Suddenly, therefore, he veered left. His stallion plunged through the heather. Just ahead he noticed that some Forest fool had made piles of logs. He was almost level with the ash tree, which would screen him from the Saxon's view, damn him. He urged his horse forward, forgetting that the surface of the Forest is not firm and true, like the sweeping chalk downs around his manor, but soft, shifting and treacherous to those who try to impose upon it. So he had no warning at all when his mighty beast's leg plunged into a hidden pocket of boggy ground, throwing him head first towards the woodpile.

'But what happened?' She had never seen Walter at a loss before.

He gazed at her almost as if she were not there. 'It was an accident.'

'But who? How?'

'An accident.' He stared straight ahead.

She looked at him carefully. Was he just in a state of shock? Was he describing what he saw, or what someone had told him? They were trotting briskly, now, on to the heath.

'Where are you going?' she asked.

'West. I have to go west. Away from Winchester. I have to find a boat. Further along the coast.'

'A boat?'

'Don't you understand? I have to get away. Flee the realm. I wish to God I knew the way through this cursed forest.'

'I do,' she said. 'I'll guide you.'

It was astonishing how quickly the time seemed to pass. But then she was no longer searching and wandering; she was going straight for a point in the terrain whose position she knew: the little deserted ford north of Pride's hamlet. The heath was empty. They saw no one. They did not speak. Avoiding the tiny hamlet, they found the long path that led down to the ford, crossed below Brockenhurst and came out on to the rolling heathland of the western Forest.

'Do you want to try to get a boat at Christchurch?' she asked.

'No. It's too near. I might have to wait a day or two and by then' - he sighed - 'they could arrest me. I have to go much further west.'

'You'll have to cross the River Avon. I know the Avon valley.' Thank God for her rides with Edgar. 'There's a cattle ford about halfway between Christchurch and Ringwood. After that you cross the meadows and it's open heathland for miles and miles.'

'Good. I'll go that way, then,' Tyrrell said.

The sun was sinking in the west, a huge deep red; here and there a solitary tree stood out like a strange indigo flower against the red sky, casting a long shadow towards them like a cautionary finger. They had to walk their horses, but apart from the Forest ponies and the occasional cattle they had the place to themselves.