‘Speak!’ Loholt ordered me, and cuffed me around the face with his stump. The bear claws raked my cheek.

‘It was cut, Lord King,’ I said.

‘Cut!’ He laughed. ‘And do you know why it was cut, Lord Derfel?’

‘No, Lord.’

‘Because you are my enemy,’ he said.

‘Not true, Lord King.’

‘You are my enemy!’ he screamed in a sudden tantrum, banging one arm of the chair and watching to see whether I showed any fear at his anger. ‘As a child,’ he announced to the crowd, ‘this thing raised me. He beat me! He hated me!’ The crowd jeered until Mordred held up a hand to still them. ‘And this man,’ he said, pointing at me with his finger to add bad luck to his words, ‘helped Arthur cut off Prince Loholt’s hand.’ Again the crowd shouted angrily. ‘And yesterday,’ Mordred went on, ‘Lord Derfel was found in my kingdom with a strange banner.’ He jerked his right hand and two men ran forward with Gwydre’s urine-soaked flag. ‘Whose banner is that, Lord Derfel?’ Mordred asked.

‘It belongs to Gwydre ap Arthur, Lord.’

‘And why is Gwydre’s banner in Dumnonia?’

For a heartbeat or two I thought of telling a lie. Perhaps I could claim that I was bringing the banner as a form of tribute to Mordred, but I knew he would not believe me and, worse, I would despise myself for the lie. So instead I raised my head. ‘I was hoping to raise it on news of your death, Lord King.’

My truth took him by surprise. The crowd murmured, but Mordred just drummed the chair’s arm with his fingers. ‘You declare yourself a traitor,’ he said after a while.

‘No, Lord King,’ I said, ‘I might have hoped for your death, but I did nothing to bring it about.’

‘You didn’t come to Armorica to rescue me!’ he shouted.

‘True,’ I said.

‘Why?’ he asked dangerously.

‘Because I would have thrown good men after bad,’ I said, gesturing at his warriors. They laughed.

‘And did you hope Clovis would kill me?’ Mordred asked when the laughter had died.

‘Many hoped for that, Lord King,’ I said, and again my honesty seemed to surprise him.

‘So give me one good reason, Lord Derfel, why I should not kill you now,’ Mordred commanded me.

I stayed silent for a short while, then shrugged. ‘I can think of no reason, Lord King.’

Mordred drew his sword and laid it across his knees, then put his hands flat on the blade. ‘Derfel,’ he announced, ‘I condemn you to death.’

‘It is my privilege, Lord King!’ Loholt demanded eagerly. ‘Mine!’ And the crowd bayed their support for him. Watching my slow death would give them a fine appetite for the supper that was being prepared on the hilltop.