What now? I might be wrong. I might call out only to see a complete stranger, armed and dangerous, heading up the hill in response to my kind invitation. But if it was him, and I didn’t call out, I might go out there in the morning and find a sodden corpse, dead from cold. I hated obligations. I didn’t want to owe Grim anything – wasn’t my agreement with Conmael bad enough? – but I couldn’t turn my back on him. There was no way I’d have got out through that broken roof by myself.

Right, then. I’d need to make it quite clear that all I was offering was a share of fire and food for tonight, and a spot to sleep out of the rain. He could explain why he was here, and I’d tell him I didn’t want company on the road, either open or covert. And in the morning we’d go our separate ways.

I stood up and yelled through the downpour. ‘Grim! If that’s you, get yourself up here out of the rain, you stupid man! What’s the point of escaping if you’re only going to drown?’

No answer that I could hear, but there was some movement down there under the trees. A shambling shape, like a troll or giant from an old story, made its way slowly out and up the hill toward me. Even as I set the little pot back on the fire, I slipped my knife from my belt. Grim free might be quite a different man from Grim behind bars. Who knew what acts of violence he might have in him, what old offences might be preying on his mind, what wrongs he might believe needed righting? One well-aimed blow with his big fist and I’d be gone. He’d sleep by my fire, help himself to my belongings and be on his way, and the sodden corpse wouldn’t be him, it would be me.

‘Hurry up!’ I snapped. ‘Get that cloak off, you’re dripping everywhere. Move in by the fire, here.’

He was shivering with cold; his clothing must have been soaked right through. This sorry specimen wasn’t going to be making any explanations until I got him warm and dry. I’d never called him Bonehead the way the others had. Right now the name seemed perfectly apt.

‘Listen,’ I said, putting the knife back in my belt. ‘Forget modesty, we’ve seen the worst of each other already. I’ll turn my back, you take those clothes off and wrap this blanket around you. Let me untie that –’

‘No . . .’ It was a feeble protest; his attempt to push my hands away was equally pathetic.