Blod had not followed him. She was bending over Dreng. Edgar felt a flash of panic: was she going to kill her tormentor? Did she think she could silently slit his throat and walk away? That would make Edgar a murderer’s accomplice.

In the rushes beside Dreng lay his belt with its attached sheath containing his dagger. It was what he used for general purposes, including to cut up his meat, but it was longer and sharper than Blod’s. Edgar stopped breathing. Blod quietly slid the blade out of the sheath, and Edgar felt sure she was about to stab the killer of her child. She straightened up with the knife in her hand. Then she twisted the hilt of the dagger into the cord she used as a belt and turned toward the door.

Edgar suppressed a grunt of relief.

He guessed that Blod had stolen Dreng’s dagger as a precaution in case she should meet dangerous men during her nighttime travels—a situation in which her own little knife would be of little use.

He opened the door slowly. It creaked, but not loudly.

He held it for Blod and she passed through, followed by Brindle. Fortunately the dog was intelligent enough to know when to be quiet.

Edgar glanced at the sleepers one last time. To his horror, he saw that Ethel’s eyes were wide open and she was watching him. His heart seemed to stop.

He stared at her. What would she do? For a long moment both were frozen. Perhaps she was working up the courage to yell a warning and wake Dreng.

But she did nothing.

Edgar stepped out and closed the door softly behind him.

He stood still and quiet outside, waiting for the shout of alarm, but all he heard was the quiet flow of the river. Ethel had decided to let them go. Once again Edgar slumped with relief.

He slung his ax from his belt.

The sky was partly overcast, and the moon peeped from behind a cloud. The river gleamed, but the hamlet was sunk in gloom. Edgar and Blod walked up the hill between the houses. Edgar feared that a dog would hear them and bark, but nothing happened: the village hounds probably recognized their steps, or smelled Brindle, or both. For whatever reason, they decided that no alarm was necessary.

As Edgar and Blod passed the church, Blod turned into the churchyard. Edgar was alarmed. What was she up to?

The grass had not yet grown over the grave of her child. On the turned earth, a pattern of smooth stones formed a cross, something Blod must have done herself. She knelt at the foot of the cross with her hands folded in prayer, and Edgar did the same.

Out of the corner of his eye, Edgar saw someone step out of the priest’s house.

He touched Blod’s arm to warn her. It was Father Deorwin, he saw. The old man stumbled a few yards then lifted the skirt of his robe. He and Blod froze in position. They were not invisible by any means, but he had to hope that they faded sufficiently into the darkness to elude an old man’s eyesight.

Like all children, Edgar had been taught that it was bad manners to stare at someone relieving himself, but now he watched Deorwin warily, praying that the old man would not raise his gaze. However, Deorwin was intent on what he was doing, and had no interest in looking around the hamlet as it slept in darkness. Finally he dropped his robe and slowly turned. For a moment his face was toward Edgar and Blod, and Edgar tensed, waiting for a reaction; but Deorwin seemed not to see them, and went back inside.

They went on, grateful for an old man’s poor eyesight.

They continued to the top of the rise. On the ridge the road forked. Blod was heading northwest, toward Trench.

Blod said: “Good-bye, Edgar.” She looked sad. She should have been happy: she was running away to freedom.

“Good luck,” said Edgar.

“I will never see you again.”

I hope not, Edgar thought; if we meet again it will mean you have been caught. He said: “Give my regards to Brioc and Eleri.”

“You remembered my parents’ names!”

He shrugged. “I liked the sound of them.”

“They’re going to hear all about you.” She kissed his cheek. “You’ve been a friend to me,” she said. “The only one.”

All he had done was treat her like a human being. “It wasn’t much.”

“It was everything.” She put her arms around him, laid her head on his shoulder, and hugged him hard. She rarely showed emotion, and the passion in her hug surprised him.

She released him and, without speaking again, she walked away along the road. She did not look back.

He watched her until she was out of sight.

He returned down the hill, still treading softly. It seemed no one else was awake. That was good: if he were seen now he could offer no possible excuse. A slave had escaped, and Edgar was up and walking around in the middle of the night: his complicity was undeniable. The consequences of that hardly bore thinking about.

He was tempted to reenter the alehouse and lie down in cozy safety, but he had promised to lay a false trail for Blod.

He went to the riverbank and untied the ferry. Brindle jumped in. Edgar boarded and quietly picked up the pole.

It needed only one thrust to push the ferry out into the current. The flow of water took the vessel around the north side of Leper Island. Edgar deployed the pole to keep away from the banks on both sides.

He floated past the farm. Erman and Eadbald had ploughed the field, and the moon shone on damp furrows. No light showed from the house, not even firelight, for there was no window.

The current was fastest a little to the right of midstream. Brindle stood at attention in the bow, sniffing the air, ears cocked for any sound. They passed through thick woodland interspersed with villages and single-family settlements. An owl hooted, and Brindle growled.

After an hour Edgar began to study the left bank, looking for a suitable place to leave the ferry. He needed a location where the boat might have got tangled in riverside vegetation so badly that a small, thin girl could not extricate it. He had to fake evidence that would tell a plain, clear story. If there was the least flaw then suspicion would immediately fall on him. There must be no room for doubt.

The place he chose was a small patch of shingle overhung by drooping trees and bushes. He poled to the bank and jumped. With an effort he hauled the heavy boat partly out of the water and pushed it into the vegetation.

He stepped back to study the picture he had created. It looked exactly as if an inexperienced person had lost control and allowed the boat to become entangled and beach itself.

His work was done. Now he had to walk back.

First he needed to cross the river. He took off his tunic and shoes and made a bundle of them. He stepped into the river, holding his clothes above his head with one hand to keep them dry, and swam across. On the other side he dressed quickly, shivering, while Brindle energetically shook herself dry.

Side by side, Edgar and his dog started to walk home.

The forest was not empty of people. However, even Ironface should be asleep now. If anyone was awake and moving nearby, Brindle would give warning. All the same, Edgar drew his ax from his belt, to be ready for anything.

Would his ruse work? Would Dreng and the other residents of the hamlet make the false deduction Edgar was trying to lead them to? Suddenly he could not judge how plausible the whole deception was. Doubts tortured him: he could hardly bear the thought of Blod being recaptured, after all she had been through.

He passed Theodberht Clubfoot’s sheepfold, and Theodberht’s dog barked. He suffered a moment of anxiety: if Theodberht saw him, the deception would lose all credibility. He hurried on, and the dog quieted. No one came out of the house.

Walking along the bank, occasionally having to fight through vegetation, he found that progress was slower than when on the ferry, and it took him almost two hours to get back. The moon set as he was passing the farm, and the stars were obscured by cloud, so he did the last stretch in thick darkness.

He made his way to the alehouse by memory and feel. Now came the final moment of danger. He paused outside the door, listening. The only sounds from inside were snores. He lifted the latch gently and pulled the door open. The snoring continued undisturbed. He stepped inside. In the firelight he could see three sleeping forms: Dreng, Leaf, and Ethel.

He hung his ax on its hook and lowered himself carefully into the straw. Brindle stretched out beside the fire.

Edgar took off his shoes and belt, closed his eyes, and lay down. After so much tension he thought he would lie awake a long time, but he fell asleep in seconds.

* * *

He woke up when someone shook his shoulder. He opened his eyes to daylight. It was Ethel rousing him. A quick look around showed him that Dreng and Leaf were still asleep.

With a jerk of her head Ethel beckoned him, then stepped outside. He followed.

He shut the door behind him and spoke in a low voice. “Thank you for not giving us away.” It was too late for her to do so, because she would have to reveal that she had seen them go and had done nothing. Now she, too, was complicit.

“What happened?” she whispered.

“Blod’s gone.”

“I thought you had run away together!”

“Together? Why would I run away?”

“Aren’t you in love with Blod?”