And now in the darkness there is a hesitant glow. A little way off the path, in a glade. A fire. Thomas signals the sign for fire. Two hands, palms out, then rubbed together. The sister nods. Even in the dark he realises she’s seen it long before he has. They slide through the trees, the soft cloth of fallen leaves muffling their steps. Through the trees is a circle of cautious light thrown by a small fire. A horse or mule stands whickering in the darkness beyond, its eyes occasionally reflecting the flames. Above the fire is a tripod from which hangs a small cooking pot. Intermingled with the smell of wood smoke, Thomas tastes fish.

His stomach churns.

He has not eaten since the Dean brought him bread and beer that morning. He begins to breathe a little faster, and can hear the sister do the same.

Where is the owner though?

They crouch in the darkness behind a fallen tree. The sister is very close now. He can feel her knee against his, and her breath on his cheek. He can hear his heart beating, perhaps hers too.

‘Stand up.’

It is a man’s voice, and the order comes from the darkness behind. They slowly stand and turn their backs to the flames to face the darkness. Thomas can see no one.

‘Step back into the light,’ the voice comes again. ‘But I warn you, I have a bolt pointed at your head, Monk, and if you do not drop that axe, I will pin you to the tree.’

Thomas drops the axe. There is a moment of silence.

‘Who are you?’ the stranger asks.

Thomas swallows.

‘Sir,’ he begins, ‘we are two ecclesiastics. We mean no harm. We are travelling. Travelling on monastic business.’

‘On monastic business?’

The voice is softer already, as if the first command has been bluster, and now a note of incredulousness creeps in.

‘Yes, sir,’ Thomas says. ‘We are of the Order of St Gilbert of Sempringham.’

There is another pause.

‘And how come you to be travelling with one another? A canon and a sister of that order?’

Thomas looks at the sister in the dark. He can think of nothing to say.

‘Well?’

‘It is a long story, sir,’ the sister says.

‘I would hear it.’

‘May we beg your charity before we explain ourselves?’ the sister asks. ‘We have not eaten and we are frozen to our marrow.’

There is another pause.

A tall man in a padded coat with a cavernous hood appears in the fringes of the fire’s light. He has a crossbow in his hands, but even in the dark Thomas can see it has neither string nor quarrel. The man is as frightened of them as they are of him. More so, if anything.

The man bends to pick up the pollaxe and it is clear that he is no longer young.