‘Aye. Well, he carved them up real good, whatever you want to call them.’

Fidele broke a piece off the cheese and put it in the man’s mouth, glad that it shut him up for a few moments.

Sounds rang out abruptly, branches snapping, footfalls thudding. Voices called to one another, sounding close. Fidele’s heart was instantly pounding, the fear of capture filling her mind. Maquin went from sitting to standing in one fluid movement. Fidele didn’t see him draw his knife, but it was suddenly in his hand. He stood poised, listening.

There was the sound of iron clashing. Screams. Further away? Closer? I cannot tell. Fidele felt a moment of panic, took a deep breath to calm herself.

‘Don’t make a sound,’ Maquin whispered, ‘and do not come after me. I won’t be long.’ Then he slipped amongst the trees, merging with the darkness.

That’s what you said last time, at the woodcutters’ cabin.

Fidele counted time in heartbeats, the forest now eerily silent except for the sigh of the wind through trees, the creak of branches. Sporadically she’d hear a shout, a battle-cry, a scream, then nothing again.

‘I’m still hungry,’ the Vin Thalun said. She looked at him, knew that he must be weighing up whether to call out or not. She had been tempted by the same thought. But who would come if either of them cried out? Friend or foe? Not worth the risk, Fidele had concluded, and, judging by his silence, the pirate agreed.

‘My name is Senios,’ the pirate said. ‘Just a man, like you said. And I’m still hungry.’ Fidele gave him some more. As the cheese touched his lips he burst into movement, jerking against the tree trunk, his legs whipping round to coil about her, dragging her close. She sucked in a lungful of air to cry out, then his head was snapping forward, crunching into her cheek. Her vision contracted, an explosion of light and darkness inside her head, and she felt her body slumping. No! she yelled at herself, feeling her awareness flutter. Not, a victim – never again . . . She reached a hand down the pirate’s body, between his legs, grabbing and twisting. She heard a scream, wasn’t sure for a moment if it was her or the Vin Thalun, then the grip in his legs about her was gone and she was pushing away, crawling across the ground, the pirate gagging behind her, gasping for air.

A figure loomed out of the shadows, Maquin. He paused a moment, taking the scene in, then exploded into motion, a boot crunching into the Vin Thalun’s head. He sagged against his bonds, unconscious, blood and saliva dribbling from his slack jaw.

Maquin was beside Fidele. ‘Has he hurt you?’

‘I, no, it’s nothing,’ Fidele said, one hand to her face.

Maquin gently lifted her, fingers touching her cheek. It throbbed.

‘You’ll have a bruise the size of my fist, but you’ll live.’ He looked at the unconscious Vin Thalun, took a step towards him.