Captain Tugwell, his right arm bloody, came into the long gallery. He stopped, staring at the group of women, and his sword, red like his arm, dropped. “You’re safe. Thank God!”

“We do thank him, Captain. What happened?”

Captain Tugwell had no time to answer Lady Margaret’s query. There was the sound of more boots on the stairs, a group of men this time, and Campion saw the Captain turn to the open door. She saw his sword come up, waver, then go slowly down. There was a look of resignation on his face. The moment she feared had come.

Four men came into the long gallery. They wore leather jerkins beneath breastplates, barred helmets over their faces, and at their waists were the bright orange sashes of Parliament. The steel-barred faces, anonymous in the gloom, turned toward the women, then, seemingly as one, back to Captain Tugwell. He was disarmed, pushed out of the long gallery, and then the four faces looked back. One man walked toward them, his sword drawn. His boots were loud on the checkered tiles until he reached the long central rug. “Lady Margaret Lazender?”

“I am she.” Campion felt Lady Margaret stiffen.

The man stopped. He pushed his helmet up by the steel peak, dragging it backward off his head. His dark hair showed the imprint of the leather helmet-liner. It was a man Campion had never seen before.

“My name is Colonel Fuller. I assume you are yielding the castle to me?”

“That is for my husband. I would not be so presumptuous.”

Colonel Fuller frowned. He had not expected the answer. “The castle’s taken.”

“So you tell me. I trust that even a rebel will ensure the safety of women’s lives?”

Fuller frowned again. “I do not fight women.”

“Then I do not understand why you see fit to approach me with a drawn sword, Colonel. If you wish to kill me, do so now. Otherwise please put it away. Where is my husband?”

More footsteps at the door. Campion felt Lady Margaret tighten her arm on her shoulders. The sky was lightening, filling the Lazen valley with dawn. The birds sang as if this day was any other.

Six men came into the room. At first Campion thought them all to be soldiers, but then she saw the black clothes, the lacquered breastplate of her brother. Next to Ebenezer, easily recognizable despite his barred helmet, was Scammell.

Ebenezer’s voice was low, yet it carried easily to Campion. “I thought it plain, Colonel, that only Sir Grenville’s men were to be allowed in this part of the house?”

Colonel Fuller turned, his sword halfway into his scabbard. Campion almost expected him to draw the sword, to punish Ebenezer for his insolence, but to her surprise the Colonel nodded. “We’re leaving.”

“Do so.”

Campion had changed in these last nine months, yet she was astonished to see that her brother too had become such a different person. The awkwardness was gone, the sullen face had become hard and lean. The long gallery seemed filled with his quiet menace.