He had been a fool. He should have realised the implications when Edith told him of the promise she’d made but he’d seen it as a simple piece of nonsense. Now he felt a cold dread and the image of Edith alone on the other side of the river came back to him.

Misha said, quietly, ‘I’m sorry, I was stupid, I should’ve…’

Demetrius put a hand on his shoulder. ‘You are far from stupid. I’m the idiot, not you. I have to leave…’ He stopped, seeing the anxiety on Misha’s face. ‘Can you read?’ he asked.

‘Yes, Edith taught me. I have one book – of fairy tales.’

Demetrius opened his rucksack.

‘Here,’ he said. ‘It’s a book I like and you might too. It’s about a man in the time of the Thirty Years’ War who everyone thinks is a simpleton. He isn’t.’

Misha took the book, an expression of genuine wonder on his face.

‘You’ll lend this book to me?’

‘No, it’s yours to keep.’

‘That makes two books. I’m a king of two books,’ he laughed. ‘Thank you.’

Demetrius noticed that he carefully hid the book in his coat.

Chapter Five

From the One

By the time Demetrius and Misha said goodbye, it had started to rain. The farm was a fair walk from the village and below Demetrius could see the houses huddled together, smoke coming from the chimneys. From a distance it looked as if it belonged in a children’s book. Yet nothing was that simple, except his love for Edith. She had become the reason for everything. The moment he first saw her he knew he’d waited perhaps many lifetimes to find her. As he neared the cabinet maker’s house, the feeling of apprehension in him grew. He had hardly thought about the butcher before, but now he knew him to be a cruel man of sharp edges and granite determination. And the thought came to him, as heavy as thunder, too terrible to contemplate, that the dream was a warning.

‘No,’ he said aloud, almost shaking himself. ‘That will never happen.’

He cursed himself for judging the butcher to be unimportant.

The rain was dancing in the puddles as he opened the gate to the yard. The hens had taken cover under the verandah, as had the pig. Demetrius pushed it aside and stood in the doorway.

The cabinet maker was ranting.

‘And when do I have time for that? You expect me to work all day and then come home and mend the house?’

‘Other men do,’ said Edith and muttered something that Demetrius didn’t catch.

‘What?’ said her father. ‘What did you say?’

Edith put down a bucket and straightened herself.

‘I said, if you were sober you could earn the money to repair the roof.’

‘Not another word from you, girl,’ said the cabinet maker, lifting his hand.