Everyone rose to their feet and she smiled. It was a very brittle smile.

“Mitla,” said the duchess. “We have eighteen days.”

“We need at least thirteen to march back over the pass,” Sauce smiled at the other woman. Their eyes met.

“I’d like someone to track down the Patriarch of Rhum,” the duchess said. “I feel like we should tidy up as we go.” Her voice was light. “I am in a position to pay well.”

Favour nodded. “I’d be happy to get him,” he said. “So would Ser Robert.”

Everyone looked blank.

“Long Paw.”

Sauce shook her head very much the way Gabriel might have. “I’d like to get him, but there are bigger things at stake. Mitla’s behind nine miles of forts and trenches; any idea how to get him?”

Conte Simone bowed to her. “My lady, I assumed you had a plan.” He smiled. “So far, you always do.”

Sauce liked Conte Simone; for all his male vanity he was a bonny fighter. “I fight one fight at a time,” she said. “And I always drop the easy punter first.”

Everyone nodded.

“Punter?” Simone asked.

“Customer?” Sauce said. “Or, er . . . adversary?”

Giselle barked a laugh. She took a deep breath. “Mitla,” she said. “While we move food. We don’t need to beat him. If we hold the river line and keep open the road to Arelat, then we need do nothing more.” She looked at a set of wax tablets from her purse. “Captain Corner says that we should have our first convoy through here in two days. Let’s make Mitla dance to our tune.”

Sauce was looking at a map. She realized with a start that it was one of a sheaf of maps Kronmir had drawn himself. She also realized that Giselle knew who had drawn it.

She’s a tough girl, Sauce thought. She tapped her gapped teeth with a brass-bound pencil.

“I wanted him beat,” she admitted to her captains. “But fuck it. That’s just my pride. Duchess is right. Let’s start moving food. Milus, you dig in here.” She pointed at a town called Fornello. “Make it sturdy. You’re the covering force. Simone, you are with me, in reserve.”

“I very much enjoyed this ‘reserve,’” he said. “Good fighting.”

“I was hopin’ that this time it’d be a little more restful,” she said.

“I am hoping to see you favour us by breaking a lance on an enemy,” he said.

She licked her lips. “You callin’ me out?” she asked.

He looked startled. “No,” he said. “I assumed, as you are a knight, that you are . . . sad? . . . that you were not fighting.”