Though this would be a severe blow to Count Madoc, Duke Ansirus did not feel himself bound by the exchange of messages made in the spring. Neither party had been committed, and the Count’s arrogant pre-emption of mastership made it doubly certain that the estate people and the duke’s neighbours would support him in ridding himself of the pretender. However disappointed and angry Madoc was, there was little that he, as a guest in the castle, and with only a handful of his own men, could do. Ansirus, who had never feared any man in his life, had no fear now of his young relative. Angry words there might be; talk there might even be of broken promises; but that could be countered by a more dangerous word, treachery, and after that, what was there for Madoc to do but accept the fact, tell Queen Morgan of his failure, then go back to his own country, there to hatch his plots against the kingdom’s peace, aware that his plotting, and the queen’s, were known, and might at any time be reported to the High King.

What Queen Morgan might think, when she knew that her plan for Castle Rose had been foiled by her own dupe Alexander, that young man neither knew nor cared. The lure was broken. A different magic held him. His own quest was almost accomplished, his own grail won.

So the party set out on the road north with laughter and gaiety, and with nothing in view but happiness and fulfilment.

The weather stayed fine and they went safely, with no mishaps – a true wedding journey, said Alice happily – and came at length over a gently wooded hill to see the valley of the Eden curving below.

The sun was just on setting, in a floating veil of thin, saffron-coloured cloud. No less brilliant were the trees and water-meadows of the valley, their summer richness lit to green-bronze and golden-bronze, with here and there the black glint of holly or fir, and everything, forest and hedge and dry-stone dyke, sharply outlined by the low sun with shadows of violet and deepest indigo. And glimpsed here and there as it curved through meadow and richly billowing woodland was the cool shine of the river.

“Castle Rose is over there,” said Alice, pointing. She and Alexander were riding a little ahead of the rest of the party.

“How far?”

“Another ten miles or so. We’ll be there in good time tomorrow. I’m glad we managed this far today.” She pointed again. “Once past that beech-wood yonder, and on the valley floor, there’s a small foundation that will be glad to house us for the night. They’ll be expecting us, too. We told them we would come there on our way home, and I sent Berin ahead an hour ago.”

“Another monastery!” This time his voice, not so carefully schooled, was very clearly that of a disappointed lover, and a dimple showed as Alice answered.