There is another scream in the marsh behind them. All three flinch. They hear a man running clumsily, breaking through the reeds on to the path ahead. He stops and stares at them. Then he turns away and runs and there is a thump as he is upended in a tangle of legs by an arrow. Someone laughs.

‘Well, Thomas Everingham,’ the archer says, ‘if you want to stay a good friend of William Hastings, then you’d best be keeping your bloody head down. You too – ah – mistress.’

He touches his sallet and passes them, moving out into the reeds, stretching his bowstring. The archers have started calling to one another now. They are moving through the marsh like huntsmen clearing a covey from a copse.

‘Can they be dead?’ Katherine asks. ‘Oh, I pray to God they are.’

One of the horsemen comes up the path from the far end of the clearing. He looks young, moving with exaggerated swagger, playing the part of the soldier.

‘The devil are you?’ he asks when he sees them. He has a long sword in his hand and the bull’s head is on his chest too. His long nose and wide mouth lend him a familiar look.

‘You are William Hastings’s man?’ Thomas asks.

‘I am. I am John Grylle, of Kirby Muxloe, in Leicester. And who are you?’

‘I am Thomas Everingham, of Marton Hall in Lincoln, of the affinity of Sir John Fakenham, and a good friend to William Hastings.’

‘Is that so?’ Grylle nodded. ‘And my lady?’

Thomas turns. Dear God, who is she? They have not thought to decide.

He opens his mouth to say something but Katherine speaks first.

‘I am Lady Margaret Cornford,’ she says in a clear voice. ‘Of Cornford, also in Lincolnshire.’

Thomas opens his mouth, closes it. Why has she said that?

‘My lady.’ Grylle touches his helmet. ‘But why are you here and—?’ His gaze travels up and down her muddy dress. ‘And who are those men on the road? We assumed they were Tudor’s scurriers, but—?’

‘They followed us here from Wales,’ Katherine tells him. ‘We have come from there. From Wales. They are Giles Riven’s men.’

Grylle starts.

‘Giles Riven the turn-and-turn-again-coat? Ha. But how came you here from Wales? Do you have any news of Tudor and his army?’

‘His vanguard is on the road south of here,’ Thomas says, pointing. ‘Making for the town of Leominster.’

‘Ha!’ Grylle barks again. ‘He will need to negotiate with the men of the Marches before he can have the liberty of that choice.’

‘Who are they?’ Thomas asks. ‘Who are the men of the Marches?’