I read her the description of the unicorn, knowing it was one of her favourite parts of the bestiary. We had differed, in our letters, over the scholar Lucian’s text, which he had rendered in both Latin and Irish, scribed on opposite pages. I had thought the parallel texts reasonably faithful to one another; Flidais had found passages in which she believed Lucian used the vernacular more creatively. We had enjoyed debating matters of this kind and would again, no doubt, when Flidais was feeling better.

‘The unicorn is fierce of temperament and wild in nature, finding its home in the dark recesses of ancient forests,’ read the last part of the description. ‘When pursued by hunters, it will outpace the fleetest of horses. Only when cornered can it be taken. It will sacrifice its life rather than be captured. A unicorn driven toward a cliff will not veer one way or the other, but leap, even should the precipice be sheer and high. When it falls, the creature will turn so that the horn is downmost. Thus the shock of the landing is absorbed by the hard material of that horn, and the unicorn may walk away unharmed.

‘The horn of the unicorn has remarkable curative properties. Powdered and made into a salve, it is effective in the treatment of many illnesses.’ Had Flidais just stifled a yawn? ‘I will not read the next passage,’ I said. What followed was a detailed description of the various salves, draughts, and other potions that could be prepared from alicorn, the substance that formed the horns of unicorns. Flidais knew the book as well as I did; no need for her to hear that somewhat less interesting section. ‘I hope that very soon you will be reading again – I know how much you enjoy it. Perhaps we should ask Mistress Blackthorn if she has a supply of powdered alicorn. It’s said to be effective for headaches.’

It was a joke, but Flidais did not look amused, and I regretted it. ‘I’m sorry, Flidais. I did not mean to make light of your malady. The last thing I want is to hurt you in any way. You must know that.’

‘I am the one who should say sorry,’ Flidais murmured. ‘The headaches are a nuisance to you. I have been indisposed when you’ve needed me to do things – greeting the guests, speaking to the household – and I do not like to displease you. I will be better soon, I promise. Already I feel much stronger.’