So now that he’s sleeping like this, and my poor Lady Guinevere has gone mad from so much tapestry embroidering and pays no attention when people talk to her and Marcelina died an old woman and even I can’t recall now how many years have passed since that Christmas when, cap in hand, I came to my Lord Merlin’s door, now that nobody can destroy my memories, it’s time I spoke here about the strange occurrence one stormy night that kept the whole house of Miranda in turmoil for weeks. It was such a serious matter that, like I said earlier, we were forbidden to speak about it for years – as if it had never happened – but it awoke such a profound curiosity in me that for the first time it occurred to me to think that my master had not been so wise and brave, nor my Lady Guinevere so sweet and gentle.

It happened, as I was saying, on a night when even dogs don’t go out – although I never really understood why they describe cold and thundery nights like that, when dogs are animals whose company is so loving and warm. From the windows of the house of Miranda you could only see the wall of water pouring straight down, in buckets. There was nothing else. There was no horizon and you couldn’t even get a glimpse of the lights at Belvís Manor that were usually visible. The night was so dark and the rain so heavy that I don’t think even Luceiro, the miraculous umbrella of the Bishop of Paris, would be able to push those dense, dark shadows aside. You could only catch a glimpse of what was out there when a lightning bolt broke through the sky. Although it was better not to try because the landscape, which was usually so benevolent and familiar, had turned so phantasmagorical and ghostly.

It was one of those bright flashes when I saw her for the first time. Her hair was blacker than the night and her skin was whiter than my Lady Guinevere’s. She appeared to be a creature from the netherworld, a being from the world of the dead, if not for her serious expression and clear, steady gaze, as if she were staring at me while heading toward the door of the house. The figure disappeared when the bolt flashed. And no matter how much I rubbed my eyes and searched for the silhouette from my position beside the window, the shadowy darkness and the rain blocked everything out again like a black curtain and only my nose was reflected in the glass, more like a mirror than ever because of the water.

So there I was, trying to catch another glimpse of the solitary Lady and thinking about whether the image was real or a figment of my imagination, when Ney and Norés, who until that moment had been lying quietly beside the stove, perked up their ears and hurried docilely and joyfully to the door of the house, where they began to whimper softly as if begging for someone to open it so they could go out to greet the person they loved, like they did when they heard Xosé do Cairo return at night. They always liked to go meet him along the path and accompany him along the last few steps home. And my master looked at the dogs, puzzled, because neither Xosé do Cairo nor anybody else was away from home that night. Then he became even more puzzled, and all of us there were puzzled, when Cerís the cat got down from my Lady Guinevere’s lap where he was dozing and went over to the door too, then started to scratch it as if he wanted to make a hole to go through. I could see clearly that my master was arching his eyebrows and it looked like his breathing had grown tense.

“Open the door, Philip,” he said with a carefully calm voice. “There’s someone outside who does not need to knock to be allowed to enter.

So I slowly left my place by the window and although I was shaking from fear on the inside, I tried to carry out the order without showing it because I didn’t want to look like a scaredy cat, especially not in front of Manoeliña de Carlos, whom I’d pretty much impressed by then with my skill at spitting cherry stones.

As I said, I went carefully to the door, but I didn’t need to touch it because when I was just a step away from it, it began to open slowly and without a sound from the hinges. And there she was, in the courtyard: the woman I’d seen from the window, walking in the storm.

Yet it was as if it hadn’t been raining or anything, because the Lady was as dry as firewood beside the hearth. Her dark hair was shining and it was so black and sleek that it sparkled like water, even though it looked like no rain had fallen on it. What’s more, her dress, made of fine cloth, clung to the body of the recent arrival. It was because that was how it had been cut and sewn, not because the cloth was sticking to her figure.

Then she spoke gently with me, as if she knew me, calling me by my name with that voice of hers, warm and solemn.

“Thank you, Philip, for lighting my way, along the path to the house with your eyes.”

I stood there, astonished and not moving, while the Lady went gracefully around me and entered the sitting room.

“Welcome, Morgana.”

The voice of Merlin, my master, sounded firm and gentle, as if the Lady’s arrival weren’t a surprise but instead something he was expecting. My mistress, Guinevere, didn’t react that way. She got up suddenly, letting the cloth she was embroidering with Sir Percival’s adventures, one she normally held with great care, fall to the floor.

“You! Here! How dare you follow me to my final place of residence? Apparently all the evil you did wasn’t enough. Weren’t you satisfied with all you kept for yourself and your world of evil beings?”

“Poor Guinevere,” responded the woman who had just arrived. And her soft voice sounded both affectionate and teasing. “Still so confused and silly.”

My Lord Merlin intervened then, before Lady Guinevere could give her an angry reply. My master wanted to know if the woman named Morgana was hungry or wanted to warm herself by the fire, but the merry expression of the woman who’d arrived with the storm made it obvious that this unique woman did not need anything. So then he invited her to go up to his study with him, where they spent several hours behind the closed door. They talked and talked, until the rainy night gave way to a cool, rosy dawn.