my own dealings with Ygerna I had completely overlooked the fact that, as Uther's widow, she maintained the right of sitting in council. And now that she was here I experienced the momentary fear that her presence would cause the gathered kings to remember something else: Aurelius' son. But apparently no one knew or remembered, for nothing was said. Perhaps the secret was safe after all.

As for Lot, because he lived on the rim of the world, everyone else apparently assumed that he would have no interest in the affairs of the rest of the realm. So no one had summoned him. Nevertheless, he had heard and he had come.

I confess that I did not welcome his arrival – but for reasons other than the threat of whatever claim he might make to the High Kingship. No, it was his bloodline that concerned me. Lot was the son of Loth, of course; and Loth had been the husband of Morgian.

That Morgian's son should appear as out of the north-island mist alarmed me more than a little. What did it mean? Was Morgian behind it? Need I even wonder?

No doubt Morgian saw in the king choosing an opportunity for gaining power of a kind different from what she already possessed. But why send the boy? Why not come herself? Where was Lot's father?

These things concerned me in no small measure. As I stared at Lot across the council ring, I tried to discern what kind of man he was. But, aside from the obvious fact that he, like many in the bleak north, loved his colour bright and his manner ostentatious, I could discover nothing.

At one point in the proceedings Lot caught me watching him. His reaction puzzled me: he gazed back for a moment, then slowly smiled and touched the back of his hand to his forehead in the ancient acknowledgment of lordship. Then, as if dismissing me from his mind, he turned his attention back to the assembly.

When, much later that day, the council finished, I waited for Ygerna in the yard outside the church, watching the builders. The masons were making use of the day's last light to move the huge keystone of the great arch. The ropes they used were too small for the task and their levers were too short. For all their labour, and their energetic cursing, they could shift the enormous stone but a few paces.

As soon as Ygerna entered the yard she saw me and hurried to me, two of her chiefs following at a respectful distance behind. 'Do not be angry with me, Myrddin,' she began at once. 'I know what you are thinking.' •

'Do you indeed?'

'You are thinking that I have no place here, that I should have stayed in Tintagel, that I will only make things worse for my presence.'

I grinned with pleasure; she was not so purposeful and self-assured as she seemed. 'Ygerna, I am glad you have come; you have as much right here as any of the others. And you could not make matters worse than they already are, if that were your sole ambition. So, you see, you have no cause to feel unwelcome.'

She smiled, the corners of her mouth bending down. 'Well, you may not think so when I ask you what I have in my mind to ask.'

'Ask then, but do not think anything you ask will change my mind.'

Glancing quickly round – a kitchen girl about to speak a guilty secret – Ygerna said softly, 'I must ask you to return Uther's sword to me.'

I considered this for a moment.

'You see?' the queen remarked sulkily. 'You are angry now.'

'Please, I am not angry. But why the sword?'

'I have seen what is happening here. They treat me well enough, but I am ignored. If they will not recognize me, perhaps they will recognize the sword.'

It is not the first time a woman's heart read the matter truly, and far more quickly than any man might arrive at the same conclusion. After only one day in council, she had discerned the crux of the thing: without any power of her own, she would be ignored – politely perhaps, but ignored all the same.

'Well? May I have it back?'

'Of course, my lady. But what do you plan to do with it?'

She shook her head. 'That will come to me when it comes. I will send Kadan to fetch it tonight.'

'I will have it ready for him.'

That settled, she turned to pleasantries. 'It was a most enjoyable journey – not like the last time… ' She paused, remembering when she had come with Gorlas and Uther. 'And yet, I shall never forget that journey. It was the first time I saw Uther – the first time for so many things it seems.'

We walked together along the narrow street to a nearby house, where she had lodging. 'Dine with me tonight, Myrddin,' she offered. 'Unless you have made better plans.'

'I have no other plans,' I replied. 'And certainly none better. I would be honoured to dine with you, Ygerna. And I will bring the sword.'

She smiled winningly. 'In truth, you are not angry?'

'Who am I to be angry with you?'

She shrugged. 'I just thought you might be.'

I returned to Gradlon's house, where Pelleas was waiting outside the door. 'He came here with his men. There was nothing I could do.'

I observed five thick-necked, stout-legged horses tied to the rings in the side of the wall. 'Who has come, Pelleas?'

'Lot.' His brow creased unhappily. 'He said he would speak with you.'

Well, there was nothing for it but to meet him. I entered the house and found it crowded with north-country strangers. Lot stood at Gradlon's hearth, back to the door, one foot on a firedog, his hands wrapped in the iron chain suspended there.

At my entry, the men fell silent. Lot turned. His eyes were the colour of snow shadow – grey-blue and cold as winter ice. I stood in the doorway and he regarded me casually, confidently.

For the space of three heartbeats I paused, then stepped into a room bristling with hidden knives and unseen spears.

EIGHTEEN

'Well, Merlin Ambrosius – Myrddin Emrys,' Lot said, finally. 'I am honoured.'

'Lord Lot, I did not expect you.'

'No, I suppose not. It seems no one expected me in Londinium.' His smile was sudden and sly. 'But I much prefer it that way.'

Uneasy silence reclaimed the room. I broke it at last, saying, 'Will you drink with me? Gradlon's wine is excellent.'

'I do not drink wine,' he said coolly. 'That is a luxury we do not allow ourselves in Orcady. And I have never developed the taste for southern vices.'

'Mead?' I offered. 'I am certain our host will oblige.'

'Beer,' he said, spreading his hands in a gesture of helplessness. 'As you see, I am a man of simple pleasures.'

The mocking emphasis he gave the words suggested a wildly voracious appetite and brought to my mind images of unspeakable perversion. Yet he smiled as if it were a point of honour with him. He was his mother's son, and no doubt. I resisted the impulse to flee the room. The only reason I suffered him at all was to discover why he had come.