Arthur

'You suspect treachery?'

'I suspect… ' He stopped as we walked past the gates and down the track towards the sea. Upon reaching the rock shingle he stood gazing out at the dusky sea. The waves lapped at the rocks and the air smelled of salt and rotting seaweed. We stood together for a long while, and then Myrddin swung his golden gaze to me. 'You have a brain in your head,' he told me. 'What do you make of Lot? Do you trust him?'

Now it was my turn to be silent for a spell. Did I trust Lot? What did I make of him? I weighed the scant evidence for and against him in my mind. I tried to be fair.

'Well?'

'It seems to me,' I began slowly, 'that Lord Lot is unused to having people enjoy his company. He is tolerated, perhaps, and obeyed, certainly – he is king, after all. But he is not loved. Likely, he has no friends at all.'

Myrddin nodded. 'Why is this, do you think?'

Living in Orcady was part of it. Remote, isolated from the rest of the world, cut off by the sea and the barren northern wastes, it was difficult to maintain friendships and alliances with the noble houses of the south. For this reason, and others, the southern lords remained suspicious. Northerners were held in little regard in the south; they were thought to be backward, coarse and low. Little better than Picts, if no worse.

From what I had seen of Lot and his men, they were none of these things; they were simply different. Yet, despite their differences, just as civil and refined as any southern lord and his tribe. But living on their barren, sea-surrounded rocks made them severe, in the same way their limited contact with the south made them wary and brusque – always expecting the veiled insult, and finding it, whether intended or not.

These things I thought, and told to Myrddin. 'King Lot has no friends,' I concluded, 'because he suspects everyone of trying to do him harm. No, it is not guile at work in him – it is suspicion.'

'Suspicion, yes. And there is something else: pride.'

'Suspicion and pride,' I said, 'two dogs that lie uneasily together.'

'Indeed,' said Myrddin, 'and neither one to be crossed.'

At last I thought I had discovered what Myrddin was worrying about. 'But that is not why I am uneasy,' he said.

'No?' Myrddin always does this. Just when you think you have cracked one hard nut, he pulls another from his pocket, tougher than the last. 'What else, then?'

'In truth, Bedwyr, it has little to do with Lot, and yet everything to do with him.'

That is something else he does: mutters in obscure riddles. Myrddin dearly loves enigma and paradox.

'Nothing and everything,' I observed sourly. 'We will be here all night.'

'It is Lot's father – rather, it is his father's wife.'

'Lot's mother, you mean?'

'Did I say that? No. I said Lot's father's wife. King Loth had two wives. The first was Lot's mother and she died. Loth's second wife was a woman named Morgian.'

'Speak plainly, Myrddin. Who or what is this Morgian to us?' Indeed, in all the time I had known him, I had never heard the name pass his lips. But then, there was much about Myrddin that no one knew.

Myrddin did not answer. Instead, he asked, 'Do you know why men call these islands Ynysoedd Erch – the Islands of Fear?'

I looked around at the forbidding rocks and the shadowy fortress rising above the sea. The Orcades were a forlorn and lonely place. Certainly, that was reason enough for such a name, and I told him so.

'No. It is because of her, Morgian, Queen of Air and Darkness.'

Now, I am a man who does not shrink from much. But I have always found it disturbing to invoke evil, even in jest. So, when Myrddin spoke that name, I felt a chill quaver in the air as if rising suddenly from the sea. But it was not sea air that sent the flesh creeping upon my scalp.

'You know her?'

'I do – and wish to Heaven that I did not!' The vehemence with which he spoke took me aback. I also heard something in his voice I had never heard before: fear. The Great Emrys was afraid of Morgian – whoever she might be.

'Myrddin,' I said gently, 'what is she to you?'

His head whipped round and he glared at me. His mouth was a grimace of revulsion, and his eyes were hard, bright points of pain. 'She is my death!'

The next days were given to planning how best to commence shipbuilding on the Fiorth. Arthur and Lot were to be seen head to head in Lot's chambers, or strolling the grounds of the stronghold, lost to the world in their ardent schemes and strategies. While it was clear that Lot and Arthur were becoming fast friends, it was also evident that Myrddin was less and less happy about our stay.

He made me uneasy. I would see him walking out on the wind-blown hills of the island, or sitting brooding on the rocks overlooking the sea. He rarely spoke in our company; and when he did it was only to utter a curt reply.

Arthur appeared not to notice. But I noticed.

Days passed with little to dp. Time weighed heavily on me, and I began to grow impatient to return to Caer Melyn. There, I knew, work aplenty waited for me: there were men to train, horses to break, supplies and provisions to sort and, not forgetting – irate kings to pacify. No doubt Cai and Pelleas had their hands full while I sat idle.

More and more, I found myself wishing for something to do. And in the end I got my wish. Immediately, I regretted it.

We were given no warning. A ship just appeared at dawn one morning and made for the harbour. This caused a mild stir in Lot's court and some men went down to meet it on the shingle below the caer. The ship was scarcely anchored when word came back: Irish had landed and were pushing inland to join the Picti.

Hearing this, I dashed to Lot's hall, where I knew he and Arthur were concluding their business. I entered just behind Lot's principal adviser, who called out, 'Lord Lot, Gwalcmai has returned with dire news: Sea Wolves have put ashore in numbers and are raiding inland. The Picti have welcomed them.'

'Where is this?' asked Arthur.

'In Yrewyn Bay.'

This answer took me aback, for this bay is but a short distance from my home in Rheged. 'Have they attacked Caer Tryfan?' I asked, but my question went unheeded.

'What of Gwalchavad?' asked Lot.

Just then the door to the hall burst open and a young man hurried in, his bright blue-and-green cloak flying. One glance at his black hair and fierce aspect and I knew him to be Lot's kinsman. The silver tore at his throat gave me to know that he was nobly born.

'Gwalcmai!' called Lot. 'Where is Gwalchavad?'

'He has taken the warriors we had with us to follow the Sea Wolves – to keep watch on them. Have no fear, he promised to stay out of sight until we come.'

The relief in Lot's face could only be that of a father for a beloved son. This guess was proven true a moment later, when Lot turned and said, 'Duke Arthur, I present to you my son, Gwalcmai, who has just returned from Manau, where we trade.'

The young man – no more in years than Arthur or myself – inclined his head in greeting. 'Duke of Britain,' he said. 'Long have I desired to meet you – though I never expected to see you here."

'I give you good greeting, Prince Gwalcmai. What else can you tell us of this invasion?'

'The Irish entered Yrewyn Bay and came inland up the river – thirty ships we counted. They seem to be gathering their forces. I think they are waiting for something.'

'The cran tara has gone out,' said Myrddin, stepping from the shadows of the hearth. They wait for the other tribes to join them.'

Then they will not strike before midsummer. We have time yet,' replied Arthur.

'Little enough,' I observed. It was less than a month away.

Arthur turned to the king. 'Lord Lot, I will need your ships sooner than expected.'

They are yours,' Lot replied. 'And my warband with them.'