I had just time to draw in one good breath before the water took us. We plunged deep, the chill of it shocking, and instantly I lost hold of Cathal’s hand. Becan, oh gods, Becan . . . Clutching the baby tightly, I kicked my way up to the surface, a long, long way up, to emerge with lungs bursting. I sucked in a panicky breath before the water closed over my head again. My gown and cloak were leaden, their folds dragging me down. I flailed with one arm, kicking wildly, desperate to stay afloat. There was a sharp pain in my chest. Becan, Becan . . . I couldn’t get my own head above the surface, let alone hold his little face clear. The current carried us along, the forested banks moving past swiftly as I struggled in the middle of the river. Get swept too far and I had no chance of finding Cathal again. Water went up my nose and down my throat. I couldn’t breathe. Becan . . . He was immobile in my arms, probably already drowned.

I slammed into something, painfully, and grabbed hold. A fallen tree lay halfway across the river, a mass of debris lodged in its dead branches. I held on like grim death, inching myself up until I was half in, half out of the water. Becan’s pebble eyes were glassy, his mouth sagged open. He looked no more than the lifeless manikin everyone at home had believed him to be. Terror gripped me. He couldn’t die, he mustn’t die, not so little and so helpless . . . “Cathal!” I shrieked, but my voice was drowned by the rushing of the river. “Cathal, help!” I turned my head one way, the other way, desperate for some sign of him, but there was nothing.