Lot stood in the centre of the yard, arms crossed on his chest, scowling at three horses standing at halter before him. He turned his head towards us as we entered, and, like his man on the beach, his aspect altered at once – but not entirely for the better.

Although he threw open his arms and embraced Myrddin, I could not help thinking that his greeting was forced. 'Myrddin, you look well. It has been long and long since we last met. You are welcome here.' Lot smiled, but his smile did not touch his coldly distant eyes.

'Thank you, lord,' replied Myrddin. 'Time has been a boon to you. I see you have prospered.'

Lot nodded, but did not reply. Instead, he turned abruptly to Arthur. 'This can only be Duke Arthur, of whom so much is told.' He extended the same chilly greeting to Arthur, then looked to me.

'I am Bedwyr,' I told him. 'God be good to you, lord.'

'Ah, Bedwyr ap Bleddyn of Rheged. We have heard of you, too,' Lot said, and barked an awkward laugh. 'Do not look surprised. We are not so solitary as it seems. The commerce of these little islands rivals that of Londinium itself, I believe. We hear much, and see more that passes unnoticed elsewhere.'

'Much indeed,' I said, 'if you have heard of me.'

These formalities observed, Lot turned his attention once more to the horses, explaining, 'These animals have been sent me from a trader in Monoth. I can find no fault with them. Still, I am not liking what I see.' The king appealed to Arthur, saying, 'Perhaps you can show me what I am missing.'

'I will help if I can,' replied Arthur. He approached the horses and walked around them for a moment, pausing to stroke each one and feel its flesh. I studied them, too, for I knew horses well.

'The two on either side are well enough, if a little light in the hindquarters. They would be swift, but I think they would tire quickly over rough ground. The one in the centre, however, is the one you should choose.'

'Oh? That, to my thinking, is the one least suitable of all.'

'He is young still,' replied Arthur, 'but he will flesh out, given time.'

'See how he stands – as if his legs hurt him,' protested Lot mildly, showing, I thought, a good deal more discernment than he admitted to.

'It is his shoes,* explained Arthur. 'I suspect he was shod just before bringing him here, but the work was hurried, and carelessly done.'

Lot approached the horse, stooped, and lifted a foreleg to examine the hoof. 'It is true,' he said, letting the hoof drop. 'The shoe is too big and the nails are poorly placed. It is a marvel he can stand at all.'

'Have him re-shod properly and you will see a different

animal '

'I commend you, Duke Arthur; you know horses,' said Lot, regarding Arthur carefully. 'Do you know ships as well?'

'I know that ships are faster than horses in reaching the far places where the enemy hides. I know that the Angli and Irish must come here in ships, and can be stopped with ships. I know that the shipwrights of Orcady build the finest ships in the Island of the Mighty.' Arthur paused, and then added with a shrug. 'Beyond this, I confess that I am ignorant of ships. That is why I have come.'

Lot appraised Arthur through narrowed eyes, as if to take his measure against the words he had uttered. Satisfied at last, the king held out a hand towards the hall. 'Come, Duke Arthur, I think that we must talk.'

FOUR

'Not since the Romans have ships been built in Muir Guidan,' said Arthur. 'But the shipyards are still there – I have seen them on the Fiorth near Caer Edyn. The fishermen use them for harbourage in the winter, and occasionally someone will build a boat there.'

Lot nodded, deep in thought. 'If it is as you say, it could be done.' He was silent a goodly while. There is good timber nearby?'

'More than we could ever use were we to build ten thousand ships.'

'My shipwrights would have to return here in winter to repair my own ships.'

'I will see to it, and gladly. What do you say?'

'I say you had better begin finding men to pilot your ships, for Britain will soon have a fleet once more.'

Beaming, Arthur loosed a wild whoop of pleasure, and Lot's normally icy demeanour melted under the sun of Arthur's joy. The king opened his hand towards Myrddin, as if begging the Emrys' blessing on the pact he and Arthur had just made. Myrddin gave his encouragement by way of clapping Lot on the back and saying, 'From the union of two strong lords the defeat of the enemy is enjoined. The Gifting God be praised!'

Lot then called his stewards to bring us drink and serve the meal, even though the sky was still light outside. For indeed, daylight lingers long in the northern isles – sometimes through the night. At midsummer the sun never truly sets at all!

We drank and began talking of where and how the ships could be used most effectively. I noticed Myrddin lay aside his cup, rise, and withdraw from the company. I waited until Myrddin had left the hall and then went out to him.

I found him standing in the centre of the yard, gazing at the vast northern sky. 'What is wrong, Myrddin?' I asked, as I came to stand beside him.

He answered, but did not take his eyes from the cloudless, amber sky. 'Arthur has his ships – or soon will have, and Lot has been won as an ally. What could be wrong?'

'You distrust Lot. Why?' It was merely a guess, notched and let fly. But it struck nearer the mark than I knew.

Myrddin turned his eyes away from searching the heavens and applied the same sharp scrutiny to me. 'I do not know Lot. It is hard for me wholly to trust someone I do not know.'

This I thought a reasonable answer, and true – as far as it went. But I knew Myrddin. There was more to it than that. 'He has troubled you in the past,' I said. Another guess.

'Troubled me?' Myrddin began to walk towards the fortress gate, which still stood open. I fell into step beside him. 'No, not that. But he has often confused me. You will have heard it told, I suppose, that few kings supported me for the High Kingship. It is true; only a very few. But Lot was one of them. And him with less reason than any of the others… That perplexed me – as it does to this day.'

'You suspect treachery?'

'I suspect… ' He stopped as we walked past the gates and down the track towards the sea. Upon reaching the rock shingle he stood gazing out at the dusky sea. The waves lapped at the rocks and the air smelled of salt and rotting seaweed. We stood together for a long while, and then Myrddin swung his golden gaze to me. 'You have a brain in your head,' he told me. 'What do you make of Lot? Do you trust him?'

Now it was my turn to be silent for a spell. Did I trust Lot? What did I make of him? I weighed the scant evidence for and against him in my mind. I tried to be fair.

'Well?'

'It seems to me,' I began slowly, 'that Lord Lot is unused to having people enjoy his company. He is tolerated, perhaps, and obeyed, certainly – he is king, after all. But he is not loved. Likely, he has no friends at all.'

Myrddin nodded. 'Why is this, do you think?'

Living in Orcady was part of it. Remote, isolated from the rest of the world, cut off by the sea and the barren northern wastes, it was difficult to maintain friendships and alliances with the noble houses of the south. For this reason, and others, the southern lords remained suspicious. Northerners were held in little regard in the south; they were thought to be backward, coarse and low. Little better than Picts, if no worse.

From what I had seen of Lot and his men, they were none of these things; they were simply different. Yet, despite their differences, just as civil and refined as any southern lord and his tribe. But living on their barren, sea-surrounded rocks made them severe, in the same way their limited contact with the south made them wary and brusque – always expecting the veiled insult, and finding it, whether intended or not.