EPILOGUEIt was late Summer and some of the leaves on the trees about the palace at Camulod, or Camlann as it was now called, had already changed colour and seemed almost ready to fall. Yet it was still warm, and the air was filled with the humming of midges and the mellow purring of pigeons from the red-tiled rooftop.
There was an atmosphere of somnolence in the garden. It was part of the somnolence that pervaded the whole of Britain now. A summer that never seemed to end, that had lasted so long now that even grown men with families could not recall its beginning. Now men, and women, too, walked unarmed about the lanes by night, and slept with their windows open when they went to bed. The ironworkers of the Forest of Dean and the Weald had so little to do, making weapons and armour, that
