Later, as the tide reached its lowest ebb, I fashioned a sea woman in the wet sand, with long hair of fronded weed, and gray shell eyes, and a graceful fish’s tail. Her breasts were round, her waist narrow, and she had small, delicate hands. She was like the creatures I had heard about in the old tales, who would cry out to the sailors as they passed, with voices so enticing they could drive a man crazy. I got wet and sandy, and I was engrossed in my task, so that I never saw my companion come down the beach until the breeze whipped my hair into my eyes, and I raised my head to flick the tangled locks back over my shoulders. He was sitting not far away, watching me, and I surprised a smile on his face, the first real smile I had ever seen him give, a smile that curved and softened the tight mouth, and warmed the ice-cool eyes; a smile that brought the blood to my face and made my heart turn over.

Something deep within me shouted danger! This turning in the path you cannot afford to follow. I looked away from him, for when I saw the sweetness of that smile I felt Simon’s hand clutching mine in his terror, as if it were a talisman. When I looked into Red’s eyes and saw the deep loneliness there, I heard Simon’s voice, like a child’s: don’t leave me. These brothers, with scarce a word spoken, they asked for more than I had to give. I sat with my back to him, and watched the birds over the sea. Gulls, and geese, and others which I could not name, great wide-winged travelers. There were no swans there, not now. But somewhere across this wild expanse of water they waited. That was all that mattered.

“Simon and I used to come here,” said Red, behind me. “A long time ago. Nobody else knew about it. The seals come here to rest, not for long, they live most of their lives at sea, and are seen only when they choose. We never knew if they’d be here or not. I wanted to show you.”

I nodded, but I would not look at him.

“There’s an old story about this place,” he said. “It is a tale about a mermaid such as the one you have fashioned here. Your people are skilled at the telling of such tales. I have no gift with words. But I think you would like this story.”

Now he had really surprised me. I turned halfway round. He sat cross-legged on the sand, still wearing his riding boots. At least he had left his cloak up on the rocks, and his book and quill. I frowned at him and showed him my bare feet, then pointed to his. Scrunched my toes into the sand. You can at least let go this much. He narrowed his eyes at me, but he pulled off the boots, got up, and walked down to the water’s edge, next to the mermaid. He studied her with a half smile on his face, as the wavelets lapped around his ankles.