A man stepped forward, one of the King’s servants, a man called Mabon. “It’s true, my lord.” He licked his lips, hesitating.

Camlach showed his teeth. “What in the name of the devils in hell’s the matter with you all?” Then he saw where they were staring, and looked down at his right hip, where, sheathless, his short stabbing dagger had been thrust through his belt. It was blood to the hilt. He made a sound of impatience and disgust and, pulling it out, flung it from him, so that it skittered across the floor and came up against the wall with a small clang that sounded loud in the silence.

“Whose blood did you think?” he asked, still with that lifted lip. “Deer’s blood, that’s all. When the message came, we had just killed. I was twelve miles off, I and my men.” He stared at them, as if daring them to comment. No one moved. “Go on, Mabon. He slipped and fell, the man told me. How did it happen?”

The man cleared his throat. “It was a stupid thing, sir, a pure accident. Why, no one was even near him. It was in the small courtyard, the way through to the servants’ rooms, where the steps are worn. One of the men had been carrying oil around to fill the lamps. He’d spilt some on the steps, and before he got back to wipe it up the King came through, in a bit of a hurry. He—he hadn’t been expected there at the time. Well, my lord, he treads in the oil, and goes straight down on his back, and hits his head on the stone. That’s how it happened, my lord. It was seen. There’s those that can vouch for it.”

“And the man whose fault it was?”

“A slave, my lord.”

“He’s been dealt with?”

“My lord, he’s dead.”

While they had been talking there had been a commotion in the colonnade, as the rest of Camlach’s party arrived and came hurrying along to the King’s room after him. They had pressed into the room while Mabon was speaking, and now Alun, approaching the prince quietly, touched his arm.

“The news is all round the town, Camlach. There’s a crowd gathering outside. A million stories going round—there’ll be trouble soon. You’ll have to show yourself and talk to them.”

Camlach flicked him a glance, and nodded. “Go and see to it, will you? Bran, go with him, and Ruan. Shut the gates. Tell the people I’m coming out soon. And now, the rest of you, out.”

The room emptied. Dinias lingered in the doorway, got not even a glance, and followed the rest. The door shut.

“Well, Niniane?”