He nodded, freed himself from Cornelius’s grasp and went through to the kitchen. The cat was on the table lapping at a dish of melted butter. There was no sign of Emily. He went to touch the cat’s head, to stroke it, but the instant it saw his raised hand it twisted about and fled.

14

South of Carlisle they rounded a bend at the edge of a stand of pine trees to find, two hundred yards ahead of them, a line of cavalry drawn up across the road. They kept going.

“Are they waiting for us?” asked Medina.

“Why would they wait for us?” said Calley. They spoke without looking at each other.

“Two men,” said Medina, “travelling north. One a Spaniard. To be stopped.”

“Bollocks.”

“They are looking for someone.”

“Not for us.”

Nature was at its most benign, or benign for Cumberland. A small shower of rain in the early morning had given way to sunshine and clean blue shadows. Trees shone. The hills looked comfortable.

“Twenty,” said Medina.

“Twenty-two,” said Calley. “No. Twenty-three.” He had picked out the officer, a man on a grey horse riding slowly just to the rear of his men. There was no one else on the road. No farm cart, no pedlars or packhorses. Nor were there any turnings, left or right.

Fifty yards now. It was a game! Twenty-three pairs of eyes were staring them down. Medina’s horse tossed its head and he reached down to smooth the heat of its neck.

At thirty yards the four troopers in the centre of the line started their horses forward and peeled away, two to one side and two to the other, facing across the road. Had they rehearsed this? Drilled it? There was now a gap on the road about the width of a field gate. Ten yards to go. Five. They were entering the range men fight at. Length of a man’s arm plus the length of his blade. Close enough now to see the braiding on a collar, the creases in a boot. Medina nodded. He did not aim it at anyone, just nodded. No one spoke. The silence was inhuman. They entered the line; they passed through. It was like passing under the shadow of a bridge. The road ahead was empty, its surface spotted with the glossy dung of the cavalry horses.

“Don’t look back,” said Calley.

“I do not intend it,” said Medina.

“Don’t even look at me.”

“I do not intend it.”

They were both grinning, both light as air.