The crystal globe melted out of my cupped hands, and was only a fistful of plants I had gathered, cold with rain. I let them fall, and put up the back of a hand to wipe the water from my eyes. The scene below me had changed; the wagon and the boat had gone; the town was still.

I went down to the cave to find Cadal busy with his cooking pots, and the young man already struggling with the saddles of our horses.

“Let that alone,” I told him. “Cadal, is there hot water?”

“Plenty. Here’s a start and a half, orders from the King. London, is it?” Cadal sounded pleased, and I didn’t blame him. “We were due for a change, if you ask me. What is it, do you suppose? He—” jerking his head at the young man—“doesn’t seem to know, or else he’s not telling. Trouble, by the sound of it.”

“Maybe. We’ll soon find out. Here, you’d better dry this.” I gave him my cloak, sat down by the fire, and called the young man to me. “Let me see that arm of yours now.”

His wrist was blue with bruising, and swollen, and obviously hurt to the touch, but the bones were whole. While he washed I made a compress, then bound it on. He watched me half apprehensively, and tended to shy from my touch, and not only, I thought, with pain. Now that the mud was washed off and I could see him better, the feeling of familiarity persisted even more strongly. I eyed him over the bandages. “I know you, don’t I?”

“You wouldn’t remember me, my lord. But I remember you. You were kind to me once.”

I laughed. “Was it such a rare occasion? What’s your name?”

“Ulfin.”

“Ulfin? It has a familiar sound . . . Wait a moment. Yes, I have it. Belasius’ boy?”

“Yes. You do remember me?”

“Perfectly. That night in the forest, when my pony went lame, and you had to lead him home. I suppose you were around underfoot most of the time, but you were about as conspicuous as a field mouse. That’s the only time I remember. Is Belasius over here for the coronation?”

“He’s dead.”

Something in his tone made me cock an eye at him over the bandaged wrist. “You hated him as much as that? No, don’t answer, I guessed as much back there, young as I was. Well, I shan’t ask why. The gods know I didn’t love him myself, and I wasn’t his slave. What happened to him?”

“He died of a fever, my lord.”

“And you managed to survive him? I seem to remember something about an old and barbarous custom—”

“Prince Uther took me into his service. I am with him now—the King.”