It was about a month later that Alexander learned the price. A wonderful month for him, the most wonderful of his young life – or so he honestly believed. At Queen Morgan’s side all day, lying with her at night, seeing himself preferred above all the others of her small court, the days and nights passed like a dream of pleasure, so that reality, when it broke in, of swimming senses and headaches and, though he would not admit this even to himself, an overwhelming desire for solitude and a night or so of uninterrupted sleep, was forgotten as soon as realised. Or rather, as soon as his mistress, with some delicately drugged wine in a golden goblet, and the caresses of soft lips and practised fingers, chose to make him forget. Then he would drown again in desire, thinking it love, and vow everything to her service who wrapped him in those sweet silken strands, as a spider wraps a fly.

Then one day there was a disturbance at the castle gate, and a horseman rode in on a blown horse, asking for Queen Morgan. He was muddied and exhausted, and looked so wild that a page ran to the chamber where the queen and Alexander breakfasted together, and rapped sharply on the door.

Morgan, still abed, and languid on the pillows, did no more than raise her brows, but Alexander, who found himself irritable these days, shouted angrily: “Who is it? Don’t you know better than to disturb the queen?”

“My lord, it’s for the queen. It’s Count Ferlas. He’s back, and he must see her. My lord, is she awake?”

“How could she sleep through such a clamour? Go and tell him to wait!”

But Morgan, thrusting him aside with an urgent arm, pushed herself up in the bed, calling out: “Gregory? Send Count Ferlas here! Send him here at once!” And flinging the covers back, she leaped out of bed. “Alexander, my robe!”

“But, lady, here?”

“Where else? I must see the man! Give me my robe, unless you want me to receive him naked!”

He began to stammer something. To him the royal chamber, beautifully appointed with tapestries and silken hangings, with windows now full of the morning sunlight and overlooking river and forest – this was his bower of delight, a place sacred to their love, to memories he would, he swore, never forget.

There was a hurried trampling of feet in the corridor outside. Alexander snatched up his own bedgown and flung it on, as another knock came at the door. Queen Morgan, girding a robe round her without haste, called out a summons, and the newly arrived Count Ferlas, followed by the queen’s waiting-women and a couple of pages, came into the room.

The count was a burly, powerful-looking young man, but as he went to his knee before the queen it could be seen that he was exhausted.

She gave him her hand to kiss, waved the women and boys back, and said, sharply: “What news?”