“Of course I’ll stay with him. Ah, we’re under way again. The master expected this?”

“He hoped. We managed to send word ahead, so he has been watching for us. Now by your leave –?”

“Of course.”

She watched him take the steps to the deck two at a time, heard a softly spoken word, presumably to one of the guards, and he was gone. She tiptoed across to the bedside and stooped over the boy.

In the glimmer of the tiny bud of light from the lantern she could see nothing clearly. He lay half curled up, just as Jeshua had laid him down, the thick folds of the cloak covering him completely, but for the face. He was lying turned away from the light, and she leaned closer to look. A pale forehead, fair brows and closed eyes with fair, curtaining lashes. A childish mouth and determined chin. The gleam of a long strand of hair, yellow as gold, escaping from the folds of the cloak – she was looking at Theudovald again, at six years old, the Merwing arrogance and drive lost in the deep sleep of childhood. Chlodovald, who had been a baby last time she was in Tours. Whose brothers had been murdered; whose mother had married the murderer. Who must have learned, in the most brutal fashion, to trust nobody, to fear everyone. But by God’s mercy, and through the loyalty of one or two servants, he was here, and safe.

She sank to her knees by the bed, and, her first instinct in this miraculous moment, sent a prayer of thankfulness in the wake of her earlier, troubled devotions. Then, the boy still sleeping, she settled herself to watch till Jeshua or her father should come.

Time passed slowly. Eager to know what had happened, what was to happen, Alice found the waiting hard. Once the sleeping child stirred, and murmured something, but sank back into sleep again. Faint sounds came from time to time from above, but only the normal sounds of the ship by night; the creak of timber, the snap of a sail, the soft murmur of water along the sides. They must be moving faster now. The air that filtered down the companionway was fresher. She wondered if the Merwing had won clear of the islands and into the wide waters of the estuary. The master had said that they would be in Nantes by morning, and that there should be a British ship there to carry them home to safety.

The cabin’s single chair was just under the porthole. Clutching her bedgown round her, she knelt up on the cushioned seat, and gripping the sill, pulled herself up to peer out at the darkness.

The cabin itself was so dimly lit that her eyes adjusted almost at once to the dark outside, and she could see reasonably well. They were not yet in open water; land – she could not tell if it was the shore, or just another island – was sliding past, dark on dark. No lights anywhere, and now even the few stars were gone. The breeze was freshening, and the water slapped and gurgled along the ship’s side.