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arrive. Clément would come and go, disappearing for days at a time without anyone knowing where he was, only to reappear suddenly as if by magic. She really should order him to stay by her side, for the surrounding forest was an unsafe place, especially for one so young, and indeed Agnès was constantly afraid that someone might come upon him bathing in a pond or a river. On the other hand, Clément was cautious, and his independence inspired Agnès – perhaps because she herself felt spied upon, trapped.
    He followed noiselessly a few steps behind her, flanked by the two guard dogs, and only drew closer when Agnès, confident that they were out of earshot of the inquisitive Mabile, enquired gently:
    ‘Where do your roamings take you?’
    ‘I do not roam, Madame, I watch, I learn.’
    ‘Whom do you watch? What do you learn?’
    ‘You. Many things – thanks to the sisters at Clairets Abbey. And thanks to you,’ he added.
    She looked down at him. His strange blue-green almond-shaped eyes stared back at her gravely, and with a flicker of suspicion. She said in a hushed voice:
    ‘Clairets Abbey is so far from here. Oh, I don’t know whetherit was right of me to insist that you attend lessons there. It is almost a league away – too far for a child.’
    ‘Half that if you go through the forest.’
    ‘I don’t like to think of you in that forest’
    ‘The forest is my friend. It teaches me many things.’
    ‘Clairets Forest is … Well, they say it is sometimes visited by creatures, evil creatures.’
    ‘By fairies and werewolves? Tall stories, Madame.’
    ‘You mean you don’t believe in werewolves?’
    ‘No more than I believe in fairies.’
    ‘And why not?’
    ‘Because if they existed and were so powerful, Madame, at worst they would have already killed or eaten us and at best made our daily lives a hell.’
    He smiled, and for the first time it occurred to Agnès that he only ever allowed himself to express amusement or joy with her. Clément and Mathilde’s relationship was restricted to a good-natured selflessness on his part and an ill-tempered arrogance on hers. It was true that her daughter considered him a sort of privileged servant, and on no account would she have lowered herself by treating him as an equal.
    ‘Upon my word, you have quite convinced me. And I am greatly relieved for I would have hated to come face to face with a werewolf,’ she exclaimed jovially and then, growing serious again, she added in a worried voice, ‘Will you be careful about what we have discussed, Clément? No one must know. Your life, and mine, depends on it.’
    ‘I know that, Madame. I have known it for a long time. You need have no fear.’
    They continued their dialogue in silence.
    The village of Souarcy was built on a small hill. The alleywaysleading up to the manor were lined with dwellings that twisted and turned, making it difficult for the hay-carts to manoeuvre without damaging the roofs of the houses. The positioning of the higgledy-piggledy buildings was entirely random, and yet they appeared to be huddled together as though seeking warmth. Souarcy, like a good many other manors, had no right to hold weaponry. At the time it was built, the English threat weighed heavily over the region and defence was the only option – hence its raised position in the middle of a forest. Indeed, the thick outer walls, within which peasants, serfs and craftsmen dwelled, had resisted many an attack with calm impudence.
    Agnès replied with a perfunctory smile to the greetings, bows and curtseys of those she encountered as she made her way up to the manor via the muddy pathways, slippery with yellow clay after the recent rains. She stopped at the dovecote, but did not draw any of her usual pleasure from it. Eudes and his possible machinations were constantly on her mind. Even so, the magnificent birds welcomed her with a torrent of gently excited warbling. She glanced at the large, puffed-up male whose proud strutting