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“There’s nothing worth taking,” I tell him, my grip tightening around the handles. “Only blankets and my daughter. She’s sick. I’m trying to get her to Tewkesbury.”

He stands there in the rain, looking between me and the cart, and for one blessed moment I think he might leave us be. His jaw shifts. His hand twitches at his side. Then his face hardens, and he comes for the canvas in a sudden rush, mud splashing around his boots as he pushes past me.

“Here, now!” I catch his arm as he reaches for the canvas. “I told you, there’s a child beneath there!”

He ignores me and tears back the covering, making Avis cry out as the rain pours over her. I shove myself between them, grabbing a handful of his leather jack to pull him away from the cart, but he turns, driving his arm into me.

Something sinks deep into my belly, parting muscle with a hot, wet give. White bursts behind my eyes. The breath leaves me in one hard rush, and I fold over his hand, fingers twisted in his sleeve, trying to understand why the mud has lurched beneath my feet, why my mouth will not pull in air, why something deep in my gut feels suddenly, horribly open.

Then he wrenches his arm back. The pain comes with it, sharp and tearing. I scream and stagger back against the cart, clutching at the wound as heat spills through my fingers in a thick rush and runs down the front of my tunic, warm and sticky beneath the freezing rain. Blood soaks through the cloth and drips onto the mud between my boots.

“Papa!”

Avis.

Oh, God, my little girl.

I try to turn towards her, but the man is already shoving past me. He drags the blankets from the cart, his hands tearing through the straw, searching for whatever silver or lockbox he assumes a man pushing a cart through a storm must be hiding. Avis wails as he pulls away the last of her coverings, and when he catches hold of her arm to heave her out of his way, I grab at the wooden frame, trying to haul myself upright.

“Leave her alone!” I shout as best I can. “For God's sake, she's only a child!”

He ignores me, dragging Avis from the cart by her arm and throwing her onto the flooded verge. She lands with a splash, and I try desperately to catch her, but my legs give way before I can reach her. By the time I manage to lift my head, the man has already returned to the cart, rummaging through the bedding and scattering handfuls of straw into the mud. He finds nothing worth taking, and with an almighty curse, turns his back on us and starts off down the road into the rain.

“Avis!”

I try to get up, but the moment I straighten, something shifts inside my stomach, and I fold forwards with a scream. Blood pours over my fingers as I clutch at the wound, pressing both hands against it in an attempt to stop the bleeding, but something warm and slippery is pushing its way out beneath my palms. I press harder, trying to hold it inside, but it keeps slipping between my fingers, and when I look down, I find my own bowels spilling through the torn fabric of my tunic.

He has killed me.

“Papa, please!” Avis cries. “Somebody help my papa!”

She is lying barely five paces away, half-submerged in the filthy water with her fair hair plastered to her forehead.

“Oh, sweetheart.” I dig my elbow into the road and try to drag myself towards her. “Don't you worry about Papa. I'm all right, darling. I just need to⁠—”

A wet gasp catches in my throat, and I collapse onto my side, unable to move another inch. She's so close. So, so close. If I could only reach her, I could get her out of that filthy water and wrap her in my cloak before she freezes to death.

Behind me, the soldier's footsteps are growing fainter as he makes his way down the lane.

He's leaving. He’s leaving us here.

“I have silver in my purse!” I shout after him, fumbling beneath my cloak. “Please, man, I've money! Take every penny I have, but help me get my daughter out of the water!”

His footsteps slow, and for one moment I think he'll carry on, but then he glances over his shoulder and catches sight of the purse in my trembling hand.

I know I'm begging the very man who has put me here, but I couldn't care less what he does to me now, provided he gets Avis out of that bloody ditch. I raise the purse as high as I can manage while he makes his way back through the mud, praying that there's enough silver inside to persuade him to show mercy.

“Thank you,” I gasp as he crouches beside me and snatches it from my fingers. “Oh, thank you. She is just over there, see? If you could lift her back into the cart and cover her with the blankets, I'd be ever so grateful. Please.”

He loosens the purse and tips the coins into his palm, counting them quickly before shoving the lot inside his leather jack. I wait for him to turn towards Avis, but when he finally looks at her, his face twists with disgust.

“She’s as good as dead,” he mutters. “I’ll not be touching her.”

“No, please, she isn't⁠—”

He turns away before I can finish, and I lunge after him, catching his sleeve in my bloodied hand. No. I cannot let him leave. Not when Avis is still lying in that freezing water and I've given him every penny I possess.

“Get her out of the water!” I scream, clinging to his arm. “For God's sake, man, she's only a child!”