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little embroidered belt purse with silk cords. The weight of silver within was generous and gave the pouch a pleasant heft. It was her fee, but bestowed as a gift rather than payment.

    She thanked him with a last, lingering kiss. 'Think of me sometimes,' she said.

    'I will think of you more than sometimes,' he vowed. 'The difficulty will be not thinking.'

    She stroked the side of his face and drew away. 'For a while, my Hugh, but time will soften the edges. What is tender to the touch now will become nostalgia.'

    He knew she was right. These last moments were achingly sweet, but once the tie was severed, they would both move on to the next point in their lives.

    Together they went down to the courtyard. Hugh cupped his hands to boost Nicolette on to her mount and for a moment stood by her saddle, his hand encircling her ankle. Then he opened his grip and let her go, accompanied by two of his men for escort.

    She looked back once, and he memorised the pale oval of her face and the smile parting her full lips. When she faced the road again, he too turned away and, with determination, applied himself to the task of assembling his father's horses for the journey to the coast. He had chosen a new courser from among the herd - a four-year-old stallion with a coat the colour of polished jet. Hebon, named for his colour, showed the strain of Spanish blood in his convex nose and the proud curve of his neck, covered by a waterfall of black mane. Hugh had ridden him over the estate yesterday, bidding farewell to familiar boyhood haunts, knowing that soon the French would come and seize the land, breed their own horses here, mulch the apples and make the cider. On the flat fields between the orchards he had taken his courage in his hands and put Hebon to the gallop: hard, flat out, the wind in his face, his cloak flying. He had experienced a feeling of release and, at that moment, had finally begun to put the incident with Arrow behind him and bid her farewell. It was in the past; live and learn.

    So early in the season, the verges were green and the roads firm but not yet dusty as Hugh and his retinue of serjeants and drovers herded the horses towards the coast three miles away. Hugh's adolescent brothers rode with him, their father having deemed it useful experience for them to accompany him; and indeed they had pulled their weight and been of great help. With unusual tact, they had left him alone last night, although their nudges and smiles this morning were less than discreet.

    Ralph cantered ahead, his hat set at a rakish angle on his dark curls. He had plaited a red ribbon in his mount's tail. Hugh shook his head but had to grin.
    To Ralph, life was one gigantic adventure. William joined Hugh, his own expression sombre with reflection. 'Why do you think our father decided not to leave one of us in Normandy?' he asked. 'Ralph or I could have sworn an oath to the King of France and kept the estates for our family.'

    'Neither you nor Ralph is of age and leading men would be difficult - no matter what Ralph thinks.' Hugh cast an exasperated gesture at their high-spirited younger brother. 'The lands we own might give us good horses and cider, but they are a spit in the ocean compared to our English estates.
    Our father will not put one of us out on a limb here. Rather he will consolidate what we have that we can hold for a certainty and that won't cost us more to defend than it provides in revenue.'

    'The Marshal's not pulling back, is he? Not from the news I heard this morning.'

    Hugh looked at him sharply. 'What news?'

    'A jongleur arrived while we were breaking our fast and you were still . . .
    otherwise occupied. He was seeking employment, but since we were leaving, he moved on to the next ville.'

    'And?' Hugh's tone continued brusque.

    'You know the Marshal has gone to see the French King to try and negotiate a peace settlement?'

    Hugh nodded. 'That's common knowledge.'

    'The jongleur told me that the Marshal has