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‘Aoife,’ he said, almost whispering. ‘Aoife, are you alone?’ He scanned the meadow leading across to the monastery. ‘No one else around?’ I could see his excitement and joy. ‘Quickly!’ He bundled me deep into the dense darkness of the willow trees, thrusting me in his haste into the body of the hooded monk. And even in the transparent gloom of the thicket, as sure as the swallow finds its nest, I knew it was him.

Tearing the hood from his head, our eyes barely met before our lips. Seasons of tension and yearning released in a kiss of joyful pleasure, tasting of flowing salty tears that reached his neck as I hungrily kissed his skin. I needed his taste. This happiness was all I wanted, this feeling to go on forever as I felt the familiar strength of his embrace. Oh, please let it never stop.

‘Don’t mind me, then.’ Rob coughed. ‘You two just carry right on there.’ As if dragged back to this world, Myler and I burst into laughter at our loyal friend’s feigned indignation.

He had travelled alone, disguised as a Frankish monk. Crossing from Wales a week ago on a small fishing barque, hiding in the forests and avoiding the roads, he made his way from the coast to Ferns, where he had learned of our whereabouts. In Chepstow, word of the defeat at Cill Osnadh had reached Strongbow; he was furious that Diarmuit had been so foolish in leaving for Ireland unprepared. He had agreed to Myler’s request to travel in disguise to seek news of our welfare and prospects.

‘Aoife, Strongbow has not yet been granted the permission of the king to land in Ireland. He is frustrated but more hesitant now after the mess your father has made of it. He’s now less sure of the success of the venture,’ Myler went on.

‘Myler, it’s almost autumn now,’ I pleaded. ‘We won’t last much longer. If you don’t come next spring when the weather allows, it’ll be too late.’ I went on to tell him how O’Connor and O’Rourke and their allies were laying waste to the country, invading the kingdoms of Munster and Ulster. When they were firmly under O’Connor’s heel, they would turn to us again. They would not leave the thorn of my father alone to come back to prick them. More importantly, as soon as they set their eyes on Leinster again, Mac Giolla Patrick would see no reason to treat Eanna with anything but vengeful brutality.

‘If that happens, we have no hope, and Strongbow’s plans to come to Ireland to escape from under King Henry will end,’ I said. ‘None of us will survive.’

Myler grimaced at this. ‘Then you must come to Chepstow to explain to Strongbow, Aoife.’ He gripped my hands. ‘He respects you, above all else. He will listen to you.’ Lowering his head, I sensed his sadness as he continued. ‘I think he has a great affection for you, Aoife.’ Folding me into his arms, we both knew that what we did could ensure we would never be together and I would then be wedded to Strongbow.

Myler stayed in the dense willow ticket, away from the curious eyes of the monks, who would easily recognise him as an impostor; we were not sure they could be trusted. My father agreed that I would return with Myler, and to encourage Strongbow, he produced letters for me to carry offering land and wealth to any man who came to our aid to restore the fallen king of Leinster. For if Strongbow would not come soon, he would offer the rewards to others.

If anyone wishes to have land or money,

horses, equipment or chargers,

gold or silver, I will give him

very generous payments;

if anyone wants land or pasture,

I will enfeoff him generously:

I will also give him plenty of

Livestock and a rich fife.

How a shelter of trees in a hollow of ground beside a slow flowing stream could soothe the soul of worries. I whispered the dogs to rest as I stole barefoot from the abbey in the still blanket of the night. A family of rabbits, startled from their play, bolted to earth, little knowing the vixen was almost upon them. She skulked brazenly across my path, irked her hunt was disturbed. Disappearing over the rise, a silhouette chiselled in the sharp moonlight, she paused in a final search for her prey and was gone.

We wrapped ourselves in the heavy blankets, our bodies exhausted, breathless. Our mingled sweat sent stabbing shivers through my body, cold rivulets on my burning skin, between my breasts, like a nail drawn along my naked back. The fire bounced warm on glistening skin and his sleepy, sated eyes. Sweet-scented smoke of crackling, summer-parched willow quivered into the night. The vixen screamed, more distant now; a fish dropped into the pool of the rippling river.

Slowly, through my nose, I inhaled nature’s intoxicating broth: damp riverbank earth, fire smoke, night air laden with the harvest and a lover’s musk. My naked limbs were on warm earth; our breathing grew settled.

‘We must go soon, Aoife,’ Myler said. ‘The sea will become more restless shortly.’

I leant back, relaxing against his chest as he folded the grey blanket around us. It was made of a coarse flaxen material, produced by the monks and used as bedding and cover. I had secreted several, unnoticed, to Myler in the thicket.

He told me how Strongbow was spending nearly all his time at the king’s court, trying to please Henry. He was hardly at Chepstow, and when last there he had expressed great reservations about the probable success of the plan to come to Ireland.

‘That’s why I think he is trying ever harder to find favour with Henry,’ he said. ‘I fear he thinks his future may be in Britain, under Henry, now that such a mess has been made of our plans to come to Ireland.’

He explained how Strongbow believed it was Sir Robert FitzStephen and Myler’s other uncles, the Geraldines, who had encouraged my father to return, departing from the plan agreed upon before he left for Germany. It was the only plan that would have ever worked—to return in force.

‘But that’s untrue. I was there . . . so were you. It was Sir Hervey who did it; it was always madness,’ I objected, turning to face him.

‘I know. It was Sir Hervey who placed the blame on my uncles. I was there, the bastard.’ He paused and then continued. ‘Strongbow was dismayed. He believed in the sound judgement of my uncles. Now he doubts them, Aoife.’

‘I don’t understand. Why didn’t you tell him what happened?’ I asked.

Hesitating, he lifted his head to look at me. ‘He threatened me, Aoife. He knows about us. He says he has witnesses, several from the castle who will attest to it.’ Shaking his head, he continued, ‘He may be hated, but he has his ways of coercing people. I don’t doubt it.’

He explained how Montmorency had warned him against informing Strongbow of the circumstances of our return to Ireland. As a consequence, Strongbow had lost faith in Myler’s uncles and placed all his trust in Montmorency. He alone had his ear and was given sole authority in his absence. He had advised Strongbow not to confront his uncles, as this could alienate them and bring an end to any hope of gathering the required forces to mount a successful campaign in Ireland.

Instead, he had assured Strongbow that with him in charge as a steady hand, he could keep a watchful eye on things and make sure no further rash decisions were made; after all, he was, he had said, the only blood relation of Strongbow in the camp. Myler was furious but helpless, and his uncles could not understand Strongbow’s sudden shift in favour to Montmorency.

‘So, you see, Aoife, you must come and convince Strongbow. Right now, the only one he is listening to is Sir Hervey, and I’ve no idea what that bastard is up to.’ A haze of moths danced in the glimmer, occasionally landing in my hair. How the swallows would feast here if they hunted by night, I thought. Myler brushed a moth aside; I felt his fingers running over my skin.

‘At least, I will see a lot more of you for a while.’ He smiled.

So we stole quietly, on a still dark night, from the willow thicket. On foot, we were a few short hours from the coast which we would reach before dawn. It would have been easy enough to find a trading boat sailing for Bristol or St Davids from Wexford, once we had the coin to pay a shipmaster for the passage. However, silence was harder to come by, so we would sail from Glascarrig, the small port that served Ferns. Amlaib, the old Norse shipmaster who had stood at his oak tiller under a cloud of O’Rourke’s arrows on the night we escaped from Bannow Bay, would meet us at the quay there. We would arrive to catch the ebbing tide and make once again for Wales.

I insisted on bringing Conor against Myler’s objections that he would slow us down. He relented when I told him that was up to him, as he would be carrying him, and anyhow, I would not leave him in my father’s care. Rob, having fulfilled his promise to Myler, came with us, and he talked incessantly about seeing his mother, Alice, back at Chepstow as the four of us set off towards the slivered hint of dawn in the eastern sky.