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Then one by one they recovered their wits and their manners and, as Gwyn ap Nudd looked them over with amusement, scrambled to follow their example.

“Greetings, my fair cousin, fair of speech as you are of face,” he replied genially. “I regret that I did not seek out the High King before this, but I had hoped that this situation would sort itself out without my intervention.” He lifted one long brow at Gildas. “My meddling is not always considered welcome.”

Gildas looked uneasy.

“And I have a solution to this knotty problem. If—” now he turned an ironic expression on Gildas “—if the honored and holy Abbot Gildas is prepared to follow up on the—assertion, for of course no priest would boast!—that I know that he made to his fellow monks.”

Gildas went red, then white, then red again, and back to white. He was caught, and he knew it. Whatever it was he had boasted that he could do, or at least attempt, he had done so in the hearing of Gwyn. And now he had two choices. Either try it, whatever it was, with Gwyn’s help—the help of a pagan thing, perhaps a demon, certainly a creature with whom the good Christians were not supposed to consort. Or back out of whatever he had said, and be held up to ridicule by, yes, that pagan thing, that possible demon, who would no doubt find a way to mock the religion as well as the man.

The latter, clearly, was not a choice for him. He straightened, still white. “I said that I would try to bargain a settlement between Melwas and Arthur if only I could get into the fortress,” Gildas said bravely. “And so I shall.”

“And I shall get you in. I weary of this Melwas, who calls himself King of the Summer Country, which is one of my titles that he usurps.” The blue-green eyes turned nearly black, although that was the only sign of the King of the Annwn’s anger. “I weary of him setting himself up on my island. I weary even more of the presence on my island of Arthur’s queen. This quarrel stirs up my people, your iron and steel bring them discomfort, and the peace of my island has been disrupted. I want them gone from my shore. But he is—supposedly—a follower of your Christ. So, man of Christ, as I and mine have not troubled you in all the years of your presence, perhaps you can repay that peace by making him come to see reason.”

Gildas swallowed. “I hope I may. And if you can take me to him—”

Gwyn ap Nudd laughed softly. “Nothing easier.” Before Gildas could move, or even flinch, the king had seized him by the arm.

Even Gwen could not rightly have told what happened then. To her, it looked as if Gwyn had stepped through a door, drawing Gildas after him. But there was no door there. They were there . . . and then two steps later, they were gone.

Gwen blinked and rubbed her eyes.

“Well,” said Medraut into the silence. “That was curiously satisfying. I was wondering if there was anything that could silence that pompous prig.”

There was clearly nothing more to be done that night, so the council broke up, with Lancelin and Kai volunteering to tell the High King what had just transpired. The awkwardness was palpable, as no one really knew what to say or do. Gwen wondered, though, just what sort of magic they had seen before—after all, the Merlin had been an integral part of the High King’s entourage since the beginning. Had he simply never done anything in their presence?

Or maybe the awkwardness was partly due to the queen’s defection and partly due to the fact that Gwyn ap Nudd had just appeared and trumped them all. Whatever plans they’d had in mind would have involved more siege, more fighting. Gwyn had aborted all of those, carrying off Gildas to try and end this thing without further warfare. At the moment, they were all so taken aback that they couldn’t think.

Well, if they couldn’t think, they could certainly talk, but she realized immediately that as she was not one of the inner circle, they were not going to do any frank talking around her. Wryly, she decided that sleep was