‘He’s high on my list of people to see dead, I’ll not deny,’ Maquin said. ‘If he’s not already dead. I saw you put that knife into him; it went deep. Wouldn’t be surprised if you killed him.’

‘Aye, maybe. And then again, he may still live.’

Maquin shrugged. ‘Can’t change that. Yet.’

‘No, but it doesn’t stop me being scared. Don’t you feel fear?’

‘Fear? I left that in the pit. I have nothing left to lose, nothing to fear for. I have lost everything – my kin, Kastell, my sword-brothers. My pride. In the pit I lost my honour and humanity. All that’s left is revenge.’

‘Then why are you here?’

He shrugged again. ‘I made you a promise.’

‘You were going to break your promise, though. You left me. You walked away.’

He stared at her. Why did I say that? ‘I did. I won’t do that again. Not until you’re safe.’ The effect of those words was comforting, seeping through her like hot soup on a cold day.

‘I didn’t blame you for leaving. Or judge you.’ ‘I judged me. That was enough.’

Fidele woke to a touch, Maquin’s hand on her shoulder. She half rose, then paused as she saw his face.

‘What’s wrong?’ she said.

‘Listen.’

She did.

‘What is that?’

‘Hounds,’ Maquin said. ‘We have to go. Now.’

She leaped to her feet and in moments they were hurrying through the undergrowth.

Fidele hoped that Maquin was mistaken, or that the hounds were just a coincidence, out on a hunt with a local woodsman. But all morning the sounds trailed them, becoming clearer, an excited baying. The land around them changed, the woodland growing denser, the ground rising into a steady incline. The scent of pine grew around them as they climbed higher, the woodland opening up, pine needles dense and spongy underfoot. The baying behind them was louder now, and Fidele had started looking over her shoulder, fearing to see hounds and men behind her.

‘They are a league or so behind us,’ Maquin said.

‘They sound . . . so close,’ Fidele gasped.

‘Sound carries in this woodland,’ Maquin grunted. ‘But they were double that distance away at daybreak.’