Fournier does not look up. He turns a page, folding it carefully. After a long moment he closes it. His gaze flicks around the hall, as if anxious not to settle on one thing too long, before settling on the door.

‘It is a pity,’ he says. ‘I should have done the operation first thing in the morning save that the moon is in Libra, and astrologers agree no operation ought to be undertaken while the moon is in the sign governing the part of the body to be operated upon. The stars are powerful forces in our fates—’

‘Yet you said you would bleed him tomorrow,’ Katherine interrupts. Fournier’s dark eyes deepen in his head.

‘Very well,’ he concedes, ‘I shall conduct the operation tomorrow, first thing in the morning.’

He drains his cup and bangs it down for a refill.

The next morning he is gone.

‘At least he didn’t charge for the bloodletting,’ Geoffrey says, before they discover he has taken a silver cup in lieu.

‘I had a dream in the night,’ Katherine tells Thomas later. ‘I dreamed that it was me who cut Sir John. I cut out his fistula and as a reward he gave me his cushion. For some reason I was pleased with it.’

Thomas narrows his eyes.

‘You don’t mean to do it yourself? Fournier said it is a dangerous operation.’

She shakes her head.

‘It is no more dangerous than any other. No more so than cutting the arrow out of Richard, and I would if I had the instruments. I feel I know it off by heart now.’

Thomas sighs.

‘We should find you something else to read,’ he says.

Katherine laughs, and is about to go out when Goodwife Popham comes down the stairs from Sir John’s chamber. She is carrying a leather bag.

‘Surgeon’s gone and left his instruments,’ she says.

Thomas turns to Katherine. He is staring at her, alarmed.

‘It is God’s will then,’ he says, very quietly, and she can see he wishes it were not.

Goodwife Popham hands Katherine the bag as if it is hers by right and as she takes it, Katherine feels her chest flutter. Her whole body is trembling.

Perhaps it really is God’s will?

‘There is a chance Sir John will not let me do it,’ she says.

‘Do you really want to do it?’ Thomas asks.

‘I want him to be well again. I want to see him walk.’

‘But to cut him?’ Thomas exhales.

‘When I took the arrow from Richard it was as if I had a power,’ she tells him. ‘As if I knew what to do. I feel the same now.’

Thomas nods, accepting her word, and together they climb the stairs and peer in through the curtains around Sir John’s big bed. Richard is awake; his father sleeps; the dogs are muddy-pawed.