Storm clouds were gathering, and a mist of rain obscured the sun. As he lay on his soft woollen pillows, Ambrosius’s face was so pale that he already looked like a corpse with his blued lips and haggard face, while the lamplight bleached the gold of his hair to the colour of pale ash. The light cast upwards from the lamp closest to him was reflected in his bloodshot eyes, so that Myrddion could fancy that his master was a reincarnation of Charon, calling for the lost souls he would carry to the Underworld on his time-warped, split and weathered ferry boat.Uther’s face was obscured by shadow. As if seeking the solace of darkness, he had stepped backward when Myrddion had introduced Vengis, so that his body alone expressed the powerful emotions that caused his huge hands to clench and unclench as he sought for something he could rend and pound into the dust.At the centre of the lamplight, his chin streaked with blood, Vengis talked and talked. Having hidden behind an affable mask of innocence for long, wearisome months, the young man relished the opportunity to justify his crime, to glory in his vengeance and to boast, like a common felon, about how clever he had been.
