Arthur

She advanced towards Arthur. Her gloating smile sickened me. 'Did you think to better me? Your justice stinks of piss and vomit! You sicken me,' Morgian screamed. 'Fool!' she shrieked, drew herself up and spat full in the High King's face.

'No!' Gwalcmai leapt forward. He seized Morgian by the arms and spun her round. She spat at him, too, and, with a hiss like a devil cat, raked her fingernails across his eyes. He cried out and fell back, but she leapt on him, kicking and scratching. A long knife appeared in her hand and I watched in horror as she slashed it but a hair's breadth from his throat.

But Gwalcmai was quicker than she knew. Even as he rolled to the ground his hand found his sword, drew it, and raised it as she fell on him. The blade pierced Morgian in the side below the ribs, thrusting up into her black heart.

She shrieked once, stiffened, and stood upright, clutching the sword. The knife fell from her hand and clattered loud on the stones. Morgian stumbled backwards and collapsed upon the ground at Arthur's feet. Blood gushed from the wound and darkened the earth beneath her. Her eyes rolled up into her skull and her limbs convulsed.

It had all taken place so quickly that we stood looking on, stunned and confused, as if caught in a spell of enchantment. The Emrys moved first, kneeling over the still-trembling body.

Gwalcmai stood blinking in disbelief at what he had done. He got to his knees and raised his hands to Arthur. 'Mercy, lord! Forgive me, my king, I could not see her disgrace you!'

Arthur stared at him, and at first I thought he might reproach Gwalcmai. But the Emrys stood and said, 'Morgian is dead. In her bloodlust she has fallen on the sword Gwalcmai raised for his own defence. I see no fault here.'

Arthur turned to Gwalcmai who still knelt before him. 'Rise, Gwalcmai, you are forgiven. No doubt God has called her to answer her crimes as we will answer for our own.'

I heard a strangled sound and turned. Medraut stared at the body on the ground, his face contorted in a strange and unnatural expression: dark eyes wide with fear, lips curled in a ghastly leer of hatred, pale skin dark with rage. His fingers were curled like claws and he was scratching at his face in long raking welts. Ruby blood-drops oozed from the wounds and rolled down his cheeks.

Bedwyr was nearest and put out a hand to stay him. Medraut dodged aside. 'Stay back!' he cried in a shattered voice. 'Do not touch me!'

We looked in wonder at one another.

'Peace, Medraut. It is finished,' the Pendragon soothed.

'Murderer!' Medraut screamed, backing away. 'Murderer!'

Cai stepped close and made to grab him. Medraut's hand whipped up. The glint of a knife sparked in the fading light and Cai's arm spouted blood. He let out a cry, more in surprise than pain, and jumped back.

Medraut turned and fled to the horses. Llenlleawg unsheathed his sword and ran after him. Medraut slashed the reins free from the picket line with his knife and leapt into the saddle in one motion. He wheeled the horse and galloped away before the Irishman could reach him.

'Do you wish me to fetch him back?' called Llenlleawg.

'No,' said the High King, 'let him go. It is soon dark. He will not go far.'

Oh, Arthur, would that you had said anything but that!

I stared after the quickly retreating horse and rider, astonished at what I had just witnessed. When I turned back, the Emrys had already drawn the veil and hood over Morgian's face once more.

He stood slowly and put his hand on Gwalcmai's shoulder. 'This is not to your dishonour,' he said. 'Know you that Morgian earned the death she was given. You merely granted what she had purchased a thousand times over.'

'The things she said,' Gwalcmai murmured. 'They were all true… '

'Never believe it,' replied the Wise Emrys sternly, and turned to the rest of us standing together around the corpse. 'Hear me now, all of you! What Morgian has spoken before you were lies. Lies mingled with just enough truth to poison. She was lost and knew herself doomed; she hoped to inflame us with her corruption. My friends, do not let her succeed.'

I knew he spoke the truth, but it was difficult – still more difficult for the others who had been wounded by Morgian's words.

We buried Morgian in an unmarked grave in the sand on the shore above the high tide mark. The moon had risen when we finished and we were hungry. The talk around the fire as we ate was halting and listless. One by one the others crept off to their tents: Arthur and Gwenhwyvar first, and the others after, until only the Emrys and I remained.

'Do not fret about what happened today, boy,' he told me after a while. I glanced up to see him watching me over the fitful flames. 'It cannot be undone. We leave it to God.'

'I would be happy to do that,' I assured him, 'if I could. But I can still hear her voice screaming out those – those lies.'

'You believed her,' he observed, and I was ashamed to admit that I did. 'Well, that is all her craft. There is no fault in falling into a trap when it is set by a most cunning adversary. But you must not languish in it when you discover that it is a trap.

'Morgian was a champion of lies,' he said. 'Do not upbraid yourself for believing her. Only you must stop believing her. Do you understand what I am saying?'

I nodded, though I did not fully understand. The Wise Emrys knew this, so he said, 'You know Avallach, the Fisher King, and know that he suffers yet from a wound which he received many years ago. Do you know how he came by this wound?'

'No,' I answered. 'But what does Avallach's wound have to do with any of this?'

'I will tell you. Avallach was king of Sarras, a country far from the Island of the Mighty. There was a war and he fought bravely against his enemies. But one night, as he rushed to the aid of his son, he was ambushed and cut down.

'It was dark and he was not wearing his kingly armour, so he went unnoticed on the field. His enemies devised a torture for those they captured – they tied each living man to a dead one. Avallach, as it chanced, was bound wrist-to-wrist, ankle-to-ankle, and mouth-to-mouth to thecorpa of his son.

'The enemy abandoned them to this insane tenure, and Avallach was left to die in the poisonous embrace of his once-beloved son.'

I had never heard such a hideous thing, and told Myrddin so.

'Yes,' he agreed, 'it is ghastly and terrible – Avallach bears the infirmity of it to this day.' He gazed steadily at me, so that I would understand him. 'And this is what Morgian hoped to do: bind us with half-truths to her corrupting lies. And like Avallach and his ambushed soldiers we are meant to flounder in their deadly embrace until we perish.'

'Is there no escape?'

Trust God, Aneirin. Trust the Good God. We have sinned; yes, that is true. But we have the Christ's sure forgiveness. Only ask and it is granted. By this we will be loosed from Morgian's curse.'

I heard him and at last began to understand what he meant. 'What of Medraut?'

The Emrys shook his head slowly and dropped his eyes to the embers as if to glimpse the future there. 'Medraut is dark to me; his path lies in shadow and uncertainty. One thing is certain, however; we have not seen the last of Medraut.'

SEVEN

Seven bright summers passed, and seven mild winters. The Summer Realm enjoyed its fairest season. All things flourished which the High King blessed, and peace reigned in the Island of the Mighty and its Seven Favoured Isles. No more barbarians invaded, and the Saecsens kept faith with Arthur. Men began speaking of the battle of Mount Baedun as the greatest victory ever won in Britain, and holding Arthur Pendragon as the greatest king ever to rule in the world.

From across all seas – from Ierne, Daneland, Saecsland, Jutland, Norweigi, Gotland, Holland, Gaul, Ffeincland, A/morica and Ruten – kings and rulers came to pay homage to Arthur and learn his justice. In all it was a time unknown since Bran the Blessed banished war in Ynys Prydein. Jesu's holy church sank its roots deep into Britain's soil and spread its sheltering branches over the land.