‘Bollocks. My life, the one I had, is gone. Even if I walked out of here right now, a free woman, it would still be gone. There was one thing I wanted: justice.’ Sounded good; wasn’t the whole truth. ‘Two things. Justice and vengeance. I don’t mind dying so much. My life’s a poorer thing than you imagine. But I do mind dying with that man unpunished. That fills me up with fury.’

‘Lord Mathuin?’ Grim’s voice was not much more than a breath, and in that moment the lantern flickered and went out, plunging us into darkness.

‘One more day. Was that too much to ask, one poxy day?’

This time the silence stretched out so long I wondered if he had fallen asleep. But then his voice came again.

‘How will I . . .’ A long pause. ‘I don’t know how I’ll . . .’

‘How you’ll what?’

No reply.

‘You don’t know how you’ll what, Grim?’

‘Nothing. Forget it.’

The night wore on, and in the cells it was quiet. Was it getting close to morning out there, or was I only imagining that? At a certain point I began to shiver and found I couldn’t stop, even when I curled up on the pallet with the blanket wrapped around me, a grub in a meagre cocoon. The shaking was deep down, as if frost was creeping into my bones. My teeth chattered; my joints ached like an old woman’s. My good intentions, of standing up bravely before they did whatever they were going to do to me, vanished away in the face of my wretched, trembling body. Maybe, when a person was truly terrified, mortally afraid, there was no hiding it, not even for the best dissembler in all Erin. ‘Hey, Grim!’ I forced the words out. ‘Talk to me about something warm, will you?’

‘Big woollen blanket,’ Grim said straight away. ‘Flame red in colour. Wrapping you up from head to toe, with only your face showing. Roaring fire, throw on a pine cone or two for the smell. Bowl of barley broth. Mulled ale with spices. Curl your hands around the cup, feel the warm in your bones.’ A pause. ‘Any better?’ His voice sounded odd.

‘Yes,’ I lied. ‘Keep it up.’

‘Out of doors,’ Grim said. ‘Big field of barley all ripe and golden, sun shining down, yellow flowers in the grass. You go down to paddle in the stream, and the water’s like a warm bath. Ducks swimming by with little ones. A dog running about. Sky as blue as – as –’

‘Forget-me-nots,’ I said. ‘Grim, are you all right?’

‘Fine,’ he mumbled. ‘All out of words now.’

A sudden rattling at the door down the end. If I’d been cold before, now I was frozen. They were here. Already, they’d come for me.

‘Wake up the others. That’s what they said.’

‘No, Grim. Let them sleep.’