Broghan picked up the rat. It struggled and shrank back but it could not escape. She held it near her face, stared into its frightened eyes. Her tongue darted out through her full lips, tasting the air, and the rat squeaked. Broghan grinned.

“Stop tormenting that creature” said Rowena. Her voice was reed thin, and when she finished the short sentence, she sucked loudly. The globule of saliva that had formed on the corner of her lip disappeared back into her toothless mouth. “Don’t be cruel when there’s no real need for it.”

Broghan scowled and handed the rat to her mistress, who held it up and examined it. Light filtered through holes in the tattered curtains, dappling the packed earth floor and making the steam above the cauldron a grey-white. Rowena held the animal so that the shaft of light fell onto its sleek fur. She stroked it for a few seconds, then took a well worn knife and shaved a few hairs from its rump. She dropped them into the cauldron and passed the rat back to Broghan.

“Have you finished with it now?” asked the younger woman, hopefully.

“Not until I tell you.” Rowena sounded as if these were words she was tired of using. She looked at the man in the curtained doorway to the tiny hut. “Wolf” she called.

He unfolded his huge arms and stepped forward. As he did so, he kicked a threadbare rug and beetles scuttled from under it. Rowena looked up into his expressionless face.

“Make ready my cart” she said.

He gave a curt bow and left the hut.

“Are we going to see the battle?” asked Broghan. In reply, Rowena rolled her eyes. “I’ve never seen a battle” continued the girl, hopefully.

“You will, soon enough. We will be there before it is finished.”

Broghan grinned, satisfied. “And I get to see.”

“There is not much worth the seeing. A lot of noise and tangled men. And if Edward has positioned our men well, it will be over in a very short time.” Rowena picked up a small, copper bowl and turned back to the fire.

Broghan sighed and held the rat near to her face. Her tongue darted out and connected with its nose. The animal squeaked and squirmed.

“Broghan!”

The younger woman lowered the rat, trying to look innocent.

“I was only playing.”

Rowena breathed in sharply through her nose, making her nostrils flare and the edges of her mouth turn down. She snatched the rat and dropped it into a cage.

“This moment” she said, her voice an angry whisper, “has been nine hundred years in the making. Are you to spoil it now because you were ‘playing’?”

Carefully, she dipped the copper bowl into the cauldron. She reached inside the neck of her dress and pulled out her medallion, a heavy black ring with a five pointed star fixed into it. She lowered the medallion into the bowl. It fizzed, angrily. She peered into the bowl, putting her face into the steam so that it wet her cheeks.

She was more than old. She was ancient. Her tiny body was bent almost double, with a dowager’s hump so large it gave the impression that her head grew from her chest. The skin on her face was leathery and deeply lined, and her liver spotted scalp showed through wispy white hair. Her long, bony fingers ended in sharp nails that were ridged and black. She watched the water in the bowl, and nodded her satisfaction.

Behind her, Broghan craned her neck, trying to see what her mistress was doing. She was younger than Rowena, no more than a girl, and very beautiful, with hair that was long and thick and dark, framing a pretty heart shaped face. Her huge eyes were yellow-green and her lips were very red. Her plain grey dress hugged her body too closely, clearly showing her youthful, slim figure.

Rowena became aware of her and moved the bowl from her line of sight.

Broghan pouted. “I only wanted to see.”

“You’re not ready.” Rowena poured the liquid from the bowl back into the cauldron. “It is finished” she said. “We will win the day. By tomorrow night, there will not be one of those damned de Maldonados left alive.” She looked down at the rat. “Now I am finished with it.”

Broghan smiled broadly and reached for the cage. The rat shrank into a corner and Rowena grabbed the girl’s wrist.

“But” she said, “if you’re going to eat it, then eat it. Don’t play with your food. It isn’t nice to watch.” She sucked in her saliva as Broghan took the rat from the cage.

A small group of Marshlanders rode, two abreast, along a narrow lane. The lead soldier held a blue and green pennant which fluttered proudly in the breeze. Its logo and colours were repeated on the shields of all the riders.

They passed between the thick trees and the Marshlanders became nervous. They looked to left and right, listening for ambush.

Behind the trees, Edward pressed his lips tightly together. His dark eyes sparked, betraying his hatred for the creatures who passed by. Long limbed and thin, with dusty blue skin and bright silver hair that touched their shoulders, the scales of their close fitting armour caught the sun, flashing and playing from one man to the other.

In contrast to the fluid movements of the riders, the marsh-horses they rode were heavy and ungainly. Their wide, green bodies waddled, their paddled feet thumping into the dry ground, and their tiny, wrinkled heads bobbed up and down on the ends of their leather skinned necks as they moved. Edward’s mouth turned down in distaste.

Leaves rustled. In the column, heads turned sharply towards the sound. Edward frowned, looked along the line of his men. His eyes narrowed as he tried to find the culprit. Most of his soldiers crouched low, perfectly still. One fisted his hand around the hilt of a half drawn sword. Edward bared gritted teeth.

A barrel-chested sergeant leaned over the soldier, pushed the sword back into its scabbard. The soldier looked up and the sergeant shook his head. The Marshlanders rode by. Edward breathed a long, silent sigh of relief.

Edward crept through the trees. He tried to move quietly but his small, stout frame made complete silence impossible. He reached the soldier, stood over him, his brow creased, bushy eyebrows meeting over his large nose. The soldier stared straight ahead, and after a minute, Edward turned away.

He walked back into the thick of the trees. He snapped ferns and side stepped brambles until he reached a small clearing some way from the road. He sat on a tree stump, pulled his knife from his sheath and a stone from his pocket, angrily sharpened the blade. The sergeant approached.

“Where did you get that idiot?” asked Edward, his words escaping through clenched teeth. “He was an instant from losing us the element of surprise.”

“Yes sir.” The sergeant’s tone was dead pan.

“If he – or anyone else- does something like that again, I’ll have them hanged.”

“Yes, sir.”

“What was he thinking of?”

“You have to remember, sir, they are soldiers. They are battle hungry.”

“Another few days. That’s not so long to wait.”

“No, sir.” The sergeant stood at the edge of the clearing, looking out. Edward continued to chafe the knife with the stone. “Another few days” mused the sergeant. Nonchalantly, he leaned against a tree. “It’s finally time.”

“You said something?” Edward looked up.

“I was just thinking, sir” answered the sergeant, “A few more days, and if all goes according to plan, you could be –”

“Sergeant Morten!” Edward looked around, furtively. “Even trees can have ears.”

Morten stood to attention. “Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”

“Mistress Rowena gives the orders” said Edward, carefully. “We work for her.”

“Yes, sir.”

“We take the castle, as she wishes. We set her plans in motion, as she wishes. All else will follow, in its time.”

“Yes sir” Morten’s gaze flickered towards Edward, then he stared ahead again. “Sir?” he asked. “What of King Lachlan?”

Edward sniffed his contempt. “That slime dweller?” he asked. “I have no interest in him. Why would I? He has nothing I want.”

“I didn’t expect him to be here, sir.”

“A soldier should always be prepared for the unexpected.”

“What I meant, sir, is that it could complicate things. If the king of the Marshlanders was to be killed during the attack on the de Maldonados and –”

“Things happen, Sergeant. We cannot always choose. If the king is there – it would be unfortunate.”

“It could put us at war with the Marshlanders as well, sir. And that may be –”

“To our advantage.” Edward held up the knife, examined the newly sharpened edge. “Nothing is a disaster, Sergeant. Just an opportunity to amend your plan.”

Sergeant Morten watched him for a few seconds.

“Yes, sir” he said.

* * * *

Tristam stood at the mirror, watching the servant buckle his armour into place. The man pulled to test the firmness of the breastplate and Tristam grunted. There was a loud knock, the door swung open and Cavan leaned against its oak frame.

“How’s it going?” he asked.

“It’s going” answered Tristam, and Cavan laughed. “I’m glad you find it funny” said Tristam, smiling in spite of himself. The servant picked up a tabard, blue with a red eagle spread across its front. He held it out and Tristam shrugged into it. It was too big.

“It’s too big.” There was a note of triumph in Tristam’s voice as he held the waist away from his body. “You could get two of me in here.”

“You’re slimmer than I was” Cavan looked his brother up and down. “But by the time of the ceremony, it will look as if it was tailor made for you.” Tristam looked away. Cavan studied him, carefully. “Is there something wrong?”

Tristam smiled, too brightly. “Not really.” He flexed his back and shoulders against the armour. “It’s so heavy.”

“I remember.”

“It’s chafing my shoulders.”

“You might be glad of it” said Cavan, matter-of-factly. “If you ever had to go into battle.”

“Battle?” Tristam snorted his derision. “There hasn’t been a proper battle in Tymerys since before I was born.”

“Before you were born then, you’d have been glad of it.”

Tristam frowned, trying to make sense of Cavan’s statement. Cavan turned to the servant.

“I’ll finish here” he said. The man bowed and left the room. Cavan sat down, looked intently at Tristam. “All right, my serious little brother, why don’t you tell me what is really behind the frown?”

Tristam turned to face the mirror, watched Cavan’s reflection. His blue eyes clouded. Cavan waited, patiently.

“The ceremony” said Tristam, at last. “I – do we have to do it? I mean, does it have to be now? Could it not wait?”

“Until when?”

“A more appropriate time.”

“This is the appropriate time. You’re sixteen years old. All de Maldonados are knighted at the age of sixteen. It’s a tradition that stretches back nearly nine hundred years. You want to be the first to break with that?”

Emotion made Tristam’s voice rise. “I’m not ready, Cavan. Perhaps all those other de Maldonados were –”

“Just as nervous as you. I know I was.” Cavan ruffled Tristam’s straw blond hair and Tristam ducked out of his reach.

“It isn’t only nerves” he said. “It’s a fear of letting father down. Showing everyone that I am unworthy of the honour.”

“I see. And what has grown this fear?”

Tristam looked ashamed. “I did badly at sword training again this morning.”

“Ah.” Cavan nodded.

“Don’t be so quick to understand. It wasn’t an isolated incident. I always do badly at sword training. And this morning, I was particularly bad. So much so, my instructor told me exactly what I must do if I am ever in a situation where a real fight is imminent.”

“What was that?”

“I should lay down my sword and sue for peace immediately.”

Tristam grimaced at the remembered humiliation. Cavan laughed, heartily.

“It isn’t funny” said his younger brother.

“It isn’t a reason to delay the ceremony.”

Tristam looked unsure. He opened his mouth to speak but stayed silent as a servant entered and bowed.

“My lord, Ravensridge” he addressed Cavan, “and Mr Tristam. The Earl requests the pleasure of your company at your earliest convenience.”

“Is King Lachlan here?” asked Cavan.

“He is expected within the hour, my lord.”

“Thank you” said Cavan. The servant bowed and left.

“The king comes, and we will live in peace” said Tristam. “Making this – ” he looked down at his armour “ – even more obsolete than it already was.”

Cavan gave a wry smile. “We’d better get you out of it and into some clothes” he said. “Father will not want to keep His Majesty waiting” and he tugged at the tabard.

Cedric de Maldonado walked into the castle courtyard. His back was ramrod straight, his shoulders stiff. His sons followed, Cavan tall, head held high, fully aware of the importance of the situation. Beside him, Tristam looked tense, uncomfortable.

The gates opened and the column of soldiers rode in, the suction padded feet of their marsh-horses popping wetly on the stones, and echoing around the low roof of the portal. Tristam muttered to Cavan, who gestured he should be quiet. Their father turned towards them.

“You said something?”

Tristam lowered his eyes. “No, my lord.” Cedric faced front again.

The column stopped. The soldiers sat their horses, stock still. Lachlan glanced around the courtyard, taking in the trio at the door, the watching crowd of servants and castle dwellers, the guards on the ramparts.

Cedric took a step forwards, and gave a curt bow.

“Your Majesty” he said. “Welcome to my home.”

Lachlan dismounted and the two men faced each other. Cedric bowed again. Cavan and Tristam did the same.

“Thank you” said Lachlan. His voice held a slight wheeze.

Faren dismounted and stood behind his father. He looked from Cedric, to Cavan, his emerald gaze filled with contempt. Cavan bowed, respectfully. Faren turned to Tristam. Tristam stared back, defiant. Faren’s eyes narrowed.

“My men will show you to the guest quarters” Cedric told Lachlan.

He bowed and allowed Lachlan to go ahead of him. Faren followed the two older men. As he drew level with him, Faren stopped and looked Tristam up and down. Tristam returned the stare. Cavan stepped between them.

“Your highness” he said to Faren, “allow me to escort you.”

Faren raised his chin and walked to the door. Tristam sucked his teeth, angrily. Cavan shook his head, warning his younger brother, then followed the Prince inside.

* * * *

A late afternoon breeze shimmered over the lake, ruffling the sun kissed waters. A fish broke the surface, turned gracefully in the air then disappeared again with a soft plop. Trees swayed rhythmically on the shores, here and there making way for settlements: a farm, a boatman’s cottage, a town, complete with large harbour. The buildings in the town climbed a hill as they moved away from the water’s edge, so that they looked as though they were stacked on top of each other.

On the far side of the lake from the town was a cottage, small and neat, its walls painted, its roof shingles perfectly in place. On the lake’s edge was a tiny jetty, its wooden decking grey and bouncy with age. Tied to the jetty was a coracle. Between jetty and cottage was a small garden where vegetables grew in regimented rows: bushy carrot tops and the long, thin stems of onions, fat, round cabbages and stalks of Brussels sprouts, and the giant waxy leaves of rhubarb.

William moved between the plants, every now and then bending, straight legged, to pick a fledgling weed, or remove a stray caterpillar. He was in late middle age, balding and heavy set, with old, badly fitting clothes and a lumbering gait that suggested arthritic hips and knees.

He stood up, groaned and arched his back, massaging the lower spine. Half way through the manoeuvre, he stopped and peered out over the water. There was a boat coming towards him. A huge man pulled on the oars, his back to William. Beyond him, two people sat, silhouetted against the back light.

The sun went behind a cloud, taking the glare from the day and he could see the people properly. He recognised Rowena, and the colour drained from his face.

“Edith” he called, in a voice that was at once sharp and urgent, and soft and private. “Edith.”

“What is it? I’m busy” came a woman’s voice from inside the cottage.

“Edith, now!”

There was a muttering of curses as she came to the door, wiping her bony hands on an apron that had seen better days. She pushed a lock of grey hair back from a long face, and followed her husband’s frightened gaze.

“See who it is?” he asked.

“I see.”

“What do you think she wants?”

Edith gave him a look that was a mixture of pity and exasperation.

“I have no doubt she will tell us” she said. William groaned and she clicked her tongue, impatiently. “Don’t be so pathetic” she finished, and she headed to the jetty to meet the boat, pushing her most pleasant smile onto her face. “Mistress Rowena” she called as the oars were pulled in and the boat glided the last few feet to the landing. “This is a pleasant surprise.”

“Of course it is” answered Rowena. She looked up at Edith, contemptuously. Edith’s smile did not waver. “Wolf” commanded the old woman, “you will wait here.”

The man tied the boat next to the coracle, helped Rowena and Broghan from the boat. Then he sat back on his seat and stared out over the lake.

“We will go inside” said Rowena. She moved past Edith and made her way to the cottage. Edith curtseyed clumsily and Broghan giggled. Rowena sighed, impatient.

“Act your age, girl” she said. Chastened, Broghan followed her mistress inside.

Ten minutes later, Rowena sat at the kitchen table, nursing a cup and staring into the tiny stub of precious candle that Edith had lit. Broghan stood at the doorway, blocking what was left of the natural light. William was on the far side of the room, his eyes fixed on the old woman. Edith stood beside the table, ready to serve her mistress.

“I have a job for you to do” said Rowena, without looking away from the candle’s flame. William flinched and Edith threw him a warning glance. Rowena did not notice. “Something I wish you to retrieve” she continued. She sucked loudly and the trickle of saliva rode up her chin and into her mouth. William looked away, sickened. There was a long pause while she stared into the flickering flame. The couple waited patiently for her to come back to them. Broghan yawned and licked her lips.

“The greatest treasure of Geoffrey, Earl Tymerys” said the old woman, finally.

William and Edith exchanged puzzled looks.

“Treasure?” asked Edith. Rowena nodded.

“It’s hidden in the Marshlands.”

William looked sick. His wife grinned, her eyes ablaze. Broghan stood up straight, watching them carefully. Rowena sighed.

“I know it’s there” she said, “because I put it there.” She took a gulp of her drink, then held up the cup for Edith to refill. “When the usurpers took control,” she explained, “I knew they must never find it, or even know of its existence, until the time was right. If they did, it was my considered opinion that they would use it, to devastating effect. I could not allow that.” She stared into the candle again.

“Is there much?” asked Edith, eagerly. “Is it gold?”

“Nothing so mundane.” Rowena’s voice was honeyed with cold disdain. Edith looked confused. William was frightened. Rowena smiled at them. “No” she said. “This is a treasure far greater than gold. The most precious thing a man could ever have.” She smiled, girlishly. “The greatest gift I ever gave to him.”

Edith frowned. She looked from William to Broghan, both equally mystified.

Rowena stood up, purposefully.

“Broghan” she said, “tell Wolf we are ready to leave. We must be in position for when the traitors are destroyed.” Broghan bowed and went outside.

“Mistress Rowena?” said Edith. “The treasure?”

Rowena turned and looked at the skinny, careworn woman.

“I hid it well” she said. “It has never been disturbed. And now, you will retrieve it.” She reached into a pocket in her skirt and pulled out a rag, tattered and yellow with age. She handed it to Edith, who stared at it, mystified. “This will tell you where to find it” said Rowena, and she left the cottage. Edith followed her, her steps tiny and quick. William sat down at the table, put his head in his hands and despaired.