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tiny sound like the squeaking of a mouse. That was Marie. William was glad not to be alone. He licked his dry, chapped lips with a trembling tongue. Surely Rose must have left the cup with the herbal infusion near his bed. He felt for it laboriously and finally found it. He drank greedily and put the cup back down. The effect lasted until he fell asleep again; he began to feel so cold that his teeth chattered. Even the touch of his blanket hurt his skin.
    When he woke up the following morning, he was sweating so profusely that his body was as wet as a rain shower. This time, his mother was kneeling beside the bed and cooling his forehead.
    “I know you run because you want to keep up with the hunt assistants. But you’re going to be a smith, not a falconer. When will you grasp that?”
    To William, her voice sounded almost pleading. Just for a brief moment, he opened his eyes to look at her; then he turned away and closed them again.
    He heard a heavy tread and knew Isaac had entered the room.
    “When he’s better, I’ll send him to Arthur at Orford,” she said. “He knows William will take over the smithy one day. I’m sure he hopes the boy will take one of his daughters off his hands when that day comes, so I’m certain he’ll give him the attention he needs. At Arthur’s he’ll learn how to forge good tools. In a year or two we can look at it again.” His mother seemed to have made her decision. “It’s better for him.”
    She wanted to send him away. William could not take it in. He tried to open his eyes in disbelief, but he couldn’t. His eyelids were too heavy. Or perhaps he was only dreaming?
    “I’m glad you’re better again.” Rose beamed at William when he stood up for the first time two days later. He was still weak, of course, but soon he would be able to go back to work.
    “Was it just a dream, or does she really want to send me away?” he asked dully, warming his clammy fingers on the cup of hot milk that Rose had put down in front of him.
    “Arthur’s a nice fellow. I’m sure you’ll get on well with each other. It’s for the best.” Rose tried to convince him.
    William looked at her, dismayed. He had hoped she would tell him it all had been a feverish dream; instead she had confirmed his fears. Worried, he blew away the rising steam and took a cautioussip of the milk. “You’ve sweetened it with honey,” he remarked quietly. He liked sweet milk above all things, but right then he could not take pleasure in it. He felt nothing but sadness.
    “For strength, so that you can be up and about again soon.” Rose stroked his hand affectionately.
    “‘And be sent away,’ you should say, too,” William said, bitterly disappointed. He ate his porridge in silence, then went back to bed. Evidently everyone in the house was conspiring against him. William started sweating again and felt dreadful. Wounded to the core, he turned his face to the wall and pulled the blanket up around his ears.
    Almost five months had passed since the king’s visit. The sun’s rays were gaining strength, and the air was no longer as bitingly cold as it had been in February. William had recovered some time ago, and he was working in the smithy as before. He tried hard, but it did not help. His mother was ill-tempered, probably because the king had still not ordered a sword from her. Yet she did not so much as mention Orford again, so William at last put her words behind him and began to run again. He got up from his bed even earlier than before. He took care not to encounter anyone and tried not to attract attention when he returned from his circuits. One day, though, his mother caught him, stepping out in front of him as if molded from the earth itself.
    “You’ve been running, even though I forbade it,” she stated tonelessly.
    Her anger stood like a wall between them. Though he did not really feel he had done anything wrong, William looked down.
    “Tomorrow morning we leave for Orford,” said