Something slithered against his leg. It was not unpleasant, yet his sleep-fogged mind told him it was a snake and panic interrupted a dream about those first summers and the heat of Castile. He tried to roll away from whatever now pressed against his side but his body would not obey. His eyelids remained heavy, the dreamlike state holding him captive. He imagined he saw the firelight dance across the ceiling. And then he felt the joy of sexual arousal as warmth crept into his groin and massaged his cock. He gasped. How many years had it been since he had enjoyed the charms of a novitiate nun? Or an alehouse whore pleasuring him in exchange for absolution? He reached for his cock, but his arm would not move. It lay as if pressed beneath the weight of a stone slab. But still the blood pulsed through his groin. He was nowhere near release but the heightened pleasure became almost too much to bear. The years fled by. He saw the alehouse whore lift her skirts and pull free her breasts as he plunged into her. Merciful Christ. The joy. The tang of lust on his tongue. He thrust his hips but again was held by an unknown force. A breeze brushed his ear. It carried the scent of a woman. The soft cool air urged him to open his eyes. He tried, God how he tried, but they were held fast by the dream that imprisoned him. Then, slowly, as if released by a spell, they lifted and he saw the aroused brown-encircled nipples that swayed close to his face. He tried to raise his head to suckle but the force held him fast. His eyes focused as the woman leaned back. She straddled him, her face in shadow. His pleasure was beyond everything he remembered from before – more than twenty years had passed since work and age had robbed his body of any sexual desire. His heart thudded. Although he did not, could not, move, the gift of sexual union excited him beyond measure. And then the dream broke. He saw her face. Heard her whisper.

‘The poison will only work when your heart is forced to beat faster and faster.’

‘No,’ he gasped. ‘I am dreaming. There can be no poison... there... cannot.’

She kept moving, rocking gently, rising slowly and then pressing down again, raising the pitch of his excitement at every thrust of her pelvis.

‘Old fool. Who else would brush dust from bottles of wine as they made their choice? It was easy to pierce a cork as you pierce me now.’ She smiled and leaned forward, placing a hand on his chest, fingers wide, as if she could pull his heart from within. ‘You are paralysed and I am here to see you die.’

He gasped for breath, his mind tormented by the witch’s hold over him. The King had sworn he would protect him. That no harm would come to him.