‘Well enough to be the Queen’s own players at her glorious festivities for the Norman envoy,’ says Paul.

‘Just read the book again, will you?’ pushes Brida.

Frederick sighs. He pulls himself up to sitting and looks to Paul. ‘Might I have a cup of ale to whet my stone?’

‘Brida?’ suggests Paul.

‘Paul!’ scolds Frederick.

Paul fetches the drink while Frederick opens the book. ‘We were at the D’s, was it?’

It will take too long. I point to the book and pat my chest to indicate a heart.

‘She wants to tell us something,’ Brida interprets. Paul and Frederick keep their eyes on Brida. ‘She’s beating her breast.’

‘Pantomime it is,’ calls Frederick. ‘Arms and fingers are marvellously expressive if you use them properly. Sweeping gests, please. No fiddling-at-your-hems mummery.’ He’s certainly mocking me.

‘Is Frederick to read or not?’ asks Paul.

‘She’s quite cross, as much as I can tell,’ says Brida. Her gaze is fixed just to the side of my body. I pat my chest again and point to the book.

‘Her chest,’ Brida says.

‘Love,’ Paul guesses. ‘She would like Frederick to read about the sins of love?’

‘Passions,’ sings Frederick. ‘A sin of passion. Seduction. Adultery.’

‘You’ve covered adultery. Dried raisins,’ reminds Paul.

Brida asks, ‘Is it a sin you wish him to read of?’

I shake my head.

‘Yes? No?’ Frederick looks to Brida.

‘A food, then?’ Paul asks.

Yes! I smile wide.

‘I believe that’s right,’ Brida says. ‘Oh, she’s happier now.’

‘And which food would that be?’ asks Brida.

‘A heart, it would seem,’ says Frederick, finally grasping my meaning.

‘I was going to guess a heart,’ calls Paul.

Brida lowers herself onto her back before the fire.

‘Are you unwell?’ Paul looks her over closely.

‘Time for a rest is all,’ she sighs.

‘We’ll get you a bone broth,’ says Paul. ‘A nice, hot bone broth.’

‘Sounds nice, that,’ sighs Brida.

Frederick reads through the pages, his thumb marking each line of words as he searches for sins that warrant a heart. Paul joins him after a piece, reading over his shoulder. ‘My, my. Should you, Brida, ever consider jarking, our rare-voiced patron will eat pickled turnips upon your grave.’

‘Have you not found the heart?’ Brida asks Frederick.

‘I thought it would be found under “killing”,’ Frederick answers. ‘But here we are entering the L’s. Very few sins starting with L.’

‘Lust, of course,’ reads Paul.

‘Ah, here! The M’s,’ says Frederick. ‘Yes, of course.’

‘What is it?’ Brida asks.

‘Murder,’ Frederick answers.

‘There are quite a few hearts to be eaten,’ reads Paul over Frederick’s shoulder. ‘Bird, rabbit, lamb, even fish.’