Still he walks on, something guides him, and farther downstream some of the northerners have managed to get across the river. Men are struggling to cross a ford, waist deep, shoulder deep, slipping on the treacherous stones under the surface. All order has broken down, and they are fighting one another to get across, turning their weapons on their friends, forcing one another down into the waters, and in the gloom it takes Thomas a moment to understand what he is looking at.

It is not a ford, but a dam of bodies.

So many of them have been drowned or killed and thrown into the waters that they are now piled the one on the other. They have risen above the river’s waters in a pile and now men are fighting to get across it, cutting and slashing at one other, trampling on the fallen, forcing them into the water the better to keep themselves dry.

Even Perers is aghast.

‘Dear Christ,’ he breathes. ‘Dear Christ.’

There is something about this concentration of cruelty that makes Thomas sure this is where Riven will be.

And that is when he sees him.

Not Riven. The giant.

He is forcing his way on to the dam, knocking down those before him with that pollaxe and then treading on them, battering them down into the waters. Building up the bridge for himself. Thomas remembers the giant’s fear of the water. Behind him is another man. For a moment Thomas cannot be sure. In the gathering gloom it might be anyone, but then, after a moment, he is certain of it.

Riven.

He has removed his harness, and now wears only bloodstained linen and hose, and he is using a short-bladed sword to stab any who impede him.

They are getting away.

Thomas has to stop them, but between them stand a thousand desperate northerners, too tightly packed to move their arms, let alone let him pass.

He turns to Perers.

‘Your bow,’ he says. ‘Let me have your bow.’

Perers shakes his head.

‘Worth more than my own wife, it is,’ he says.

‘Give it to me, now!’

It has come to this, this last moment. If Thomas does not do this now, he will never see Riven again.

Thomas stares at Perers. Perers hands the bow over. He is very reluctant.

‘A string! Quick! A string.’

Perers unwinds the string from his wrist.

‘You’ll be careful with it?’

‘For Christ’s sake! The arrows!’

But Perers only has one.

The giant is on the far bank now. He is stretching back to help Riven.