Walter swings his doubting gaze on to Thomas. Thomas looks for a moment as if he might try to deny it.

‘And I’, she goes on, ‘was a sister of the same.’

She hadn’t meant to tell Walter this way, on a hillside in the snow, with Riven’s men in the valley below, but once the words are out of her mouth she is glad. This is no time for dishonesty. Walter’s eyes are on her now.

‘You were a sister?’ he says. ‘A nun?’

He cannot believe it. She can see Thomas squeezing his eyes shut.

‘I was,’ she says.

She lets Walter look at her body.

‘I’m sorry,’ she says. ‘It was . . . easier.’

Walter takes a pace away and then returns. He’s pushed his hat back and twists a clump of his forelock in his fist.

‘Can’t bloody believe it,’ he says. ‘All this bloody time. Girly! Girly? Ha!’

‘I’m sorry, Walter. I didn’t want to lie to you, but once it started . . .’

Walter nods, collecting himself, trying to make sense of it all.

‘All right,’ he says, nodding. ‘All right. So you’re a girl. A nun. How did you come to be on a bloody boat dressed as a boy, then, surrounded by all those dead blokes?’

‘It is a long story,’ Thomas begins, meaning that he does not want to tell it. But Walter deserves more than that, and Katherine tells him how she came to leave the priory.

Walter grunts.

‘I knew there was something about you. About you two. But bloody hell. A girl. All that time. Holy Christ.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Thomas says. ‘I’ll stay, if you like. If that makes a difference.’

Walter looks at him blankly. He is thinking hard. Then he pats Thomas on the shoulder. Tears ring his eyes.

‘No. No. It doesn’t make a difference. Or, yes, it does. It makes a big difference. It means that I’ll stay. You go.’ He turns to Katherine. He drops his gaze. ‘Sorry,’ he says. ‘You know. For the things I said. All the times . . .?’

‘There’s nothing to be sorry about, Walter,’ she says, though her throat is tight and she can hardly speak. ‘It’s me. I should be sorry. I am sorry. All the things you’ve done for us.’

Walter looks up sharply.

‘Us?’ he says. ‘So you’re—?’

But before either can answer, the boy shouts something from up below.

‘They’re coming,’ Margaret translates. ‘They’re still on the road, but they’ve found the tracks.’

Walter jumps back down into the path again.

‘All right,’ he says. ‘Go. Get on your horses and go.’

‘No,’ Thomas insists. ‘It isn’t your fight.’

Walter shakes his head.