The Enchanter's Forest

Chapter 6

The early start, combined with a warm, dry day that was ideal for a journey, meant that the travellers reached the coast in the mid-afternoon. They made for the port of Pevensey, busy now in high summer with the arrival of many small ships from across the narrow seas and beyond. Josse left the others in an inn yard, where they would take care of the horses and then see about ordering a meal, and he set out along the quayside in search of a captain who would take the party over to France; preferably to some port as far to the west as possible.

After several refusals, uttered with varying degrees of civility, Josse found a man from Harwich who was about to set sail. The captain’s itinerary included several ports on the north coast of France, after which he would round the Breton peninsula and, on its southern side, sail up the wide Loire estuary to Nantes, then on southwards, hugging the coast, as far as Bordeaux. He was carrying English wool and Flanders cloth; at the mouth of the Seine he would stop to take on board a cargo of luxuries — tooled leather goods, spices and silks — that had been brought upriver from the market at Troyes, then he would sail on to Barfleur and then-

At this point in the captain’s apparently endless narrative Josse interrupted and enquired very courteously whether or not the man took passengers.

‘Passengers?’ He sniffed, eyeing Josse dubiously. ‘I take those who can pay.’ He jerked his head in the direction of a group of half a dozen men in the simply cut, dark and hooded robes typical of monks, who were sitting in the shade by the wall that ran along at the rear of the quay. One man sat a little apart from the others and he seemed to be watching the comings and goings with avid curiosity; perhaps, Josse thought vaguely, this was his first excursion outside whichever walls usually penned him up. Near to the monks an elderly man sat gazing vacantly into space, his lips moving as if in prayer. Or he might have been talking to himself.

‘Have you space for more?’ Josse asked. ‘Four adults, a child and four horses?’

‘I have room,’ the captain said. He pointed along the quayside to where his ship lay berthed, her deck and the two gangplanks busy with the comings and goings of the crew. ‘My ship is generously sized and adapted for the accommodation of horses. Where do you wish to go?’

‘Two adults of the party are bound for Nantes; the others and the child for’ — Where were he and Joanna bound? He realised that he had only the vaguest idea — ‘er, for Brittany.’

The captain smiled. ‘Nantes is in Brittany.’

‘We wish to go north of Nantes.’ He was pretty sure that was right, anyway.

‘Well, then perhaps I will drop you off at Dinan.’

‘Dinan? Aye, very well, if that is what you advise,’ Josse agreed.

The captain shrugged. ‘There is no need to decide now. I will take your party, sir knight, although it will not be cheap.’

He named a price. Josse gave a dramatic cry of horror, throwing his hands in the air as if he’d just been informed he had missed the Second Coming, and offered half. After some haggling, they agreed at a figure that was roughly three-quarters of the captain’s original sum. They shook on the deal and Josse agreed to hand over the coins (the Abbess had insisted on funding his and Joanna’s travelling expenses from the Abbey’s coffers; Gervase and Sabin also carried money sufficient for their journey) as soon as all of the party were aboard.

Then, satisfied with the arrangements, Josse returned to tell the others that they would be sailing that evening as soon as the tide turned.

The ship was called the Goddess of the Dawn and she was a clinker-built cob whose design showed clear signs of its longboat origins, although she was shorter and rounder in shape. She was some thirty paces long; her planks, set parallel on the widely curving ribs, ran from the high prow to the equally high stern in precise, even lines that drew the eye and spoke aloud the ship’s beauty. A tall mast stood amidships, the square sail at present neatly furled. From the front of the prow extended the bowsprit, to which could be fastened the bowlines attached to the edges of the sail that enabled a canny captain to sail close to the wind. Along the gunwales was a row of holes, for the use of oars when the wind failed and for manoeuvring in estuaries and rivers. The rear quarter of the deck was covered by a wooden construction, on its roof a railed-in aft deck. A door gave access to a dim interior, beneath which a companionway led to the storage area where the horses were also accommodated.

On the ship’s high prow there was a figurehead, skilfully carved in pale oak, depicting a woman with flowing hair and a fierce expression. As befitted a goddess, she was accorded deep respect by her captain and crew.

Watching from the quay some time after sunset as the horses were led aboard, Josse observed his companions as they stared at the ship to which they were about to entrust their safety and their lives. Sabin, noticing the figurehead, gave a small gasp and, furtively making the sign of the cross on her breast, muttered something inaudible. Gervase, as befitted a man deeply in love, turned his attention from staring up at the tiny platform right at the top of the mast and gave Sabin a reassuring hug. Joanna’s expression was unreadable; Meggie, held tight in her mother’s arms, was clamouring to get down and rush off to explore.

‘Come on, then,’ Josse said bracingly. ‘We’ll go aboard and settle ourselves in, then we’ll eat the supper we’ve just purchased as the ship sails.’

Without giving anyone time to protest, he strode up the gangplank; the sound of footsteps behind him indicated that the others were following. But then why would they not? he asked himself; all of the party, with the possible exception of Gervase, had crossed the narrow seas before and the two women had both done so quite recently. They’ll lose any fear that they have once we’re on our way, he told himself.

The captain, who introduced himself as Harald, offered to show the women to their cabin; the men would have to make themselves comfortable on deck, he told them, since the second cabin was his and anyway far too small for more than one person. But the weather seemed to be set fair and Josse thought privately that he would much prefer to bed down out in the fresh air beneath the stars than in some fusty cabin. He and Gervase found a place immediately behind the main mast, where the fresh water barrel stood protected by a small roof, and, setting down their bags and bedrolls, laid claim to it.

‘Should we not have a better view up in the prow?’ Gervase said.

‘Aye, maybe, although there will not be much to see once night falls out in the middle of the Channel,’ Josse replied. ‘But my reason for selecting this spot is because if it’s rough out there, the middle of the ship will have less motion than the ends.’ He made a seesaw movement with his hand, the centre of his palm remaining relatively still; he was aware that he had not used the correct seaman’s words but Gervase understood.

‘Of course,’ he murmured. ‘Josse, I am glad that you and your experience are with us.’

The women rejoined them quite soon. Joanna did not speak but Josse heard Sabin mutter to Gervase that the cabin smelt of stale sweat and she was sure she had seen a rat run away as they entered. With a private smile — he was quite glad not to be the recipient of her complaints — he announced he was going below to make sure the horses were being adequately cared for.

As he came back up on deck, having satisfied himself that the horses were all right, he felt the planks beneath his feet give a sort of a lurch; looking down on to the quay, he saw that they had untied and were under way.

Taking a bracing breath — despite the experience to which Gervase had referred, Josse still hated the sea — he went to rejoin the others.

The wind was from the west and the captain utilised it and ran before it almost due east to Boulogne. Although its force lessened as the night went on, still it was sufficient to fill the sails and drive the Goddess of the Dawn on at a fair speed. Opening his eyes at first light — despite the padded bedroll, a wooden deck was not a place conducive to prolonged, deep sleep — Josse saw straight ahead the line of the French coast. He got up quietly so as not to disturb Gervase and walked soft-footed back along the deck on the starboard side, where the captain stood talking quietly to the steersman.

‘Good morning,’ Josse murmured.

The steersman nodded a greeting. The captain said, ‘Sleep well, did you?’

Josse shrugged. ‘Not bad.’

Harald laughed softly. ‘Not like our holy brethren up there.’ He nodded in the direction of the half-deck above the cabins. ‘One of them — maybe more than one — is snoring fit to wake the dead.’

Josse listened; aye, the captain was right. The sound of steady, rhythmic and loud snoring could be heard above the rushing of the sea and the various creaks and groans of a wooden ship under canvas moving at speed. ‘Sounds like a chorus to me,’ he observed.

Harald grinned. ‘Maybe it’s a version of plainsong and they throw the sound back and forth between them.’

‘Where are they bound?’ Josse asked.

‘Mont Saint Michel. D’you know it?’

‘I’ve heard of the place. Set in a bay where the sea rushes in like a galloping horse, they say.’

‘Aye, it’s a wild and bleak place all right. Cut off by the sea except at low tide, shrouded in mist more often than not and home to nobody but the monks.’ The captain shook his head. ‘Wouldn’t do for me.’

Josse agreed. Then: ‘How soon do you expect to dock in Boulogne?’

‘Hour or more yet. We’ll have to take in sail as we near the coast — there’s some shallows there where the sand banks up and we’ll take it carefully.’

Thanking him, Josse made his way forward and stood up in the high prow, his elbows resting on the rail beside the Goddess’s large wooden head. He would wake the others presently but, for now, he took pleasure in some time alone to stare out at the reassuring sight of the coastline ahead. It was irrational, he knew, for a man could drown as readily three paces from the shore as three miles, but somehow he always felt much safer once he was in sight of land. He glanced at the stern profile of the Goddess beside him then, after a quick check to see if anyone was watching, stretched out his hand and patted her firm, rounded shoulder. ‘Look after us, Lady,’ he muttered.

The Goddess, naturally, did not reply.

The party spent another five days and nights aboard the Goddess of the Dawn, during which time the ship came to feel almost like home. The winds remained predominantly from the west or the south-west and, since this was the overall direction in which the ship was sailing, progress was often frustratingly slow. But Harald was a skilful sailor and, although often sailing almost straight into the wind, he usually managed to find a tack that ensured forward movement.

Joanna abandoned the cabin after the first night; Sabin followed her after the second. For the remainder of the voyage the two women spread blankets on the deck beneath the mast beside Josse and Gervase where, at night, Meggie would be securely placed between them. The weather stayed fine and the ship kept quite close to the shore. The sea was for the most part calm and when rough waters were encountered, such as at the wide mouth of the Seine, the ship’s motion proved to be no worse than a steady rocking and the spray was no more than a refreshing mist on the face.

On the morning of the fifth day, Joanna sat with Meggie on the aft deck, watching the dancing waves and telling her a story about a city that drowned when the seas rushed in. To Joanna’s quiet delight, the little girl showed no fear — which might have been understandable even in an older child, bearing in mind that they were at sea and therefore not in the ideal place for a tale with drowning as its theme — but instead sat with wind-flushed cheeks and a fascinated half-smile staring out over the deep green water.

Aware of eyes upon her — Joanna’s sensitivity had grown fast during the years of her instruction — she turned and saw that one of the monks was staring at her. She met his gaze for a split second — his face was shaded by his hood and she could not read his expression — and then he bowed his head.

Returning her attention to Meggie and picking up the story, Joanna wondered why the small encounter had upset her. She had felt malice coming from those shadowed eyes; of that there was no doubt. One arm around Meggie’s waist as the child sat on her lap, Joanna reached inside her gown with her other hand and found the bear’s claw set in silver that she wore on a silver chain. Holding it firmly, she asked for protection from whatever it was that threatened her; after a few moments, she felt reassured.

She finished her tale and Meggie relaxed against her, half asleep and no doubt wandering happily in daydreams of magical drowned cities. Joanna wondered again about the monk; she risked a quick glance and saw that he was still there, although now the others had returned to their habitual place and were sitting muttering together. Perhaps they were praying.

She closed her eyes and went back to that moment when she had felt the monk’s malevolent thought directed against her. Was it simply that he heard her story and, judging her to be a pagan, instantly hated her? It was quite likely; one of her anxieties over coming on this journey had been over the inevitable proximity with Outworlders — her people’s name for those who lived beyond the forest — that it would bring. She had been given training in how to go unnoticed when with Outworlders and she could make herself so unobtrusive as to be to all purposes invisible; yet he — that monk — had glared at her as if he knew exactly who and what she was and both loathed and condemned her for it.

She risked another quick look at the group of monks. The one who had stared at her sat a little apart and she realised that she had already noticed something about him: he did not join in conversations or eat the sparse and not very appetising meals with the others. Was he being punished? Joanna was not very familiar with the ways of monks but she had an idea that temporary ostracism might well be the penalty for some piece of behaviour unacceptable to the community. With a faint smile she amused herself by wondering what the shunned one had done. It served to distract her from her moment of fear and soon she had forgotten all about it.

The ship had put in at Barfleur — Josse had told his companions that the port was favoured by their King and his mother, a fact verified by the excellent state of repair of everything from hawsers and bollards to the quay itself — and, since Harald said that it would take some time to complete the unloading and loading procedures, Gervase suggested that the party go ashore. Their horses were brought up from their accommodation below and for a happy hour the party enjoyed a ride on the fresh green grass above the town. Sabin spotted a street market on the way back to the quay and, handing her mare’s reins to Gervase, stopped to purchase some provisions.

As the Goddess of the Dawn sailed out of Barfleur and prepared to round the Cherbourg peninsula, the four adults and Meggie enjoyed a simple meal of bread, cheese, apples and a flagon of cider that nevertheless tasted like a feast.

At noon on the sixth day out of Pevensey, the ship reached Mont Saint Michel. Since the little island could only be approached at high tide, the Goddess stood off for an hour or so then, with the small waves now lapping at the rocky feet of the Mount, she put in briefly and tied up at a rickety wooden jetty. Josse and the others watched with amusement as the party of monks was ushered swiftly and unceremoniously off the ship by the clearly anxious Harald; ‘I’m surprised he didn’t chuck them in the sea half a mile off and make them swim for it,’ Josse observed. With haste, the crew prepared to put to sea again, every man of them, the captain as well, working with fierce concentration in that perilous place that tested the most experienced seamanship.

Josse and the others watched them intently, admiring their efficiency; Josse for one was relieved when at last they were done and the ship began to pull away from the jetty. So total was the absorption of both passengers and crew upon the task in hand that hardly anybody noticed the strange behaviour of one of the monks, the last one to slither down the gangplank and in the rear of the rest of the party by some fifteen or twenty paces. A couple of sailors, anxious to draw back the gangplank, went to hurry him up; abruptly he turned and ran back along the narrow plank, now stretched over the gap of water that was already appearing between the ship’s sides and the wooden supports of the quay. With a brief nod to the sailors, who were watching him indifferently as if passengers changing their minds at the last moment were all in a day’s work, he sprang up on to the gunwale and ducked down out of sight into the companionway leading down to the cargo deck. His brother monks, already some twenty paces away, did not notice any more than most of those on board the ship had done. Even if they had, it would not have concerned them overly.

The man was the monk whom Joanna had thought was being ostracised.

He was not in fact a monk at all.

Late in the afternoon the Goddess entered the estuary of the river Rance. She sailed for a mile or two up the wide waters of the river’s mouth but the captain knew that he could not approach the port of Dinan, perhaps another six or seven miles upstream, until the tide was once again coming in and the sea building up towards high water.

Joanna, seeing Sabin standing up in the prow, went to join her.

‘How are you feeling?’ she asked her quietly; Sabin had been very sick during the first night in the stuffy cabin. She had asked Joanna not to tell Gervase and Josse, explaining with a wry smile that she was meant to be the healer, not the patient. She had dosed herself with a remedy of her own making — Joanna had been interested in the ingredients, the main one of which was root of ginger — and she had not felt as bad again, although she had been frequently upset by the ship’s motion and had consequently felt queasy for most of the voyage.

Sabin smiled. ‘Better now that the end is all but in sight,’ she said.

‘You and Gervase intend to disembark at Dinan too?’

‘Yes,’ Sabin confirmed. ‘Gervase was for sailing on round to Nantes, but I have heard that the sea gets rough around the Breton peninsular and I was very reluctant to encounter anything worse than we have already experienced.’

Joanna was about to point out that the sea had been flat as a pond almost all the way, but it would have been unkind and so she didn’t. She had noticed that, while some people quickly grew accustomed to the way a ship pitched and tossed and were soon no longer nauseated by the motion, others could sail all their lives and still lose their most recent meal at the first wave. ‘So you will continue your journey by road?’

‘Yes. The captain sent for one of his sailors, a man who knows the area, and he told us that the road from Dinan to Rennes is good. The one from Rennes to Nantes, as I know from my own experience, is even better. At this time of year, we shall make good progress and perhaps even beat the Goddess into Nantes.’

‘Even if you don’t,’ Joanna observed, ‘you’ll arrive feeling better than if you’ve just rounded Armorica on a sailing vessel.’

‘Armorica?’ Sabin queried. ‘A Breton myself, I know the word, of course — it is the ancient name for Brittany — but I was not aware that anyone still called the land by that name.’

Joanna could think of no reply; a short, trite answer would have served, only she did not want to fob Sabin off with the trivial; the full explanation would have taken far too long. ‘I — er, I must have heard someone use the term somewhere,’ she said vaguely. Sabin eyed her curiously for a moment then, with a faint shrug, turned away.

The Goddess of the Dawn tied up at the quayside in the port of Dinan just as darkness fell. The journey upriver had been slow and tedious, especially for the crew, who had manned the oars for the last stretch. Their labours had been aided by the incoming tide, which sent the water flooding in up the river, but the men nevertheless had been hard put to it to keep the ship steady in mid-stream. Watching the swift expertise with which the hands secured the vessel to the quay, Josse thought that to a man they were undoubtedly looking forward to going ashore for a hot meal and a well-earned drink or two.

The captain sent four of his crew to bring the horses up from below and as Gervase and the two women set about stowing their bags and bedrolls behind the horses’ saddles, Josse went to say farewell to Harald.

‘When d’ye expect to return to England?’ Harald asked. ‘That is, if you’re intending to return?’

‘Aye, we’ll be going back,’ Josse confirmed. ‘As to when. .’ He shrugged. ‘I cannot say. It depends on how long it takes us to see to our various missions.’

Harald nodded sagely. ‘Men of affairs, then.’

‘Er — aye.’ It seemed easier to agree than to enter into extensive explanations which were, in any case, nobody else’s business.

‘We’ll not be calling in here on our return,’ Harald said, ‘but we’ll be bringing a consignment of wine up from Bordeaux to the monks on the Mont, so you might catch us there if you’ve a mind to. Won’t be for more than a fortnight at the very least, however, and longer than that if these westerlies keep up.’

Josse was hoping to be safely back in Hawkenlye before that. ‘Thank you, captain. We’ll see how we go.’

And, with a bow, he took his leave of both captain and ship and went down the gangplank to join the others.

They climbed the winding, cobbled street that led up from the port, leading the horses because of the steepness of the incline; in addition, the stones were slimy with the refuse of a day’s traffic and, despite the cobbles, more than once one or other of the horses slipped. The incline flattened out slightly as the road approached the town walls and, in single file now, the party went under the great arched gateway, its iron grille at present raised. Joanna, who had been here before, glanced up at the darkening sky: twilight was fast falling and within the hour it would be fully dark and the gates would be secured for the night.

She had not anticipated coming back to Dinan when she had agreed to accompany Josse to Armorica. In a place close by the town she had endured the worst time of her life: pregnant by one of the most famous men in the western world, she had been married off to an elderly lord and sent to live with him in his ancient family manor. For six years he had made her life hell and then he had taken a fall out hunting and his death had released her. She had fled, taking her young son, a few personal possessions, the boy’s pony and her own mare and taking ship to England, to seek refuge with the only person in the world whom she trusted.

And look, Joanna thought as she panted up the last steep incline of the Rue du Jerzual, what that flight has led to. .

She became aware that Josse was speaking and hastily began to listen.

‘. . find a place where they’ll provide a good meal and beds for the night?’ he suggested.

He seemed to be asking her; presumably he too remembered that she used to live in the area.

‘I do not know Dinan well,’ she said, ‘only having visited on rare occasions. I am sure there is decent accommodation to be found, although I cannot say where.’

Josse, she noticed, had flashed her a look of sympathy and understanding; she tried to recall exactly what she had told him of her life with Thorald de Lehon and, embarrassed, thought that she might have included a few details that she would have done better to have left out.

‘There’s an inn down the street to our left,’ Gervase said. ‘Shall we try there? Plenty of people seem to be going in, which is always a good sign!’ He spoke lightly, as if he too felt Joanna’s unease.

She looked in the direction of the inn. It was indeed busy, and the sound of voices and laughter floated out into the street. She nodded. ‘Very well.’

Gervase went in beneath the arched entrance to the inner yard and engaged a harassed-looking man in conversation, pointing back at the others standing in the street. After a few moments the man gave a shrug and nodded. Gervase beckoned, and Josse led the way into the yard. The man had whistled up a couple of lads, who took charge of the horses, and Gervase explained that he had secured a room for the women and Meggie and space in the communal dormitory for himself and Josse.

‘It’s not perfect, but it will serve, I think?’ He looked anxiously at Sabin.

‘It’s fine,’ she said. ‘Can we eat here too?’

Gervase smiled. ‘Oh, yes. That was the first thing I asked — I’m starving.’

Joanna looked around the small room that had been allocated to herself and Sabin. There was one bed, not very wide, and although the bedding looked reasonably fresh it had clearly been used. I’m going to hate this, she thought miserably; accustomed to nights in the fresh cleanliness of her little hut in the forest, where the invigorating air blew gently through the unshuttered window, to be forced to sleep in a confined space with the smell of other people in her nostrils was anathema to her. And she would have to share her bed not only with Meggie — which she was used to and which she loved — but also with Sabin. And as yet she had not decided whether she even liked Sabin. .

Sabin had removed her gown and under-shift and was washing vigorously, bending over the basin and splashing water over face, neck, breasts and armpits. Drying herself on a small piece of linen from her bag, she grinned at Joanna. ‘That’s better. There’s plenty more water in the ewer if you want to wash too.’

‘Thank you. I’ll see to Meggie, then use up what’s left.’

‘Don’t be long,’ Sabin said. ‘The men are keen to eat.’

‘Very well.’

Quite soon Joanna was finished and she and Sabin set off along the passage towards the eating area, where Josse and Gervase could be seen downing large mugs of something no doubt cool and refreshing and probably also alcoholic. Sabin began to make some comment but just at that moment she caught her toe on an uneven flagstone and tripped, lurching against the wall and throwing out a hand to save herself. There was a ripping sound; looking down at her upper body, Joanna saw a large tear in the bodice of Sabin’s gown. An area of creamy white flesh was visible, together with one rosy nipple.

Despite herself, Joanna giggled. ‘I don’t think you can go in to dinner like that.’

Sabin muttered something in her own tongue, then smiled ruefully as she tried to pull the torn edges together. ‘No, I can’t,’ she agreed. ‘I can mend this, but it’ll take quite a while to do a good job.’

‘Have you another tunic?’

‘Yes. You go on — I’ll go back to our room and change.’

Joanna walked on into the dining area. She swiftly explained what had happened and said that Sabin would join them as soon as she could; Gervase, nodding, indicated a long table at the far end of the room and suggested they sat down and ordered some food.

Gervase sat with his back to the room, and Josse and Joanna sat against the wall, Meggie between them. The child was tired and hungry and consequently on the edge of being fractious; Josse took her on his lap and entertained her with the peek-a-boo game, contorting his face into the alternate happy and sad expressions with each passage of his hand. Meggie found this quite fascinating, wrinkling up her own little face as she tried to copy him. Joanna was in the midst of laughing at the picture that the two of them made together when suddenly she felt as if she was being stabbed; the sharp pain between her eyes was exactly as if someone were attacking her with the point of a dagger.

Recognising the sensation, she bent forward briefly, pretending to straighten Meggie’s tunic, and unobtrusively drew forward the small veil that she had put on when they came ashore, careful to make sure that it concealed her face. Then slowly she raised her head and let her eyes wander around the crowded room.

She saw him almost immediately. The force of his expression horrified her; no wonder it had caused her pain, for malice poured out of him, honed to a fine point that was aimed straight at her.

She thought quite calmly, I have to get away.

She leaned close to Josse and murmured, ‘I’ll go and see if I can help Sabin,’ then, getting up with unhurried grace, she left the room. Once out of sight of anyone within it, she ran as fast as she could along the passage to the bed chamber.

Bursting into the room, she found a flustered Sabin struggling with the laces at one side of a pretty grey-blue gown; the braid had got itself into a knot that she could not untie. Sabin looked up as Joanna flung the door closed and, panting, leaned against it.

‘What’s the matter?’ Sabin’s eyes were round with amazement. ‘You look terrible — what has happened?’ Her face paled suddenly and she seemed to sway. ‘Oh, God, it’s not Gervase? He’s not hurt?’

Registering with a part of her mind how deep was Sabin’s love for Gervase, if even the thought of his having come to harm affected her so badly, Joanna hastened to say, ‘No, Gervase is perfectly all right — they all are.’

‘What is it, then?’ Sabin looked only partially reassured.

Joanna took a breath, trying to steady herself. Then she said, ‘I used to live near here. I was married to a man — Thorald — whom I hated and when he died I took my son and we ran away. His younger brother thought I had killed him and was after my blood, only he never found me.’

‘Oh, how terrible! He was cruel to you, this Thorald?’

‘Yes.’ She was not going to elaborate. ‘And Cesaire — he’s the brother, the one who thought I’d killed Thorald — is right at this moment eating his supper in the tavern.’

Sabin rushed to her side. ‘Has he seen you?’

Joanna’s terror broke out of her control and flooded through her; dropping her face into her hands, she whispered, ‘Yes.’ She removed her hands and stared at Sabin. ‘He won’t let me go again. He’ll have me arrested and they’ll probably hang me.’

Sabin put her arms around Joanna. ‘No they won’t,’ she said bracingly. She gave her a little shake. Then, after a moment’s swift thought, she said, ‘Listen. I’ve got an idea.’