WE had a wild ride to Cornwall.

Easter that year had fallen as early as it ever falls, so we were barely out of winter and into spring when, on a black wild night, we halted our horses on the clifftop near Tintagel, and peered down into the teeth of the wind. There were only the four of us, Uther, myself, Ulfin and Cadal. Everything, so far, had gone smoothly and according to plan. It was getting on towards midnight on the twenty-fourth of March.

Ygraine had obeyed me to the letter. I had not dared, that night in London, to go straight from her quarters to Uther’s chamber, in case this should be reported to Gorlois; but in any case Uther would be asleep. I had visited him early next morning, while he was being bathed and made ready for the crowning. He sent the servants away, except for Ulfin, and I was able to tell him exactly what he must do. He looked the better for his drugged sleep, greeted me briskly enough, and listened with eagerness in the bright, hollow eyes.

“And she will do as you say?”

“Yes. I have her word. Will you?”

“You know that I will.” He regarded me straightly. “And now will you not tell me about the outcome?”

“I told you. A child.”

“Oh, that.” He hunched an impatient shoulder. “You are like my brother; he thought of nothing else . . . Still working for him, are you?”

“You might say so.”

“Well, I must get one sooner or later, I suppose. No, I meant Gorlois. What will come to him? There’s a risk, surely?”

“Nothing is done without risk. You must do the same as I, you must take the time on trust. But I can tell you that your name, and your kingdom, will survive the night’s work.”

A short silence. He measured me with his eyes. “From you, I suppose that is enough. I am content.”

“You do well to be. You will outlive him, Uther.”

He laughed suddenly. “God’s grief, man, I could have prophesied that myself! I can give him thirty years, and he’s no stay-at-home when it comes to war. Which is one good reason why I refuse to have his blood on my hands. So, on that same account . . .”