The day dawned fair, the sun a dazzling white disk as we passed through the gates and out upon the road. The lords rode two by two; the four wagons followed, each one covered with a crimson cloak for a pall, and drawn by a black horse with a single raven's feather set in a golden war cap.

I did not continue with the funeral procession, but once through the gates travelled on ahead, driving one of the big supply wains. Upon reaching the shrine, I unloaded the tents and set about raising them, so that when the others arrived the camp would be ready. I went about my work quickly and with the sense that I was giving a good gift to my friends, that my labour was a devotion.

When I finished, the tents encircled the shrine and the camp was established. As I began unloading the provisions, the procession arrived. At once I fell to preparing food for them. Some of the lords helped me with this task, while the others saw to arranging the rotunda where the bodies of our beloved sword brothers would lie in state until their burial the next morning.

When the meal was ready, I carried a portion to the Pendragon's tent where the High King and Queen had withdrawn to rest. Then I sat down myself to eat. But as I glanced around I noticed that Myrddin was not among us, and remembered that I had not seen him emerge from the shrine. I put down my bowl and quickly walked up to the rotunda.

I entered the cool, dim interior. A small fire burned in the centre of the rotunda and a torch at the head of each bier. I saw that the bodies had been placed, each on its bier beneath the ledge bearing their names, and their weapons – sword, spear and shield – arranged on the ledge. The Emrys knelt beside Cai's cloak-covered body, unwrapping the leather bundle which contained the stone-carving tools.

'I have prepared food, Emrys,' I said.

'I am not hungry, Aneirin.' He picked up the scribe, turned to the ledge at hand and began with practised strokes to incise the death date below Cai's name. It broke my heart to see the iron bite into the stone, for once in stone it could never be otherwise.

'Shall I bring something to you here?'

'I will eat nothing until I have finished this work,' he answered. 'Leave me now.'

Throughout the rest of the day we held vigil in prayer. As the first twilight stars appeared in the sky, the Emrys emerged from the rotunda. Arthur and Gwenhwyvar joined us, and I saw that the death of his friends had visibly weakened the Pendragon. He appeared haggard and ill-rested, despite keeping to his tent.

Nor was I the only one to observe this, for I saw Bedwyr lead the Emrys aside to exchange a private word. And Bedwyr's eyes did not leave Arthur the whole time.

We ate a simple meal before the fire, and listened to the lark song in the darkling sky above us. Night stole over the camp and Arthur ordered the fire to be built up and called for a song. 'A song, Myrddin,' he said. 'Let us hear something of the valour of brave men – in memory of the friends we bury tomorrow.'

The Emrys consented and took up his harp to play an elegy for the departed. He sang The Valiant of Britain., which he had first sung following the victory at Mount Baedun, and to which he added the life-songs of Cai, Gwalcmai, Gwalchavad and Llenlleawg. If there was ever a more beautiful or heartfelt lament, I never heard it.

That night I slept outside the Pendragon's tent on a red calfskin – I wanted to begin my duties before anyone else awakened. Accordingly, I rose before dawn and hurried down to the stream to drink and wash myself. Passing along the sea-face of the hill, I happened to glimpse a ship gliding out of the mist on the water, sailing towards the shore.

I stopped. Who could it be? Few among those left behind in Caer Lial knew the location of the Round Table.

I watched as the ship drew closer – yes, it was definitely making for the shrine – and then turned and ran back to camp. Not wishing to disturb the Pendragon, I ran to the Emrys' tent. 'Emrys,' I whispered at the tent flap. He awakened at once and came out to me.

'What is it, Aneirin?'

'A ship is approaching. Come, I will show you.'

Together we hurried back to the place where I had seen the ship – just in time to see six more emerge from the mist. The first ship was already drawing towards shore. 'It is the Pendragon's fleet,' I said, observing the red dragon painted on the sails.

'I was afraid of this,' remarked the Emrys.

'What are they doing?'

'They have come for the burial ceremony.'

It was true. Thinking only to honour their dead companions, the Cymbrogi, and the assembled war hosts of Britain, had embarked in the Pendragon's ships to discover the shrine. And discover it they did. The Emrys and I watched as ship after ship came into the bay and the warriors waded to shore.

They came dressed as for battle, each with helm burnished and shield freshly painted. Their swords were newly honed, and their spearheads gleamed. They gathered on the beach and then moved silently up the hill towards us.

'What shall we do, Wise Emrys?'

'Nothing,' he replied. 'There is nothing to be done. These men have risked the Pendragon's wrath to come here. They will not be turned away, nor should they be.'

'But the shrine… '

'Well,' observed Myrddin Emrys, 'the Round Table will no more remain secret. After this day, the world will know of it. Easier to hold back the tide with one your brooms, Aneirin, than to call back a word once it has been spoken.'

As they assembled on the shore, the Emrys sent me to fetch the Pendragon. I did so and returned with Arthur, Gwenhwyvar and Bedwyr to see ten thousand warriors – all the Cymbrogi, of course, and a good few others had come to observe the funeral rites of their battlechiefs.

'God love them,' said Arthur, gazing out upon the strand, now populated with warriors drawn up in ranks and divisions, and arrayed in bright battle dress. 'Their disobedience is greater tribute than we can boast. Let them join us.'

'Very well,' replied Bedwyr, and started down the hill track to the shore.

'How did they find this place?' wondered Gwenhwyvar.

'Tegyr, I suppose,' said Myrddin, and I remembered the steward.

'Or Barinthus,' offered Arthur.

'Your pilot? He would never do such a thing,' the queen insisted. She looked upon the ordered ranks of warriors and smiled. 'I hope that I receive such homage when I go to my grave.'

'For me,' the Pendragon said, 'let there be a perpetual choir established in a church built over my tomb. I will have need of such prayers, I think.'

At these words the Emrys looked round and observed the High King closely. 'Are you ill, Arthur?'

'I am tired this morning,' he admitted. 'The battle has left its mark. It will pass.'

'Let me tend your wound.'

'A scratch,' said Arthur, making a dismissive gesture with his hands. There is nothing to see.'

But the Wise Emrys was not to be put off. 'Then I will see that as well. Open your mantle and have done with it.'

The Pendragon hesitated, but no man alive is able to resist the Emrys for long. At last Arthur gave in and drew back his cloak and pulled aside his mantle. The wound was, truly, nothing more than a long, ragged scratch, running around the base of the throat where Medraut had caught him with a wild slash of the knife.

But that scratch had festered and was now an angry red welt, visibly raised and, I imagine, very painful. The edges of the wound were tinged with green and a watery pus oozed from several places where movement had opened the gash afresh.

Gwenhwyvar gasped. 'No wonder you cried out when I touched you – it is a nasty thing.'

'It is slow healing,' Arthur allowed, pulling his cloak over his shoulder once more. 'But I have had worse.'

The Emrys shook his head. 'We will go back to camp and I will bind it properly.'