“The druids?” His voice was absent now. He still fidgeted with the stilus on the table. “Ah, yes. Uther has no love for them. He is one of Mithras’ fanatics, and light is the enemy of darkness, I suppose. Well, what is it?” This, sharply, to Sollius, who came in with an apology, and waited just inside the door.

“Forgive me, sir,” said the secretary. “There’s a messenger from King Budec. I told him you were engaged, but he said it was important. Shall I tell him to wait?”

“Bring him in,” said Ambrosius. The man came in with a scroll. He handed it to Ambrosius, who sat down in his great chair and unrolled it. He read it, frowning. I watched him. The flickering flames from the brazier spread, lighting the planes of the face which already, it seemed, I knew as well as I knew my own. The heart of the brazier glowed, and the light spread and flashed. I felt it spreading across my eyes as they blurred and widened . . .

“Merlin Emrys? Merlin?”

The echo died to an ordinary voice. The vision fled. I was sitting on my stool in Ambrosius’ room, looking down at my hands clasping my knees. Ambrosius had risen and was standing over me, between me and the fire. The secretary had gone, and we were alone.

At the repetition of my name I blinked and roused myself.

He was speaking. “What do you see, there in the fire?”

I answered without looking up. “A grove of whitethorn on a hillside and a girl on a brown pony, and a young man with a dragon brooch on his shoulder, and the mist knee high.”

I heard him draw a long breath, then his hand came down and took me by the chin and lifted my face. His eyes were intent and fierce.

“It’s true, then, this Sight of yours. I have been so sure, and now—now, beyond all doubt, it is true. I thought it was, that first night by the standing stone, but that could have been anything—a dream, a boy’s story, a lucky guess to win my interest. But this . . . I was right about you.” He took his hand from my face, and straightened. “Did you see the girl’s face?”

I nodded.

“And the man’s?”

I met his eyes then. “Yes, sir.”

He turned sharply away and stood with his back to me, head bent. Once more he picked up the stilus from the table, turning it over and over with his fingers. After a while he said: “How long have you known?”

“Only since I rode in tonight. It was something Cadal said, then I remembered things, and how your brother stared tonight when he saw me wearing this.” I touched the dragon brooch at my neck.

He glanced, then nodded. “Is this the first time you have had this—vision?”