Walter accepts it, frowning.

‘Are you armed, sir?’ he asks.

The stranger pauses for a moment, as if considering this an insult; then he pulls his cloak back to reveal an empty sword scabbard at his hip. He wears a white livery coat.

‘Thomas,’ Walter says. ‘Run and give this to Warwick Herald.’

‘No!’ the stranger snaps. ‘No. Give it only to my lord the Earl.’

Thomas steps across the pool of light to take the token. It is warm in the palm of his hand. He turns and begins to walk away.

‘You there. Wait.’

It is the stranger. Thomas stops.

The stranger leans forward in his saddle and stares down at Thomas. His face is hidden in the depths of the hood of his cloak. A long moment passes. Thomas can hear him breathing, hear his mouth click open, then close.

Finally the stranger sits back and flicks his wrist.

‘Go,’ he says.

Thomas turns and walks on into the camp. In the scant light of the fires, the design of the token is hard to make out, but it is a small silver badge such as a man might pin to his jacket to show his allegiance to a particular lord. Thomas holds it in front of the watch fire in the middle of the camp and can see the badge is of a ragged staff, Warwick’s own symbol. The Captain of the Watch meets him as he approaches, hurrying up the path with Henry trailing behind.

‘I have something for his lordship the Earl of Warwick,’ Thomas says.

‘Give it me,’ the captain says, holding out his hand. Thomas shakes his head.

‘It is for the Earl alone.’

The captain raises his eyebrows.

‘I hope you know what you are about,’ he says and he turns and gestures across the clearing to the largest tent, lit from within by numerous candles so that he can see the shadow of a man sitting in his bath. Another shadow pours a bucket of water that sends up swirling clouds of steam. A large awning extends from the front where two more men guard the entrance.

Thomas explains his mission and while one of the guards watches Thomas the other puts his head through the tent aperture and mutters in a low voice. Thomas hears the Earl barking.

‘Send him in,’ he shouts.

The guard emerges and jerks his thumb.

Thomas slips through the tent flap.

The Earl of Warwick sits in his bath while a servant pours water over his back, his knees like islands in the cloudy water. The smell of herbs is strong but that of the candles – tallow – is stronger still.

Warwick’s hair is plastered to his head.

‘You,’ he says, recognising Thomas despite the feeble light. ‘What in the name of all the saints do you want?’

Thomas is surprised Warwick recognises him. He has only glimpsed him that moment after the hunting accident.