‘What did you do with the ring?’ Guinevere asked.

‘I threw it in the river.’

‘Did you tell anyone?’

‘Only Ceinwyn,’ I said. ‘And Issa knows,’ I added, ‘because he found the ring and brought it to me.’

‘And you didn’t tell Arthur?’

‘No.’

She smiled. ‘I think you have been a better friend than I ever knew, Derfel.’

‘To Arthur, Lady. I was protecting him, not you.’

‘I suppose you were, yes.’ She looked back into the fire. ‘When this is all over,’ she said, ‘I shall try to give Arthur what he wants.’

‘Yourself?’

My suggestion seemed to surprise her. ‘Does he want that?’ she asked.

‘He loves you,’ I said. ‘He might not ask about you, but he looks for you every time he comes here. He looked for you even when you were in Ynys Wydryn. He never talked to me about you, but he wearied Ceinwyn’s ears.’

Guinevere grimaced. ‘Do you know how cloying love can be, Derfel? I don’t want to be worshipped. I don’t want every whim granted. I want to feel there’s something biting back.’ She spoke vehemently, and I opened my mouth to defend Arthur, but she gestured me to silence. ‘I know, Derfel,’ she said, ‘I have no right to want anything now. I shall be good, I promise you.’ She smiled. ‘Do you know why Arthur is ignoring me now?’

‘No, Lady.’

‘Because he does not want to face me till he has victory.’

I thought she was probably right, but Arthur had shown no overt sign of his affection and so I thought it best to sound a note of warning. ‘Maybe victory will be satisfaction enough for him,’ I said.

Guinevere shook her head. ‘I know him better than you, Derfel. I know him so well I can describe him in one word.’

I tried to think what that word would be. Brave? Certainly, but that left out all his care and dedication. I wondered if dedicated was a better word, but that did not describe his restlessness. Good? he was certainly good, but that plain word obscured the anger that could make him unpredictable. ‘What is the word, Lady?’ I asked.

‘Lonely,’ Guinevere said, and I remembered that Sagramor in Mithras’s cave had used the very same word. ‘He’s lonely,’ Guinevere said, ‘like me. So let’s give him victory and maybe he won’t be lonely again.’

‘The Gods keep you safe, Lady,’ I said.

‘The Goddess, I think,’ she said, and saw the look of horror on my face. She laughed. ‘Not Isis, Derfel, not Isis.’ It had been Guinevere’s worship of Isis that had led her to Lancelot’s bed and to Arthur’s misery. ‘I think,’ she went on, ‘that tonight I will pray to Sulis. She seems more appropriate.’

‘I’ll add my prayers to yours, Lady.’

She held out a hand to check me as I rose to leave. ‘We’re going to win, Derfel,’ she said earnestly, ‘we’re going to win, and everything will be changed.’