Alain went forward with five of the men at arms to discover a wagon toppled onto its side. The remains of several people lay scattered across the roadway and into the woodland on either side, disturbed by animals.

“How long have they lain here, are you thinking?” asked one of the lads, a fellow called “Fetch” by his comrades.

Mostly bone was all that was left of them, with bits of hair and patches of woven tunic ground into the earth and a leather vest half buried beneath dirt and leaf litter. It was impossible to tell how many had died here or how far wolves and foxes had dragged pieces of corpse.

“Months.” Alain wrenched loose an arrow fixed into the spokes of one of the wheels. “Bandits. Look at this fletching.”

The soldiers were young men, no one he knew from his time as Lavastine’s heir, although it seemed strange to him that so many new milites would have come into service in such a short time. They were all lads from villages owing allegiance to Lady Aldegund’s family, and had a lilting curl to their “r’s” when they spoke. They looked nervous as they scanned the trees and open clearings.

One shrieked. “What’s that? What’s that?”

It was only a white skull, caught in brambles, staring out at them.

“Go get it, Fetch,” said the eldest.

“I won’t. It might be cursed!”

“Have we a shovel or anything to dig with?” asked Alain. “Best we dig what grave we can and let these poor dead rest. It’s all we can do.” He looked at each of his companions in turn and shook his head. “Come now. Their souls have ascended to the Chamber of Light. They can’t hurt you. If it were your own brother lying here, wouldn’t you want him laid to rest so that animals would stop chewing on his bones?”

They had in their party only one shovel, but another man had an antler horn he used as a pick and the rest sharpened stout sticks and by this means and some with their bare hands they dug swiftly and deep. Blanche watched silently, sucking her thumb, and it was she who was first to help pick up bones that had been dragged away into the bushes and she who brought the skull and laid it on the heap collected in the pit. She wiped her hand on her skirt and sighed.

“Will I be just bones like that one day?” she asked.

“The part of you which is flesh will die, it’s true, and rot away to bone, but see how white and strong bone is. It’s to remind us of the strength of our souls, which lie hidden beneath flesh as well.”

She frowned at him but said nothing more. The chatelaine’s cleric said a prayer over the dead, and they filled in the hole. One of the lads shook out the leather vest and rolled it up; the leather only needed a bit of cleaning and oiling to restore it and there was no sense in letting such good leather go to waste.