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poor children who drowned.’ She crossed herself hastily to prevent some passing demon turning her words into a prophecy.
    Col glanced upanxiously at his father, but grinned when Gunter winked at him. They knew it was a mother’s job to cosset and fret over her sons, and a boy’s job to alarm his mother a dozen times a day.
    The door groaned again as Royse heaved it open, sending the smoke swirling around the small room. She was not alone. A woman followed her, slipping quickly inside with a fearful glance behind her. Alys was thewife of a rival boatman, Martin, who lived further along the river towards Lincoln. She was no older than Nonie – they’d been childhood friends – but she seemed ancient enough to be Nonie’s mother, a rag worn threadbare and grey. That afternoon she looked worse than usual: her cheek was black and her eye purple and swollen.
    Anger boiled in Gunter. Martin had hit her again, or that great lumpof a son of hers, Simon, who used his fists on her just as his father did. Gunter knew that some men beat their wives, but the thought sickened him, especially when it was a great bull like Martin, against whom most men would have had a hard time defending themselves. Why would any man so ill-use his wife? Didn’t he realise how precious your family was, how easily it could be lost to you for ever?

    Nonie hastened forward and put her arms round her friend, drawing her to a stool close by the fire. She shot a glance at Gunter, warning him to say nothing. It would only shame Alys to speak of the bruises and, besides, what could anyone do about it? She was Martin’s wife. Over the years he’d crushed her till she was old long before her time and now he lusted after any younger woman. There wasscarcely a girl along the river on whom he hadn’t tried to force himself, and his poor wife knew it.
    ‘Will you have a bite, Alys?’ Nonie asked, reaching for a wooden bowl.
    She shook her head. ‘Martin and the lad’ll be back soon, wanting their supper. They had some business . . .’ She faltered, darting a nervous glance at Gunter.
    Whatever business a river-man conducted on a Sunday was hardlylikely to be lawful. It wasn’t the first time Gunter had had cause to wonder what Martin was involved in. Several cargoes recently had been delivered short. Accidents were blamed, which happened, of course, but of late there had seemed to be far more. Still, it was none of Gunter’s affair. He prided himself on delivering his cargoes safely. Surely the overseers would have the sense to stop hiringthe careless men and employ those who could be relied upon to do a good job.
    Alys stared into the flames of the small fire, her brow furrowed with anxiety. It was plain she had come with something on her mind, but was finding it hard to confide. Nonie looked at Gunter and jerked her head towards the door. Alys had some woman’s problem she wanted to discuss and was embarrassed to mention in frontof him. But Nonie had to repeat the gesture several times before her husband understood.
    ‘Goats want feeding,’ he said, making for the door.
    ‘Wait. There’s . . . summat I need to ask you,’ Alys said. ‘It’s my faayther.’
    ‘Is he sick?’ Nonie asked.
    Alys shrugged. ‘Ailing, but no worse than afore. But thing is, the steward says he still owes money for last quarter’s rent. He reckoned Faayther’snot been taking care of his cottage. Threatened to throw him out. Martin says I’m not to give the old man so much as a farthing. I’ve managed to scrape together a little here and there. I’ve sold a few bits, but they didn’t fetch much – I could only sell what Martin wouldn’t notice had gone missing. I’ve enough to pay the rent Faayther still owes for last quarter, but I can’t pay someone to repairthe cottage, like the steward says we must. Roof’s in a bad state and some of the daub’s fallen away. You can see straight through the wall near the door. It’ll only get worse, come the