The next morning the kings assembled in the church once more. And once more, as at all the other times, Dunaut and Morcant devised to hobble the proceedings with insulting and outrageous demands. If they could not realize their ambitions in council, at least they might provoke the others to arms and win in that way. It was all the same to them.

But from the beginning that day's events took shape differently. Ygerna and Lot were present and the others were forced to take account of them. As Dunaut was wanning to his long harangue, Ygerna simply rose from the chair that had been added to the circle for her, and stood.

She stood until Dunaut, distracted by her quiet presence, stopped and acknowledged her. 'My lords,' he sneered, 'it appears that Queen Ygerna wishes to speak. Perhaps she does not understand the proper observances of this assembly.'

'Oh, indeed,' she replied. 'I have observed much in the short time since I have joined this noble assembly. It appears to me that the only way to be heard is to shout at the top of one's lungs while impugning the characters of those present. That, I think, would avail me little, so I stand and wait to be recognized.'

'Lady,' said Dunaut in an exasperated tone, 'I yield to you.' Coolly, but politely, she dismissed him. 'Thank you, Lord Dunaut.'

It must have taken all her strength of will to appear so calm and self-possessed. But there was no trace of fear or hesitancy in her manner; indeed, anyone would have thought dealing with power-mad kings was all her world. 'I am Uther's widow,' she began, speaking slowly and forcefully, 'and before that I was Aurelius' widow. No other woman, I think, has shared meat and bed with two High Kings.'

Some of the kings laughed nervously. But, though she smiled, Ygerna did not allow them to make light of her. For, she continued, 'No other woman can claim to be twice High Queen of Britain… and no other woman knows what I know.'

That stopped them. The lords had not considered that Uther and Aurelius might have confided their secrets to her. They surely considered it now; I could almost hear them grunting under the strain of guessing what she might know.

'We are at war here, my lords. We do battle here among ourselves while the Saecsen send out the husting.' This revelation, spoken by one so fair and self-assured, sobered them. 'Oh, yes, it is true. Or did you think that when news of Uther's death reached them they would lay down their weapons and weep?

'I tell you, they weep for joy to hear it. They gather the warhost and soon they will come.' She paused, gathering every eye to herself. 'But this you already know, my lords. I have not come here to tell you that which you already know.'

Blessed girl, she had them like fish in a net. What would she say next?

She raised a hand and Kadan, her adviser, came to her holding a cloth-wrapped bundle. He placed the bundle in her hands and then took his stand behind her. Ygerna stepped to the centre of the floor, and held the bundle well up, so all could see. Then she began unwinding the cloth.

Gold and silver flashed beneath the wrappings and all at once the cloth fell away to reveal what I knew to be hidden there: the Sword of Britain.

'This,' she said, lifting the sword, 'was Uther's sword, as it was Aurelius' sword; but once, long ago, it belonged to the first High King in the Island of the Mighty. And each High King has held it since, save one -' she meant Vortigern, of course, ' – for this is the sword of Maximus the Great, Emperor of Britain and Gaul.'

She turned slowly, so that all could see that it was, without doubt, the Emperor's famed blade. Light from the narrow, high-cut windows fell in long, slanting rays, catching the blade and setting fire to the great eagle-carved amethyst.

Oh yes, they recognized it: the lust glinting sharp in their eyes told all. Dunaut's right hand actually fondled the hilt at his side, as he imagined what it must be to wear the Imperial weapon as his own. Other hands twitched, too, and eyes narrowed to see the play of light along that cold, tapering length of polished steel.

The sanctuary fell silent as Ygerna raised the sword in both hands above her head. 'My lords, this is the Sword of Britain and it is shameful to fight over it like hounds over a gristlebone!'

Then, lowering the sword, point first to the floor, she folded her hands over the hilt, slowly knelt and bowed her head.

I do not know what she prayed. No one does. But, whatever the words, there could have been few more heartfelt prayers uttered in that church before or since.

I see her still, kneeling there in the ring of kings. Her blue cloak is folded upon her shoulder; her tore glints at her slender throat; her long fingers are interlaced around the golden hilt; the great jewel touches her fair brow. The light falling around her enfolds her in a holy embrace.

If the kings were embarrassed by her words, they were mortified by her example. Heartless indeed was the man among them who could look upon that innocent sight and not feel remorse and shame. Guilt made them dumb.

At last, her prayer finished, she rose and, holding the sword before her, began walking slowly round the ring.

'Lords of Britain,' she called, her voice loud and sure, 'this sword belongs to the one who has never sought to advance himself over any other, the one in whom the vision of our realm burns most brightly, whose wisdom has been valued by high and low alike, whose strength as a leader and prowess in battle is sung in timber halls and wattle huts from one end of this world's-realm to the other… '

Ygerna had stopped before me.

'My lords, I give it now into his hand. Let those among you who would take it wrest it from him!'

So saying, she put the sword into my hand and held it there with both of hers. 'There,' she whispered, 'let them try to undo that.'

'Why?' My voice was harsh with astonishment.

'You would never have spoken for yourself.'

She turned to the assembly and called, 'Who will join me in swearing fealty to our High King?'

Ygerna knelt down and stretched her hands forth to touch my feet in the age-old gesture. The lords looked on, but no one made a move to join her.

Time slid away and it began to appear as if Ygerna's noble gesture would be reviled. Standing or seated, they stubbornly held their places. The silence turned stone-hard with defiance.

Poor Ygerna, made to look a fool by their haughty refusal to acknowledge me. I could have wept for the beautiful futility of it.

But, then, just as it seemed as if she must withdraw, across the floor someone stirred. I looked up. Lot rose slowly to his feet. He stood for a moment and then walked to me, his eyes on mine as he came. 'I will swear fealty,' he announced, his voice echoing full in the vaulted room. He sank to his knees beside Ygerna.

Lot's example amazed the kings even more than Ygerna's. They stared in disbelief – as I did myself. However, two against all the rest is not enough to make a man High King.

But Custennin had stepped forward, too. 'I will swear him fealty,' he called in a loud voice. And the next voice to break silence was Tewdrig's. Both men knelt before me, and were joined by their chieftains. Eldof of Eboracum and Rhain of Gwynedd came next with their advisers, and all swore fealty and knelt. Ceredigawn and his men did likewise.

Had it been another time, or another man, it might have gone differently. Though, I believe that what happened that bright morning was ordained from the beginning.

Dunaut and Morcant, and their contentious ilk, were strong. They would never bring themselves to bend the knee to me, and I knew it. As it was, the kings were divided in their support of me, and more were against me than for me.

I could not be High King. And no, no, I did not desire it. Nevertheless, I had the support of good men. Now, at least, I had leave to act.