'It was only – ' began Ectorius.

Merlin rose and held up a silencing hand. He stood rock still for a long moment and then turned towards the mountain. A slow smile spread across his face. 'Behold!' he said. 'The conquerors return!'

Ectorius jumped up. 'Where? I do not see them!'

'They are coming.'

Ector ran forward a few steps. 'I do not see them!'

Then the shout came again. I heard it: the high, wavering 'halloo' one uses in the mountains. The others were on their feet now, too – all of us straining eyes and ears into the gathering gloom.

'It is them!' cried Ectorius. 'They are coming back!'

We did not see them until they were very close indeed, for in the dusk their clothing did not show against the darkening mountainside. When they shouted again, I made out the two forms hastening towards us.

'Cai! Arthur!' cried Ectorius.

In a moment they appeared, and I shall never forget the expression on then: faces. For I had never seen such triumph and exultation in a human countenance before – and have seen it only once since. They were bone weary, dishevelled, but ablaze with the light of victory. They were heroes. They were gods.

They staggered to the camp fire and collapsed on the ground. Even in the firelight I could see their sunburnt cheeks and noses; Arthur's fair skin was peeling and Cai's neck and brow were as red as his hair! Then- clothes were dirty – torn and ragged at knees and elbows. Their hands were raw, and there were bruises, scrapes and scratches on their arms and legs. They appeared to have passed through walls of hawthorn and thickets of thistle along the way.

'Get them something to drink!' ordered Ectorius, and someone hurried off to fetch the beer. The lord of Caer Edyn stared at his son, pride swelling his chest till he looked like a strutting grouse.

I gathered food from our supper and gave it to them. Arthur took the bread and stuffed half the loaf into his mouth; Cai, too tired to eat, simply held it in his hand and stared at it.

'Here,' said Merlin, handing them a waterskin, 'drink this.'

Cai drank, swallowing great moutbfuls at a time, and then handed the skin to Arthur, who gulped the cool stream water down in noisy draughts.

Ectorius could contain himself no longer. 'Well, how did you fare, son? Did you reach the top?'

'The top,' replied Cai reverently. 'We reached the top, we did.' He turned his face to Arthur and his eyes held the look of a man who has learned a profound and life-changing truth. 'I would never have made it but for Arthur.'

Arthur lowered the waterskin. 'Never say it, brother. We climbed it together – you and I together.' He turned to the rest of us standing over him. 'It was wonderful! Glorious! You should have been there, Merlin – Pelleas! – you should have come with us. You can see from one end of the world to the other! It was – it was… wonderful.' He lapsed into silence, at a loss for words.

'You said it was impossible,' Cai reminded Merlin. 'You said no one had ever done it. Well, we did it! We climbed it all the way to the top!' He paused and added softly, turning once more to Arthur,'… He all but carried me.'

I have seen a mountain wearing a man's name and that name is Arthur, Merlin had said.

I was not to discover the full meaning of these words until many years later when bards learned of Arthur's youthful exploits and began referring to the mountain as The Great Tomb – by which they meant he had conquered and slain the snow-topped giant.

Well, the day he strode from the Council of Kings with the Sword of Britain on his hip, he had another mountain to conquer, and another giant to entomb. That mountain was forging the unity of Britain – the vaunting pride of the small kings was the giant.

These two together made Eryri and its forbidding heights appear but a mound in a maiden's turnip patch.

I have bethought myself many times what was accomplished that dreary day – what was lost, and what the gain.

We lost a High King certainly. We gained a Dux Britanniarum, a war leader – if in title only. There were no legions to command, no auxiliaries, there was no fleet, no mounted ala. Arthur had no warband – he did not even own a horse! And sa the grand Roman title meant nothing and everyone knew it.

Everyone except Arthur. 'I will be their Duke,' he vowed. 'And I will lead the battles so weU and rightly they will be forced to make me High King!'

Still, there was no force to lead. There was only Bedwyr, and Cai, the two pledged to Arthur and one another since childhood. Mind, taken together, the three were a power to be esteemed. Any king would have given the champion's place to any one of them, simply to have such a warrior in his keep.

Arthur's first trial would be to gather a warband. Implicit in this was the support and maintenance of the warriors. It was one thing to raise the men, and quite another to provide sustenance for them: arms, horses, food, clothing, shelter – that took an endless supply of wealth.

Wealth derives from land. The ants in the dust possessed more of that than Arthur.

This lack, however, was soon addressed, for upon returning to Gradlon's house that night we found Meurig arrived from Caer Myrddin with three of his chieftains, all of them exhausted and near frozen to their saddles.

'I am sorry, Lord Emrys; I beg your forgiveness," Meurig said, upon settling himself before the hearth with a warming cup in his hand. And hastily turning to Arthur, added, ' – and yours, Lord Arthur. I am heartily sorry to have missed the council. My father desired so badly to come, but the weather -'

'You missed nothing,' Arthur replied. 'It does not matter.'

'I understand your displeasure,' Meurig began. 'But – '

'What he means,' interrupted Merlin, 'is that your presence, welcome as it is, would not have helped matters.'

'But if I had been here.

'No.' Merlin shook his head gently. 'As it is, you have had a long, cold ride for nothing. Still, since you are here I would have you hail the Duke of Britain, and drink his health. I give you Arthur, Dux Britanniarum!’

'What happened?' Meurig had expected to find Arthur made king.

'In a word,' muttered Ectorius, 'Morcant.'

Meurig gestured rudely at the name. 'I need not have asked. I should have known that old deceiver would put down Arthur's claim. He was not alone?'

True, Meurig had expected to find Arthur made king – it was to his father, Tewdrig, King of Dyfed, that Merlin brought the infant Arthur for protection, the first years of his life. Consequently, Meurig had long since discovered Arthur's identity. Yet even Meurig, close as he was, did not fully appreciate the strength of Arthur's claim to the throne of Britain.

In fairness, few men did in those days. Aurelius' son he might be, well and good; but it took more than that to make a man High King. It took the support of all the kings. Or at very least as many as would silence the dissenters – which, in practical terms, amounted to almost the same thing.

No one fully believed that a youth of fifteen, a mere boy, could accede to the High Kingship, nor would they abet him.

'Morcant had all the help he needed,' replied Merlin sourly.

'I would gladly flay those wattled jowls,' swore Cai, 'if it would do any good.'

'I should have been here,' Meurig repeated. 'My father is not well, or he would have made the journey with us. We were prevented by the weather. As it is, we lost two horses.' He turned to Arthur. 'I am sorry, lad.'

'It does not matter, Lord Meurig,' said Arthur, belying his true feelings, which anyone could see on his face. The unhappy group fell silent.

'Duke of Britain, eh? That is a beginning anyway.' Meurig, feeling responsible, forced a jovial mood. 'What will you do now?'

Arthur had his answer ready. 'Raise a warband – that is first. It will be the greatest warband ever seen in the Island of the Mighty. Only the finest warriors will ride with me.'