The road was overgrown where no summer work crews had hacked back weeds and brambles, but in other places they saw signs that a large company had recently passed this way: a broad clearing ringed with charred fire pits; swathes of grass grazed low and not yet recovered; remnants of leather and rivets and the shards of a broken pot. Shallow ditches where folk had relieved themselves and covered the leavings over. These, in turn, disturbed by creatures enticed by the odor.
It was muggy. The cloud cover had burned so thin that he saw traces of shadow rippling along the furrows made by wagon wheels. Baldwin had pushed ahead. The tail of his spare mount flicked and vanished as the road rounded away in a bend.
Everyone spoke of Liath. But what had happened to Hanna?
Dear Hanna.
All at once, he was weeping. Sobbing.
Ahead, branches crackled out in the wood.
Something is coming.
He sucked in his breath and unsheathed the sword the sergeant had given him.
A huge aurochs stepped onto the road. It bent a surly eye upon him before pacing majestically into the trees on the other side. Through his tears, he watched in awe as its broad back receded into the forest.
“Ivar! Ivar!”
The aurochs broke into a run and bolted into the trees. Why did that damn fool keep shouting, where their enemies might hear?
He urged the mare forward and passed out from heavy cover into broken woodland, blinking, startled. Baldwin waved cheerfully, and Ivar squinted. A procession of no more than twoscore folk had halted on the road ahead of them, all turned back to see what was coming up from behind. A pair of dogs barked. These were villagers with handcarts and children, their hoes and shovels and scythes raised to do battle, and men in the brown robes of the faithful.
“Monks!” called Baldwin. “Maybe these are the survivors from Dibenvanger Cloister.”
As they trotted forward, the procession shifted as the children were thrust into the center and the monks and adult villagers fell shoulder to shoulder to meet the foe. But the closer Ivar and Baldwin came, the faster folk relaxed, staring and pointing.
“I pray you!” called Ivar. “We’re out of Autun, riding east on the trail of Duke Conrad and Lady Sabella. What has happened here?”
A man stepped out of the crowd. He held a spear as if he were a warrior, although he wore an abbot’s fine, if travel-stained, robe. He was young, vigorous, and handsome, ready to do battle with the worst the Enemy could throw at him. As he recognized them, his fierce, proud expression transmuted into one lit by a certain sarcastic gleam.
“The dazzling Brother Baldwin, beloved of the angels! And Brother Ivar of the North Mark! You are returned to us! Be welcome!”
“The angels?” said Baldwin, scratching at the light growth of beard that was coming in on his chin. “What do you mean, beloved of the angels? What angels?”
“Is he an angel, Mama?” one of the little tykes cried, and some folk laughed nervously while others drew their hands in close against their chests.
“Father Ortulfus.” Ivar dismounted and threw his reins over the mare’s head. He brushed the front of his tunic compulsively, for no good reason except that he wore a layman’s clothing instead of garb fit for a religious man.
The abbot smiled with a sharp amusement.
“How are you come here?” Ivar asked him.
“I may ask the same.” He gestured at a burly monk whom Ivar recognized. “Prior Ratbold! The company must continue. We must reach Hersford before night falls.”
Like the others, the prior was staring at Baldwin, only he was shaking his head. He raised both hands in the manner of a man warding off an attack, then turned and snapped a command at the stunned assembly. His words were echoed by the barking of the startled dogs, come to life, and the villagers shouldered their burdens and marched on with anxious faces and muttered comments. Children bent their heads and shuffled forward, but they glanced back at Baldwin so often that a couple of them stumbled and had to be hauled up by their ears.
Father Ortulfus waited until the group was out of earshot. “What news?” he asked wearily. “Be quick, if there is anything I should know. The rest must wait until we come to Hersford.”
“Is it safe there?”
“Nowhere is safe, Brother Ivar. Have you not seen? Every habitation along this road has been attacked by raiders bearing poisoned arrows that kill with only a prick. Creatures with the bodies of men and the faces of animals As well, many folk have starved because the spring gleaning came late, and they had already lost so many livestock and stores to the storms of last autumn that they hadn’t enough stores to last out the season of want. What of Conrad and Sabella?”
