The omens were all so very bad. The haloed moon was waning and the virgin had fled from the babe that now began to cry aloud. Uther heard the noise and I saw him close his eyes as he prayed to the Gods that he had been given a boy child.
“Shall I?” Bishop Bedwin asked hesitantly.
“Go,” Uther snapped, and the Bishop scrambled down the wooden ladder, hitched up his robe and ran across the trampled snow to the hall's door. He stood there for a few seconds, then ran back towards the rampart waving his hands.
“Good news, High Lord, good news!” Bedwin called as he clambered awkwardly up the ladder. “Most excellent news!”
“A boy.” Uther anticipated the news by breathing the words.
“A boy!” Bedwin confirmed, 'a fine boy!"
I was crouching near the High King and I saw tears show at his eyes that were gazing toward the sky.
“An heir,” Uther said in a tone of wonder as though he had not really dared to hope that the Gods would favour him. He dabbed at the tears with a fur-gloved hand. “The kingdom is safe, Bedwin,” he said.
“Praise God, High Lord, it is safe,” Bedwin agreed.
“A boy,” Uther said, then his huge body was suddenly racked with a terrible cough. It left him panting. “A boy,” he said again when his breathing was steady.
Morgan came after a while. She climbed the ladder and prostrated her stocky body in front of the High King. Her gold mask gleamed, hiding the horror beneath. Uther touched her shoulder with his staff. “Rise, Morgan,” he said, then he fumbled beneath his robe to find a gold brooch with which to reward her. But Morgan would not take it. “The boy,” she said ominously, 'is crippled. He has a twisted foot." I saw Bedwin make a sign of the cross for a crippled prince was the worst omen of this cold night.