‘Where is this wood?’ I asked.

The bard turned his dark, deep-set eyes onto me. ‘There may be no wood, Lord. Dreams are like songs. Their task is not to offer an exact image of the world, but a suggestion of it. The wood, I think, tells me that Merlin is imprisoned.’

‘By Nimue,’ I said, for I could think of no one else who would dare challenge the Druid.

Taliesin nodded. ‘She, I think, is his jailer. She wants his power, and when she has it she will use it to impose her dream on Britain.’

I was finding it difficult even to think about Merlin and Nimue. For years we had lived without them and, as a result, our world’s boundaries had taken on a precise hardness. We were bounded by Mordred’s existence, by Meurig’s ambitions and by Arthur’s hopes, not by the misty, swirling uncertainties of Merlin’s dreams. ‘But Nimue’s dream,’ I objected, ‘is the same as Merlin’s.’

‘No, Lord,’ Taliesin said gently, ‘it is not.’

‘She wants what he wants,’ I insisted, ‘to restore the Gods!’

‘But Merlin,’ Taliesin said, ‘gave Excalibur to Arthur. And do you not see that he gave part of his power to Arthur with that gift? I have wondered about that gift for a long time, for Merlin would never explain it to me, but I think I understand it now. Merlin knew that if the Gods failed, then Arthur might succeed. And Arthur did succeed, but his victory at Mynydd Baddon was not complete. It keeps the Isle of Britain in British hands, but it did not defeat the Christians, and that is a defeat for the old Gods. Nimue, Lord, will never accept that half-victory. For Nimue it is the Gods or it is nothing. She does not care what horrors come to Britain so long as the Gods return and strike down her enemies, and to achieve that, Lord, she wants Excalibur. She wants every scrap of power so that when she relights the fires the Gods will have no choice but to respond.’

I understood then. ‘And with Excalibur,’ I said, ‘she will want Gwydre.’

‘She will indeed, Lord,’ Taliesin agreed. ‘The son of a ruler is a source of power, and Arthur, whether he wills it or not, is still the most famous leader in Britain. If he had ever chosen to be a king, Lord, he would have been named High King. So, yes, she wants Gwydre.’

I stared at Taliesin’s profile. He actually seemed to be enjoying the boat’s terrifying motion. ‘Why do you tell me this?’ I asked him.

My question puzzled him. ‘Why should I not tell you?’

‘Because by telling me,’ I said, ‘you warn me to protect Gwydre, and if I protect Gwydre then I prevent the return of the Gods. And you, if I’m not mistaken, would like to see those Gods return.’

‘I would,’ he acknowledged, ‘but Merlin asked me to tell you.’