When they reached the shore they lay on the rocks, gasping, exhausted, unable to rise even to drag themselves from the water, let alone raise blade against us. Their strength was gone.

Those standing behind Baldulf saw Arthur pulling their sword-brothers from the water and giving them places in his boat. They saw us hauling their companions from the lake rather than dashing out their brains with the butts of our spears. They saw that we did not kill them, and when they saw this all hesitation ceased; they flung themselves into the lake and swam to join their kinsmen on the shore. Thus, whether Baldulf would or no, the siege of Lake Lomond was finished.

We were most of the day gathering them up. Once the trickle started, the flood came from all directions. Of those who had followed Baldulf, only three thousand were left, mostly Angli. There were few Irish, and no Picti. The Picti, I believe, had succeeded in escaping into the forests and had not stayed to fight as the Angli did.

Baldulf was the last to come ashore, but he came in Arthur's boat. And he came with his proud head held high – as if he were the conqueror. Arthur helped him from the boat with his own hand.

Oh, but it is a strange sight, I tell you. To see blood-sworn enemies standing together as if never a harsh utterance had passed between them, as if the grim battles were but a grievance, as if good men and brave did not sleep in turf houses in ground hallowed by their own blood… as if war were only a word.

But Baldulf stood beside Arthur as if he had done nothing wrong. And it is the measure of Arthur's mercy that he offered his enemy the life his enemy would have denied him. Baldulf would not have hesitated a heartbeat in plunging the sword through Arthur's throat, and everyone knew it.

Arthur showed true nobility of spirit as he faced Baldulf and made peace between them. His terms were simple: leave Britain and never again come here to raid. When this was agreed to, Arthur ordered the barbarians to be fed and allowed to rest.

We stayed by Lomond lake two more days and then began the long march back south to the Clyd, and from there to Caer Edyn and the shipyards on the Fiorth where the Angli ships had been gathered.

In all it was a long, slow march, but we came to Caer Edyn in due time and put the Angli into the ships, charging them once again never to return to the Island of the Mighty on pain of death. We stood on the strand, watching the sails until they disappeared beyond the swells.

'It is over,' I told Arthur. Great was my relief to see the barbarian ships vanish from my sight.

'Pray God the peace holds,' Arthur replied, then turned to the warriors gathered there with us. He made to speak a word to them, but the Cymbrogi began cheering him and the cries of acclaim drowned out his voice. The cheering turned quickly to singing and Arthur was lifted up on the shoulders of his men.

In this way we entered Ector's fortress: our voices ringing in bold song, Arthur lifted high above us at our head, his fair hair shining in the sun, the gold of his tore ablaze at his throat and his sword, Caledvwlch, thrust towards heaven.

SEVEN

Myrddin was not at Caer Edyn when we arrived. 'He left seven days ago,' Ectorius reported. 'I think he was going back to Caer Melyn, but I am not certain. He did not tell anyone where he was going. I offered to send an escort with him, but he would not.'

Arthur wondered at this, but Myrddin is his own man and no one can ever tell what he is thinking, let alone what he will do next. Whatever it is, this much is certain: it will be the thing least expected.

'That is unfortunate,' replied Arthur, somewhat disappointed. 'I would have him share in the victory feast.'

The Duke was inclined to let the matter rest there, but Peileas would not. 'Lord Arthur, I must go to him.'

'Why, Peileas?'

'He may need my help.' Beyond that, Peileas could make no answer. But I remembered Myrddin's strange behaviour at Lot's court and I, too, sensed something of the apprehension he felt.

'Of course,' replied Arthur slowly, gazing at Peileas intently, 'if you think there is cause.'

Peileas was not often insistent. He became so now. 'I do think so, lord.'

'Then go, and God go with you.' Arthur said. 'Choose six to accompany you, however. These hills are hostile yet. Better still, take one of the ships; it will be faster.'

The seven left as soon as fresh horses could be found and provisions gathered and stowed aboard the ship. I watched them go, feeling sorry for the warriors who would not now share in the feast they so richly deserved. But Arthur saw to it that the six who accompanied Peileas received gold armbands and knives for their portion, and they all departed happily.

The feast lasted three days and the battle was recounted in tales of valour and in song by Rhys, Arthur's harper. Though I still thought the hunting horn – which he so nobly sounded on the battlefield – more appropriate to his skill, I had to admit that he had improved his art by a fair measure. Indeed, to my surprise I found it no longer annoyed me to listen to the lad. At least, I could listen to him longer without becoming annoyed.

Ah, but he was no Myrddin Emrys.

The other kings had their harpers with them, too, so we suffered no lack of vaunting praise in our ears. Good Ectorius' brown beer and rich golden mead flowed freely. We drank up his entire winter's supply, I suspect. But it was to good cause.

I like a feast as well as the next man, but after three days I began to weary of celebration. This is rare, I know, but once and again I found myself wandering down among the ships – all of them tethered at the tideline in rows. Some rode at anchor further out in the Fiorth. Others had been beached, so that they could be put to better repair.

At dusk the fourth day, I was again drawn to the shipyard. The clean, sunwashed sky shone a burnished bronze, and the fresh sea wind blew away the smoke of Ector's hall that lingered in my hair and clothing. The solace of the shore was broken by the sharp cries of the wading birds that worked the mudflats for their suppers.

Arthur found me on the deserted deck of one ship whose keel was sunk in the slime of the tidewash. 'Hail, Bedwyr!' he called, slogging through the muck towards me. 'What do you here, brother?'

'I am thinking what it will be like to swing sword and heft spear on the rolling deck of a ship,' I replied, offering my hand as he pulled himself up over the side. 'And I am thinking it will take some getting used to.'

'No worse than a horse,' he observed, and laughed suddenly. 'Do you remember the shameful thing we did to Cunomor?'

I did remember. No more than twigs, we were just beginning weapons training with some older boys – one of them an insufferable braggart of thirteen summers named Cunomor ap Cynyr, the son of a small king in Rheged. After enduring this pompous ass and his bloated arrogance for a month or more, Arthur and I tampered with his tack and weapons, so that the heads fell off all his spears, and his saddle slipped sideways on his horse as he cantered round the practice field. He was made to appear so ridiculous that he could not hold his head erect all the rest of the summer.

'Poor old Cunomor,' I remarked, as Arthur's words brought the image of that red-faced youth to mind. 'I wonder if we will look as foolish trying to fight in these ships as he looked trying to maintain his toplofty dignity on that sliding saddle?'

'Worse!' laughed Arthur. It was good to see him happy. Arthur seemed to have come once more to himself- as Myrddin had said he would. Although the uncommon gravity of character persisted, it had sunk beneath the surface somewhat. He was building himself anew, I suppose, and the holy vision of the Kingdom of Summer was his solid foundation.