My grandfather jerked his head and said one word: “Out,” and the women hurried in a rustling, silent group, from the chamber. Moravik stood her ground, puffed up with bravery like a partridge, but the fierce blue eyes flicked to her for a second, and she went. A sniff as she passed them was all that she dared. The eyes came back to me.

“Your sister’s bastard,” said the King. “There he is. Six years old this month, grown like a weed, and no more like any of us than a damned devil’s whelp would be. Look at him! Black hair, black eyes, and as scared of cold iron as a changeling from the hollow hills. You tell me the devil himself got that one, and I’ll believe you!”

My uncle said only one word, straight to her: “Whose?”

“You think we didn’t ask, you fool?” said my grandfather. “She was whipped till the women said she’d miscarry, but never a word from her. Better if she had, perhaps—some nonsense they were talking, old wives’ tales of devils coming in the dark to lie with young maids—and from the look of him they could be right.”

Camlach, six foot and golden, looked down at me. His eyes were blue, clear as my mother’s, and his colour was high. The mud had dried yellow on his soft doeskin boots, and a smell of sweat and horses came from him. He had come to look at me before even taking the dirt of travel off. I remember how he stared down at me, while my mother stood silent, and my grandfather glowered under his brows, his breath coming harsh and rapid, as it always did when he had put himself in a passion.

“Come here,” said my uncle.

I took half a dozen steps forward. I did not dare go nearer. I stopped. From three paces away he seemed taller than ever. He towered over me to the ceiling beams.

“What’s your name?”

“Myrddin Emrys.”

“Emrys? Child of light, belonging to the gods . . .? That hardly seems the name for a demon’s whelp.”

The mildness of his tone encouraged me. “They call me Merlinus,” I ventured. “It’s a Roman name for a falcon, the corwalch.”

My grandfather barked, “Falcon!” and made a sound of contempt, shooting his arm-rings till they jingled.

“A small one,” I said defensively, then fell silent under my uncle’s thoughtful look. He stroked his chin, then looked at my mother with his brows up. “Strange choices, all of them, for a Christian household. A Roman demon, perhaps, Niniane?”

She put up her chin. “Perhaps. How do I know? It was dark.”

I thought a flash of amusement came and went in his face, but the King swept a hand down in a violent gesture. “You see? That’s all you’ll get—lies, tales of sorcery, insolence! Get back to your work, girl, and keep your bastard out of my sight! Now that your brother’s home, we’ll find a man who’ll take the pair of you from under my feet and his! Camlach, I hope you see the sense of getting yourself a wife now, and a son or two, since this is all I’m left with!”