This valley is little more than a gully carrying a small stream to the sea. At its widest the stream is not more than three paces broad, and so shallow that a horse can ford it anywhere. At the foot of the valley the water drops over a low cliff straight to a beach of slaty shingle. We rode in single file down the track, with the stream running deep down on the left, and to our right a high bank covered with bushes. Since the wind was from the south-west and the valley was deep and running almost north, we were sheltered from the gale, but at the top of the bank the bushes were screaming in the wind, and twigs and even small boughs hurtled through the air and across our path. Even without this and the steepness of the stony path and the darkness, it was not easy riding; the horses, what with the storm and some tension which must have been generated by the three of us—Cadal was as solid as a rock, but then he was not going into the castle—were wild and white-eyed with nerves. When, a quarter of a mile from the sea we turned down to the stream and set the beasts to cross it, mine, in the lead, flattened its ears and baulked, and when I had lashed it across and into a plunging canter up the narrow track, and a man’s figure detached itself from the shadows ahead beside the path, the horse stopped dead and climbed straight up into the air till I felt sure it would go crashing over backwards, and me with it.

The shadow darted forward and seized the bridle, dragging the horse down. The beast stood, sweating and shaking.

“Brithael,” I said. “Is all well?”

I heard him exclaim, and he took a pace, pressing closer to the horse’s shoulder, peering upwards in the dark. Behind me Uther’s grey hoisted itself up the track and thudded to a halt. The man at my horse’s shoulder said, uncertainly: “My lord Gorlois . . . ? We did not look for you tonight. Is there news, then?”

It was Ralf’s voice. I said in my own: “So we’ll pass, at least in the dark?”

I heard his breath go in. “Yes, my lord . . . For the moment I thought it was indeed Brithael. And then the grey horse . . . Is that the King?”

“For tonight,” I said, “it is the Duke of Cornwall. Is all well?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then lead the way. There is not much time.”