“He—” and I knew she did not mean Dinias “—will need every man who can hold a sword.” She knitted her brows. “They say Hengist has three hundred thousand men. Will he—” and again she was not referring to Hengist “—be able to withstand Vortigern, and after him Hengist and the Saxons?”

I suppose I was still thinking of last night’s vigil. I said, without pausing to consider how it would sound: “I have said so, so it must be true.”

A movement from the bed brought my eyes down to her. She was crossing herself, her eyes at once startled and severe, and through it all afraid. “Merlin—” but on the word a cough shook her, so that when she managed to speak again it was only a harsh whisper: “Beware of arrogance. Even if God has given you power—”

I laid a hand on her wrist, stopping her. “You mistake me, madam. I put it badly. I only meant that the god had said it through me, and because he had said it, it must be true. Ambrosius must win, it is in the stars.”

She nodded, and I saw the relief wash through her and slacken her body and mind, like an exhausted child.

I said gently: “Don’t be afraid for me, mother. Whatever god uses me, I am content to be his voice and instrument. I go where he sends me. And when he has finished with me, he will take me back.”

“There is only one God,” she whispered.

I smiled at her. “That is what I am beginning to think. Now, go to sleep. I will come back in the morning.”

*   *   *

I went to see my mother again next morning. This time I went alone. I had sent Cadal to find provisions in the market, Dinias’ slut having vanished when he did, leaving us to fend for ourselves in the deserted palace. I was rewarded, for the girl was again on duty at the gate, and again led me to my mother’s room. But when I said something to her she merely pulled the hood closer without speaking, so that again I saw no more of her than the slender hands and feet. The cobbles were dry today, and the puddles gone. She had washed her feet, and in the grip of the coarse sandals they looked as fragile as blue-veined flowers in a peasant’s basket. Or so I told myself, my mind working like a singer’s, where it had no right to be working at all. The arrow still thrummed where it had struck me, and my whole body seemed to thrill and tighten at the sight of her.

She showed me the door again, as if I could have forgotten it, and withdrew to wait.