Then she told herself not to be foolish. Although he had been in many fights, she had never known him to strike a woman or a child. All the same, his anger made her tremble.

But it was nothing like that. As soon as he got within hailing distance he shouted: “Have you seen Gram?”

“No, why?”

He came closer and stopped, breathing hard. “How long have you been here?”

“I got up before dawn.”

Wulfric’s shoulders slumped. “Then, if he came this way, he’s out of reach by now.”

“What’s happened?”

“He’s disappeared – and so has my horse.”

That explained Wulfric’s rage. A horse was a valuable asset – only wealthy peasants such as his father could afford one. Gwenda recalled how quickly Gram had changed the subject when she said she might know his brother. He did not have a brother at the priory, of course, nor had he lost his wife and child in a fire. He was a liar who had wormed his way into the confidence of the villagers with the intention of stealing. “What fools we were to listen to his story,” she said.

“And I the biggest fool of all, to take him into my house,” Wulfric said bitterly. “He stayed just long enough for the animals to get to know him, so that the horse was willing to go with him, and the dog didn’t bark when he left.”

Gwenda’s heart ached for Wulfric, losing the horse at a time when he needed it most. “I don’t think he came this way,” she said thoughtfully. “He can’t have left before me – the night was too dark. And if he had followed me I would have seen him.” There was only one road into and out of the village, and it dead-ended at the manor house. But there were numerous pathways across the fields. “He probably took the lane between Brookfield and Longfield – it’s the quickest way into the forest.”

“The horse can’t move very fast in the woods. I might catch him yet.” Wulfric turned and ran back the way he had come.

“Good luck,” Gwenda called after him, and he waved acknowledgement without turning his head.

However, he did not have good luck.

Late that afternoon, as Gwenda was carrying a sack of peas from Brookfield to the lord’s barn, she walked past Longfield and saw Wulfric again. He was digging over his fallow land with a spade. Obviously he had not caught up with Gram, nor retrieved his horse.

She put down the sack and crossed the field to speak to him. “You can’t do this,” she said. “You’ve got thirty acres here, and you’ve ploughed, what, ten? No man can dig over twenty acres.”

He did not meet her eye. He carried on digging, his face set. “I can’t plough,” he said. “I’ve no horse.”

“Put yourself in harness,” she said. “You’re strong, and it’s a light plough – you’re only killing thistles.”

“I’ve no one to guide the plough.”

“Yes, you have.”

He stared at her.

“I’ll do it,” she said.

He shook his head.

She said: “You’ve lost your family, and now you’ve lost your horse. You can’t manage on your own. You have no choice. You have to let me help you.”

He looked away, across the fields, towards the village, and she knew he was thinking about Annet.

“I’ll be ready first thing tomorrow morning,” Gwenda said.

His gaze returned to her. His face worked with emotion. He was torn between love of the land and a desire to please Annet.

“I’ll knock on your door,” Gwenda said. “We’ll plough the rest together.” She turned and walked away, then stopped and looked back.

He did not say Yes.

But he did not say No.

They ploughed for two days, then made hay, then picked spring vegetables.

Now that Gwenda was no longer earning money to pay Widow Huberts for bed and board, she needed somewhere else to sleep, so she moved into Wulfric’s cowshed. She explained the reason, and he made no objection.

After the first day, Annet ceased to bring Wulfric’s dinner at midday, so Gwenda would prepare food for them both from his cupboard: bread, ale in a jug, boiled eggs or cold bacon, and spring onions or beets. Once again, Wulfric accepted the change without comment.

She still had the love potion. The little pottery vial was in a tiny leather bag attached to a thong around her neck. It hung between her breasts, hidden from view. She could have dosed his ale at any dinner time, but she would not be able to take advantage of its effects out in the fields in the middle of the day.

Every evening he went to Perkin’s house and had supper with Annet and her family, so Gwenda sat alone in his kitchen. When he returned he often looked grim, but he said nothing to Gwenda, so she assumed he must have overruled Annet’s objections. He went to bed without taking anything more to eat or drink, so she was not able to use the potion.

On the Saturday after Gram ran off, Gwenda made herself a supper of greens boiled with salt pork. Wulfric’s house was stocked with food for four adults, so there was plenty to eat. The evenings were cool, even though it was now July, and after she had eaten she put another log on the kitchen fire and sat watching it catch alight, thinking of the simple, predictable life she had led until a few short weeks ago, marvelling at how that life had collapsed as completely as the bridge at Kingsbridge.

When the door opened, she thought it was Wulfric coming home. She always retired to the cowshed when he came back, but she enjoyed the few friendly words they exchanged before going to bed. She looked up eagerly, expecting to see his handsome face; but she suffered an unpleasant shock.

It was not Wulfric, but her father.

With him was a rough-looking stranger.

She leaped to her feet, full of fear. “What do you want?”

Skip gave a hostile bark, but retreated from Joby in fear.

Joby said: “Now, then, my little girl, no need to be afraid, I’m your pa.”

She recalled, with dismay, her mother’s vague warning in church. “Who is he?” she said, pointing at the stranger.

“This here is Jonah from Abingdon, a dealer in hides.”

Jonah might once have been a merchant, Gwenda thought grimly, and he might even come from Abingdon, but his boots were worn, his clothes were filthy, and his matted hair and straggly beard showed that he had not visited a city barber for some years.

Showing more courage than she felt, Gwenda said: “Get away from me.”

“I told you she was feisty,” Joby said to Jonah. “But she’s a good girl, and strong.”

Jonah spoke for the first time. “Not to worry,” he said. He licked his lips as he studied Gwenda, and she wished she were wearing more than her light wool dress. “I’ve broken in a few fillies in my time,” he added.

Gwenda had no doubt that her father had carried out his threat and sold her again. She had thought that leaving his house would make her safe. Surely the villagers would not permit the abduction of a labourer employed by one of their number? But it was dark, now, and she might be far away before anyone realized what had happened.

There was no one to help her.

All the same, she was not going without a fight.

She looked around desperately, searching for a weapon. The log she had put on a few minutes ago was blazing at one end, but it was about eighteen inches long, and the other end stuck out invitingly. She bent quickly and snatched it up.

“Now, then, no need for that sort of thing,” said Joby. “You don’t want to hurt your old pa, do you?” He stepped closer.

A rush of rage overwhelmed her. How dare he speak of himself as her old pa when he was trying to sell her? Suddenly she did want to hurt him. She leaped at him, screaming with rage, thrusting the burning log at his face.

He jumped back, but she kept coming, mad with fury. Skip yapped frantically. Joby lifted his arms to protect himself, trying to knock the brand away, but she was strong, too. His flailing arms failed to stop her rush, and she pushed the red-hot end of the log into his face. He screamed in pain as it scorched his cheek. His dirty beard caught fire, and there was a sickening smell of roasting flesh.