Perhaps he will have to find her some sort of dress and headgear? It will be the least he can do. And the last thing he can do, for once they say goodbye, that will be the end. He will never see her again. He remembers suddenly her feverish grip that morning, and her heartfelt wishes.

He hawks and spits on the ground. Dafydd has found something to eat and his fingers are greasy with meat juices. He offers a bone to Thomas, then quickly drops it as he sees something moving. He snatches up his bow again.

‘Here we go.’

The heralds emerge from between two cottages in the hamlet and canter across to where Warwick waits with his men under his banner. There is a brief conversation. After a moment, Warwick forces his horse forwards so that he is alone in front of the army. Then he turns and faces them, stands in his stirrups and tips back his visor, so that they can see his face: a pale square. He raises his arm and gestures. Thomas cannot make it out but those who can begin cheering.

‘Bloody hell’s he up to?’

Trumpets and horns begin too, and then the bells in the cathedral begin a celebratory peal.

‘He’s done it!’ someone shouts. ‘They’ve opened the gates!’

Along the line the men begin cheering.

‘A Warwick! A Warwick!’

Another party of horsemen ride out from the hamlet: more heralds. Up the road the city gates are pushed open from within. Canterbury and the Archbishop have declared for the Duke of York. There will be no fighting. Not today at least.

Thomas feels a mix of emotions. Relief, of course, but now he will have to say goodbye to Katherine.

They disperse back to their tents and Thomas goes to find her. His heart is heavy with what is to come, what he must say, but he has imagined this part many times: he thinks he knows what he will tell her, and how.

‘Where’s Kit?’ he asks.

No one has seen her.

He helps Geoffrey with dinner, one eye out for her, but she does not appear. When the food is ready they sit on the earthwork wall, yawning with fatigue, spooning stewed mutton into their mouths. Above them their jacks hang from the branches of a hawthorn tree, drying in the weak sunlight.

‘Anyone seen Kit?’ Geoffrey asks. ‘Richard’s asking after him.’

No one has seen her since they’d been called to stand to.

‘Probably found an inn somewhere,’ Brampton John says, though there are none to be seen.

‘See if you can find him, Thomas, will you? Tell him Richard needs him.’

Thomas nods. In the tent there is no sign of Katherine’s pack.