“What’s the matter?” Her eyes opened suddenly wide. She pushed herself up on her elbow. “Why, I do believe you’ve never done it before. Have you? Have you?”

I didn’t speak.

She gave a laugh that seemed meant to sound gay, but came shrilly. She rolled over again and stretched out her hands. “Well, never mind, you can learn, can’t you? You’re a man, after all. At least, I thought you were . . .” Then, suddenly in a fury of impatience: “Oh, for God’s sake. Hurry, can’t you? I tell you, it’ll be all right.”

I caught her wrists and held them. “Keri, I’m sorry. I can’t explain, but this is . . . I must not, that’s all I know. No, listen, give me a minute.”

“Let me go!”

I loosed her and she pulled away and sat up. Her eyes were angry. There were flowers caught in her hair.

I said: “This isn’t because of you, Keri, don’t think that. It has nothing to do with you—”

“Not good enough for you, is that it? Because my mother was a whore?”

“Was she? I didn’t even know.” I felt suddenly immensely tired. I said carefully: “I told you this was nothing to do with you. You are very beautiful, Keri, and the first moment I saw you I felt—you must know what I felt. But this is nothing to do with feeling. It is between me and—it is something to do with my—” I stopped. It was no use. Her eyes watched me, bright and blank, then she turned aside with a little flouncing movement and began to tidy her dress. Instead of ‘power’, I finished: “—something to do with my magic.”

“Magic.” Her lip was thrust out like a hurt child’s. She knotted her girdle tight with a sharp little tug, and began to gather up the fallen bluebells, repeating spitefully: “Magic. Do you think I believe in your silly magic? Did you really think I even had the toothache, that time?”

“I don’t know,” I said wearily. I got to my feet.

“Well, maybe you don’t have to be a man to be a magician. You ought to have gone into that monastery after all.”

“Perhaps.” A flower was tangled in her hair and she put a hand up to pull it out. The fine floss glinted in the sun like gossamer. My eye caught the blue mark of a bruise on her wrist. “Are you all right? Did I hurt you?”

She neither answered nor looked up, and I turned away. “Well, goodbye, Keri.”

I had gone perhaps six steps when her voice stopped me. “Prince—”

I turned.

“So you do answer to it?” she said. “I’m surprised. Son of the High King, you say you are, and you don’t even leave me a piece of silver to pay for my gown?”