William kisses the back of her hand, and a wave of desire cascades through his guts, overpowering him, and stars edge his vision. He imagines taking the small woman from behind on a mountaintop during a thunderstorm, and, in an effort to rid himself of this image, he tries to picture Colca grinding down his bones with the rolling pin, but his lust is too strong; he blushes.

She walks ahead of him.

‘My uncle will feed you well,’ she says. ‘Two slaves will be sent to you, and they will milk you better than a suck calf, caress your feet and whisk away the insects of summer that would disturb your sleep. Honeyed mice and cows’ tongues will be spread across your plate. A man of song will sing a long ballad that will last most of the night, but will replace every name in it with your own. For one night, you will live like a high-born Gael, and then you will leave.’

They have come round the corner, near the dead horse. Saint John is leaning against the fountain, his head slouched down into his chest. Though sitting on the ground, he is holding onto the fountain as though he were afraid of falling off some high place; and then a woman begins screaming from Colca’s house, and William stops.

‘That is a sound of murder,’ he says.

‘It is only Mary,’ Alannah says.

‘It is more than that.’

The pigeons, with the noise, have alighted from the roof. William is caught up again in their shade. They swirl close above his head; and then the pattern disintegrates. He can see at the end of the street, like an opening vista, the grand monotony of the countryside, the oceanic grass and shrubbery that beckon him to safety, the thing of crows standing watch over it all; and he remembers how Mary broke down in tears when he said he would listen to her story.

‘I cannot abide this,’ William says, clutching at his ears. ‘I must intervene.’

Alannah shakes her head. ‘Did you ever wonder why there is no one in this town?’ she asks. ‘It is midday, and not a soul is stirring. And yet there are more than a hundred habitants. Have you ever wondered why they keep to their rooms? Do you not think we all hear her? Be careful, you gallant and intervening man. De Fonteroy will remove your body if you do stick to this place too hard and uncover its secrets.’

‘I will go with you soon,’ he says, ‘but I must ensure this woman is safe.’