We chat about the training they’ve been doing with Domnall. It’s tired the men out but they’re happier. Keeping busy suits them. We talk about the weather, which is dry today, so far at least. Eoin says he’s noticed some big trees are down in the wood, must’ve fallen on that night of wind and heavy rain. He says it looks as if they might stay where they lie, if what he’s heard about Dreamer’s Wood is right. So, easy as easy, we get around to what I want him to talk about.

‘Why’s that?’ I ask.

He leans on his spade, takes a quick look over his shoulder, up toward the wood. ‘Nobody likes the place. Don’t know how you can live so close. There’s a strange feeling about it. As if anything might jump out and grab a fellow.’

‘Mm,’ I say, digging my spade in. ‘There’s a few old tales about the wood. That pool, too. Must’ve been hard for you when the girl – what was her name, Ciar? – had her accident. Heard you tried to save her. Bit of a hero.’

‘Just doing my job. Trying to keep the womenfolk safe. I can’t understand how she drowned so quick. Soon as we saw she was in trouble, I went straight in. And I swim fast. But she was gone by the time I reached her.’

‘Did your best.’ I wait a bit, then say, ‘Seems odd, Lady Flidais wanting to go swimming. Nearly at Winterfalls and all.’

‘Lady Flidais is not your usual sort of lady. Gets these odd ideas sometimes. Folk at Cloud Hill are used to it. For all her fancies, she’s a good lass, kind and thoughtful. Or was.’

I keep on digging.

‘Funny, she never said thank you. For me trying to save Ciar. Not a word. Not like her at all, she used to make a point of thanking us for every little thing, knew all our names and our wives’ names and how many children we have and where we all come from. Sweet girl, not what you’d think a chieftain’s daughter would be like. What happened that day – it’s sort of soured her. She doesn’t seem to care anymore.’ His cheeks go pink. He gives me a sideways look. ‘Shouldn’t have said that. Disrespectful. But . . . it can be hard here. The fellows are restless, you’ll have seen it. Worried about Lord Cadhan, wanting to get home. And not happy with . . . you know.’

‘How did it all happen, that day?’ I ask. ‘Wondered sometimes if there were, well, things in the wood, fey or the like. Wouldn’t mind hearing the story. Only if you want to tell it, of course. Why don’t you take a break, and I’ll do this next part?’