In any case, there was nowhere else to go. Alexander set his horse splashing through the river which here, still rapid but spreading wide over grassland, was readily fordable, then swung down from the saddle and led the tired beast across the wooden footbridge.

The light he had seen came from a torch thrust into an iron bracket on what looked rather like a gibbet-pole. It glimmered on the iron studs of a heavy, fast-shut gate. Alexander drew his dagger, reversed it, and hammered with the hilt against the planks.

“Is anyone there?”

No reply. No sound except the rush of the stream and the harsh laughter of a raven overhead. The place seemed deserted, the raven an omen. He had raised his hand to knock again, when the door opened suddenly, and a man, the porter by his dress, swung it wide to the wall, and stood back, bowing.

Beyond the man, through the black shadow of the archway, Alexander saw a courtyard where servants bustled to and fro, girls with armfuls of linen, men carrying platters, or bowls and dishes, all apparently busy with preparations for the evening meal. The delectable smell of roasting meat met his nostrils, and he felt suddenly, ravenously hungry. Dark Tower or royal prison, the swollen river had done him a favour in bringing him to this lodging. No monastery, surely, would have been serving such a meal as he could smell here.

He was opening his mouth to identify himself to the porter, and make his plea for a night’s lodging, when a woman came hastily forward past the bowing man. In the darkness of the archway he could not see her clearly, but she was slightly built, and moved like a young woman. Her dress was dark and plain, but he caught, in the torch-light, the gleam of gold at her waist, and the glint of jewels. The royal exile herself, come to the gate to greet a chance traveller? Hardly. Besides, the smith had said Queen Morgan was not in residence. This, then, must be the lady who kept the castle for the queen – and who had come herself to the gate to welcome him.

The adventure was starting to take shape. Alexander stepped forward and made his bow.

“Madam –”

The lady stopped short. The porter straightened up, took one look at Alexander, another at the bridge behind him, empty of all but the horse, then, unbelievably, laid both hands to the gate to swing it shut in the young man’s face.

He was not quite quick enough. The prince jumped forward, set knee and shoulder against the oak, and with a thrust of his arm pushed it wide again, sending the man reeling. He turned to see the lady, her eyes wide with alarm, opening her mouth to summon help.

He said hurriedly: “Madam, forgive me! I mean no harm – and indeed, what harm could I do? I am alone, and crave only for a night’s shelter.”