‘Take her!’ is all I have time to say before I start to run for the lake. My aim is to lead the soldiers away from my child, to divert them, so that perhaps, if we are blessed with the smallest scrap of good fortune, she will not be discovered. To do this I must make myself a prize they will be determined to claim. As soon as I am close to the water I turn and stand. They have already seen me, but I must be certain they are entirely engaged in their dispute with me.

‘What are you waiting for, sons of whores?’ I scream at them, throwing off my cape to reveal my hair, striking in the strengthening dawn light, and the patterns on my flesh, so that they might see me for what I am. Shaman. Witch. I take my knife and brandish it, raising my arms. ‘Does the Queen of Mercia suckle cowards at her poisonous breast? Does she feed her men on lies and beer only? What sickly creatures does she dare send to face Seren Arianaidd?!’