Myrddin did not appear for a week and then, there he was waiting in front of the mansion. I was glad he had not called; Ezra would not get on with him at all. That morning I was feeling very full of myself, wearing a blue tunic with a broad orange panel on each side, some smart buskins and my best cloak. I was learning the importance, or so I thought, of fashion. Myrddin bowed deeply and said in a resonant voice, which made a passerby stare, "All hail Lord Cadfan son of Arthur. The sun itself is not more radiant than you this morning."

"How are Alexia and Tiburina?" I asked offhandedly. "I'm surprised they're not with you."

"Alexia? Tiburina? Oh yes, my lovely little cows. Quite well. They always are when men are around. And there are scores to choose from in Rome."

"You don't care?"

"Care? They can have a hundred men." He touched his forehead with his fingers. "This man has been up in the hills. Ah, what hills, what torrents gushing down. That's where a man can be what he should be. In the city there's sound but nothing is heard; words but not meaning. In the hills there's silence yet I hear what it hides."

I knew what he meant - at least about cities. Rome was making me feel worried about living in Alexandria which was just as big. Still, a city was only a city and I could adapt to almost anything. With great determination I said, "You know who I want to hear about. You must know a lot about Arthur. I've only been told a few things by my mother."

"And what did she tell you?"

"That he's fearless, wise and radiant as a god - woman's talk."

"Then what more should you want to know? Woman's talk be damned! She spoke the truth. Anything I can tell you would be a let down."

"Maybe that's what I want. It's unnerving being the son of a god."

Sometimes Myrddin could look extremely sly; he did so now. "I tell you what," he said. "Let's go and take a look at that basilica. I've never been in one before. It must be interesting. You can tell me the meaning of everything - the ikons and the holy relics." He marched off at a fast pace in the direction of Saint Maria Maggiore.

I picked up a handful of pebbles and threw them after him. He gave a loud laugh and all but ran on. "You know the meaning of everything already don't you Myrddin. You're too clever to shit." I added a few fashionable Roman swear words I had recently picked up for good measure as I rushed after him. "And you're a liar. The friend of those chaste Christian women and you've never been in a basilica. Liar. Liar."

Without turning he shouted, "If I'm a liar how could you believe anything I told you about mighty Arthur?"

I overtook him and seized his arm. "Please Myrddin. I'm sorry. I'm anxious to know."

"Never be sorry for sorrow heals nothing. Never be anxious for anxiety is powerless. Never want to know for knowledge comes of its own accord." Though I told myself that his gnomic utterance was nothing but claptrap, I followed him meekly into the cool vastness of the building.

God knows what Myrddin made of that place so full of ordered symmetry. The mosaics of scriptural stories obviously interested him awhile though probably only as stories. Had I been able to explain, as I now can, that those Ionic columns, unfashionable for two hundred years, were an affirmation by a bishop of Rome's older culture, would it have meant anything to him? Of course not. His knowledge was of a different nature; his approach to things not that of Hellas or Rome. Maybe he wanted to know, as later I wanted to understand Britain, but to translate one's way of thinking into another culture is never easy. Perhaps neither of us ever succeeded. As it was just then, it was enough for me to marvel to myself that almost within my own lifetime men were still able to put up a building as fine as the buildings of the past, so many of which stood in ruins or decay. The thought was of great importance to me for it meant that what Arthur was trying to accomplish in Britain - to restore harmony - was possible, if men would only set their minds to it. And there was another thought in my head, or perhaps the seed of a thought at that time: if mighty Arthur, as Myrddin loved to style him, was the victor, what would his role be? A king? An emperor? I was his undoubted son. Had not some of his might lodged in me? Had I not the right to be at his side whatever the outcome might be?

My desire to know all about my heroic father was at fever pitch and Myrddin knew it for he adopted an abstracted air, ignoring me as we walked around. Already I knew he worked by contraries; `ask and you shall not receive' was his motto. To want to know something out of a rational desire for knowledge was, to him, a denial of what knowledge was about. Playing him at his own game, I whispered in his ear, "The Basilica's speaking Myrddin. Can you hear its words?" And then I took an age moving about the building, looking at everything in detail, certain he was growing bored and hungry.

When at last we emerged into the sunlight, Myrddin bought a large amount of food from a cooked meat stall. His need for food seemed to be something of an affliction. He never let me pay for anything and always had plenty of money; the gold coins he produced from time to time were invariably old and often made people stare at them and at him in amazement. After all, coins of Diocletian and Constantine were a rarity even in those days - especially in mint condition. He never told me how he had come by them. We sat down and watched the passersby as we ate. This Myrddin did noisily. When he had finished the meat he smashed the bones with a stone and began to suck away at the marrow; the sound was like the sea sloshing against a hull. Then he saw a man selling roast ducks and bought two. I had had enough to eat so I waited patiently until he had finished off both of them. Finally he belched, gave a deep sigh, produced a napkin from his sleeve to wipe his mouth and said, "Come. We'll go somewhere quiet."

We wandered past the Baths of Diocletian and up onto the Pincian Hill where there were overgrown gardens and an extraordinary quietness, remote from the noisy streets of the city. Myrddin took off his cloak and spread it on the ground with a flourish. It gave us plenty of room to lie down in comfort. Once he was on his back, he shut his eyes and looked already fast asleep.

"Well?" I said loudly.

"Well what?" He yawned. "You want me to tell you about Arthur I suppose?" He gave another yawn and sighed.

"You don't have to if you don't want to."

"Where do you want me to start?"

"Why, at the beginning of course. Where else?"

"I could start at the end, or the middle; wherever you want. We could work out in either direction."

"A house is built on foundations."

"I see. So when you buy a house, you knock it down to look at the foundations do you? Some people like to look at it as it is."

"Myrddin, I'm not looking for a house. I'm trying to find out about Arthur."

"But Arthur is a mansion. All Britain finds shelter in him. Very well. Make yourself comfortable. If I hear you snoring I'll stop."

"You look as though you're going to sleep before me."

"I'm asleep already son of Arthur." He shifted himself into a more comfortable position. "Close your eyes. Join me in my dream. My dream of long ago. Are you asleep?"

"Yes Myrddin. I'm asleep. Weave your dreams about me but give me no nightmares."

I heard him breathing slowly and deeply. Then he whispered, "The dream of Arthur, of Arthur." Again he fell silent until, now loudly, he repeated, "Of Arthur. And it came about that the mighty Arthur was born in the same year as the great Myrddin or, to put it another way, the great Myrddin was born in the same year as the mighty Arthur. I put it to you both ways so you can look for the significance from either direction, but as far as I'm concerned there's no significance in it whatsoever. He was called Artorius for no better reason than that the name had been used in his family for generations. However, reason is never better nor worse and who's to say that the divine Constellation hadn't chosen his family for generations, preparing it as a man might prepare a garden for a rose. Long ago - before the Romans came to Britain - the family had provided the Durotriges with a line of celebrated kings. The boldest, Arviragus, went on fighting Rome after Britain was conquered, even though his cause was hopeless. For his pains he lost most of his land. Let that be a lesson to you young man. Work with the authorities and you'll do well. Become an authority and you'll do even better. The family went on being difficult. A hundred years later another of them, named Artorius you'll be intrigued to hear, turned Christian, probably because to be a Christian in those days was frowned upon by Rome. Oh, he made a mistake there, for after Constantine's changes, being a Christian was the right thing to be, so the family found itself a bearer of the Roman torch. If you'd ever met Arthur's father, Ursinus, you'd say, `a real Roman gentleman' - though I doubt that there was a single drop of Roman blood in him - brim full, from his sandals to his eyeballs with courage, temperance, justice and wisdom. He must have been the last man in Britain to wear a toga. That's dealt with Ursinus hasn't it? Though I have to tell you that Ursinus was as much Arthur's father as Clodius was yours. Let me see, I forgot. I haven't said where all this took place and you like things to be done from the foundations up don't you?"

"What do you mean - as much Arthur's father as Clodius was mine?" I sat up, wanting an immediate reply.

"Well, if you like places that are flat you'd fall in love at once with the town where Ursinus was lord - Lindinis where five roads meet. Big for Britain, small for Italy. So you could guess its size if ever you'd been in Britain which you haven't. To the west, the land's rich and flat as a flounder, though beyond that as wet as a kitchen hand's armpit. Now- "

"In view of what you said before you started to blather about flounders and armpits I'd like to know-"

"Aren't you interested in flounders and armpits? Why are you shouting?"

I forced myself to say calmly and quietly, "In view of what you just said, I'd like to know more about Ursinus."

"I'd have thought that in view of what I've just said you'd want to know about Igernia."

"Igernia?"

"Arthur's mother. Oh, there's never any doubt who a man's mother is."

"Unless he's left on the doorstep." I had to catch Myrddin out for once.

"That's one of the more civilised habits of cities. It doesn't happen in Britain - since we've relapsed into darkness. Now I remember one woman-"

"Please Myrddin, tell me about Igernia."

"Patience dear Cadfan. Rome isn't falling in a day."

"I think it will have vanished from the face of the earth before you get to the end of a simple story."

"Simple! The dream of Arthur simple! Well then, listen to something about Igernia. First - to lay another foundation stone - why did Ursinus marry the dread Igernia? Answer - land. Marriages in Britain, as elsewhere, are made for land. Now, certain territories east of Ursinus' patrimony - toward Sorviodunum - belonged to Amlaut, Lord of Din Dagel which is in the west where Britain juts out like a jagged dagger into the wild Ocean. But Amlaut was too busy defending his coastal forts against Irish attack to guard distant land menaced by Saxons. So, in return for an agreement to protect it for him, and as his daughter Igernia's dowry, he gave Ursinus a huge estate with many bondsmen and slaves. By the way, above both the families towered the Tyrant of Dumnonia, the celebrated Gerontius himself, who gave his approval to the arrangement. Well now, the rugged land where Igernia came from was still Britain as it had been since time began - if time ever began. Rome flourished there about as much as a snowflake could thrive in a baker's oven. Of course, Igernia can speak Latin, but what enthralls her are the old tales and poems of the ancient gods of Britain; and more than that, the magic of the times before those gods - when the Goddess reigned. She had nothing but contempt for the man she was forced to marry; how could a grey beard like him sire the mighty king some one had said she would give birth to? And he saw her with the eyes of fear. But when the snake and the bear live in the same country they greet each other with courtesy. That's exactly what Igernia and Ursinus did. By and by, Ursinus discovered that Igernia lusted after men with fury; he was happy she did, for to him sliding between her thighs was like being swallowed by a snake. He was only too glad to find his peace in the arms of some sweet country girl. So who was Arthur's father? Take your pick: from the gods know how many. Be sure of one thing though, Igernia loved mighty warriors. The bigger, the stronger, the better. And she was skilled with herbs at getting rid of the children they gave her. Two alone defied her efforts: Arthur himself and before him by three years, his sister Morgan. As she was carrying Arthur at the time of her marriage to Ursinus, she gave out that she'd been made pregnant by an impenetrable white mist that had come up from the sea nearby when she was staying at Din Dagel with her father. So you've got another choice. Perhaps the seed that got into her was from some mischievous sea god - Llyr himself maybe."

What must it have been like being brought up by two such parents. "Was Arthur happy Myrddin?" I asked. "And what about his sister?"

"Now that's another story. Who her father was I don't know. Igernia used to tell my father that Morgan was his child."

"Your father. So he-"

"Oh yes. My father couldn't say no to a woman. He still can't. Can you imagine such a thing? Any woman can twist him around her little finger. But I don't believe Lailoken - that's my father's name - was Morgan's father. No resemblance. None at all. We're a tall thin family - as you can see, and Igernia's tall too. Now Morgan, she's all curves, curved hips, a curved arse, great curved breasts, curved thighs, curves, curves, curves," he repeated with relish. "Of course when she was small she wasn't beautiful, as she became later. She looked squat and brown as a conker, whereas Arthur - oh what a marvel he was with his golden skin - at least it was always golden in the summer - and his golden hair over his shoulders like a fall of water in the sunlight and his-"

"Don't you think you're exaggerating Myrddin?"

"Probably, probably. Yet he was a lovely boy - everyone said so. And straight as a hazel sapling. And with what result? When she was a little girl Morgan adored him, couldn't be kept away from him. Then, just when Arthur was starting to toddle around, she must have realised that everyone thought he was the pretty one and she was plain. One day she took him down to the river that flows by Lindinis and pushed him into the water; luckily he was fished out by a fisherman who saw it all. Not that he could really have drowned; I'd already whispered the secrets of the salmon in his ear. Yet he couldn't have been so happy with Morgan ever at it, bullying him. Now would you believe it, Igernia always found it amusing to watch how Morgan behaved. She never interfered. `Let the boy learn to defend himself,' she'd say, if I tried to help him."

"Wait Myrddin. You speak as though you were there yourself. But you were only Arthur's age."

Myrddin opened his eyes; he looked confused like a man awakened abruptly from sleep. "It's in our memory," he said darkly. I had a feeling I was not going to be told much more that afternoon. "Why do you question me like that? Why can't you accept that I tell the truth? I learned the truth from my father Lailoken. I shall pass the truth on to my son, Lailoken. He'll pass it on to his son, Myrddin, as another Myrddin passed it on to my father, Lailoken. It doesn't matter whether the person who spoke or listened was called Lailoken or Myrddin. The ancient seer goes through a multitude of shapes."

"My tutor Posidonius told me to believe in nothing about the past unless it was accurately recorded at the time. He detested hearsay."

"Then he was dumb. I hope that not everyone on Clodius' great estate was so thick. A man who derides tradition has a closed mind."

"Of course. Please go on," I said, fearing I had offended him by not relying on the unreliable. "I see what you mean."

"You don't see at all. Hmm. I doubt whether you see anything except solid, square facts like solid, square Roman stones. Have you ever asked yourself why it is that when the earth quakes the buildings made of irregular stones that lock into one another stand fast while the ones made of neat square blocks fall flat on their faces?"

Something told me that to be apologetic before Myrddin was a mistake. I answered back harshly, "Why should I think about the obvious? What's more interesting is the not obvious. Why is it that you, who claim not to think in the way the Romans thought when they planned their buildings, are as arrogant as the most vulgar triumphal arch they ever erected?"

Myrddin gave me a sidelong glance. "So you'd say I was arrogant? Interesting that. Interesting. Well maybe I am. Though I wasn't taught to be so I assure you. An arrogant man is one who believes that the movement of time is halted in his body, as the water in a stream may be held back by a dam. We Druids don't believe in damming up anything. Everything must continue to flow on so that nothing is pent up. If I show arrogance, I must be doing something against the teaching. I'm grateful to you for showing me my fault."

"What were you taught Myrddin?"

"No. No. Not that question. Ours is a secret knowledge and our truth is in a language without words, a truth more ancient than the stones in the great circle of Sarrasen. We were the ones who moved them, for then we possessed the truth in its fullness; it was nothing to us to raise great stones into the air and plonk them down in another place. In those days it took nine times nine years to become a master. Now it takes only twelve years to pass through the seven degrees of wisdom. Much of our learning is lost. When axe strikes at oak, time withers. The flow is hindered. The moment of separation has come."

Myrddin's voice had become so soft that I had to crane my neck forward to hear him. I whispered, "Where are you going Myrddin? Why are you separating yourself from Britain?"

Throwing on his cloak he said, "The sun's setting. It's not safe here at night." All the same he strode off, leaving me to find my way back alone.