Wind crackled through limbs. Among the trees a branch snapped and crashed down to the ground. Otherwise it was so quiet. Too quiet. They had seen no birds all day. No telltale rustling marked the comings and goings of the little nocturnal creatures who ought to be scuttling about their nightly rounds.
Sapientia’s reaction was such a brief window, opened to show a light within and perhaps soon to be shut. Rosvita had to ask, although she feared the answer.
“Your Highness. Did you see Hanna? The Eagle who was with us?”
Sapientia did not raise her head. Her voice was hoarse and ugly. “She’s dead.”
“Ai, God,” Rosvita whispered. “You saw her dead? You saw her body?”
Sapientia refused to answer, only stared at the ground.
“What will we do?” they asked, one by one, all but Mother Obligatia.
“I should never have let her go off alone!”
“Nay, Sister,” said Mother Obligatia, scolding her. “The Eagle did what she had to do. That was her duty. She knew it was dangerous.”
Guilt burned. Rosvita thought of Hanna as one of her charges, now that they had traveled so far together. She could not find any ease in her heart by prating about duty. She rose and paced around the fire, examining each one who had followed her so far: Mother Obligatia with her ancient sorrows and dangerous past; the abbess’ three stout attendants in the persons of Diocletia, Hilaria, and the lay sister Teuda; poor Petra, now cooing and stroking the unresponsive Princess Sapientia; Rosvita’s faithful servant Aurea, with her strong arm and steady head; that gaggle of young clerics who admired her far too well, timid Gerwita, stubborn Heriburg, clever Ruoda, and the two young men, Jerome and Jehan, still youths in so many ways. Last of all, she met the gaze of the one who was her secret strength: Brother Fortunatus. He nodded at her. He would never waver.
“We rest as well as we can, for we will need our strength. It seemed to me that the light was better in the east, but that way lies Arethousa. Unless tomorrow brings an unexpected change, we must try our luck to the northwest. We must try to reach Wendar. God help us.”
God help me, she thought, as they made ready to rest on the cold ground, arranging cloaks and canvas and blankets over themselves, a jumble of treasures they had salvaged out of the camp. They had provisions to last for perhaps five days. God help me, I pray you. I do not want to lose another one.
Out in the forest, a twig snapped. All of them looked up, startled and anxious. They waited, but no further noise beyond that of the wind rattling in the boughs disturbed the evening silence.
“What if there are bandits, Sister Rosvita?” asked Gerwita. Her voice was so soft it almost vanished under the sound of the wind. “We have no weapons to defend ourselves. We can’t use those spears.”
The girl looked scared. The others stared at Rosvita, waiting for her answer.
She caught Fortunatus’ gaze. He smiled bravely.
“We have our wits, child. Let us pray they are weapon enough.”
VI
THE ENEMY’S HANDIWORK
1
“LOOK, Your Excellency. Can that be Darre?”
The soldier shifted impatiently as his comrade led Antonia’s mule the last few paces to the top of the ridge. From this vantage point the plain of Dar could usually be seen in all its glorious expanse: the river, the towers rising on the palace rock, the domes of the two great cathedrals, the manifold streets as twisty as the Enemy’s minions, the western hills that blocked the path to the sea, the thousand fields on which the ancient city had first taken root and grown into an empire.
Antonia’s eyes hadn’t stopped stinging since that awful night when the wind had torn the thatch off the cottage in which she sheltered, and ash had started to fall. She rubbed them now as they halted.
“God help us,” added the soldier, voice choked. “The western hills are all on fire. And the plain of Dar—look!”
“I see nothing,” said his companion.
It was a foul soup of air, like the congealed breath of the Enemy: smoke and brimstone, the stench of the Pit. For the space of one breath, a shift in the wind stripped the worst layer of haze off the land and she glimpsed the distant towers and walls of Darre before they were swallowed up again in the fog.
“We must descend,” she said, and she heard the two guards whistle hard between teeth. They were frightened because they were weak, although they had guarded her faithfully enough on their journey. She had lost count of the days.
“Who knows what kind of creatures might be lurking down there in that smoke,” said the taller one, called Focas. “They could have claws as long as my arm. They might rip us to pieces.”
“God will protect us,” said Antonia. “Have we not met dangers? Have we not survived?”
Pietro spoke less but said more that was to the point. “What if we can’t breathe that fouled air?”