Bardán mumbles something. Might be, ‘It’s all right.’ Then he says, ‘You’re a kind man, Grim. Only . . . I had a friend once. I thought he was a friend. But he . . . he . . .’

‘Tell me if you want. Or leave it if you want. Thing is,’ I go on, thinking maybe he does need to get it out, whatever it is, ‘I won’t pass it on. Not to Tóla, not to Gormán, not to anyone here. Promise. I’m a man who keeps his promises.’

‘What about back home?’ Bardán asks, clutching the blanket around himself. ‘Wife, family, would you tell them?’

Makes me feel odd, this. Sadder than it should, don’t know why. ‘No wife,’ I tell him. ‘No family. Only Blackthorn. My friend. My trusted friend, who I live with. And yes, I might tell her. But that’s not the same. Telling her’s like telling the other part of me. She’ll keep your secrets, same as I will.’

‘Hmmph,’ Bardán grunts. ‘The master wouldn’t think much of that.’

‘Lot of secrets in this place,’ I say, thinking I’d better get back to work before the master has something else to be unhappy about. ‘More than a fair share. Pity about that. What the master needs is a team of five or six strong men, working on this job every fine day, and we could get it finished before midsummer, thatching and all.’

Bardán watches while I get on to the next job, which is shaping the pegs and wedges that’ll hold the crossbeams in place. Not going to get the beams up without a proper team. Not unless Tóla fancies losing a worker when someone drops something heavy on someone else’s head. ‘Have to tell him,’ I say. ‘That it can’t be done without more men. There’s a few lads I know in Winterfalls who would lend a hand for a fair payment.’

‘Secret,’ says Bardán. ‘He’ll say no.’

‘Then he might not get his heartwood house finished. Can’t see us doing it on our own without a miracle. Take a look at this, will you? Are you sure holly’s all right for these pegs?’

‘Holly,’ Bardán says. ‘Strong for justice. In the rhyme. Every tree in the wood. That’s the way he wants it. Master Tóla.’ The way he says it, it’s as bitter as nettle tea. ‘Making his luck.’