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then a stone caught her in the face and she flinched and turned away. A moment later the cart passed out of his sight and he saw her no more.
    He turned from the window and slid numbly down to sit on the floor. All of this was still inconceivable to him. How could it be that he, the son and heir to the reigning king, could have his life torn apart, his heart ripped from him and cut to pieces before his eyes? He was the crown prince of Lynaleigh, yet he was made to sit helplessly by and let his beloved face fiery death alone.
    "Why?" he moaned, his voice worn ragged with a night of raging pleas.
    The wind shifted and brought into the prison the dank, foul stench that was too familiar to his soldier's senses. He blenched at the malodorous cloud. There was no mistaking the smell of burnt flesh.
    At first, he did not notice that the door to his prison had been opened, or that he had a visitor.
    "My lord, I have brought you your breakfast."
    Philip looked up listlessly, then leapt to his feet.
    "Palmer? Palmer! Have they burned her, Palmer? Tell me!"
    Palmer's grim expression offered no hope. "I am sorry."
    Philip closed his eyes, and Palmer quickly set down the tray he carried and went to him.
    "Take comfort, sir," he said, lowering his voice. "She gave me a message for you."
    "A message?" Philip repeated as if the word were foreign to him.
    "I have friends among your father's men. I managed to see her for a moment before they took her away. She said for you to remember her love and forget all the rest. She wanted me to give you this, too, because it was all she had." Glancing furtively towards the door, he opened the pouch that hung over his shoulder. "I'll be hanged if they find out I took this."
    He pulled out a long, thick braid of fair hair, hair that shone like spun gold, and laid it in Philip's hands. "I had to steal it away from the hag who cut it off."
    Philip stared down at it, bewildered, and after a moment, Palmer began setting out the food he had brought as a pretense to deliver Katherine's message, food Philip would never touch.
    "I must go now, my lord," he said once he had done, but Philip still stood staring and made no reply.
    Hearing once more the clank of the key in the lock, Philip let the braid slide slowly through his hands to fall in a coil at his feet. The stench of the burning had saturated the air, and looking at the rich food Palmer had brought, Philip felt a rising wave of nausea that made his head spin.
    With an inarticulate cry, he pounded his fists on the little table until the dishes rattled and the pitcher was upset. In helpless fury, he raked everything to the floor and overturned the table on top of it. For a moment he stared at the destruction he had made, then he dug frantically through the shattered crockery, but Palmer had been wise enough not to give him a knife.

III
     
    Katherine had been two days dead before Tom, hearing the news, returned to Winton.
    "I want to see Philip," he said, ignoring the his father's welcome.
    "Listen to me, Tom. You do not know what has happened here–"
    "I've heard. I want to see him."
    The king looked uncomfortably at his Lord High Chamberlain.
    "My lord of Brenden," Dunois said with a faintly contemptuous bow, "if you have heard, then you know my lord of Caladen has been under the evil influence of a witch. He is liable to rave yet. Thus far, he has refused to speak to anyone, not the Archbishop himself. He'll not even take food."
    Tom did not spare him a glance. "The girl was burned two days ago, Father. If she did have some sort of spell over him, she can hardly have anymore. Even if she did, what harm can there be in me seeing him?"
    Robert could say nothing that would stand in the face of Tom's cool resolution. He had not yet had the courage to see Philip himself. Sending Tom now might be easier.
    "Go on, then, and take his release to the lieutenant of the prison," he said, ignoring Dunois' frown, "but try to understand, son."
    "I always try to