"Sire."
"Ah, these waking moments. It had been better if you had let me rot in Gambrevault."
"Courage, sire, you wake to a better fortune."
"There is new life in your voice."
"The King has come at last."
The man on the heather raised himself upon one elbow. His face looked grey and starved in the half gloom of the cave. He lifted up one hand with a gesture of joy.
"The King!"
Modred of the black beard smiled at him like a father. His hands trembled as he put the man back gently on the heather, and smoothed the coverlet.
"Lie still, sire."
"Ah, this is life, once more."