“Marric, for pity’s sake, there’s no time.” The flames had taken hold now, and were leaping. There was shouting from the palace, and the Weasel pulled at my captor’s arm. “The tide’s going out fast, and the gods only know if she’s there at all, this weather. Listen to the noise—they’ll be coming this way any minute.”

“They won’t,” I said. “They’ll be too busy putting the fire out to think of anything else. It was well away when I left it.”

“When you left it?” Marric hadn’t budged; he was staring down at me, and his grip was less fierce. “Did you start that fire?”

“Yes.”

I had their full attention now, even Weasel’s.

“Why?”

“I did it because I hate them. They killed my friend.”

“Who did?”

“Camlach and his people. The new King.”

There was a short silence. I could see Marric better now. He was a big, burly man, with a bush of black hair, and black eyes that glinted in the fire.

“And,” I added, “if I’d stayed, they’d have killed me, too. So I burned the place and ran away. Please let me go now.”

“Why should they want to kill you? They’ll want to now, of course, with the place going up like a torch—but why, before that? What had you done?”

“Nothing. But I was the old King’s slave, and . . . I suppose I heard things. Slaves hear everything. Camlach thinks I might be dangerous . . . He has plans . . . I knew about them. Believe me, sir,” I said earnestly, “I’d have served him as well as I did the old King, but then he killed my friend.”

“What friend? And why?”

“Another slave, a Saxon, his name was Cerdic. He spilled oil on the steps, and the old King fell. It was an accident, but they cut his throat.”

Marric turned his head to the other. “Hear that, Hanno? That’s true enough. I heard it in the town.” Then back to me: “All right. Now you can tell us a bit more. You say you know Camlach’s plans?”

But Hanno interrupted again, this time desperately. “Marric, for pity’s sake! If you think he’s got something to tell us, bring him along. He can talk in the boat, can’t he? I tell you, if we wait much longer we’ll lose the tide, and she’ll be gone. There’s dirty weather coming by the feel of it, and it’s my guess that they won’t wait.” And then in Breton: “We can as easy ditch him later as now.”

“Boat?” I said. “You’re going on the river?”

“Where else? Do you think we can go by road? Look at the bridge,” Marric jerked his head sideways. “All right, Hanno. Get in. We’ll go.”

He began to drag me across the towpath. I hung back. “Where are you taking me?”