“I knew he had left to join him—at Caerynar-Von, was it? Are you going up there yourself?” I put the gentlest of queries into my voice, adding meekly: “I wasn’t really in a position to hear much news that mattered.”

A chill current of air eddied, loaded with damp, between the pillars. From some broken gutter above us water suddenly spilled over, to splash between us on the flagstones. I saw him gather his cloak round him. “Why are we standing here?” He spoke with a brusque heartiness that rang as false as the arrogance. “Come and exchange news over a flask of wine, eh?”

I hesitated, but only for a moment. It seemed obvious that Dinias had his own reasons for keeping out of the High King’s eye; for one thing, if he had managed to live down his association with Camlach, he would surely be with Vortigern’s army, not skulking here in this threadbare fashion in an empty palace. For another, now that he knew I was in Maridunum, I preferred to keep him under my eye than leave him now to go and talk to whom he would.

So I accepted with every appearance of flattered pleasure, only insisting that he must join me for supper, if he could tell me where a good meal was to be found, and a warm seat out of the wet . . .?

Almost before the words were out he had me by the arm and was hurrying me across the atrium and out through the street door.

“Fine, fine. There’s a place over on the west side, beyond the bridge. The food’s good, and they get the kind of clients that mind their own business.” He winked. “Not that you’ll be wanting to bother with a girl, eh? Though you don’t look as if they’d made a clerk of you after all . . . ? Well, no more for now, it doesn’t do to look as though you’ve too much to talk about these days . . . You either fall foul of the Welsh or you fall foul of Vortigern—and the place is crawling with his spies just now. I don’t know who it is they’re looking for, but there’s a story going about—No, take your trash away.” This to a beggar who thrust a tray of rough-cut stones and leather laces in front of us. The man moved back without a word. I saw that he was blind in one eye from a cut; a hideous scar ran right up one cheek, and had flattened the bridge of the nose. It looked as if it had been a sword cut.

I dropped a coin on the tray as we passed, and Dinias shot me a look that was far from friendly. “Times have changed, eh? You must have struck it rich in Cornwall. Tell me, what happened that night? Did you mean to set the whole damned place on fire?”