‘The old Gods are gone,’ Galahad insisted. ‘They abandoned us because we are not worthy.’ ‘Arthur is worthy,’ I said stubbornly, ‘and so are you.’ He shook his head. ‘I am a sinner so vile, Derfel, that I cringe.’ I laughed at his abject tone. ‘Nonsense,’ I said. ‘I kill, I lust, I envy.’ He was truly miserable, but then Galahad, like Arthur, was a man who was for ever judging his own soul and finding it wanting and I never met such a man who was happy for long.
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