About half their force also left in the night, scattering back to their own lives, carrying and sharing, sometimes into old age, memories of when they’d marched with the Maiden to glory.

Peire also did another thing.

Before leaving, he spoke to a young woman and offered a proposal to her, privately. She accepted, without hesitation. Doing this, she said, would be an act of piety: her own gateway to the god and eternal light.

They gave her the Maiden’s armour and helmet and sword. Jeanette objected fiercely. Then, weeping, she yielded to her brother. Her older brother. In the morning, when those remaining in that meadow saw the enemy moving, the young woman pushed the visor of the helmet down to hide her face.

Jeanette and her brothers were a distance west by then.

In the night, riding behind Eran on one of the horses, Jeanette had begun to shout and cry, demanding they return, that she was being false to the god by doing this, betraying the voices she’d heard. Her brothers insisted otherwise: that she had to stay alive, to offer Ferrieres continued guidance by way of the word of Jad. That she was needed.

She didn’t agree. She continued, under the stars and the risen moons, to wail and weep. She said her destiny lay in Azingar. That she had to be burned. Several times she tried to throw herself off the horse. Once she did do so, and stood up, limping, and started walking back east in the night.

Unhappily, in grief, Eran took out his knife and clubbed her on the head with the haft. He put her back on their horse, held her there. She was unconscious as they rode on.

In the morning, in countryside none of them knew, Jeanette, awake by then, told them she wasn’t hearing her voices anymore.

Her brothers looked away from what they saw in her eyes. She had stopped weeping.

She never wept again.

They rode on without clear intent or destination. In time, Peire settled on the western coast of Ferrieres as to where they were going.

They changed their names. Jeanette entered a holy retreat by the sea. She became known over the years for her willingness to tend the sick, other holy women there, or those sent to them for care. She developed great skill in doing so. Gentle hands, a calming, quiet manner. She saved many lives, including women having difficult childbirths, sent because she was there. She was much loved in this new identity.

She almost never spoke, only when it was necessary.

She was known for her eyes, the deep, arresting blue of them, and the compassion there. She had a sweet voice when the morning and evening and festival rites were chanted at the retreat.