'No more than he would side with the Saecsens. God's mercy, the man thinks you are Saecsens! Melatus believes that anyone not born behind the crumbling walls of Londinium is a barbarian or worse.'

'Then at least he will not side with the others,' I ventured.

'Do not be over certain of that, my friend,' Gradlon answered. 'Melatus is a fool, and practices a fool's wisdom. He may side with the others simply to confound you. Also, Morcant styles himself an emperor and that looms large with Melatus.'

'Then it seems we cannot ignore him,' Merlin replied. 'This is going to more difficult than I thought.'

'Leave Melatus to me!' declared Gradlon. 'I will deal with him.'

Arthur finished his porridge and pushed his bowl away. He took up his cup and sipped the spiced wine. The steam rose from the rim as he drank. Gradlon's glance lingered on him for a moment, then he said, 'Aurelius' son – who would have thought it, eh? Hail, Artorius! I salute you.' Gradlon raised his palm in an informal but genuine salute.

Arthur grinned. 'I am not king yet.'

'Not yet,' Merlin agreed. 'But perhaps by the end of the day we will all say otherwise.'

Still, despite Merlin's hopeful words, it was not to be.

Arthur had little stomach for appeasement, or for the schemes of men like Morcant. Given a choice, I think he would have preferred settling the matter with the edge of his sword. Better the short, sharp heat of open battle than the cold poison of intrigue.

Merlin sympathized but knew there was no other way. 'You were born to contention, boy,' he said. 'What is a little strife to you? Bear it lightly; it will pass.'

'I do not mind that they hate me,' replied Arthur. I believe he meant it, too. 'But it angers me that they refuse me my birthright.'

'I will tell you something, shall I? They treated Aurelius no better,' Merlin confided, 'and him they loved. Think on that.'

Arthur turned his eyes to the throng gathered in the churchyard. 'Do they hate me as well?'

'They have not decided yet.'

'Where are Ectorius and Cai? I do not see them.' Ectorius and his son, Cai, had arrived in Londinium and found us as we were making our way to the churchyard.

'I told them to find Morcant and stand with him.'

'With him?'

'Perhaps he will not rail quite so loudly if his own is the only voice he hears.'

Arthur smiled darkly. 'I do not fear Morcant.'

'This is not about fear, Arthur, but about power,' Merlin said seriously. 'And Morcant holds the very thing you need.'

'I do not need his approval.'

'His acquiescence.'

'It is the same thing,' snapped Arthur.

'Perhaps,' allowed Merlin. 'Perhaps.'

'I would have liked to have talked to Cai.'

'Later.'

'Why are we waiting? Let us get on with it.'

'We will wait a little longer – let Morcant and his crowd stew in their juices.'

'I am the one stewing, Myrddin! Let us do it and be done.'

'Shh, patience.'

Despite the cold, people continued to crowd into the yard. Arthur, Merlin and I stood out of sight inside the archway of the church, waiting while the kings and lords gathered to witness once more the miracle they would neither accept nor acknowledge. But they came anyway. What else could they do?

I scanned the crowd, too, wishing in my heart that Meurig and Custennin had arrived, and wondering why Lot was not here. What could have detained them? I could not help feeling that their presence would make a difference somehow – even though I knew this hope was futile.

In any event, Merlin had already decided the way the thing would go.

Urbanus, bald and jowly, bustled up, his sandals slapping the wet stone at our feet. 'All is ready,' he said, slightly out of breath. 'All is ordered as you have asked.'

Arthur turned to regard the bishop. 'What is ready?' The question was for Merlin.

'I have asked Urbanus to prepare us a place where we may sit and talk like civilized men. I do not propose to haggle in the churchyard like horse traders in a market. This is too important, Arthur. When men sit down together they are like to be more reasonable.'

'Yes,' replied Urbanus. 'So, when you are ready…?'

'I will give you a sign,' answered Merlin.

'Very well. I will take my place.' Urbanus pressed his hands together and hurried off, his breath puffing in the icy air.

Arthur stamped his feet. The restless crowds shifted in the cold. Some of the lords gathered round the keystone were talking loudly and looking around pointedly. In a few moments the shout would go up for Arthur to appear. If he did not, there would be a riot.

Arthur felt the tension in the throng and sensed it shifting like a tide against him. He turned to Merlin and implored, 'Please, can we get on with it?'

In the same instant, the crowd began to shout.

'See? They are tired of waiting, and so am I.'

This, I think, was why Merlin had been waiting. He wanted the emotions of the people, and Arthur's too, to be prickly sharp; he wanted them alert and uncomfortable.

'Yes,' agreed Merlin. 'I think we have kept them waiting long enough. Let us go. Remember what I told you. And, whatever happens, see that you do not release that sword to anyone.'

Arthur nodded once, curtly. He understood without being told.

Merlin pushed towards the keystone and was recognized at once. The Emrys! Make way for the Emrys! Make way!' And a path opened before him.

We came to stand before the keystone. As if to thwart and defy us, Morcant and his friends stood directly opposite, haughty sneers and scowls on their faces. Their enmity seethed within them, escaping in the steam from mouths and nostrils. The day seemed to have grown darker.

The stone, with its, thin dusting of snow, appeared immense and white and cold… so cold. And the great sword of Macsen Wledig, the Sword of Britain, stood plunged to its hilt, solid as the keystone that held it; the two were for ever joined, there would be no separating them.

Had I only dreamed that he had drawn it?

In the starved light of that bleak day, all that had gone before seemed as remote and confused as a faded dream. The stone had defeated all who set hand to the sword. On this drear day it would conquer Arthur, too. And Britain would go down into the darkness at last.

Merlin raised his hands in the attitude of declamation, although the throng had stilled already. He waited and, when every eye was on him, said, 'The sword has already been drawn from the stone, as many here will testify. Yet it will be drawn again by daylight, in full view of all gathered here, that no one may claim deception or sorcery.'

He paused to allow these words to take hold. The wind stirred and snow began to fall in earnest – huge, powdery flakes, like bits of fleece riding the shifting wind.

'Is there a man among you who would try the stone? Let him try it now.' The steel in Merlin's voice spoke a challenge cold and hard as the stone itself.

Of course, there were some who would try, knowing what they already knew in their hearts – that they would be defeated as they had been defeated before. But, like ignorance and folly, they would not be denied their opportunity to fail yet once more.

The first lord to try was the young viper Cerdic, Morcant's insolent son. Lips curled in a sneer, the fool thrust his way to the stone, reached out and grabbed the hilt as if laying claim to another's wealth. He pulled with all the arrogance in him – and it was no small measure. The crowd urged him on with cries of encouragement, but he fell back a moment later, red-faced with exertion and defeat.

Maglos of Dumnonia, Morganwg's son, came next – more out of curiosity than hope. He touched the hilt diffidently, as if the thing might burn him. He was defeated before he pulled, and gave in good-naturedly.