‘Warwick hopes to persuade him to excommunicate the King’s army,’ Sir John laughs while he watches them start clearing their tents in the rain. When they have the cart loaded, they leave the town of Sandwich and begin up the Roman road towards Canterbury, a thousand years old and still mostly passable. In the fields either side of them water lies in the hollows and anyone who leaves the road comes back with mud up to his knees.

‘Never seen it rain so,’ one of them says.

‘Wheat’ll rot if it goes on like this.’

‘Everything’ll bloody rot if it goes on like this. We’ll bloody rot.’

They cross a river that has broken its banks. Swans sail on the fields. Still the rain comes down. But still men join them. Soon the towers of the cathedral break the skyline ahead.

Katherine is walking next to Hugh just behind the cart. Every step towards the city pains her, but she cannot think what to do. Panic has reduced her to indecision.

‘I can’t stand it again,’ Hugh whispers to her.

She looks up.

‘Stand what?’

Hugh looks about them, down the column, seeing if it is safe to speak. He sees something or someone and shakes his head. They walk on in silence until he stops again. Here the trees have closed in on the road, the bushes are thick with leaf. An archer is squatting over a ditch.

‘Goodbye, Kit,’ Hugh says and he holds out a slim hand. Katherine takes it. It is cool, like holding a fish.

‘You’re going?’ she asks.

He nods.

‘I am not strong enough,’ he says. Then he steps off the road on to the grass verge. A moment later he is gone.

Katherine opens her mouth to call after him, to tell him to stop, to come back or to wait for her. She does not know which.

‘Come on. Come on,’ Dafydd says as he and Thomas push up against her from behind, and she turns again and walks on. Ahead of them the banners are hanging in damp folds. Men huddle within their cloaks.

Walter drops back from the cart. He is carrying four bags of arrows. He gives one to Thomas.

‘Try to keep ’em dry,’ he says. ‘You’ll need ’em first thing tomorrow.’ He looks around for a moment. ‘Where’s that streak of piss Hugh?’ he asks.

Thomas shrugs. Walter glances at her. She shrugs too, but differently, and Walter understands. He steps off the road and peers back along the lines.

‘Silly fucker,’ he says. ‘Hope to God the prickers don’t get him. They’ll hang him from a branch soon as look at him.’

They walk on.

So that is Hugh, she thinks, gone, and will she ever see him again? Ever find out what happens to him?

Some cows in an orchard watch them pass.