'And Lile?'

'Of Lile there was no sign. She was not found, nor ever seen again from that night.'

'And you never spoke of her after that,' I said.

'No,' my mother admitted, 'we did not. If you ask me why, I cannot teil you. It did not seem appropriate somehow.'

'Perhaps she was carried off by a wolf, or bear,' I suggested, knowing full well that was not the answer.

'Perhaps,' answered Charis, as if considering it for the first time. 'Perhaps by someone or something else.'

'You have not mentioned Morgian,' I reminded her.

'Morgian is Lile and Avallach's daughter. When I returned home to meet Lile, Morgian was already three years old. She was a beautiful little girl. I liked her then. I did not see much of her, however, because preparations for leaving Atlantis took absolutely every moment. And yet, I remember her playing in the gardens… and, even then, with Annubi. She was always with Annubi.'

'She is not with him now.' '

Charis considered this. 'No, I suppose not. Anyway, after the cataclysm we came here and she grew up like any other child. I did not pay much attention to her; she had her interests, I had mine. But she came to dislike me for some reason, and I always felt awkward and ill-at-ease with her. Things were not well between us, and I never understood why.

'Once, after Taliesin's people had come, she tried to steal Taliesin's affection for herself. It was done very clumsily and did not succeed, of course. But it set her against me.' Charis paused, choosing her next words carefully. 'And this is why I believe she caused Taliesin's death. I do not know how it was done, or whether she meant me to die instead, but I have always known she was behind it.'

I nodded. 'You are right, Mother. Annubi told me he was responsible, but he was lying.'

'Annubi?' There was pain and pity in the word.

'I think he hoped to anger me so that I would kill him. He wanted release, but I could not do it.'

'Poor, poor Annubi. Even now I do not have it in me to despise or hate him.'

'Annubi is Morgian's creature now. His misery is complete.'

'He was once my friend, you know. But our world changed and he could not. It is sad.' She raised her eyes from the dying embers on the hearth and smiled weakly. 'Now you know it all, my son.'

She stood and kissed my cheek, resting her hand lightly on my shoulder. 'I am going to my bed. Do not sit up too long.'

She turned to go.

'Mother?' I called after her. Thank you for telling me.' She nodded and moved off, saying, 'It was never meant to be a secret, Hawk.'

THIRTEEN

I will say nothing of the journey north to Goddeu, except that it was opposite in most respects from the journey south the winter before. Such is the difference in travelling from one season to another. Avallach sent men with us, as did Maelwys. Both men were anxious to secure the friendship with a powerful ally in the north.

This is not to say that men in the north were not anxious for the same thing. The mood in the land had changed with the seasons: fear was growing; slowly it was creeping across the wide, empty hills to touch men's hearts and minds. I saw this in the faces of those who watched us pass; I heard it in their voices when they spoke; I tasted it on the wind, which seemed to cry:

The Eagles are gone! All hope is lost! We are doomed!

That such a change could take place in so short a time amazed me. The legions were greatly diminished, true, but they were not all gone. We were not abandoned. And our hope had never rested entirely with Rome in any case.

Always, from the very first, a man trusted the blade in his hand, and the courage of his kinsman. Pax Romana, well and good, but the people looked to their king for protection first, and only after to Rome. The tangible, present king protected his people, not the vague rumour of an emperor who sat on a golden throne hi some far-off land no one knew.

Had we grown so weak and soft that the shift of a few thousand troops made us faint with fear? If we were doomed, fear is what doomed us, not invasion or threat of invasion by screaming Saecsen hordes and their woad-washed Picti minions. After all, there had been invasions and threats of invasions for many years now and the presence of the Eagles had not prevented either.

So now the Eagles had flown. What of that? Was Britain no longer a foe to be feared? Could we not look after ourselves?

I was convinced that we could. If Elphin and Maelwys could raise again their warbands, others could do the same. And that, not the presence or absence of Roman legionaries, was where our future lay. I knew this with a certainty that increased with every Roman mile north.

Custennin received us in good spirits. He was delighted to see that his investment had borne such a rich return. Gifts were exchanged again and again. Even I received a gold-handled dagger from him for my negligible part in bringing everyone together. The expansive mood was such that he declared a feast for the third night of our stay in order properly to celebrate the new pledges between all our peoples.

As feasts go, it was an elaborate affair, taking fully two days to prepare. And yet there was something austere about it. It was the same austerity I had noticed on my first visit – as in the small matter of the lack of a bard. I had remarked on it then, but did not know its cause. Now, of course, I did: Custennin, despite his British name, was of Atlantean descent. This meant that the wilder, more passionate expressions of emotion were not to be indulged. It was the same with Avallach.

Nevertheless, the inclusion of so many Britons in Custen-nin's court meant that austerity and revel achieved an amiable balance. There was food enough, and the smoky-tasting heather beer of the Hill Folk by the barrel – how he had come by that, I cannot say, unless someone had learned from one of the fhains how to brew it – so that the festivities were indeed vivid.

I seem to remember singing a great deal, loudly, and not always with my harp. Although it is doubtful anyone noticed any lapse on my part.

Except Ganieda.

Everywhere I turned… Ganieda. Watching me, her dark eyes shining, waiting and watching, silent, keeping her own counsel. In truth, since our frosty reunion, she had not spoken three words to me in as many days.

I had expected a warm welcome from her when I returned. Not a shower of kisses, certainly – but a smile, a welcome cup, something. Instead, as I stood awkwardly just inside the doorway of her father's hall, fresh from the trail, she merely looked at me, neither smiling nor frowning, but as one judging the value of a pelt offered for trade.

The feeling was so strong in me, I made a joke of it, holding my arms out and turning round slowly. 'What will you give for this handsome hide, lady?'

Apparently, she did not appreciate the jest. 'Handsome indeed! Why on earth would any noble-born lady be interested in a hide as dirty and smelly as the one I see before me?' she replied coolly.

I must admit that my time in the saddle had exacted a price. I was not the freshest flower to bloom in the forest. A bath in the lake would put matters right, I thought, but the exchange began our reunion uncomfortably. And I thought that perhaps I had been mistaken about how it was between us; or that Ganieda had second thoughts about me. She had, after all, had plenty of time to change her mind.

To make matters worse, it was late on the fourth day before I finally found another chance to speak to her alone – had she been avoiding me? – and that left only two days before we were due to depart once more. I felt the time fleeing away, so cornered her in the kitchen behind the great hall.

'If I have said something to offend you,' I told her directly, 'I am sorry. Only tell me and I will make it right.'