In the Ruins

Page 87

“Where are the others?” Ivar asked.
“Most of them will remain behind to join the force that hunts for us. They’ll join us later. A dozen men wait for you past the ferry. Here is Captain Ulric.”
The captain emerged from the river gate, spoke tersely and in a low voice with the pair of guards who had let them all through, and stepped back to allow Baldwin to pass through. Baldwin paused with a hand half raised in the air, as if touching something he had not seen for years. He turned, searching, and found Ivar.
“They say I’m to ride south, so that she’ll follow me and not suspect what’s happening. Is that right?”
“That’s right, Baldwin. That’s the plan. She’ll follow the light that shines brightest to her.”
Baldwin reached into his sleeve and withdrew a rolled parchment bound with leather. “Here it is. A letter calling for the biscop’s release and stating that as long as she departs Varre and never returns she is free to go, otherwise her life is forfeit. I thought it was most believable done that way. She’s not merciful.”
He offered it. Hand shaking, Ivar took it from him. He was hot and cold at once. Words had abandoned him. He tugged the lapis lazuli ring off his finger and pressed it into Baldwin’s warm palm.
Baldwin slipped the ring onto his own finger, held Ivar’s gaze a moment longer, and turned to the captain. “I’m ready.”
“Erkanwulf will guide you,” said the captain.
The pair moved away into the night, although the taper’s light was visible for an interminable interval as they made their way up the strand.
The parchment Ivar held paralyzed him. That quickly, Baldwin was gone, torn from him again. And anyway, he was so unaccustomed to succeeding that it seemed impossible he just had.
“I’ll ride with you to the ferry,” said the captain. “Sergeant Hugo will accompany you to Queen’s Grave. The rest of us will meet you as soon as we can on the road to Kassel. Go then. Go with God. May She watch over you.”
Only later, after he had crossed the river and felt its swirl and spray against his face, did he realize that Captain Ulric had spoken those last words without a trace of self-consciousness.
May She watch over you.
In Autun, at any rate, belief in the Redemption had triumphed, and he had to wonder: was it Lady Tallia’s example, or Baldwin’s, that had won the most converts?
4
WITH his hair concealed under a dirty coif and a boiled leather helmet on his head, Ivar stood among the dozen soldiers who acted as his cover and watched as Sergeant Hugo delivered the false order to Captain Tammus.
“Being sent into exile?” demanded the scarred captain after the deacon who presided over the camp’s chapel read the missive out loud.
“I just does as I’m told,” said Sergeant Hugo with a shrug. “Still, there’s troubles along the Salian borders worse these days than ever. I hear tell of famine. Lady Sabella needs all her troops for other business. Best to be rid of them. They can starve in Wendar as well as here.”
“Easier to kill them.” Tammus had a way of squinting that made his scars twist and pucker. He was an evil-looking man, with a vile temper to match, but he wasn’t stupid. Ivar was careful to keep his head lowered. Tammus might remember his face. There had been only three young men interred in Queen’s Grave, and his “death” had been so very public and unexpected and dramatic. His hands felt clammy. Despite the chill, he was sweating.
“No orders about killing,” said Hugo without expression. “We’re to escort them to the border with Fesse and let them go on their own. That’s all I know.”
Tammus grunted. He took the parchment from the deacon and sniffed at the seal, then licked it, spat, and handed it back to the woman.
“It is genuine,” said the deacon, sure of her ground but hesitant as she eyed him fearfully. She had, Ivar saw, a fading bruise on her right cheek. “The seal is that of the duchess, which she keeps on her person. The calligraphy is in an exceptionally fine hand. I recognize it from other letters she has sent this past year.”
He wiped his nose with the back of his hand as he surveyed the dozen men-at-arms waiting beside horses, two carts, and a dozen donkeys and mules. They had tracked down Captain Tammus easily enough in the camp that lay outside the palisade. His was the largest house, two whole rooms, and the only one whose walls were freshly whitewashed. The camp looked unkempt and half deserted. Mud slopped the pathways. Ivar heard no clucking of chickens, although the guardsmen had once held a significant flock, taxed out of the nearby villages. Bored and surly-looking soldiers had gathered, but there were only a dozen of them, of whom half scratched at rashes blistering their faces and two limped. They looked to be no match for Hugo’s troop, who were healthier and had, in addition, a strength of purpose that lent iron to their resolve.