There are steps down, six or seven of them. Tight space; if I go down I’ll block out most of the light. I put the lantern on the edge of the trapdoor and go down anyway. The wild man’s not asleep. I can hear him crying. The red rage turns to something darker. It turns black as night and cold as the grave. It’s not Gormán I want to kill; he’s a weak man carrying out orders. The one I want to punish is the master.

‘Bardán? You all right, brother?’ Stupid question.

‘Grim?’ It comes out on a choking sob. I know what he’s feeling. Same thing Blackthorn and I felt at night, in that place, when one of us was falling apart with the burden of everything, and the other one said out of the dark, ‘I’m here.’

‘Where are you, man? Can’t see you.’

He moves; wriggles into the narrow strip of light. Can’t move far, though, because he’s lying on the floor, tied at the wrists and ankles. The smell tells me he’s wet himself. Gormán didn’t lie about giving him bedding, but it’s in a heap and he can’t get it back over himself. Place is cold enough to freeze your bollocks off. Fine for storing vegetables. No spot to put a man.

‘Grim,’ he whispers. ‘Where’s my daughter? What have they done with my girl?’

He must’ve been dreaming, the sort of nightmares a man has when he’s hurt and cold and trussed up in the dark. Only half with me. ‘Don’t worry about that,’ I say. ‘I’m going to cut those ropes. Hold steady, will you?’

‘What do you think you’re doing?’ That’s Gormán from the top of the steps. ‘Master Tóla said –’

‘I don’t give a rat’s arse what Master Tóla said.’ My knife makes short work of the bonds. Ropes have marked Bardán’s skin. Morrigan’s curse, the man stinks. Never mind that. He’ll be feeling numb. Could be hard getting him up those steps. Need two of us. ‘Give me a hand, will you?’

‘You can’t do this, Grim.’

‘Just watch me.’

In the end Gormán does help. Must know that if I get stuck halfway up with the wild man on my back, he’ll be the one who has to explain to Tóla. Wonder how many other poor sods the master’s thrown down here when they got in his road. I’m just glad I don’t have to put Bardán over my shoulder and squeeze my way out. I half push, half lift him up the steps in front of me. Gormán hauls him out the top. Strong fellow, Gormán. A forester would be.