tunic flying upwards as he jumped down into a shallow ditch. But Eva was faster, stronger, than the small boy. The past had taught her, taught her how important it was for a woman to be fit and strong, to at least attempt to try to match the physical power of men, although she knew it was impossible. Katherine had mocked her gently, but understood: Eva’s need to take herself off every day, to walk and run, to keep her body strong. Now, her feet sprang across the solid ground, nimble and fast, the toned muscle in her thighs and calves powering her forward. Flying along the track, she advanced on the boy’s sprinting figure, stretching out her arm towards the bobbing tunic, the tuft of blond unbrushed hair.
‘Got you!’ Grabbing the frail bones of the boy’s shoulder, she spun him around, cheeks flaring with anger. ‘For God’s sake, Peter, why do you not come when we call you? Do you think this is a game? There are strangers about; we need to return to the castle!’
‘I’m sorry, Eva.’ Peter hung his head at her sharp tone, shivering slightly. Tears welled up in his eyes, leaking slowly down the side of his face. ‘I was having so much fun; I didn’t think.’
‘Nay, don’t cry.’ Eva wrapped her arms about his bird-boned shoulders, hugging him. ‘I shouldn’t have shouted. Let’s go back.’ Her linen head covering had come adrift as she had run; now she rewound the coarse material about her head and neck, throwing the loose end back over her shoulder.
‘Come,’ she said to Peter, extending her arm towards him.
He threw her an unsteady smile and took her fingers, gripping strongly. The shadows of the forest deepened steadily: individual trees losing their definition, trunks blurring together into one dark mass. Soon they would be unable to see without a light. Heart thumping, Eva lengthened her stride, dragging Peter along with her, the thistly undergrowth scratching at their clothes. At last they reached the fringes of the forest, the castle lights and town fires twinkling in the valley below. She sagged with relief at the welcoming sight. Of the horsemen, there was no sign.
They scampered haphazardly down the slope, leather-shod feet slipping on the icy grass. Eva lost her footing only once, sliding down on to her side, but quickly rolled to spring up into a standing position once more, pulling Peter with her. He was grinning, loving the adventure. She smiled back, reassuring, but inside her heart was tense, stricken with anxiety. She had had enough adventures to last her a lifetime; she had no need of any more.
A stone wall, four feet thick, encompassed Melyn Town and Castle, an extra line of defence constructed by Katherine’s ancestors out of hefty sandstone blocks. As far as most people knew, the only way through this wall was via the town gatehouse, manned day and night by Katherine’s house knights. But Eva knew differently. She headed for a clump of hawthorns clustered together at the point where the wall ended at the cliff edge, high above the churning river. Behind these thorny shrubs, laden with red berries, was a narrow door, a secret entrance known only to Katherine’s closest confidants.
Pushing back the curtain of ivy, Eva twisted the handle, forcing the stiff iron latch to rise. She clutched Peter’s hand. The castle was before them, a short walk away. The moat gleamed with glossy blackness, surface like grease-covered silk, weed-strewn depths treacherous even to the strongest swimmer. Eva’s stomach gave a queasy flip; she looked away. A guard walked along the battlements, his burning torch flaring down on to the water, a wavering light. The gatehouse with its two circular turrets loomed up before them, a wooden drawbridge crossing the inky waters of the moat. Even in this crepuscular gloom, Eva saw that the drawbridge was down. Katherine had chosen not to listen to her after all.
‘Careful,’ she whispered to Peter, crouching down so that her face was on a level with his. ‘I would stay here, out of sight for the moment. Only come when I call you.’
‘And if you don’t call?’ A faint whine laced his voice. He was tired and hungry, Eva knew that. But those knights might have come through the town gate already; she had to make sure the castle was safe.
‘Then run and hide,’ she replied, trying to keep her tone light, jolly. ‘I’m supposed to be looking after you and I don’t want your mother coming after me in a rage if something happens to you.’
Peter grinned. One of his top teeth was missing, giving him an impish air. ‘All right,’ he agreed, poking the toe of his boot into a tussock of grass. ‘I’ll stay here.’
Eva walked slowly up the path towards the gatehouse, heart thumping erratically. The stone walls rose before her, studded with moss, giving the façade a lumpy, diseased appearance. A climbing rose straggled out over the low, pointed arch, bobbing, adrift, ripped from its moorings in a previous gale and never secured again. The silence of twilight crowded around her; only the rippling sound of water from the moat and an owl’s lonely hoot hollowed out the dusk.
Fingers brushing stone, she rounded the bottom of one circular turret. The portcullis was up. She peered into the narrow entrance, slightly irritated by her over-vigilant behaviour; she had managed to frighten everyone, both Peter and his mother. Lit by a single torch, the cobbled passageway was empty, leading to two closed wooden gates at the far end that gave access to the drawbridge. A single guard leaned against the sturdy criss-crossed planks, chin hunkered down to his chest and his arms folded tightly, so that his gloved hands could tuck beneath each armpit for warmth.
‘John,’ she said, recognising him, stepping forward into the torchlight.
His head jerked upwards in surprise. ‘Eva,’ he exclaimed. ‘Finally. The Lady Katherine was concerned. She said you were looking for Peter. Did you find him?’
‘I did. He’s waiting outside until I call him.’ Her shoulders slumped in relief. ‘There’s no one else here?’
‘No,’ said John. ‘Those horsemen probably found an inn in the town. Or perhaps they were travelling further, maybe to Dodleigh.’
‘I’ll fetch Peter.’ Happiness, coupled with relief, bubbled up in her chest. Spinning on her heel, she strode out of the gatehouse.
Stopped. A hand flew up to her mouth in horror.
A group of knights clustered before the gatehouse, reining in their mounts. Metal bits and stirrups gleamed in the feeble light; chainmail shone. Their approach had been silent, stealthy; they must have slowed the animals to walking pace for the last few yards over the spongy grass. So they had come here, after all.
‘John!’ Eva called out, her voice stricken with panic. ‘John, come here, now!’
The lead horseman lifted his visor, his face lined with tiredness. White hair clung to his creased, sweating forehead. ‘Don’t be frightened, maid,’ he spoke slowly. ‘We come in peace.’ The three golden lions of the King decorated his red woollen surcoat, gleaming threateningly.
John moved alongside her, holding the flaring, spitting torch aloft. ‘Who are you?’ he asked. ‘What do you want?’
The knight leaned forward in his saddle, gingerly, as if trying to ease some pain. The saddle creaked beneath his weight. ‘I trust we have reached Melyn Castle? The home of Lady Katherine de Montagu? The niece of King Edward?’
‘Aye, my lord, that is correct,’ John answered.
‘In that case, I have a message for the lady, written by the King, her uncle, and I have orders from him to deliver it only to her. No one else.’ The old knight produced a scroll of parchment from his saddlebag, and waved it at them.
His huge destrier snorted, canting to the right impatiently, revealing the five or six other
