‘We never found him.’ Tóla’s voice is like a bell now, the kind that rings when someone’s died, deep and sad. ‘But we found her, after two days’ searching. The child, Brígh her name was. Out in the woods, lying dead and cold where he’d left her half-hidden in the roots of an oak. I didn’t want to bring her little body back home where my wife would see it, or the child’s kinsfolk in Longwater. The corpse was . . . disfigured. It had been mauled by some wild creature. The damage had been inflicted after death, we believed. That was scant mercy. We buried her close by the spot where we found her.’

Holy Mother of God! That’s the saddest thing I ever heard. Only if it was me, if it was my kin, I’d want to see the body even if it had been torn to shreds. I’d want to hold what was left of the little one. Cradle her close and weep tears over her. I’d want to lay her in the ground with my own hands. Got tears in my eyes now, just thinking about it. Blackthorn would be the same. Was the same, long ago when her son died with his father crouched over him, trying to shield him from the flames. She saw that with her own eyes. Saw them die. Saw them dead. Don’t know if she ever got to bury little Brennan or her man Cass. I know there wasn’t much left of them but ash and bone. She’d have touched that ash and bone the same way she touched her living husband and her precious son.

‘Grim?’

Done it again, gone off into the past and forgotten where I am. ‘Thanks,’ I say, taking the ale cup Gormán’s holding out to me. Mind full of questions. What did they tell Tóla’s wife when they got home? What did they tell those kinsfolk? Wouldn’t most people expect the little girl to be buried down in Longwater? Can’t ask. I don’t know what to think. Tóla might tell me bare-faced lies. But Gormán wouldn’t make up something like this. One thing I do know. I’m not going to feel the same about Bardán ever again.

Yet another knock.