Dwnn shrugs.

‘She may do, but Goodwife Melchyn has given her plenty of medicaments. She will be fine. Only—’ He breaks off with a glance at the grey sky. ‘Only keep her warm, won’t you? Her chest, I mean. The cold seems to make it worse.’

Margaret appears in a blue riding coat, lined in quilted wool, and a hat to match. She is as beautiful as ever and Thomas can hardly stand to look at her. She presses a napkin over her nose and mouth as behind her comes Goodwife Melchyn with three heavy leather bags and a leather flask of something Thomas can only guess is horses’ urine and bats’ blood.

They thank Dwnn and prepare to say their goodbyes.

‘So now where are Dafydd and Owen?’ Thomas asks.

They are nowhere to be seen. After a search through the castle, it emerges that Gwen has disappeared too.

‘Obviously don’t want to leave their family,’ Dwnn says, with a shrug. ‘You can hardly blame them, with Tudor and his Irishmen and so on.’

‘But – But they can’t just not come back, can they?’ Katherine asks. She can’t believe it. And them not saying goodbye.

‘No,’ Walter says. ‘No, they bloody well can’t. They’re indentured to Sir John Fakenham.’

Dwnn shrugs again.

‘They’ll have gone into the hills,’ he says. ‘You’ll never find them now.’

But how will they live in the hills during the winter? Thomas wonders. Dwnn is evasive, can’t quite hold their gaze.

‘Where is their cottage?’ Thomas asks. They can only have gone there.

‘A few leagues,’ Dwnn gestures vaguely.

‘We’ll not take Margaret if we can’t find Dafydd and Owen,’ Thomas says. ‘We’ll have to leave her here.’

Walter angles his head in approval. Dwnn hesitates. He needs as many men as he can get of course, but does he want to keep Margaret? The girl is glaring at him.

‘All right,’ he says at last. ‘I’ll get Little Dafydd to take you.’

This is another Dafydd, another swineherd, on a shaggy little pony with no saddle. Little Dafydd looks so very like Dwnn that Walter laughs.

‘Do you lot do anything else?’ he asks.

Thomas turns to Little Dafydd.

‘Speak English?’ he asks.

Little Dafydd nods vigorously but says nothing to prove it.

‘He understands it, at any rate,’ Katherine observes.

‘Once you find Dafydd, you’re to go east,’ Dwnn explains, ‘towards Monmouth. Dafydd here knows the roads and paths roundabouts, and which questions to ask when he reaches the edge of his world. It should take you three days if you ride quickly, which you must if you wish to avoid Tudor’s men. Dafydd will leave you on the Monmouth road, and from Monmouth you can find your way to the river at Gloucester. Tell those you meet that Tudor is landed, but leave it to them to decide if that is good or bad news.’