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morning,’ she told Tom. ‘Gone off without saying a word. I don’t know what it iswith him! Half the time I feel as though his mind is somewhere else.’
    Tom did not look as surprised as she’d expected, but he sighed and then began to speak gently. ‘Aye, I think his mind is often somewhere else, and I believe I know what it is that disturbs the man’s peace.’
    ‘Then tell me!’ Magda demanded.
    ‘Well,’ said Tom. ‘It all started when we marched down to Northampton to join the Bishop. We fell in with a gang of men sent down from Derbyshire. They were sent down to fight for their rebel lord, the constable of Peveril Castle, in the land they call The Peak.’
    ‘Aye, and so?’ Magda was impatient.
    ‘Well, there was a fellow who knew John, the moment he clapped eyes on him. He came from the village of Hathersage.’
    Ah!’ Magda began to understand. ‘Hathersage where my father was born and raised?’
    Tom nodded. ‘The two of them marched side by side for days and whispered by the fire all night. They’d watched over sheep on the hillsides together when they were lads and believe me I have never known John to take such delight in talking as he did with that fellow.’
    Magda frowned, unsure that she liked the sound of it. She herself had never known this distant Derbyshire village. She’d been born in the Forestwife’s clearing, and that had been the centre of all her life.
    ‘What did they talk about?’ she asked.
    ‘People, places, names they both knew. Wild adventures of their youth! The old ones who’d died, and some youngones too.’ Tom sighed. ‘It brought John great pleasure,’ he said. ‘But I think it brought him sadness too.’
    ‘And so this man, this old friend of my father’s returned to Hathersage?’
    Tom shook his head. ‘That is the greatest sadness of it all. He was caught like Robert by one of the great stone-throwing machines. He was not as lucky as Robert was, for he died. So you see, there was no returning to Hathersage, not for him. Now,’ Tom asked gently. ‘Do you understand John’s restlessness a bit better?’
    Magda heaved a great sigh. ‘Oh yes,’ she said. ‘I understand it very well, though I do not much like the answer that comes into my mind.’
    ‘No,’ Tom shook his head sadly. ‘No, I thought you would not. That is why I never spoke of it before.’
    Magda smiled at him, and patted her stomach that was beginning to swell quite noticeably. ‘Ah well,’ she said determinedly. ‘I have got my wish. Father shall have his wish too, whether he thinks he should or not. Would you travel with him to see him safely there?’
    Tom smiled at her. ‘Of course I will.’
    She went out into the woods, following the path her father had taken. Two days later, John set out for Hathersage, riding behind Tom on Rambler’s strong back. John was reluctant to leave his daughter, but the quiet joy in his eyes at the thought of returning to his childhood home was there for all to see.
    ‘You go with my blessing,’ Magda told him, sounding stronger than she felt. ‘All I ask is that you come back tous at Christmas, for my child should be born soon after that.’
    No sooner had John and Tom set out for Derbyshire than Philippa’s blacksmith husband returned to Langden with Rowan her son. Philippa walked through the woodland paths to pass their news on to the Forestwife and her friends. She gently touched Brigit’s head as she passed the child, sitting out in the autumn sunshine, steadily pounding dandelion roots.
    ‘Are they inside?’ she asked.
    ‘Yes,’ Brigit sighed. ‘They do nothing but talk of the barons and the King.’
    Philippa went inside and joined them by the fireside. She told of her husband’s return. ‘I feared he’d never get paid for all his work, and if the barons had had their way, he never would.’
    ‘Who has paid him?’ Robert asked.
    Philippa smiled. ‘Your friend, the Bishop of Hereford.’
    Robert looked up, interested. ‘I