He raised his voice. “Girl!”

She came in, her face pathetically eager to please.

Ebenezer limped to the bed and lay down. “Lock the doors.”

He closed his eyes. He would not open them or speak till she was done. His brain was filled with the emblazoning splendor of his vision as the darkness fell softly on the Lazen valley.

Seventeen

Campion’s cat, Mildred, usually woke her before dawn, pacing to and fro on the covers, licking her exposed face with its rough tongue, purring loudly in her ear or forcing its warm, soft fur against her neck. “Go away, Mildred.”

The cat interpreted any words as affection, redoubling its efforts to rouse Campion. “Go away, Mildred. It’s too early.”

Yet, coming into wakefulness, Campion knew that it was not the middle of the night. She could hear the sound of boots on the castle yard and knew that the garrison, as it did each morning, was standing to arms. Every soldier was on the ramparts at least an hour before dawn, and it was a time when Campion liked to be up. She stroked the cat’s reddish fur and then hugged her. “I might not see you again. No! I must go away, Mildred.” The cat purred louder than ever. “You don’t care, do you?”

She dressed quickly, putting a bonnet over her drawn-up hair. She would not dress properly or set her hair until the morning was half over. Mildred went to and fro between her ankles, rubbing her body against Campion, demanding to be fed. “You’re supposed to catch mice, Mildred, that’s what you’re supposed to do.”

She dressed in a plain gray dress. She could hear Lady Margaret next door ordering Enid to open the curtains and the sound made Campion pull back her own. The sky was still dark and she could not see if there were any new clouds. Mildred protested and Campion stooped to stroke the cat. “You really don’t care, do you?”

She opened her bedroom door, releasing the cat which sped away down the corridor, heading for the kitchens downstairs where, along with a dozen other cats, she would be fed and watered. There was not enough milk for the cats now. Campion followed more slowly.

She liked the dawn. She liked to walk on the dew-wet lawns and greet the soldiers who peered into the darkness across the moat. She would sometimes go into the church and kneel in the Lazender pew, saying a morning prayer for the safety of the garrison, adding a special prayer for Toby beneath the stone memorials of his ancestors. It was a quiet period of the day, a time before the big guns would begin to spread their dirty smoke across the meadows, a time when there was a semblance of peace at Lazen.

“Miss Campion?” It was Captain Tugwell looming in the darkness.

“Captain.”

“And a pleasant sight you are this morning, Miss Campion.” Tugwell, a small man, forced jollity into his voice. “Did you have a quiet night?”