While we Britons fought among ourselves, the ships would come; the settlements would burn. More and still more land would fall beneath the shadow. And the Saecsen kind would grow strong in Britain once more.

TWELVE

This is insane!' Arthur spat. 'I hate this, Myrddin. I hate it worse than anything I have known.'

'So did your father,' Merlin replied calmly. 'And despite what they say of Uther, your uncle had no stomach for it, either. But they endured it, and so will you.'

'As if we did not all have better things to do than carve up one another in this senseless slaughter. I have lost sixteen Cymbrogi this month. Sixteen! Do you hear?'

'The whole world hears you, Arthur.'

'This is Urbanus' doing. If I had that meddling bishop here before me now, I would – I would… ' Arthur sputtered, reaching for words to express his frustration.

'Hand him his head on a platter?' Cai suggested hopefully.

'Even that is too good for him,' muttered Bedwyr.

We were at table with Arthur in his tent. The tent flaps were open, but it was hot – the tail end of a sultry, frustrating day. We were all tired, and hungry still, though the meal was long since finished. The humour of the group had soured a good time before talk turned to Urbanus.

Very likely, Arthur was right. Urbanus' efforts at peacemaking had only succeeded in making matters far worse than they might otherwise have been. The ambitious cleric had no talent for diplomacy, and less understanding. He knew nothing of the forces involved in the struggle.

To Urbanus it was utterly simple: choose a High King acceptable to all. If Arthur was not accepted, the rule of Britain must fall to someone else.

He did not see how this undercut Arthur's claim and authority. He did not see how his constant peacemongering prolonged the fight.

For, if the church had backed Arthur solidly, the dissenters would have had no support for their position. What is more, they would have found themselves fighting against the church in order to continue their ruinous rebellion. As it was, the rebellious lords took hope from Urbanus' equivocation. And the war continued.

It had started the spring Morcant was killed – four years before. Four years… it might just as well have been a hundred for all the nearer we were to ending it.

Cerdic, seeking vengeance for the death of his father, and the lean and hungry Idris, hoping to increase the lands left him by his kinsman Dunaut, formed the foundation of the alliance of lords who stood in open revolt against Arthur.

Rebellion pure and simple, under the guise of protesting what they termed Arthur's abuse of the war chest: the supplies and money he collected from the lords to maintain the warband of Britain. 'He takes too much!' they cried. 'He has no right! If we do not pay, his men punish us. He is worse than any Saecsen!'

Lies, all lies. But it gave them an excuse to unite against Arthur. It justified their treachery. And by it they even succeeded in luring men like Owen Vinddu, Ogryvan and Rhain into their wicked scheme. Others, petty lordlings all, seized the chance to join in, hoping to improve their meagre holdings with pillaged gold and plundered honour.

Of Arthur's friends, only Custennin, Meurig, and Ban committed men and supplies to his support. Shamefully, even his would-be allies – Madoc, Bedegran, Morganwg and others like them – stood aside until the war decided the issue one way or another. Still, between Arthur's fearless extortion and the generosity of his allies, we scraped by.

That first year was hard enough. Bors arrived with his men in time to forestall our outright slaughter. By autumn of the second year we were battle-seasoned warriors, each and every one of us. The third year we succeeded in moving the fight from Arthur's realm to Cerdic's.

Now, late in our fourth summer, we were fighting a battle nearly every other day. Winning most of them, it is true; but fighting nonetheless, on little rest and poor food – and this is hard on warriors.

If not for Bors, I do not know what we would have done.

He and his men sustained us, upheld us, strengthened us while we learned the craft of war. Together Bors and Arthur led Britain's only hope into the fray and saved it from certain ruin. Not once only, but time and time and time again.

We did not know how long we could continue. But each day we drew strength from the previous day's victory, and somehow we fought on.

'We have been pressing them all summer,' said Arthur. 'They must give in.' The anger of the moment had passed. He had returned to his other preoccupation: trying to discern when the kings would capitulate. 'It cannot last another year.'

'It can easily last another year,' Bedwyr observed. 'It is harvest time soon. They will have to go home to gather in the crops. And it is expected that you will do the same. There will be a truce through the winter, as there always is.'

'Well, let them go back to their lands for the harvest. I will grant them no truce – ' he paused thoughtfully. All of us sitting round the table with him saw the light come up like sunrise in his clear blue eyes.

'What is it?' asked Bedwyr. 'What have I said?'

'We will take the war to them in their own fields,' replied Arthur.

'I do not see how that will sol – ' began Cai, but Bedwyr was already far beyond him.

Bedwyr was seeing what Arthur had seen. 'We could ride ahead!'

'Burn the crops where they stand!'

'Let them go hungry this winter, as we will. Why not starve together?'

Bors slapped the board with his hands. 'I like it!'

Cai shook his head. 'I do not see how this is helping at all.'

Arthur draped an arm over Cai's wide shoulders. 'Losing their precious grain will make them think twice about continuing the war next year,' he explained. "They will either have to give in or buy grain from Gaul.'

'And that will be expensive,' said Bedwyr. 'Only Cerdic can afford that.'

'And him none too well after this year,' put in Bors. He laughed and pounded on the table until the cups and supper dishes rattled. 'Let Cerdic chew on that all through the winter, and he will not be so keen to fight next spring.'

'Well said!' Arthur slapped his knee approvingly.

'But I still do not see the use of us starving along with them," insisted Cai stubbornly. 'We would not have to."

'Oh? Have you a better plan?' asked Bedwyr carelessly.

Cai frowned. 'Do not be burning it. Let us harvest it instead.'

'We are not farmers!' protested Bedwyr.

'Beat our swords into sickles?' Bors jeered. 'Ha!'

Cai's frown deepened. His green eyes darkened, as they always did whenever he suspected people of making fun of him, or failing to take him seriously.

'Cai is right.' Merlin's soft tone stopped them dead. 'We are hungry. Burning it would be a sin. Besides, it would not wound any of you to be seen with a scythe in your hand.'

'But we cannot -' Bedwyr's protest died in Arthur's wild whoop of joy.

'It is perfect!' Arthur leapt to his feet. 'It is beautiful in its simplicity! This is salvation sweet and sure!' He pounded Cai on the back and the frown altered to a dubious grin.

'We will harvest their grain for them – ' Arthur began.

'And they just let us carry it off?' Bedwyr shook his head. 'Not as long as a man among them can still hold sword and spear.'

'We will harvest their grain, because they will be too busy dealing with this annoying Bors here and his disagreeable Armoricans.' Arthur stalked round the table with long, sure steps, his hands waving in the air, his mind already speeding on, ahead of us all. 'Then, when they are hungrily eyeing their dogs and horses next winter, we offer to sell it back to them.' He paused for emphasis, his voice going hard as iron. 'The price will be full allegiance.'