After a few moments, Abbot Elfodd began speaking a prayer in Latin, and one by one the other holy men joined him. I know the scholar's tongue not at all well, but I gleaned from a phrase or two here and there that it was a strong petition for the All Mighty to show his power in the saving of his servant.

As I listened, it became clear that the prayer was actually a plea of sacrifice: each man offering to take Merlin's place, if Merlin could be freed from his sleep of death.

I marvelled at their faith. Every man among them was prepared to lay down his life for Merlin. Moved by their love, I sank to my knees by the door and, stretching myself out on the floor, began repeating the essence of their prayer in my heart: Great Light, I give myself to you for the sake of my brother. Restore him, I pray; and if it is that a life for a life is required, please take mine.

This I prayed over and over again until it became a litany, flowing up from the depths of my soul to spread like a fragrant balm before the throne of Jesu.

I do not know how long I lay like this. I was not aware of the passage of time, or of anything else. It was as if the world of men had ceased to exist, and I felt the innumerable ties that bind the soul loosen and fall away until I was completely free. There remained only the voices of the monks, the sweetness of the incense, and the prayer in my heart.

Gradually, I sensed a subtle shifting in the light around me. I smelled hot wax and thought that the candles must be burning out. I raised my head and, at the same time, heard a sound like that of a harp when it sings of itself – as when the wind brings forth mysterious music.

The air stirred softly, as with the light stirring of feathered wings. I felt it cool on my face, and tasted honey on my tongue. I inhaled a fragrance surpassing in sweetness any I have ever known.

In the same moment, there appeared a maiden dressed in a flowing white garment. Tall and most wonderfully fair, with hair the colour of pure sunlight, and skin pale as milk. Her eyes were like finest jade, deep and green, and her lips were the colour of ripe berries. On her high and noble brow she wore a circlet of gold discs which shone each one like a golden sun. Around her slender waist she wore a girdle of bright golden discs.

I do not remember whether the door opened to admit her – it must have – and yet, it seems to me that she just appeared in our midst.

In her hands this wondrous vision held a silver tray which bore a vessel covered with a cloth of white silk, thin and light as a cloud. And from beneath the silken cover, this vessel shone with a clear and steady light.

Without word or glance, the maiden approached the place where Merlin lay. The good brothers and Abbot Elfodd fell back amazed; some crossed themselves with the holy sign, others knelt down and bowed their heads low.

I lay as one struck a stunning blow, staring at the maiden: to take my sight from her would have been to pluck the very eyes from my head. I could not breathe for feeling such awe and wonder. I thought my heart must burst. Sweet Jesu, I have never felt anything so fine and terrible in all my life!

She stood at the bedside, looking down upon the sleeping, dying Merlin with a look of infinite compassion. And then softly she spoke – her words were the hush of snowflakes falling to earth.

She said, 'Merlin, your sleep is ended. Wake you now, fair friend, your work is not yet finished.'

At these words, the maiden lifted her hand and withdrew the cloth from the vessel on the tray. Instantly, the vessel shone forth with the brightness of the noontide sun, casting a dazzling light all around. I could not bear it, and threw my hands over my eyes.

When I dared look again, the light had gone; the vessel was covered once more. The lady smiled and touched Merlin lightly on the forehead with her hand. 'Arise,' she told him, 'you are restored.'

In that selfsame moment there came a great uproar from outside the palace – the commotion of the driven wind when the storm passes. The palace was buffeted; somewhere a door slammed to sunder its hinges. And, above the wind, I heard a wailing cry like that of a wounded beast when the hunter's lance is driven into its breast; but thin and high and bloodless – it was no earth-spawned thing.

Merlin, pale and gaunt in his bed, opened his eyes and lifted his shoulders.

Free from the evil enchantment that bound him, my master gazed at those gathered around him in uncomprehending surprise. Then, as understanding grew, he lowered his face into his hands and wept.

TEN

With a shout of joy we all rushed to him. Merlin is restored! The spell is broken! Glory to our Great Redeemer! Merlin is alive! Our praise rang from the rooftrees, and echoed through the corridors of the Fisher King's palace.

And suddenly Charis appeared in the doorway, her face anxious and alarmed. But dismay quickly gave way to delight as she saw her son rising up from his deathbed.

She rushed to him and gathered him in her arms. Merlin wept still and she wept with him, holding him, rocking him gently back and forth as if he were her babe once more. I stood near enough to hear him murmuring, 'I am unworthy… unworthy… Great Light, why was I born so blind!'

A strange thing to say. Merlin born blind? But he wept like a man broken by grief, as if his heart lay riven in his breast, as if nothing could ever heal the rent in the gaping wound of his soul. I do not think I have ever seen or heard a man so forlorn and inconsolable.

His misery was complete.

I see them there still. I see it all: Charis holding her son, the two of them swaying gently back and forth; the monks encircling, uncertain, caught between joy and distress; candles bright, the room hazy with heavy light; the heave and shift of Merlin's shoulders as the sobs break from his wounded heart.

And the woman – the Bright Bearer who released Merlin from his enchanted sleep – where is she?

She is gone. Vanished as quietly, as mysteriously as she appeared. She is gone, and the marvellous Grail with her.

Yes, and I feel again the numb despair stealing over me… the howling emptiness of futility… the staggering desolation of defeat, of knowing the battle is yet to be joined, and that the battle will be lost.

Merlin understood this at once. He was a true prophet; he saw it all. In the dazzling light of his release, he saw the cold, sodden ashes of his failure.

Small wonder that he wept.

He could speak not a mote of this for some time. Later, when he could fit words to it, I began to understand why he wept.

'It was arrogance!' he told me. 'It was pride. I was blind and stupid with it, Pelleas. Do not think to say me otherwise! Vanity! You should have let me die.'

I made to soften his reproach, but there was no stopping him.

'I went to Broceliande searching for a sign. I am given no end of signs, yet I heed them not! You see how ignorant I have been? How foolish? The Queen of Air and Darkness traps me with a child's trick! Such a splendid idiocy! Do you not love me for it, Pelleas?'

'Surely, master – '

'I wonder that you still call me master. I am unworthy of it, Pelleas. Trust that I am telling you the truth. No man was ever more unworthy.'

'But you did not know.'

'Did not know? It is my duty to know! I belittled her power. I ignored the danger.'

He began to pace the hall restlessly. 'How could I be so close to her and not realize it? How is it possible that she could disguise herself so completely?'

'Nimue?'

'Oh, it was more than a new name, Pelleas. She was innocence itself. How is it possible that such an immense, corrupting evil can cloak itself in such beauty and purity?'