“I know why Simon went away,” said Red in an undertone. I felt, again, that he was really talking to himself, not to me. Setting his thoughts in order. Saying the things one did not say aloud. “I’m not sure I understand why he did not return. There are ways of conducting a campaign, and Richard knows them well; whatever you might think of his motives, he is a professional with years of experience in the field. This campaign was different. You don’t set up camp in the heart of your enemy’s territory, not if you know what he’s capable of. You don’t put all your men together in a vulnerable position, to lose them in a single ambush. When you sleep, you set a watch. And it is not, usually, the newest and rawest recruit that is singled out for special treatment. Why didn’t he die with the rest of them?” He ran his hand over his short-cropped hair, frowning. “Simon had hostage value, I understand that. But there was no demand for ransom, no contact, nothing. And not a word of him, when I went there. Nothing; except—”

Except what I carried, I thought. And that was precious little good to you.

“And when Richard himself went to search,” Red went on, and I thought he had almost forgotten I was there, “what he told us—it did not ring true. John said the same. What he told us, of how they were slain, how the men of Erin came on them by night—it just doesn’t happen to men of experience. Not like that. Richard said—implied—that it was Simon’s fault, that my brother somehow betrayed them, brought the enemy down on them. But I know my brother. He may be foolish, headstrong, overyoung for his years. But he is not a traitor.”

I nodded. I knew Simon was no informant. I had had faith in him, even when he had lost faith in himself.

“There is a truth to be found, somewhere in all this,” said Red. “Among the many versions of this tale, one must be right. I hoped, in searching for Simon myself, to find the truth, although after so long, I had little real hope that he would still be alive. But there were no answers there. I came away with no answers, and a head full of questions. In letting my uncle talk yesterday, I hoped for another clue. And so I let him go too far, and I regret that. I used you as a pawn in this game, and you were hurt.”

It was getting lighter. The sky was pale and clear, and the voices of birds spoke in the trees around us. Alys rolled on her back, stretching and scratching. There was something I had to tell him.

You could go back. This could be conveyed by pointing, and the movement of hands. You could go back there. Look again. Perhaps find him. You could take me back. And then, I thought, when my brothers come back, I will be there waiting.