She laughed and was surprised at how she sounded—a little wild. She clamped down.

Ser Michael took the staff of command from Ser Gabriel and held it aloft. He waved it at the Moreans—their ranks moved, anticipating the trumpet.

Then the trumpet crashed out, one more time, and the whole company rolled into motion.

“It’s more like the convent than I would have believed,” she said.

Down the column, each file moved smoothly into place except the last—Ser Michael’s. Robin rode well, but the new archer was mooning and he was late moving forward. His horse caught his inattention and jumped—Sukey, in the lead wagon, had to rein in after her animals had done the work of getting the heavy wagon rolling.

“You useless sack of pig-shit. Someone tied your balls in a knot last night and now you can’t find ’em?” Sukey’s voice was mild—it was too early for anyone to manage real invective.

The boy flushed with anger and then swallowed it, and got his horse into the column. He was a poor rider.

“Just like the convent,” Ser Gabriel said.

“Are you kidding?” Amicia laughed. “Miriam can manage all that in one half-raised eyebrow.”

“Perhaps I could send her all my file-leaders.” He wasn’t paying her any attention at all. He was focused on his column.

During the siege, this had fascinated her. She had had her share of swains as a lass—and by and large, they mooned. Gabriel had his own ways of mooning, but he seldom took his attention off his work to do it and, as a woman, she preferred his focus to the puppy-dog behaviour of younger men.

Side by side they rode. The day was clearing from its early dampness to a good blue-and-white-skied April day.

“Any chance of fish for Friday?” she asked.

He looked at her.

She shrugged. “I’m easy in my conscience about a little dried sausage when breaking the fast of the night. But Friday is Good Friday and many of your people will not want to eat meat.”

He nodded. “I think you’ll find Nicomedes already has this on his plate—as it were.” He nodded. “Fish are hard to come by until the Albin runs down to the salt. There’s plenty of them there, but no one to fish for them, I think, except farm boys skipping out on work.”

They rode east, towards the river, while the column rolled west.

“It may be that we’ll all fast, on Friday,” he said.

“Even you?” she asked. The river was getting louder as they climbed towards the height of the stony ridge.

“I am coming to terms with some of my views on God,” he said. “New evidence has presented itself.”

“You’re going to let God off the hook, are you?” she asked, and even she was surprised at the acid tone she used.

“Perhaps,” he said.

Then the wall of sound cut off any possibility of conversation.

Almost immediately, the trail went to the right, and down, winding and winding.