'What do we do while you play at kingmaking?' demanded Uther. The last word was a slap in my face.

'Kingmaking is exactly what I am playing at, Uther, my lad,' I growled. 'Make no mistake. You won a great victory, yes – over an old man already exhausted and sore beset.'

He bristled at this, glowering murderously at me, but I was ruthless. 'Neither you nor your brother will last the summer without me and my kingmaking, and that is the way of it.'

'Have we no choice in the matter?' he whined.

'Of course, you have a choice. You can listen to me and do as I say, or you can find yourselves a shallow grave beside the read somewhere and scoop the dirt over your faces, or high-tail it back to Armorica to languish in Hoel's court the rest of your miserable lives.'

I let them have it between the eyes, but they took it like men and did not cringe. They did not like it, but neither did they yelp like spoiled children. If they had, I would have ridden from the camp and never returned.

So, it was a start. Aurelius' clear thinking prevailed over Other's hot-blooded impulsiveness and I was firmly installed as the High King's counsellor – future High King, I should say, for we had much work to do before his rump could sit that throne.

That very afternoon Pelleas and I rode for Dyfed, taking with us only a few golden armbands Aurelius sent along for presents, to be given as I saw fit. These would be welcome, of course, a polite gesture; although the canny Cymry would not be won by gifts of gold. They would want to know who this upstart High King was, and what he was made of; eventually, they would want to meet him in the flesh. That would come, in time, but I wanted to prepare the way.

My first glimpse of my one-time homeland caused my throat to tighten and my eyes to mist. We had stopped a little way off the old Deva road on a hilltop overlooking the broad humps of the western hillscape. Those high, handsome hills, with the wind fingering the long grass and ruffling the new heather, spoke to me of a happier time – a time when a new-made king rode the hills with his proud warband, working tirelessly to make safe his realm.

We looked to the sea in those days. Now the invaders were firmly planted on our own soil. Vortigern had given Hengist and his brother Horsa their own lands along the south-eastern coast, in exchange for protection. While it was true that the Fox had no better alternative – so contrary were the kings beneath him, they would have sided with Hengist if Vortigern had not done it first! – the bargain proved disastrous in the end. Hengist not only nipped the hand that fed him, he meant to take it off clean to the shoulder!

After a little time, Pelleas urged the horses forward and we started down into the long, crooked valley that wound between the hills leading in due course to Dyfed. We camped that night in a grove beside a quick-running burn, and arrived in Mari-dunum – Caer Myrddin, now – at sunset the following day.

In the dying light – like fiery embers of a fading fire – all crimson and gold and white, the town appeared unchanged, its walls solid, its streets paved, its houses square and upright. But it was an illusion; as we rode slowly through the streets I saw that the walls were breeched in places too numerous to count, the streets broken, the houses tumbled. Dogs ran in the ruins, and somewhere a baby bawled, but we saw no one about.

Pelleas would turn his head neither right nor left, but rode straight on without a sideways glance. I should have done the same, but could not help myself. What had happened to the town?

Maridunum had never been anything more than a scruffy, scuffling market town. Even so, it had life. Apparently that life was over and it had become the habitation of homeless dogs and phantom children. Having passed through Maridunum, as bad as it was, I was in no wise ready for the shock of seeing my old home and birthplace – the villa on the hill. It was as if I had ridden through the town and back in time a few hundred years. For the villa was gone and in its place stood a hillfort with a timber hall and palisade, and ringed with steep ditches – something common enough in the northern wilderness, but unseen in the civilized southland for ten generations or more.

For all the world, it appeared a Celtic settlement from before the Eagles set foot on the Island of the Mighty.

Pelleas led us up the path and waited below the gates, which were already shut against the night, although the sky was still light in the west. But the timber gates were opened readily enough following Pelleas' call, and we ambled into a compound crowded with clusters of small log-and-thatch huts surrounding a great hall of dressed timber, impressive in its proportions. Of the villa that had once stood on this very ground, there was no sign.

In Taliesin's time this seat of Demetae and Siluri power had been ruled by Pendaran Gleddyvrudd, who in later years shared the throne with his son Maelwys and, briefly, even with me. Red Sword was long dead, of course and, alas, so was Maelwys.

Times and needs change. No doubt the hillfort was immensely more practical for its occupants. But I missed the villa, and found myself wondering whether the little chapel in the woods still stood, or whether it, like the villa, had been replaced by an older temple to an older god.

Pelleas nudged me. 'They are coming, master.'

I turned to see men issuing from the great hall, a few with torches in their hands. Their leader was a mature man of goodly stature with greased hair tied at the nape of his neck, and a huge golden tore on his neck. He looked enough like Maelwys that I knew Pendaran's bloodline to be healthy.

'Greetings, friend,' he said with casual friendliness, nevertheless eyeing me with keen interest. 'What brings you here?'

'I have come,' I answered, 'to seek a home I once knew.'

'It will be dark soon – too dark for searching out a settlement. Stay with us tonight,' his eyes had strayed to my harp behind the saddle, 'and we will help you find the place you seek in the morning.'

It was Tewdrig himself who addressed me; he had inherited Maelwys' generous nature. But I replied, 'In truth, this is the place I am looking for.'

He stepped closer and, putting his hand on the bridle of my horse, peered up at me. 'Do I know you? Tell me if I do, for I cannot remember ever seeing you within these walls.'

'No, there is no reason you should know me. It is many years since I have been here – when this hillfort was a villa still, and Maelwys was its king.'

He stared in disbelief. 'Myrddin?'

A murmur of excitement passed among those gathered round. One young man ran back into the hall and, a moment later, more men, and women, were streaming out into the yard.

'I am Myrddin,' I said quietly. 'And I have returned, Tewdrig.'

'You are welcome here, my lord. Will you come in and sit at my table?'

'That,' I said, climbing down from the saddle, 'we will be most happy to do.'

Pelleas and I were conducted into the great hall by the entire throng. News of my coming flitted like sparks on the wind among them and the hubbub grew around us. Although the hall was spacious, soon it was filled with a crush of people, all buzzing with excitement, so that Tewdrig had to shout in order to be heard.

'Lord, your arrival here is unexpected. If only you had sent your man ahead to warn us of your coming, I could have prepared a feast for you. As it is… ' he gestured vaguely round the hall. Although not bedecked with festive finery, it was no shabby place. I gathered from a glance that the Demetae and Silures still possessed much wealth and, hence, much power.

'As it stands,' I told him frankly, 'is how I wanted to see it.' I had not overlooked his use of the word warn, for despite his welcome, which was genuine, it bespoke the worry in his heart. I could calm his fears with a word, but I decided to let it wait for a moment, the better to see how he was made.