But, as I reached out my hand to take the empty bowl, Gwenhwyvar interceded gently, 'Allow me. I will hold the bowl.'

'Very well then,' replied the Emrys. 'Aneirin, bring good new rushes for the lamp. I must see what I am doing.'

I ran to the supply wain and fetched new rushes for the lamp. Bedwyr appeared at the tent, just as I returned. 'How is he?' His voice was low and secretive.

'Not well,' I replied. 'The Emrys is about to open the wound to draw off the poison.'

Bedwyr nodded and followed me into the tent. Once the new lamp was lit and burning brightly, the Emrys set to work. With small, quick strokes of the knife Myrddin laid open the festering wound. Blood and pus spurted from the swollen flesh, and trickled into the bowl.

Arthur neither winced nor cried out, enduring the agony in silence. Gwenhwyvar bit her lip and her brow beaded sweat, but she held the bow) firmly between steady hands. While Myrddin gently kneaded the long, jagged incision, Bedwyr knelt opposite the Emrys holding Arthur's right shoulder up to allow the vile ooze drain more freely. I held the rushlamp at the Pendragon's head, so that the Emry's would have the light he required. The stench of the seeping matter rising up from the bowl sickened me.

'There,' said the Emrys at last. 'You can take the bowl away.' Gwenhwyvar removed the bowl and set it aside. Myrddin took up the remaining leaves we had gathered and began applying them, one by one, along the line of • the cut. 'These will draw out the poison,' he explained. 'I will replace them in a little while. We will leave the wound uncovered until then.' 'It feels better,' Arthur said. 'I am hungry.' Bedwyr's relief spread over his face in a grin. 'You are always hungry, Bear. It is your one unfailing virtue.'

Gwenhwyvar placed a hand lightly on Arthur's forehead and stroked his brow – a gesture of such delicacy and intimacy that it filled me with longing. 'I will bring you food and wine.'

'A tittle bread, but no meat,' replied the Emrys. 'And mead – it will help him sleep.' 'I will bring it,' I said, and hurried away at once. The sun was full on the horizon, tinting the low grey clouds with the imperial purple. A cool breeze blew out of the east, and the camp had begun to stir. On the hillside I across the stream, where the Cymbrogi slept, the camp | fires had been revived and the warriors were roused to their warmth. As I passed the tents of the kings Cador stepped out, saw me, and called me to him. 'I give you good day, Aneirin,' he said. 'Is the Pendragon well?'

His question caught me unawares. I could not guess how much he knew, and knew not how much to say. 'He spent an uneasy night, lord.' I answered. Cador nodded. 'I am bringing him food.'

'Hurry on, then. I will not delay you.' He yawned and returned to his tent. From the provisions in the supply wain, I took two good loaves and filled a small jar from the mead skin. These I tucked in my cloak and hurried back to the Pendragon',s tent.

Gwenhwyvar and the Emrys stood together outside the tent talking in low tones. They stopped at my approach, and the queen received the food and went back to Arthur's side. 'Emrys,' I said, 'Cador asked after the Pendragon – '

'What did you tell him?'

'I did not know what to tell him,' I admitted. 'I said only that the Pendragon spent an uneasy night. I thought it best not to say much.' The Emrys pursed his lips. 'Did I do right?'

'Yes,' he said finally. 'But say no more to anyone who asks – at least until we see how this will go.'

I hovered near the Pendragon's tent through the day. The kings and Cymbrogi sported in the valley during the long, sun-filled day. Once, I wandered half-way down the hillside for a better view. I sat on a rock and watched their lively contests.

The sound of their laughter and cheering drifted up the hillside to the Pendragon, who awakened and called out. I hurried back to the tent to see if I was needed. No one was about, so I opened the tent flap and peered in.

The Pendragon stood in the centre of the tent, clutching the tent pole. 'Forgive me, Pendragon,' I said, 'I did not mean to intrude.'

He released the tent pole at once. 'Ah, Aneirin,' he said, his voice husky and low. 'I am thirsty.'

'I will bring the Emrys.'

'Let him rest. Bedwyr, Gwenhwyvar – let them rest. Just bring water.'

'Yes, lord,' I said, and ducked out at once. A water jar sat beside the entrance, so I grabbed it and ran down to the stream to fill it with fresh water. I plunged the mouth of the jar into the swift-running stream, then turned and raced back up the hill.

Arthur stood outside the tent, shielding his eyes against the bright sunlight as he gazed around the camp. I brought the jar and gave it to him. He lifted it to his lips and drank at once, without waiting for a cup. Thank you, Aneirin,' he said, 'I am much refreshed.' He straightened his cloak over his shoulder and, taking up his spear, Rhon, which was standing in the ground before the tent, he began to walk down the hill towards the valley where the Cymbrogi sported.

I followed, and fell in beside him. We came to the stream and started across it. One of the warriors at the edge of the field saw our approach and called out. 'The Pendragon!' he cried. 'The Pendragon comes! Hail, Pendragon!'

Immediately, a throng gathered and pressed close around him. 'We heard you were wounded, Pendragon!' someone shouted, and a dozen other voices chorused their concern in voices sharp with apprehension.

'Do I look wounded?' the High King asked. 'A touch of fever troubled my sleep. I am better now.'

Arthur began to move among his beloved Cymbrogi then, speaking to them, calling them by name, asking after their wives and families. This one he knew had a new son, that one had just married a woman from the south, another trained hounds, still others were sons of former soldiers – Arthur knew them all. Remarkable, I thought, that he should know the small concerns of each man. But this he appeared to do. And I heard in their replies to Arthur, and in the banter that accompanied their talk, enormous relief. Clearly, they had been worried for their king and were now reassured.

The Pendragon moved off in the company of his men, and soon the sport began once more. I watched for a time, then returned to my duties. I gathered firewood and refilled all the water jar's, then took a horse from the picket and rode to a nearby hilltop to cut fresh heather for the Pendragon's bedplace. As the sun touched the western hills, I returned to camp with my bundle of heather.

The Emrys was waiting for me outside the Pendragon's tent. He had the pouch of stone-carving tools in his hand, for he had been at work in the Round Table. 'Where is he?' _

I pointed to the valley. 'With the Cymbrogi. He awoke and went down to them.'

The Emrys turned, walked across the camp, and started down to the valley. Suddenly alarmed, I threw myself from the saddle and hastened after him.

Sunlight the colour of the golden honey mead filled the valley. The sky shone like molten brass, the field like emerald. We came upon Arthur sitting on stone as on a throne, his spear across his lap, eyes half-closed, a smile upon his lips. Gwenhwyvar stood beside him, her hand on his right shoulder, watching the contest before them: two riders speeding at full gallop to snatch an arm-ring from the grass with the point of a spear. She turned her head towards us and smiled, but her smile was tight and unnatural.

'Arthur,' said the Emrys softly.

The Pendragon opened his eyes and turned to greet his Wise Counsellor. 'It is a fine day, is it not?' 'Yes. How do you feel?' 'I am well.'

'When the sun sets it will grow cold. We should return to camp now.'

'But the sun is not gone yet,' said Arthur. 'Sit with me a little while.'

'Gladly,' replied the Emrys, kneeling next to him. The three of them watched the riders for some small time. The sun dipped lower and the shadows crept long. The sky paled; the brilliant colours faded. Sea-birds circled overhead, keening their mournful call to the dying day. I heard the waves tumbling on the nearby shore. The light in the valley dimmed.