Chapter Twenty
The once gleaming, impregnable fortress of Camelot was a shell of its former glory. Judging from the trickle of people coming and going, it was still occupied, probably by Constantine’s men who were keeping it warm for the day he conquered the entire island. I could only imagine the havoc wreaked inside, the toppled statues of the Pendragon dynasty in the council chambers, the burned-out labyrinth dedicated to gods in whom Constantine did not believe.
We avoided the main roads, not wishing to revisit the places that lived on in our memories or chance being recognized. Instead, we trod the winding coastal roads that led to the harbor. Few people were about, and many of the houses we passed were derelict, feral dogs, cats, and vermin coming and going from their open doors a
