Godard's dark gaze sharpened. 'They are all yours, you know that, he said. 'Bring the horse into the barn and we'll see him comfortable.

Oliver clicked his tongue, encouraging Hero to take a few more steps on his swollen foreleg, and followed Godard, noting as he did that a transformation had taken place. What had been a cosy village alehouse and a couple of storage sheds had been enlarged to the status of a hostelry, with a small barn and substantial stores.

'You have prospered, Oliver said, with a nod at all the alterations.

'Aye. I built most of it myself with a little help from the village carpenter and his sons. We're used by folk heading for Bristol who get caught out by the dusk, although trade really became brisk when a hermit settled over by Three Oak Hill. We get pilgrims and wisdom seekers coming through all spring and summer, war or no war. He rubbed the side of his nose. 'Of course, some folk come out of their way especially to sample Edith's brew. She's taken to making bread and cheese too.

'I'm pleased for you.

Godard cleared his throat. 'I'm indebted to you, my lord.

If you had not gone to Ashbury on that day, I would never have met my Edith and found a place to settle down.

'It's an ill wind, Oliver agreed as Godard led him into the barn and indicated a couple of stalls partitioned off from the main portion of the building by withy fences.

'You said a place to hide? Godard raised his brows. 'I could put you in the understore, but who is it you are hiding from and how urgent is your need?

Oliver told him about Prince Henry's army and how it was probable, but not certain, that Eustace was in pursuit. 'He'll stop long before the gates of Bristol, but here might be as likely a place as any to take refreshment before he turns back. Oliver stroked the grey's sweaty flank. 'I could have ridden double with Richard and cut Hero loose, but I owe the old lad better than that. Besides, two men to one horse makes for slow progress. Eustace will be on the lookout for stragglers, but I would rather hide my armour and weapons in the understore than myself.

Godard gave a considering frown, then nodded. 'Best unarm then, he said, 'and I'll lend you one of my tunics. Humour creased his eye corners. 'You speak English. If anyone comes, you're my Saxon labourer and the horse was left by a pilgrim when it went badly lame.

Oliver unhitched his swordbelt. He still felt bone-weary but, despite the danger, his mood was lighter than it had been for several weeks. He was among true friends and Godard's twinkle imbued the whole situation with a sense of adventure. The heir to the throne was safely on his way to Bristol. For the nonce, Oliver's only responsibility was to himself.

Edith greeted him with open arms and smacking kisses on both cheeks. She was as round and ruddy as ever and obviously flourishing on their increased custom. The evergreen ale-stake, which traditionally signified to customers that a fresh brew was available, had been replaced by a smart, permanent board that swung on wrought-iron fixings from the gable end. On it, in bold colours, was painted an exuberant green bush. There were new trestles in the main room, and the old byre, where Oliver and Catrin had spent the night of Godard's wedding, had been converted into a dormitory for travellers.

Oliver found himself envying Godard and Edith their settled prosperity. No stumbling about in the middle of the night for them with enemy troops on their tail. No parting from loved ones. No uncertainty. Hard work and simple routine. Oliver felt a great yearning within him.

Edith sat him at one of the trestles and brought a huge bowl of chicken stew and half a freshly baked loaf. Then she stood over him and watched him eat like a mother with a finicky child. She need not have bothered for Oliver was ravenous. The pickings of the last few days had been unappetising to say the least, and Edith was as good a cook as any who served the Prince.

'So Mistress Catrin and the lass are in Bristol, she said, as she removed his scraped bowl and set down another one containing an apple dumpling. A jug of thick yellow cream and a pot of honey joined it on the side.

Nodding, Oliver picked up his spoon and prepared to tackle the dish. 'I saw them off from Lancaster with an escort. Catrin didn't want to stay in the north, and I did not want her with me on the road to York lest anything happened. He grimaced. 'As you can see, I was wise. I'll join them on the morrow, God willing.

Edith watched him in silence for a while. 'How's your arm? she asked at length.

Oliver stopped eating and pushed up the loose left sleeve of Godard's tunic to show her the knotted white scar. 'It aches in the winter, he said, 'and it tires more swiftly than my right, but there are days when I do not think of it even once.

'When I first saw you, I thought you would die.

'I thought it too. He smiled at her. 'Catrin wouldn't let me, and I'm glad now, although I cursed her for it at the time.

'Do you think that…" Edith broke off and looked round as Godard flung open the door.

'Soldiers, he said without preamble. 'It will look suspicious if you hide. Go out and be ready to take the leaders' horses if they decide to stay.

Oliver spooned up a last mouthful of the apple dumpling and Edith whisked away his bowl. 'My name's Osmund, he said to Godard. 'I've been working here for the past two years ever since my village was destroyed. I'm your second cousin, so you felt a duty to give me house room.

Godard nodded brusquely. 'That should satisfy them, although I doubt they'll ask.

Oliver went out into the road. Other folk from the hamlet were poking their noses out of doors to watch the troops ride through. While people were wary, there were no signs of panic. Their settlement owed its rents and dues to the Abbey at Malmesbury and although church lands were not immune from attack, soldiers tended to think twice before jeopardising their souls.

Godard shaded his eyes against the sun and watched their approach. Oliver stood a little way back, his expression calm, almost bovine, but his heart thumping like a drum. In the alehouse, he could hear Edith singing as she tipped fresh water in the cauldron and filled the jugs with new ale.

As the soldiers came closer, Oliver recognised the man who led them. 'It's Prince Eustace, he muttered from the side of his mouth. 'Have a care with him. His nature's as sour as spoiled wine.

Prince Eustace drew rein under the sign of The Bush. His complexion was almost purple with frustration and heat. 'God's arse, is there no one here who can do anything but stare like a half-wit! he snarled. He was wearing a very fine hauberk of lammelar-mail, the kind favoured by the Byzantines. Each overlapping scale collected the heat and Eustace was literally cooking inside his armour. His horse was creamed with sweat and blowing hard, its nostrils distended and its sides heaving like smithy bellows.

'Surely, my lord, Godard answered in French, his manner polite but not servile. 'But we're more used to pilgrims for the hermitage than soldiers. He snapped his fingers at Oliver, who moved forward to act the part of groom. 'You're welcome to water your mounts and yourselves if you've a mind. Turning to Oliver, he told him in English to take the horses round to the trough. 'He speaks no French, sir, Godard added, as he translated the instruction for Eustace's benefit.

Eustace grunted. 'I wouldn't expect him to. He looks a brainless dolt.

Oliver lowered his head and cultivated a vapid expression. Eustace decided not to trust him with his horse and gave it to his squire instead. Oliver showed the soldiers the trough and the haystore, then, on the receiving end of several cuffs and kicks, returned to the alehouse to help Edith and Godard serve.

'So you have seen neither hide nor hair of an army pass this way? Eustace demanded as he drank down the first cup of Edith's ale in several fast swallows. He had complained loudly about the lack of wine but was embracing the alternative with gusto.

'No, my lord, Edith replied, refilling Eustace's cup. 'There's only pilgrims that come through here, and sometimes the troops from Ashbury. Odinel the Fleming holds the village there, she added, without looking at Oliver. 'He's a man loyal to your father.

Oliver spoke rapidly in English.

Eustace glowered at him. 'What does he say? he demanded. 'Jesu, it's small wonder that they were defeated on Hastings field.

Godard cleared his throat. 'Sire, he says that he saw troops riding on the Bristol road before dawn this morning when he was out bird-nesting. Says that they rode right past our fork in the road, going swift with torches to light the way. He wonders if you belong to them.

'Before dawn? Eustace repeated with a scowl.

'Aye, my lord. He spoke over his shoulder to Oliver who grunted a reply, one forefinger held up. 'About an hour before, so Osmund says.

'How far is Bristol from here?

'Four hours' ride, my lord, on horses like yours. Takes me five on my old horses and half a day with my cart.

Eustace calculated and threw back his second cup of ale with an angry tilt of his head. 'Then we've lost them, he growled. 'I'd give my soul for just one fingernail of the bastard Angevin's luck. He slammed the cup down on the trestle. 'So close, he said bitterly, and held up his forefinger and thumb. 'I might as well be a hundred miles away! He made a sound of pure disgust and glared at Godard. 'Let him skulk in Bristol. He'll have to emerge at some time, and when he does I'll crack him open like a flea. He closed his finger and thumb, clicking the nails together.