‘That’s gentle of you, but it was an advantageous marriage for some,’ Alannah says. ‘About three years ago there was much scandal around here given my husband’s preferences. It was doing damage to the diocese, and its bishop who had wished to advance himself. He knew Colca could only either be tried, which would lead to infamy for the diocese, ending his own advancement, or be married off. He also knew it would be difficult to find a match for one so perverse; and he thought me to be suitable to Colca, given I, as a Gael, have many hidden practices to coax out love from sodomites and bestialists. Even then, I am more alluring again than most Gaels as my small stature has concentrated and purified my beauty, like an essence. If I couldn’t shake Colca out of his proclivities, no woman could, least of all a Norman woman. But I could not, and have not.’

‘It must be great grief to you to be married to such a man?’ William says.

She shrugs. ‘I was traded for fifteen male Gaelic hostages, which I believe to be roughly my worth, so I am not in shame. Besides, I have always caused such frenzies of lust I knew I would one day be traded away. In truth, I await old age with a lust equal to that which I inspire. All beautiful women who have sense wish to lose their looks. The attention leads to too much violence on their persons, unless they have strong relatives, and I do have them.’

William gets down on his knees before her.

‘You deserve far more than this decaying town and this brute of a man,’ he says. ‘There is a horse by the fountain we can ride, and we can rid ourselves of this place. I will protect you until I have delivered you to your family, and I shall do so in exchange for nothing, not besmirching any of the womanly honour you accumulate around yourself.’

She cocks her head up at him like an owl. ‘Do you feel I am a woman in need of a gallant man?’ she says.

‘I extended an offer,’ he says. ‘If it is refused, it is refused.’

With her free hand, Alannah places the crow’s feather behind her ear. ‘What is your name?’ she asks.

‘William of Roscrea,’ he says, ‘translator of Gaelic languages, no fixed abode, suffering no spouses and recipient of no rents.’

She considers for a moment. ‘May as well you as any,’ she says, eventually. ‘Perhaps this is a better way. It could save some bloodshed. Rise up.’

William stands up awkwardly, and she presents her wrist to him.

‘Take me from this Norman hell.’