‘Told you so,’ said the voice from the dark.

Alice had fallen asleep on Marion’s lap. The heat from the fire was hot on her back, so she pushed off her cloak. She crossed her feet and spread her knees so that Alice slept in a hammock made by her skirt slung between her thighs.

‘No pining or moaning from her. When Father Stephen – he that was here before you, Father John, long before – said over the grave it was a punishment for his sins that he died young, she, well she didn’t say a thing while we was in holy ground, but when we got back to the Hall – here – for the burial feast, she let fly at Father Stephen. What do you mean, she cried at him, about his sins? He’d lived a decent life and every Sunday to Mass and never stole nor took anything but what was his due in law and wouldn’t take from widows what was his due, and a good husband and no fornicating youth. What sins are you talking about, taking a man’s good name away as soon as he can’t answer back? And Old Holy – we used to call Father Stephen Old Holy, least us boys did – he looked really muzzed in his mind. Never been questioned like this before – front of everyone – least of all by a young woman. He said about how God knows all men’s hearts and she burst out with God hadn’t told him, priest though he was, what was in her husband’s heart and it was poisonous talk to say about his sins – and he’d had the Last Sacrament and confessed to Old Holy himself and been shriven not three days before … And … and Old Holy didn’t know what to say, just muttered about Eve’s daughters and not reverencing him nor Holy Church. But there was good cheese and a cask of old ale for the burial feast and I saw to it, ‘cause I was serving boy at the Hall, that was before me two brothers died, that Old Holy only got a mouldy rindy bit and a short drink afore I tipped the pot so he couldn’t get no more …’ The old man’s mirth at his boyhood jokes got the better of his speech and he guffawed in self-appreciation. ‘She calmed down after that and had a short weep – ah, she was a brave woman – and us boys jostled Old Holy out of the Hall to leave her in peace.’

The whole Hall seemed to get hotter. Great quantities of roast meat, and the strength of the new ale were making many of the villagers drowsy. Marion felt a sudden warmth over her ankles and found that Alice had peed copiously in her sleep. There were sounds of children squabbling at the far end of the Hall, paternal slaps and maternal, ‘Be quiet now,’ and whispers of, ‘He hit me first,’ but for the most part the old miller’s story held their attention. Many of them had heard stories before of the great famine, but in their fictionless, monotonous lives any story had power to grip their minds. The candles had shortened and no longer lit up the old man’s eyes. Only the white bristles, roughly trimmed by Betsy, and his claw-like hand, swaying to and fro with gestures, caught the light. Marion realized that his memories were flooding back, and each remembered detail of his famished boyhood brought a host of other recollections. She knew there was no stopping him, not that anyone wanted to. Drowsy though they might be, the villagers listened to the flow of words and the events they told with solemn attention, so unusual was it in their monosyllabic lives to hear so much spontaneous speech. The old man had collected his thoughts; he found an attentive audience wonderfully stimulating. Joan was doling out small loaves covered with honey and hazelnuts and in a breathy whisper urging people to take one and pass on the basket.