Yes, I did hate him then. All right. No, I disliked him—but I wanted to tell him how he’s always owned me, how at times he drove me frantic with that, and most important how although even the haunt of his mother was at last dead (though he wouldn’t understand that) and so we were out of danger if we did continue in our sin, I was starting on a high mission and had to leave him—But he gave me no chance to say all this. “By everything in you, Cija, I hope one day, one day but it will only be after many more years, you’ll realize how immature you are. You’ve never even loved, have you? Have you? Your torrid emotional life has been confined to a bird and a little serving-girl—and a girlish fascination for the big, bad General.”

“I love him,” I said in a low, vehement voice, indicating the priest who was wandering from us, moving his feet in a little sort of tap-dance, tactfully paying no more attention to us, but looking at the wounded for whom only surgery could do anything.

“That elderly labourer? I suppose you think he looks fatherly. I’ve never seen such a lecherous, sly face—”

“It’s wonderful, a total face—”

“See that shack, planks slanted against the wall over there? You’ll find an orderly boiling soup in there. I’ll be with you soon.”

“No, Smahil—”

About to walk away, he turned back, his brows down, whole face edgy.

Our eyes met. He caught me to him. “We’ll discuss it tonight—little sister. Go on, and don’t worry. Don’t worry. I’ve always known what’s best for you—I’ll look after you. Off you go.”

“Smahil,” I was desperately worried, but for a moment wanted to touch my finger to his scar, then drew back for it was newly opened, “I’m not staying with you. I’m going with my friend there—”

“Oh, are you?” His eyes glittered, but with even more impatience than anger. “That’s soon put a stop to.” He strode to the priest, who was stooping over a casualty, ran his sword through him and without waiting to watch him collapse said to me. “Get some soup inside you till I come,” and walked away to continue with his duty.

I ran to the priest, crouched by him, lifted his head from the chest of the wounded man who moaned faintly for water.

My priest was quite dead. His face was still his in every way except that the twinkle in his eye had already become opaque.

So who now would show me the way to Atlan?