Only later, after he had crossed the river and felt its swirl and spray against his face, did he realize that Captain Ulric had spoken those last words without a trace of self-consciousness.

May She watch over you.

In Autun, at any rate, belief in the Redemption had triumphed, and he had to wonder: was it Lady Tallia’s example, or Baldwin’s, that had won the most converts?

4

WITH his hair concealed under a dirty coif and a boiled leather helmet on his head, Ivar stood among the dozen soldiers who acted as his cover and watched as Sergeant Hugo delivered the false order to Captain Tammus.

“Being sent into exile?” demanded the scarred captain after the deacon who presided over the camp’s chapel read the missive out loud.

“I just does as I’m told,” said Sergeant Hugo with a shrug. “Still, there’s troubles along the Salian borders worse these days than ever. I hear tell of famine. Lady Sabella needs all her troops for other business. Best to be rid of them. They can starve in Wendar as well as here.”

“Easier to kill them.” Tammus had a way of squinting that made his scars twist and pucker. He was an evil-looking man, with a vile temper to match, but he wasn’t stupid. Ivar was careful to keep his head lowered. Tammus might remember his face. There had been only three young men interred in Queen’s Grave, and his “death” had been so very public and unexpected and dramatic. His hands felt clammy. Despite the chill, he was sweating.

“No orders about killing,” said Hugo without expression. “We’re to escort them to the border with Fesse and let them go on their own. That’s all I know.”

Tammus grunted. He took the parchment from the deacon and sniffed at the seal, then licked it, spat, and handed it back to the woman.

“It is genuine,” said the deacon, sure of her ground but hesitant as she eyed him fearfully. She had, Ivar saw, a fading bruise on her right cheek. “The seal is that of the duchess, which she keeps on her person. The calligraphy is in an exceptionally fine hand. I recognize it from other letters she has sent this past year.”

He wiped his nose with the back of his hand as he surveyed the dozen men-at-arms waiting beside horses, two carts, and a dozen donkeys and mules. They had tracked down Captain Tammus easily enough in the camp that lay outside the palisade. His was the largest house, two whole rooms, and the only one whose walls were freshly whitewashed. The camp looked unkempt and half deserted. Mud slopped the pathways. Ivar heard no clucking of chickens, although the guardsmen had once held a significant flock, taxed out of the nearby villages. Bored and surly-looking soldiers had gathered, but there were only a dozen of them, of whom half scratched at rashes blistering their faces and two limped. They looked to be no match for Hugo’s troop, who were healthier and had, in addition, a strength of purpose that lent iron to their resolve.