Instead of any celebration though, Walter makes them work harder, as if punishing them for something they haven’t done. They spend every daylight hour practising in the butts. He picks on Thomas especially, so that almost all Katherine sees of him is as a lone figure in the distance, constantly running the length of the clearing to collect arrows, bring them back, loosing them, and running to collect them again.

The Earl’s return brings with it an increase in the number of tents outside the town walls and an increase in the level of noise across the Pale.

‘Very keen on guns, the Earl of Warwick, isn’t he?’ Dafydd moots, his hands over his ears.

‘Big ones, little ones, you name it,’ Geoffrey agrees. ‘Keen on anything new, he is.’

They are taking a rare break, gathered on the walkway of the fort, leaning against the battlements. They are staring out across the Pale towards the town, where rolling puffs of grey smoke erupt from the butts. Burgundian handgunners are down there and the air crackles with the reports of their guns. Twice that first morning they hear an unusual crump as one of the bronze-barrelled weapons bursts.

‘Don’t see what’s so great about them,’ Simon says. ‘Rather use a bow any day. Least when they break they don’t kill no one.’

‘You ever face gunfire, boy?’ Walter asks him.

Simon shakes his head.

‘Well, wait till you have before you say anything so bloody stupid again.’

Walter is still sour-tempered. He’s been thus ever since the skirmish at Newnham. The others are happier, especially with rumours of their return to England circulating.

‘Must be soon, eh? Did you see how many ships they’ve got in the harbour?’

‘I can’t bloody wait,’ Dafydd says. ‘You know what I’m going to do when I get there? I’m going to find a rich knight – you know, someone in the Duke of bloody Somerset’s affinity – and I’m going to kill him, and take everything he has, I am. I’m going to take his lands, his horse, his armour, his squire, his missus and his dogs, everything, even his chickens, aren’t I? Then I’m going to ride back home to Kidwelly with Owen here, both of us fully armoured up, see? And we’re going to kick that no-good fucker Will Dwnn right into the bloody sea.’

‘Who’s Will Dwnn?’ Red John asks.

‘Will bloody Dwnn? Don’t you know Will Dwnn? He’s the fucker who’s supposed to marry Gwen, isn’t he?’

‘Gwen,’ Owen says. His voice is deep and so larded with affection that everybody stops and looks at him.

‘Is Gwen your sweetheart, Owen?’

‘Gwen’s not his sweetheart!’ Dafydd says as if everyone should already know. ‘Gwen’s our sister.’

Walter cackles.

‘Heard about you Welshmen and your sisters.’