He spoke quickly, looking away. I knew it was all I would ever learn. “And are you still so afraid of the world, Ulfin?”

But he would not answer that. I finished tying the wrist. “Well, it’s a wild and violent place, and the times are cruel. But they will get better, and I think you will help to make them so. There, that’s done. Now get yourself something to eat. Cadal, do you remember Ulfin? The boy who brought Aster home the night we ran into Uther’s troops in Nemet?”

“By the dog, so it is.” Cadal looked him up and down. “You look a sight better than you did then. What happened to the druid? Died of a curse? Come along then, and get something to eat. Yours is here, Merlin, and see you eat enough for a human being for a change, and not just what might keep one of your precious birds alive.”

“I’ll try,” I said meekly, and then laughed at the expression on Ulfin’s face as he looked from me to my servant and back again.

*   *   *

We lay that night at an inn near the crossroads where the way leads off north for the Five Hills and the gold mine. I ate alone in my room, served by Cadal. No sooner had the door shut behind the servant who carried the dishes than Cadal turned to me, obviously bursting with news.

“Well, there’s a pretty carry-on in London, by all accounts.”

“One might expect it,” I said mildly. “I heard someone say Budec was there, together with most of the kings from across the Narrow Sea, and that most of them, and half the King’s own nobles, have brought their daughters along with an eye to the empty side of the throne.” I laughed. “That should suit Uther.”

“They say he’s been through half the girls in London already,” said Cadal, setting a dish down in front of me. It was Welsh mutton, with a good sauce made of onions, hot and savoury.

“They’d say anything of him.” I began to help myself. “It could even be true.”

“Yes, but seriously, there’s trouble afoot, they say. Woman trouble.”

“Oh, God, Cadal, spare me. Uther was born to woman trouble.”

“No, but I mean it. Some of the escort were talking, and it’s no wonder Ulfin wouldn’t. This is real trouble. Gorlois’ wife.”

I looked up, startled. “The Duchess of Cornwall? This can’t be true.”

“It’s not true yet. But they say it’s not for want of trying.”

I drank wine. “You can be sure it’s only rumour. She’s more than half as young again as her husband, and I’ve heard she’s fair. I suppose Uther pays her some attention, the Duke being his second-in-command, and men make all they can of it, Uther being who he is. And what he is.”