text: Dunston forced himself to loosen his grip on Nothgyth's arm. The girl was frightened enough without her fearing him too.
  
  "Who is Ithamar?" he asked.
  
  "A monk," Nothgyth said, her tone implying that everybody knew who Ithamar was.
  
  Dunston frowned.
  
  "And what did these men want with a monk?"
  
  "I don't know. One of them was shouting at my master over and over. They were both yelling, but I didn't really understand what they spoke of."
  
  "What were they saying?" Dunston asked, willing his tone to remain calm.
  
  Nothgyth took a sip from her cup of milk, lifting it to her lips with trembling hands.
  
  "They were asking about the peddler."
  
  Dunston glanced at Aedwen. Her eyes were shadowed, but she was staring intently at Nothgyth.
  
  "What about the peddler?" Aedwen asked, her voice rasping in her throat.
  
  "I couldn't hear. I don't know." Nothgyth hesitated and Dunston began to wonder whether they would learn anything of value from this poor, frightened girl. "It made no sense to me," she went on. "They just kept asking him how the peddler had known."
  
  "Known?" said Dunston. "Known what?"
  
  "I do not know," exclaimed Nothgyth. "I told you, it made no sense to me."
  
  For a time they sat in silence, each thinking of what they had witnessed that day and of Nothgyth's tale of torture and murder. A log shifted on the embers and sparks drifted upwards to wink out amongst the rafters and the hanging meat.
  
  After a time Aedwen spoke.
  
  "And Beornmod told them that Ithamar was the one they sought?"
  
  "I think he just wanted them to stop," Nothgyth hesitated, unsure now. "To stop what they were doing and he shouted that the monk had carried a message."
  
  "A message?" Dunston asked.
  
  But before Nothgyth could respond, Aedwen said, "I remember the monk. He too had stopped here at the hall for rest. He'd only meant to stay one night, but there was a sick traveller and Ithamar was tending to him. My father and the monk spoke together long into the night, after I had gone to sleep."
  
  "That traveller died in the end," Nothgyth said, crossing herself. "We were all frightened it was the pestilence. The Lady had been terrified his illness would kill us all. She had me and Wynflaed burn all his belongings and Tilwulf and Frithstan buried him right out by the great elm in the top field. Far from the house." She sniffed. "It weren't the pestilence that got them in the end though. Goes to show."
  
  Dunston thought on what the girl had said. Could it be that Ithamar and Lytelman had learnt some terrible secret from this sickly traveller?
  
  Nothgyth was peering at Aedwen in the firelight.
  
  "I remember you now," she said. "The Lady let you sleep with us in the back of the hall." And then her eyes widened. "Your father is the peddler they spoke of."
  
  "That's right," said Aedwen. "He was."
  
  "I thought this one was your father," said Nothgyth, nodding towards Dunston.
  
  "No. My father's dead."
  
  "Killed by the same men?"
  
  "We think so," Aedwen said.
  
  "But why?" asked Nothgyth.
  
  "We do not know, child," said Dunston. "But we mean to find out. And when we do, we will make them pay." She was no fool this one, Dunston thought, and he could see her thoughts clearly on her face. First confusion, then inquisitiveness and then, finally, a sudden dawning fear.
  
  "If they find that I am alive and I saw the things that happened here, they will return and slay me." She spoke in a matter-of-fact monotone. And there could be no arguing with the sense of her words.
  
  "You must be gone from this place at first light," said Dunston. "And never speak of what you have seen here."
  
  "But where will I go?"
  
  "Do you have kin?" he asked.
  
  Tears tumbled down her dirt-smeared face and she sniffed.
  
  "These were my kin," she said, her voice desolate. "I have no others."
  
  "Take what you can of value and head east. Make your way towards Witanceastre. The land is safer there and a clever girl like you will find a way."
  
  Nothgyth stared at him, frowning in the ember glow of the fire. She swiped at the tears on her face with the back of her hands.
  
  "And what of you?" she asked.
  
  Dunston drained the ale from his cup and stood. His knee ached and his back was stiff. But he would walk around the settlement before he slept. He was sure the riders would not return and yet he could not shake the feeling that despite hunting these men, he too was their prey. Who would be first to bring their quarry to ground he could not tell. But of one thing he was sure. There would be more blood spilt before the end.
  
  "We will continue with our quest to find the truth," he said.
  
  "And how will you do that?"
  
  "We must try and find this Ithamar before the others."
  
  And with that he picked up his axe and stepped out into the cool darkness of the night, leaving the two grieving girls alone in the flickering firelight of the house.