This time it really was a smile. “Merlin . . . little Merlin, that couldn’t even sit a horse . . . You kill me.”

The tide must be on the turn. The next wave that thundered up sent only the finest spray which fell on my shoulders like mist. I said: “I have killed you, Cadal.”

“The gods . . .” he said, and drew a great, sighing breath. I knew what that meant. He was running out of time. As the light grew I could see how much of his blood had soaked into the soaking path. “I heard what the King said. Could it not have happened without . . . all this?”

“No, Cadal.”

His eyes shut for a moment, then opened again. “Well,” was all he said, but in the syllable was all the acquiescent faith of the past eight years. His eyes were showing white now below the pupil, and his jaw was slack. I put my good arm under him and raised him a little. I spoke quickly and clearly:

“It will happen, Cadal, as my father wished and as God willed through me. You heard what Uther said about the child. That alters nothing. Because of this night’s work Ygraine will bear the child, and because of this night’s work she will send him away as soon as he is born, out of the King’s sight. She will send him to me, and I shall take him out of the King’s reach, and keep him and teach him all that Galapas taught me, and Ambrosius, and you, even Belasius. He will be the sum of all our lives, and when he is grown he will come back and be crowned King at Winchester.”

“You know this? You promise me that you know this?” The words were scarcely recognisable. The breath was coming now in bubbling gasps. His eyes were small and white and blind.

I lifted him and held him strongly against me. I said, gently and very clearly: “I know this. I, Merlin, prince and prophet, promise you this, Cadal.”

His head fell sideways against me, too heavy for him now as the muscles went out of control. His eyes had gone. He made some small muttering sound and then, suddenly and clearly, he said, “Make the sign for me,” and died.

I gave him to the sea, with Brithael who had killed him. The tide would take him, Ralf had said, and carry him away as far as the western stars.

*   *   *

Apart from the slow clop of hoofs, and the jingle of metal, there was no sound in the valley. The storm had died. There was no wind, and when I had ridden beyond the first bend of the stream, I lost even the sound of the sea. Down beside me, along the stream, mist hung still, like a veil. Above, the sky was clear towards sunrise. Still in the sky, high now and steady, hung the star.