From the central battlements of the castle, Arthur looked down over the training yard. He had given the command over to Gawaine for the day, and he was impressed by how much the man had improved as a leader.

No one could have doubted Gawaine's intelligence, charisma, or prowess with the sword, from the first day he'd arrived in Camelot. What could be doubted, however, were his commitment to knightly service, and his ability to submit himself to discipline.

In Camelot, it was understood that everyone had a place, whether they liked it or not. Every man was raised in a network of mutual obligation and duty to other men from boyhood. Noblemen learnt discipline and submission to their fathers at home, and then transferred that homage to the knight they served during their pagehood and squirehood. Their obedience was also due to their various liege lords, who ultimately traced their authority to the sovereign.

Gawaine had a somewhat reckless attitude towards rank, which was not necessarily a bad thing. After all, Uther had made the same criticism of Arthur each time Arthur had treated Merlin's life or Gwen's as somewhat valuable. Arthur understood that Gawaine's history had soured knighthood for him. His manner during training was that of a truant squire playing at soldiers while thumbing his nose behind his master's back. But Gawaine could not be an effective part of a brotherhood that he mistrusted, and anything less than complete faith in one's lord and one's brothers would get a knight killed on the field.

Arthur had tried various things to motivate Gawaine, which had worked with his other men. He had given Gawaine the most degrading and menial tasks to do. He had tried to insult and humiliate Gawaine in front of his peers. He had punished him with extra exercises. He had publicly lost his temper with Gawaine, disparaging his manhood and impugning his honour.

Even as he did so, Arthur had rotated Gawaine among the other knights, particularly Sir Leon, hoping that Gawaine would build a camaraderie with them. It was well known to knights that the best way to break in a wild stallion was to put him in with a tame horse.

It had worked, to some extent. Gawaine had begun to build trust with the other knights, and to fight less like a lone wolf. He had not responded well to Arthur's aggressive training, however, simply laughing off Arthur's taunts, and becoming more distant and less invested in his tasks. He reminded Arthur of certain intelligent, spirited breeds of warhorse, who always knew their own minds best, and would become resentful and moody under rough handling.

Arthur wished he had the time to use a gentle touch with Gawaine. One day he had taken Gawaine aside, and his anger had not been feigned.

"Do you understand what you're doing, Gawaine? This isn't a game! My father refused to knight a single man unless he came from a family that had served us for generations. And I have made the knights of my inner circle all commoners! Do you have any idea how many people are watching you, waiting for us both to fail? Elyan understands the magnitude of the honour I did him, and he takes his position seriously! Camelot isn't some tavern where you can do as you please, break all the furniture, hand someone else the bill, and run off into the woods! For God's sake, improve your attitude!"

"I'm not a commoner, my lord," Gawaine said. He sounded angry, instead of flippant, which made Arthur glad, because it meant Arthur's words were finally having some impact. "My father was a knight."

"Really? Well the apple falls far from the tree, it seems. Or perhaps your father wasn't a very good knight. Perhaps that's why he got himself-"

Gawaine made a roar of fury and rushed at Arthur with his fists raised, as if to strike. He checked himself at the last instant, grabbing Arthur's tunic instead and slamming him against the wall.

"Watch yourself!" Arthur barked, shoving him backwards. "You swore fealty to me! Striking your liege lord is an offence, never mind that I'm your king! If anyone were watching, I would have to put you in the stocks. You could be thrashed for this, you idiot, or lose a hand! That's why I came to you alone, because you still haven't learnt self-control. Stop playing the boy and be a man."

"I never asked you for your charity," Gawaine said, reaching up to his shoulder, as if to remove his cloak of office. "Do you expect me to grovel and kiss your boots every time you walk by, because you put me in a pretty suit of armour?"

"No, I expect you to behave like every single other man under my command. And that hand better stay where it is. You swore me an oath of fealty. It lasts until one of us dies. Are you an oathbreaker, too? What happened to the honourable man who walked into this city?"

"I am still the same man who fought an immortal army for you. One without whom you would have no kingdom!"

"Taking the kingdom back was the easy part, Gawaine. Holding it will be the work of a lifetime." Arthur reached out a hand, which Gawaine eyed suspiciously. "There's no one else I'd rather have watching my back. Please. Work with me."

And Arthur had to credit Gawaine, for he had seemed to take those words to heart, and to take knighthood more seriously afterwards. The experience had left Arthur wondering about his approach to people, which had never been the softest. His father had told him to rule with an iron fist.

"Men must fear you," Uther had said, "as other beasts fear the dragon. The instant they sense weakness in you, Arthur, you are finished. They will turn on you without hesitation. Save gentleness for the bedchamber. Outside, you run at the head of a pack of wolves. They follow you for now, but if you trip or stumble, they will tear you apart."

And Arthur understood the logic. Fighting men respected strong leaders. The only way to make a group of men ride full tilt into a cavalry charge, while taking crossbow fire, was if they feared disobeying their commander more than being gutted by the enemy. That was why the Ancients decimated their own legions for insubordination and desertion.

But men like Gawaine, Elyan, Percival and Lancelot had offered Arthur their friendship, and pledged their lives to his cause, without fearing him. They had not even wished to gain anything from him. They had not expected to be knighted. There were higher ideals motivating them. And they had come to him because - well, at first, because of Merlin. Now there was another man who had pledged his life to Arthur for no reason he could see. Not as a knight, but as something else…

Arthur's thoughts were interrupted by that shuffling footstep which was so familiar to him. Has he always dragged his feet like that? No, he is growing more frail.

Gaius was labouring to kneel, the wind sweeping the strands of his hair in every direction. Arthur signed for him to rise.

"I trust you have a good reason for taking me from my patients, sire," the old physician said.

"Is the summons of your king not reason enough?"

Gaius somehow managed to look insolent without changing his expression. It was a neat trick. Here was a man who had honed the art of passive insubordination over decades.

Arthur said, "I would have you accompany me as I speak to the Florentine envoy."

"Really, sire, haven't you courtiers and flatterers enough for this? I am far too old and ill-tempered for diplomacy. Please allow me to return to my work."

"Are you the only physician in Camelot?" Arthur demanded.

"The only competent one."

"Never mind. I do not want courtiers and flatterers. I want you. Come with me. We shall begin in the gardens, pass through the gallery and the vaults, and then perhaps visit the library."

"That sounds like a long journey, sire. I would only slow you down."

"Good. We can speak on the way."

Arthur took Gaius by the arm, spun him around, and led him away. As they went along the battlements, they passed over the masses of displaced people crowded in the opposite courtyard.

"So much hunger," said Arthur, "and I have so little to feed them with."

"You are resourceful, sire," said Gaius. "As is your servant, Merlin. There is much wisdom in him."

"Unless he can multiply loaves and fishes, I doubt he can solve this problem."

The shadow of a smile passed across Gaius' face. "He may surprise you."

"He does, every day. Usually for the worse. It's strange. I remember a time when Morgana would beg and plead with my father to open his stores for the people. And my father would deny her, and tell her a king must make terrible choices. That it was better for some people to starve now than for everyone to suffer later. And she would become so angry that he would have to confine her to her chambers. That girl who had so much concern for the people of Camelot, whatever their station… and the woman who thinks nothing of starving and torturing those same people now… I find it hard to square them in my mind."

Gaius said, "Her anger and stubbornness haven't changed, only they have rebounded upon the people she once championed. I saw something of that in her as a child. She was so independent-minded, possessed of a crusading sense of righteousness. She was hard, inflexible, unwilling to negotiate. If she believed something wrong, she would sacrifice anything to remedy it, and care nothing for those in her way. In those days, the man in her way was the king, and so she seemed a champion of the oppressed against his tyranny. It does not surprise me that Morgause was able to play on Morgana's headstrongness to turn her against the people she once loved."

As they descended the stone stairways, Arthur said, "What did we do to make her hate us so?"

"Perhaps it was what we did not do, sire. I knew there was something strange about Morgana, ever since she was a little girl. Before Uther assumed her wardship, she was sent to a convent to be educated. The nuns tried to discourage her oddity, but the Mother Superior told me of certain incidents. The girl would sleepwalk, and they would find her wandering the halls at midnight, saying the saints and angels were whispering to her. She made uncanny predictions. She wove a funeral garland for a healthy young nun, a week before the woman was struck by an ox-cart and killed. She saw the Abbey of Our Lady of Clairvaux in flames, a month before Saxon raiders burned it to the ground."

"You… knew there was something strange about her?"

"I did, sire. The nuns attempted to exorcise her. Though she was a good student in the classics, they stopped her from reading texts by the pagan authors. They discouraged her interest in anything to do with the Old Religion, making her read the lives of the saints instead. She then became too interested in the female martyrs. She began riding carthorses while wielding a broom, saying she would become a knight, and smite the unrighteous with fire and the sword. After that they confined her indoors, and set her to more ladylike pursuits, such as embroidery and chanting the offices of the Blessed Virgin."

"Did my father know of this?"

"No, sire. The nuns confided in me, but not in him. Later, when Morgana's visions persisted, I… I must confess I was not open with Uther about the extent of her condition. I feared… "

"You feared my father too much to speak openly with him." The consequence of ruling all your subjects by fear. "As did the nuns. And see how that turned out."

"Your father was my king and my friend, sire. It is difficult for me to express how visceral the fear of him was sometimes. To have lived and worked with a man for so many years, and to have been grateful to him for his favour, and yet to know that the slightest misstep around him could condemn one to instant death… Should he discover that his own daughter was touched by magic…"

"His own daughter?"

"That is… I mean… his ward. I… I wish I'd spoken up about Morgana sooner, sire. Nothing fills me with more regret..."

"I understand, Gaius." Arthur put a hand on the old physician's shoulder reassuringly. "My father put you in a difficult position. He made it impossible for you to speak freely. You did try harder than most to tell him what he needed to hear, I believe. I want you to always be open with me."

Gaius swallowed, and nodded. "Yes, sire."

They had crossed the upper walkways of the castle, and now descended into the gardens.

Arthur said, "I would hear more of my mother from you. Did you know her well?"

Gaius' face looked as though it were cast of iron. "Your father… forbade anyone to speak of her for so long…"

"My father is gone, Gaius. No one will punish you for speaking. Only silence and secrets can hurt us now."

Gaius looked at Arthur warmly. "You remind me of Merlin sometimes. I still think of you as boys. Yet I forget you are men, and full of wisdom. Out of the mouths of babes…"

Arthur smiled at him. "Well, I had a good teacher."

"No… I don't know what I taught you, except how to profit from my mistakes by not making them yourself. It is you young people who have taught me so much. And your father, too. He was a hard man, and would never offer praise. Lack of condemnation was the best one could hope for from him. And yet, especially towards the end of his life, he would never stop telling me how much he admired you. Every day there would be some new thing he had learnt from your example."

Arthur felt like someone had punched him in the gut. Tears pricked his eyes. "He… said that to you?"

"Frequently."

"He never said anything to me. It was all blame and criticism."

"In those days, we thought speaking our hearts was a weakness we could not afford. We believed silence was our strength. Perhaps times are different now. I will tell you what I can of your mother, Arthur. Only - I would ask you this favour. Please do not think less of your father at the end of it."

The gardens were full of hot, brilliant May sunshine. A profusion of flowers, cultivated and wild, sprang up beside the walkways. Arthur noticed that the gardens were one part of the city Morgana had forbidden the Southrons to damage. She had somehow found time to add new flowers to them, even while she had been hunting Arthur down and brutalising his subjects. He should find it obscene that she had cared for the plants more than his people, yet somehow it touched him. Perhaps he was still emotional from thinking about his parents, but it reminded him of how much Morgana had used to love flowers as a girl. It made him feel there was still some humanity left in her.

They went down the garden paths until they reached a cloth pavilion, in which several people awaited them. One was a handsome, obviously wealthy man in fine silks and much jewellery. He had carefully kept mahogany curls and piercing dark eyes. Beside him was Guinevere, looking astonishing in a gown of yellow silk.

Arthur took his eyes from Gwen with difficulty and nodded at the envoy. "Master Serafino," he said. "How good of you to see me."