What he did find was exactly what he might have expected: a shallow crossing, where the river lisped across its stony bed, and, above the flood markings on the farther bank, the workshop of a wayside smith with the anvil outside, and beside it, crumbling with age but still recognisable, the image of Myrddin the god of going, with an offering of fruit at his feet.

The smith, who was seated against the bole of a nearby oak, with the remains of his dinner wrapped away in a kerchief on the grass, cast an expert’s eye over Alexander’s horse as it splashed through the ford towards him, and then stayed where he was.

“Good day to you, master. You’ll have no need of me today, I see. Are you going far?”

Such men are eager collectors and purveyors of news, and Alexander, even if he had seen any need for caution, was too full of his new freedom to keep it to himself.

“As far north as need be. I go to join Sir Drustan at Caer Mord in Northumbria.”

“Then you’ve a long road ahead of you, young master, but, thanks be to Arthur’s men that ride the roads, it’ll be a safe one.” His little black eyes, twinkling under shaggy brows, were busily taking in Alexander’s clothing, his lack of blazon, the good housing of his horse. “And where are you from, young sir?”

“From Blestium.” No need for more, to have every traveller knowing that the young lord of Craig Arian took such a long journey alone. “You’ll know the best road, smith?”

“I should. I keep my eyes and ears open,” said the smith, “and I hear all that passes. You’d best keep to the old road, the Romansway, they call it. You can strike it at Viroconium, and then it’s straight north into Rheged, and the road east from Brocavum. It’s a long road, master, but you’ve a good horse there. Take care of him and he’ll take care of you.”

“Of course. But – Rheged? So far north? I thought to head north-east long before that.”

“As to that, there’s a road setting eastward not more than four days’ ride from here, but it’s a bad one, that I do know, and after that there’s no way through the mountains till you reach Rheged. You’d be better going by Rheged. But suit yourself, and God speed to you.” A gesture towards the Myrddin image at the forge’s doorway, and he turned to gather up the kerchief with the remains of his meal.

Alexander said quickly: “I’ll go to Rheged. By Viroconium, you said? Is there good lodging there?”

“I’ve never been there,” said the smith, “but I can tell you the way to take. For the most part it’s good enough, but for the next two or three days, I’m afraid, you may find rough going. There’s been heavy rain in the hills, a cloudburst only yesterday, you could see the storm-rain from here, and I’m told the bridge is down again a day’s ride northwards, where the road crosses the river. It happens with every flood. There was a courier through here early this morning, and by what he said you must needs ride a fair way west to find a crossing. See.” And reaching for a stick he got to his feet and drew a diagram in the mud at the river’s edge. “Here. And once across, you can turn back to the east along the river’s bank, and in half a day you’ll find your road again.”