“Move the men back, Captain,” said Hugh to Frigo. He took the reins from Liudbold and waited while the rest turned their horses and moved off.

“Plague,” said John when he came over with Lord Hugh. “Got the dogs, too, them that had eaten the dead folk left lying in the street. Good thing that gate is closed.”

“We must be cautious,” said Hugh. “Let’s leave this blighted place. Frigo, set your scouts. We can’t be sure we won’t stumble across bandits. We’ve few enough in our party that a smaller group taking us unaware could do great damage.”

“Yes, my lord.”

They rode east through a land so dry that the vegetation snapped under the hooves of their horses. There was little grass for grazing. The grain went faster, obviously, than Lord Hugh had planned, so he adjusted the rations. Where they passed the remains of juniper or olive groves all the trees had been felled in the same direction, shattered by wind. Of spring greens she saw only thistle and creeping vine.

This was rugged country, the kind of scrub-infested land that in Wendar would have been left to the shepherds as summer pasture. Along their path they passed three more silent villages before midday. Once, folk had lived and traded here. Anna wondered if they had all died or if some had escaped. She imagined children herding goats and sheep along those slopes. She imagined women walking to market with babies bundled on their backs and wheelbarrows heaped with onions and parsnips, or whatever strange food folk ate in these parts. Nothing tasty, she supposed.

It was so quiet, as though death had eaten the world and moved on, leaving only the stones and the empty buildings and the whitened grass. Now and again as they rode along a narrow passage with ridges rising steep on both sides, she imagined that refugees peered at her from the rocks above, but in truth she felt nothing. She felt that even the animals had fled, that nothing lived here anymore and that the clouds would never part and only dust would be her companion evermore. Certainly, her tongue was sticky with dirt, but she didn’t dare ask for more water. Therefore it was a surprise to her when scarred John came riding back from forward scout with the news that he had sighted a column of armed riders.

“Fourscore at least, my lord,” he reported. “Not Aostan, by the look of them.”

‘Are these the ones you’ve been expecting to meet?” asked Captain Frigo. Blessing sat behind him, wrists tied, fingers gripping the back of his saddle. She tried to get a look around him, as if hoping to see a saint come to rescue her.

“It’s hard to say without a look at them,” said Hugh. He nodded at John.

“There’s an abandoned village ahead, my lord. If we hide there, we might see them pass by without being seen ourselves.”

“Is there no other cover?” Hugh asked. “I’d rather not ride in haste into a village that might be harboring the plague.”