The din is horrific. The mob presses closer.

My sword is ready. Where is Merlin?

Father God! It is all a dreadful mistake. We are dead men.

And then, just as I begin to raise my sword to cleave a path to Arthur's side, there comes a sound like a tempest wind – the blast of a mighty sea gale. Men fall back, suddenly afraid. They cover their heads with their arms and peer into the darkness above. What is it? Is the roof falling? The sky?

The strange sound subsides and they glance at one another in fear and awe. Merlin is there. The Emrys is standing calmly beside Arthur. His hands are empty and upraised, his face stern in the unnatural silence he has created…

It did not end there. In truth, it had not even begun.

'Enough!' Merlin declared, a father speaking to disobedient children. 'There will be no life-taking this holy night.'

The noblemen murmured fearfully, eyeing Merlin with contempt and suspicion. He made them feel small and afraid, and they did not love him for it.

'You have done this!' someone shouted. King Morcant of Belgarum pushed his way through the throng. 'I know you. This is a trick of yours, Enchanter.'

Merlin turned to face the king. The years had done nothing to sweeten Morcant's soul. The hunger for the High Kingship burned in his belly as fiercely as ever. Morcant it was – together with his friends Dunaut and Coledac – who gave Aurelius and Uther such trouble. Dunaut was safely in his grave, his realm ruled by Idris, a young kinsman. Coledac now ruled the rich Iceni lands reclaimed for him from the Saecsens by Aurelius. In consequence, Coledac was of a mind to view Arthur in a kindly light.

But Morcant, more powerful than ever, was still dagger keen for the High Kingship. He did not intend letting it go without a battle. And his son, Cerdic, had learned the lust from his father. Cut of the same cloth, the boy, no older than Arthur, already saw himself adorning the throne.