“Come on,Tomas.You know how things stand. Ask around the neighborhood for me, will you? I can’t manage without a lad to give me a hand, and we could do with a girl to help around the house as well. And there’s another thing. Anluan needs someone for a special job, over the summer. Someone who can read Latin and write. Write properly, I mean. Fast and accurate, that’s what he said.”

My heart began to race.

Tomas snorted in disbelief. “Wouldn’t you need a cleric for that?” he asked.“You won’t get any of them near Whistling Tor, the way things stand. You’re wasting your time.All right, I’ll ask. But you know what the answer will be.”

As I gathered my belongings, the visitor hefted the bundle onto his shoulder and headed off in the general direction of the fortified barrier. By the time Tomas came back in with a load of firewood, Magnus had disappeared from view.

“That man who was outside,” I said. “Magnus, was it? Did he say they needed a scribe up at the fortress?” I prayed that this was the gift it appeared to be: a remarkable opportunity of both hiding place and paid work.

“He did say that.” Tomas set down the wood and regarded me, hands on hips. “Someone who can read Latin.Why he asked me, I can’t imagine. It’s hard enough to find him a simple cowherd, let alone a scholar. Sounds like it’s a big job, whatever it is; could take the whole summer. I’ll tell you the truth, Caitrin.There’s not a soul in the region would agree to spend a season in that place, not for all the silver in Connacht. Not that it matters, since none of us can read anyway, Latin, Irish or anything else.”

“Who is Magnus, exactly? A servant? He works for the chieftain, Anluan, is that his name?”

“Steward, I suppose you could call Magnus. Been there since Irial’s time. Hired as a fighter; stayed on when Irial died. Magnus is a foreigner, one of the gallóglaigh. Doesn’t do much fighting now. More of a farmer and jack of all trades. I can’t imagine why he stays.”