“Never a dream, Dubricius.”
The old man’s eyes were very bright, and his face seemed full of a luminous sanctity.
“A vision, then, my lord?”
“I am no woman, Dubricius; I must believe the thing a vision, or damn my senses.”
“My lord, it is no mere woman’s part to see visions; search holy writ where the chosen of God—the great ones—were miraculously blessed with portent and with dream.”
Uther looked into the old man’s face as though for succour.
“I am troubled to know what God would have me know,” he said. “Dubricius, you are aged in the service of the Church!”
“My lord, I have no privilege from heaven in the rendering of dreams.”
“Am I then a Pharaoh disappointed of mine own soothsayers?”
“Sire, what of Merlin?”