‘Do you receive news of your family?’ the pardoner asks. Thomas passes her the mug of ale. Their fingers do not touch this time and he sees she is careful to wipe the mug’s rim with her sleeve before she frowns, then shakes her head, and drinks. Thomas is about to ask a question of his own but the pardoner catches his eye. Enquire no further, he seems to be saying, and he changes the subject.

‘How came Riven to attack you?’ he asks.

Thomas explains. The pardoner grunts.

‘These are unquiet and scrambled times,’ he says, adjusting the fire to make the branches burn more strongly, taking courage from their company. ‘Everywhere men are taking what they may, with no consideration of God, or the laws of the Holy Church.’

‘Why?’ Thomas asks. ‘Why is it so?’

The pardoner sighs.

‘I am a humble pardoner,’ he says. ‘And I know nothing of this first hand. But I talk to people. I listen to what they say.’

‘And?’

‘And most agree that the fault of it lies with the King,’ he says.

‘The King?’

‘Yes. It seems strange to be talking about the King in a wood at night with strangers, doesn’t it? But yes. The King. Henry, the sixth of that name, of the house of Lancaster.’

‘And what has he done to bring this on the country?’

‘They say that he’s a simple man, without crook or craft, you know. Not like his father. Not like Henry the Fifth. D’you remember him? No. Before your time, of course. He was a proper king, that one. Beat the French time and time again.’

The pardoner stares into the flames. He grows wistful.

‘What happened to him?’ Katherine asks.

‘Hmmm? Oh. Died too soon. They all do, the good ones.’

There is a long silence. The pardoner continues gazing into the fire. Men became like that with flames, Thomas thinks. Behind them the mule shifts.

‘So the son is nothing like the father?’ Katherine prompts.

The pardoner collects himself.

‘That is right,’ he says. ‘He has fits. Seizures. When he goes limp, and cannot recognise anybody, not even his own son. And some say this is an affliction sent down from God.’

In the silence he stirs the pot with a stick.

‘But what has he done to deserve such a thing?’ Katherine asks.

The pardoner takes the mug from Katherine and fills it again.

‘The fault lies with his grandfather,’ he says, ‘also called Henry. Henry the Fourth. They say he usurped the throne from King Richard who had had it before him, and then had him murdered. They say that the troubles tormenting the realm now spring from that crime, and that for however long the House of Lancaster keeps the throne, this land will see only war.’