I said, not loudly, but very clearly: “Ambrosius, is it? Well, you know the rumours. I’ve heard nothing definite about him, only the usual stories that have been going the rounds these ten years. Oh, yes, men say he’ll come to Cornwall, or Maridunum, or London, or Avon-mouth—you can take your pick . . . Your throw.” Blackbeard’s attention had shifted. I leaned closer to watch Dinias’ throw, and lowered my voice. “And if he did come now, what would happen? You’ll know this better than I. Would what’s left of the West rise for him, or stand loyal to Vortigern?”

“The West would go up in flames. It’s done that already, God knows. Double or quits? Flames like the night you left. God, how I laughed: Little bastard sets the place on fire and goes. Why did you? That’s mine, double five. Throw you again.”

“Right. Why did I go, you mean? I told you, I was afraid of Camlach.”

“I didn’t mean that. I mean why did you set the place on fire? Don’t tell me it was an accident, because I don’t believe you.”

“It was a funeral pyre. I lit it because Camlach killed my servant.”

He stared, the dice for a moment still in his hands. “You fired the King’s palace for a slave?”

“Why not? I happened to like my servant better than I liked Camlach.”

He gave me a slightly fuddled look, and threw. A two and a four. I scooped back a couple of coins.

“Damn you,” said Dinias, “you’ve no right to win, you’ve enough already. All right, again. Your servant, indeed! You’ve a mighty high tone for a bastard playing at being a scribe in a priest’s cell.”

I grinned. “You’re a bastard, too, remember, dear cousin.”

“Maybe, but at least I know who my father was.”

“Keep your voice down, people are listening. All right, throw you again.”

A pause while the dice rattled. I watched them rather anxiously. So far, they had tended to fall my way. How useful it would be, I thought, if power could be brought to bear on such small things; it would take no effort, and make the way smoother. But I had begun to learn that in fact power made nothing smoother; when it came it was like having a wolf by the throat. Sometimes I had felt like that boy in the old myth who harnessed the horses of the sun and rode the world like a god until the power burned him to death. I wondered if I would ever feel the flames again.