She passed them to the knight and he carefully packed them in the duffels, muffling them in layers of cloth and padding. He finished fastening the bags and stood.

“Does all your family give their devotion to Bernadette and the Immaculata?” he asked, standing.

She looked up, startled and shook her head, thinking his eyes were a surprisingly light sage green next to his dark skin.

“Just me. Dowager Phillipa gave me the child’s book. And I’ve been on the lookout for older books about her ever since. Years ago, Mama set up my own oratorio here so I could have all my things just so. I learned tapestry stitch making that arras.”

The man nodded. “My family has a special devotion to these two, and to the healing arts. Adolphus is my cousin. Well, time to go. Come, young Gervais, your horse awaits.”

He took her out to the courtyard. The callused hand took her chin and tilted her face up.

“I can give you no hope, daughter of Gervais. I will pray to God and do you pray to Lady Sandra as well as the Virgin. You are caught deep in this coil. Hope, faith, humility, might bring you free, if you are innocent. I will do my best for your people here.”

Then she was walking down the steps, glad of the warm wool riding skirt, the heavy jacket and the cloak draped over her. Torches flared in the courtyard but she didn’t see her uncle’s body, though the stink of sudden death lay heavy.

Yseult looked up as she finished the tale. There was warmth in Mathilda’s brown eyes as she pressed a hand on the younger woman’s shoulder.

“That was very hard,” she said.

Yseult nodded thanks, then burst out: “My mother and uncle, they were so stupid!”

The High King snorted. “That they were. It was stupidity and no more ambition than many another has shown before them, at first, before the . . . enemy . . . took advantage of the door they’d opened. But stupidity is often punished more heavily than mere wickedness, the world being what it is. I don’t suppose it’s any consolation, but many another has made the same mistake. In this war, they usually pay heavily for it.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

BOISE
PROVISIONAL CAPITAL, UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
(FORMERLY BOISE, IDAHO)
AUGUST 10, CHANGE YEAR 25/2023 AD

The leaders of the Dúnedain sat around the table and stared glumly at the map of Boise city. John Hordle ate another bite of his roast-beef sandwich, but with a gloomy air as if he were going through the motions, his huge body hunched over and his mop of reddish-brown hair tousled from having his sausagelike fingers run through it once too often. Ritva stayed back a little, standing easily and keeping a discreet silence.