Two carpenters drop nimbly into the grave and hammer on the lid of the casket. Once they are out, a layer of good Welsh soil is spread atop it, packed gently, and covered with small stones from the lake, and yet more earth.

Now the mood of the assembled company changes. They are no longer here to say good-bye to the prince’s most trusted swordsman. They are no longer here to mourn their friend and send him to the Otherworld with their prayers and their blessings. Now they are here to see justice done. A high price will be paid to avenge Hywel, the suffering will be great, but it is no more than the wretch who murdered him—who would have murdered me—deserves.

Brynach raises his hand as a signal. ‘Bring forth the witch!’ he commands.

From the very back of the crowd three burly soldiers emerge, dragging Nesta between them. Her hands are tied behind her back, and her mouth is tightly gagged. She has spent these past days chained in a pig sty, coming out only for the swift trial where no one spoke in her defense. She raged and howled and insisted she was doing only as her mistress bid her, and that as a maid she had no choice but to obey. She might have saved her breath. Prince Brynach called such words treason and vile betrayal. Told her she was wicked to her bones and sought only to further her own cause by killing me. Nesta wept and begged to see the princess, refusing to accept that her mistress had abandoned her to her fate. All the while I had to remain vigilant, offering my own words of prayer and protection, surrounding the traitorous witch with lake water and blessed bones to prevent her using her dark magic. Nesta’s guilt was never in question. Sentence was passed. And now her hour is come.

It is Rhodri who stands and delivers the reasons for the woman’s execution. His voice is stern, clear and forceful. He serves his office well. How does it sit with his conscience, I wonder, knowing that he is as much responsible for Nesta’s end as his sister? If justice were truly to be served, Wenna and Rhodri would also be facing their deaths now, hands tied, fear loosening their bowels. Instead, as the strong hide behind their privilege, yet again it is the weak who must pay the price.

Nesta shakes her head and cries out through her gag. The prince indicates that it should be removed.

‘Say what you must,’ he instructs her.

She turns, weeping, to the mistress she professed to love. I do believe she was sincere in this, at least until the point when the princess chose not to defend her, not in any way to help her, if only to lessen the severity of her punishment.