“I knew I could count on you. With things the way they are in the town just now, it’s hard to know who’s a friend. Uther’s not an easy man to gainsay. But you could do it—and what’s more, you’d dare. You’re your father’s son, and for my old friend’s sake—”

“I said I’d do it.”

“What’s the matter? Are you ill?”

“It’s nothing. I’m weary. We had a hard ride. I’ll see the King in the morning early, before he leaves for the crowning.”

He gave a brief nod of thanks. “That’s not the only thing I came to ask you. Would you come and see my wife tonight?”

There was a pause of utter stillness, so prolonged that I thought he must notice. Then I said: “If you wish it, yes. But why?”

“She’s sick, that’s why, and I’d have you come and see her, if you will. When her women told her you were here in London, she begged me to send for you. I can tell you, I was thankful when I heard you’d come. There’s not many men I’d trust just now, and that’s God’s truth. But I’d trust you.”

Beside me a log crumbled and fell into the heart of the fire. The flames shot up, splashing his face with red, like blood.

“You’ll come?” asked the old man.

“Of course.” I looked away from him. “I’ll come immediately.”

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER FIVE

UTHER had not exaggerated when he said that the Lady Ygraine was well guarded. She and her lord were lodged in a court some way west of the King’s quarters, and the court was crowded with Cornwall men at arms. There were armed men in the antechamber too, and in the bedchamber itself some half dozen women. As we went in the oldest of these, a greyhaired woman with an anxious look, hurried forward with relief in her face.

“Prince Merlin.” She bent her knees to me, eyeing me with awe, and led me towards the bed.

The room was warm and scented. The lamps burned sweet oil, and the fire was of apple-wood. The bed stood at the centre of the wall opposite the fire. The pillows were of grey silk, with gilt tassels, and the coverlet richly worked with flowers and strange beasts and winged creatures. The only other woman’s room that I had seen was my mother’s, with the plain wooden bed and the carved oak chest and the loom, and the cracked mosaics of the floor.

I walked forward and stood at the foot of the bed, looking down at Gorlois’ wife.