And a whisper like a late summer wasp went round the hall. ‘If he doesn’t come back soon, Edith will have to marry the butcher.’

His two stiff, matronly daughters looked on, disapproving.

Edith didn’t eat. She stared at the door, willing the shepherd to appear even at this late hour, willing him so hard that if dust could gather itself together she would have conjured him from its particles. After the plates were cleared, the band began to play, and the lads and lasses took their positions on the dance floor. Edith stood motionless, not daring to move. If not today, then tomorrow. Yes, he will be here tomorrow.

‘Where’s your shepherd then?’ It was the butcher.

Edith held herself straight. ‘Tomorrow,’ she said. ‘He will be back tomorrow.’

‘I doubt it,’ said the butcher.

With his words echoing in her ears, Edith helped her father to their door.

Chapter Seven

The Root of Her Tongue

Tomorrow came and there was no sign of Demetrius, nor was there the day after. Edith went over everything that could have happened to him, until dread flooded through her. She asked the shepherds who had been at the harvest supper if they had seen him and none of them had.

With every passing day, her father’s mood improved. The wind began to blow in autumn; the leaves, skittish in their falling, heralded the snow to come.

‘The days are getting shorter. Soon it will be winter,’ he said, rubbing his hands together, glad he’d had the foresight to make Edith swear the oath in the mayor’s office. ‘Demetrius – if that is his name – probably stole the sheep and took them to the next village. I know many a farmer who would have bought them. What do you say to that, girl? He’s off somewhere else – back to his wife.’

Still, be still, Edith told her worried mind. He will come back; you must believe it, you know it in your heart. He’ll be here before the first snowflake touches the ground. You must believe it.

And another day passed and only now did she wonder why she’d never asked where he had come from. It was the simplest of questions. It seemed at the time unimportant for the cords that bound them wouldn’t be broken. But there was no one to ask. She didn’t even know his family name. He had told her he came from a town, that he had been educated; but in which city, he never said. He loved gypsy music and the outdoor life, and that had led him to become a shepherd, to learn the old ways. He’d told her that her grandmother was famous, that her stories had travelled far. Travelled where? She should have asked Demetrius so many questions and hadn’t, believing they would have a lifetime for answers. She had no answers.