Later, Alice would also wonder about the things Eva didn’t talk about. Mariam’s husband, for example. At the time, Eva emphasised the fact that Mariam was convalescing, emotionally; that she had to be given space and time to leave her wounds alone, to lick them back to health, to rebuild her defences. By which Alice understood her to mean that the conspicuous absence of conversation around this subject was actually a strength. For sometimes, wasn’t it better not to speak? People got so carried away when speaking. When often, the best approach was to say nothing. Or if one must speak, to speak of untroublesome things: the progress of a row of seedlings towards the light, of the sun across the heavens. Never the progress of a politician to the point of his undoing. Never a heroine to the plot’s unknotting.

In her day, women often came over to seek her advice; but also to complain about this and that. Cwen always kept her own counsel. With the groups, she knew that silence had its own power, that brevity was better, and that elliptical phrases uttered in a high strained voice were the best revenue-earner when she was hungry. But when women came over on their own, all they wanted was to talk, and to be sure of someone listening. Cwen was excellent at that. She would sit, motionless, concentrating not so much on the words as the emotions. It was interesting, watching the emotions.

Being a healer, Cwen knew without compunction that there are certain rhythms which must be respected. I am on good terms with Moon, she would say. Moon controls the tides, which control all things. Moon is the greatest marker of passing time, up there in the sky. And Sun: Cwen is still, even now, delighted. Can you imagine life without her ...? No, it is unthinkable. Wind, I like Wind too. A big presence; hot-tempered, unpredictable; a bit like Cwen herself. She couldn’t live without Wind, in the winter. The things that get blown here! A bird with deep-pink feathers. Black wings with a strap of white. A shivery little thing. A beautiful gift. Then there is Spring – by which she means the waters. Spring is my friend. Yes, the fact is Cwen is all these things – Moon, Sun, Wind, Spring – before she is a woman.

No one ever worshipped Cwen in the beginning. It was after she died that her popularity and fame grew beyond anything her father can have dreamt of. The women, in particular, continued to visit. But Cwen began to feel something disturbing: they were desperate for her attention. She didn’t like it. She wasn’t sure where the desperation came from.

The peak of desperation was followed by stillness. During that time, she allowed herself to soak into the earth of her island, to calcify into its very substance.

When at last she woke, therefore, it was with one clear piece of knowledge.