After a while, Sigfrid asked, “What do you fear, Ivar?”

“I fear I lost something but I don’t know what it is. That I’ll only recognize it when it’s too late.”

“Two days,” said Sergeant Hugo. It was agreed they dared wait so long in the clearing before moving east again through the forest. The first day passed quietly enough. Constance rested, yet was never alone. By turns, and as if by accident, each soldier approached her and spoke privately to her as a man might to his deacon when he had a trouble to confess. Some spoke at length, others more briefly.

Hunters returned with two wasted and sickly deer, which they ate anyway because their food stores were so low, and a grouse, whose meat was shared among the monastics. The nuns gathered morels and blewits, and Hathumod found an old stand of couch grass in a nearby clearing and dug up the now-bitter roots. With these victuals they ate well enough, although they had to drink water from a nearby stream and many developed a flux.

Sergeant Hugo and his soldiers went through all their tack, greasing and repairing it. They carved arrows out of stout shoots in case they ran out of metal-tipped ones. The nuns scoured the woods for anything edible that might be dried or boiled for carrying.

The second day Ivar spent most of his time with Constance recounting again and again the story of his travels with Erkanwulf, repeating details or, on occasion, recalling ones he had forgotten or overlooked. Every utterance made by Theophanu, Rotrudis’ children, or their courtiers had to be reexamined. Had he been Liath, he would have recalled every word he had heard, but he was not Liath. He was the flawed vessel, and he worried that he had forgotten something important.

“Of the walls, again. There was building going on?”

“No, but there was one scaffolding. That would have been on the western wall, I think. I remember the light shining on it as we rode out. No one was working there.”

“Within the hall, was there any new work being done? Any repairs? Were the walls freshly whitewashed?”

A whistle shrilled from the woods, down along the trail where the string of sentries ran out farthest.

Sergeant Hugo jumped to his feet. Soldiers grabbed spears, swords, and bows. A bird’s trill rang out, and several among them whooped and clapped.

Captain Ulric rode at the head of his troop, his usually pleasant features creased with anxiety and a certain grim relief at seeing them. The rest of his men spread out so as not to overwhelm the clearing. Soon there were almost threescore folk gathered around the ancient chapel: Hugo’s dozen, the fifteen monastics, and about thirty men at arms, all mounted, with the captain. It was strange, though, since Ivar had thought that the captain commanded almost a century of men.

“We are at your service, Your Grace,” Ulric said after he dismounted and knelt before her. She extended a hand. He kissed her ring. “I pray pardon for coming so late.”