Arthur

'She wishes Arthur harm?'

'She wishes all men harm, lad. Never forget it. And never let anyone tell you different. Listen well, I know whereof I speak: Morgian is poison; she is a viper, a demon in human form. And she is bent on destruction.'

We walked back to the palace, then. I went about my duties and could not help thinking of all that Gwalcmai had told me. Tune and again I returned to his words, and the sense of evil foreboding grew in me through the day. I sensed doom in the sunbright air of Caer Lial, and I could nowise perform my duties satisfactorily. I had no one else to share my burden with to make it lighter. I laboured on in misery.

Yet we are not made to suffer long. We forget. In a few days the stifling sense of doom and suffocation left me, and I began to think of other things again. The sky did not fall, the earth did not swallow me, the sea did not rise up and whelm over Britain. I lost interest in Morgian and her schemes and turned to other concerns. Foremost among these, the fact that the Emrys chose me to go with him to the shrine.

Arthur wished to hold the first Council of the Round Table – those trusted companions whose names were carved in the walls of the rotunda – and we were to go ahead to make all ready.

The prospect of returning there, just the Emrys and me, filled me with pleasure. Fine as the palace was, I loved the bare rotunda more. Its solitude appealed to me. My spirit was at peace there. Peace, I have learned, is rare in this worlds-realm and highly to be prized.

FIVE

I know little of what passed at the Council of the Round Table. Those in attendance – Bedwyr and Cai, of course, Bors, Gwalchavad, Cador, Llenlleawg, Idris and the Emrys – were Arthur's truest companions. These were the first. Others would be added in time as good men were drawn to Arthur's court.

Each day for three days the lords held council with the High King. Each night for three nights they supped together and the Emrys sang. One of the songs he sang was The Vision of Taliesin, also called The Song of the Summer Realm.

I count myself for ever blessed to have heard it.

On the third day of the council, Gwalcmai arrived. Whether he had been summoned, or whether he came of his own volition, I still do not know. But he appeared at midday, greeted me, and made his way to the shrine. He knelt at its entrance, prayed, and then was allowed to enter. I picketed his horse with the others and waited to see what would happen.

In a little, he emerged, alone, and walked down the hill. He moved quickly, like a man with an important duty he must discharge. I learned later that Gwalcmai had been invited to become a member of the Round Table and have his name carven with those of the others. But since he had not fought in the wars against the barbarians, he must perform some other deed of great service to God, the Pendragon, and Britain.

This deed was to be of his own choosing. When it was finished, he could return and come before the Pendragon with proof of its completion. Then, if judged by the others as worthy, he would be admitted to their number.

That is why, when he rode away that day, I saw the steely glint of determination in his eye. I think he already knew what he would do to win his place in the Shrine of the Round Table.

On the morning of the council's fourth day, the High King and his companions departed. The Emrys and I stayed at the shrine, however, for the Emrys wanted some time alone to himself.

That night we sat together at the fire and ate our meal. I said, 'I wonder how the Hill Folk know when we are here?' For the food had begun appearing once more, as soon as Arthur and the others had gone.

'There is not much that happens in the land that they do not know.'

'Why do they bring it?'

'It is their way of honouring me. Ken-ti-gern, they call me. Do you know the word?'

I shook my head. 'No – should I?'

The Emrys regarded me sadly for a moment. 'There is so much passing away,' he said heavily. 'The Summer Realm blooms and the old world must make way.'

He was silent for a time. I watched his face in the light of the dancing fire. He was old, though he did not look it. Long had he gathered wisdom in this worlds-realm, and its weight was becoming a burden to him.

By way of lightening the mood, I said, 'I saw one of the Hill Folk last time.'

'Last time?' The Emrys glanced up, his golden eyes glinting in the firelight.

'When I was here – after you left with Tegyr and Bedwyr. I was alone and I saw one of them when he brought the food. He came up to the shrine and stood in the doorway for a moment, then left. He probably thought we had all departed and he wanted to see the shrine. He did not come inside though, and it was dark. He did not see me.'

Myrddin Emrys stared at me long and hard. 'You did not tell me this before – why?' he demanded at last.

Aghast, I said, 'It was of no importance. Nothing happened. He left the food and disappeared. I did not see him again. Why? Have I done wrong?'

'It is not your fault – you could not know.'

'Know what?' I said, my voice rising indignantly. 'What have I done?'

'Has it never occurred to you that the Hill Folk would not bring food if they thought you had gone?'

His question pricked me. I felt the hot blood rise to my face and was grateful for the ruddy glow of the firelight to hide my shame.

'Well?'

'I suppose not,' I answered sullenly; he spoke the truth and I knew it well.

'No, they would not. If they brought the food, they knew you were still here. Knowing that, they would not have allowed you to see them.' The Emrys paused, then softened. 'Well, it was probably nothing, as you say.'

My heart beat against my ribs, telling me that it was not nothing. There was a deeper matter here than I had yet been told. 'If it was not one of the Hill Folk,' I said, 'who was it?'

'I cannot say.' The Emrys turned his face away abruptly.

'Morgian?' I said, little knowing what I asked.

The Emrys whipped towards me. 'Why do you speak that name?'

I stared back at him, horrified. 'Forgive me! I do not know what made me say it.' That was God's own truth – the name just leapt from my tongue.

The Emrys' golden eyes narrowed. 'Perhaps,' he said slowly. 'Or it may be there is another reason.' His tone was deeply forbidding.

'What do you mean, Wise Emrys?' I asked, frightened of the answer.

He stared into the fire, gazing at the embers glowing cherry-red in its flaming heart. What he saw did not cheer him. 'I mean,' he said at last, 'that I fear you have guessed aright – if guess it was.'

Nothing more was said all night. We slept, and awoke the next morning to a thin rain. The rain lingered most of the day, clearing at last towards evening. The Emrys and I went about our work and emerged only at dusk, when the clouds parted and the sun began to gild the hills and sea with fine white gold.

'Aneirin!' Myrddin Emrys called to me from the hilltop. I stood below him at the stream, filling the water jars for the night. 'Do you want to see the bhean sidhe? Come here.'

I hurried with the jars and hastened up the hill. 'Go into the shrine and stay there until I summon you.'

I did as I was bade and the Emrys cupped his hands to his lips and made a whistling call that sounded like waves rolling stones on the shingle. He made it again and waited, standing perfectly still. In a moment I heard an answering call, identical to the one he gave. Myrddin Emrys replied to it in kind, and out from the thickets at the edge of the stream stepped two young boys, slender and brown as willow wands, carrying between them the bundle of food.

The two ran quick as shadows up the hill and approached the shrine. The foremost of the two crept close and placed the food bundle on the ground; he took the Emrys' right hand in both of his and kissed it. The other did likewise, and they began to talk. I understood nothing of their speech – it sounded to me less like human utterance than anything I had ever heard. It was all rushing wind and rustling leaves; the hissing of snakes and the buzzing of bees, and the gurgle of falling water.