The plan had been to keep going; to tire my pursuer out. The further I went, the more convinced I was that there was only one man following me. It was now well into the night and the fellow was still there. The flaw in my plan became apparent. Rested, warm and fed, I had set out in the morning with new heart, ready for anything. Now I was reminded that a person does not so quickly recover from a long period of deprivation. I was, quite simply, worn out. If I tried to keep on walking until daybreak, I’d end up tripping over a tree root and breaking my leg. And while Conmael would perhaps come to my rescue, I had absolutely no desire to put myself further in his debt.

Well, here I was in a passable camping spot, on a hillside overlooking pasture land, with some bushes for cover and a bit of an overhang for shelter. The plan would have to change. I needed sleep. So, hunker down without a fire and keep the knife within grabbing distance. On balance, it seemed likely anyone who had taken the trouble to track me so far was not intent on a simple job of murder. As I unrolled my blankets and nibbled a piece of dry way-bread, I realised I’d probably got this all wrong. The invisible follower might be human, but he wasn’t carrying out Mathuin’s orders. He was surely in Conmael’s pay. His job was not to hunt me down and kill me, but to make sure I got to Winterfalls in one piece.

The more I thought about this, the more likely it seemed. And, now that I had settled in one spot, I could not hear the tracker at all. Perhaps I had exhausted him. Or maybe I had finally lost him. Either way, I’d have to take the risk and sleep for a while or I’d be in no fit state to go on in the morning.

I huddled as far back beneath the overhang as I could and wrapped myself in blankets and shawl. Under the waxing moon, the fields were a silver tapestry scattered with the dark knots of trees and the shining patches of stream and pond. I reminded myself that I was free now; that the aches in my weary body were good ones, brought about by walking on the fields of Erin under an open sky. No degree of exhaustion could ever compare with the spirit-sapping weariness of a year in the vile confines of those cells. Every day in there was a day too many. As I drifted off to sleep, I told myself I would never, ever let myself be locked up again.