‘Who was the young man in the garden?’ I said.

Rebecca didn’t slow her pace and didn’t answer. Instead she opened a door on a room that was all but empty except for a metal bath and a stool. She ushered me inside and said, ‘Olesca.’

I knew that. Of course I did. My night-brother was so taken with him, with his singing. Olesca.

‘But that’s his night-brother’s—’

‘That’s right. Apparently in the southern tribes they only have one name, the same name, both night and day. Two personalities, one body, one name.’

‘That must be difficult,’ I said, eyeing the steaming, half-full bath.

‘They see it as a thing of power, to be in such harmony.’

‘Harmony. Yes, like a chorus or choir it was. Can you believe such a sound came from one man?’

‘I can,’ she said. ‘And I know what you’re doing. You can still talk and wash.’

‘Are you sure this is really…’

A flushed-looking serving woman walked in with another bucketful of hot water, tipped it in, and left without a word.

‘If you could see yourself, Alexsander. You’re covered in mud and blood and half the forest.’ She reached up and produced a sizable twig, as if from thin air; it had some of my hair still stuck to it. ‘I want to be sure you’re not really hurt.’

‘I’m fine,’ I said, but she saw my lie for what it was. I glanced from her to the door.

‘Aren’t we both a bit old for that kind of silliness?’ she said, moving a towel from a stool and sitting down.

Reluctantly, I began to unbutton my shirt. I eased it from my shoulders, wincing as aches flared into sharper pains. A tempest of a bruise covered my upper arm and as far as I could see along my back.

‘He could have broken your neck,’ Rebecca said.

‘It’s not the first bruise Christophor has given me.’ Loosening my trousers with blood-encrusted fingers I let them fall to the floor. My back to her, I stepped into the bath and hunkered down like an animal. Even so, the warmth of the water was a relief.

‘Come on now,’ she said softly.

I leaned back and felt the shock of the cold metal, but soon became used to it. I closed my eyes and could almost forget where I was, what had happened, and who was in the room with me. But then I felt her touch my shoulder. She washed my back; gentle when she needed to be, and without a word.

Though I didn’t know her as well as I might, I’d not known her so quiet or so serious as then. I wasn’t sure I liked it.

*

Before long the water started to resemble a pond. Rebecca left and then returned with some borrowed clothes – not the mayor’s – that almost fitted me. I accepted them gratefully. When I was dressed, she insisted she walk me back to the inn.