“Are you afraid of Baldwin?”
He shrugged off the question by turning it. “We would all be dead without his sacrifice.”
“Yes,” agreed Sigfrid calmly, “but he was only following the example of the blessed Daisan, was he not? Not every person is given the blessing of sacrifice, Ivar. We have reason to hope that he will escape and reunite with us, do we not? God has rewarded Baldwin for thinking of others before himself.”
“Is that meant as a rebuke to me?”
“Only if you hear it that way.” Sigfrid chuckled. “I missed you, Ivar. No one else frets in quite the way you do.”
The words cut through the knot that had for many days been stuck in his throat. Before he knew it, he was weeping, tears streaming down his cheeks as he struggled not to sob out loud and wake Ermanrich and the two soldiers who were crowded into the tent with them and sleeping soundly.
After a while, Sigfrid asked, “What do you fear, Ivar?”
“I fear I lost something, but I don’t know what it is. That I’ll only recognize it when it’s too late.”
“Two days,” said Sergeant Hugo. It was agreed they dared wait so long in the clearing before moving east again through the forest. The first day passed quietly enough. Constance rested, yet was never alone. By turns, and as if by accident, each soldier approached her and spoke privately to her as a man might to his deacon when he had a trouble to confess. Some spoke at length, others more briefly.
Hunters returned with two wasted and sickly deer, which they ate anyway because their food stores were so low, and a grouse, whose meat was shared among the monastics. The nuns gathered morels and blewits, and Hathumod found an old stand of couch grass in a nearby clearing and dug up the now-bitter roots. With these victuals they ate well enough, although they had to drink water from a nearby stream and many developed a flux.
Sergeant Hugo and his soldiers went through all their tack, greasing and repairing it. They carved arrows out of stout shoots in case they ran out of metal-tipped ones. The nuns scoured the woods for anything edible that might be dried or boiled for carrying.
The second day Ivar spent most of his time with Constance recounting again and again the story of his travels with Erkanwulf, repeating details or, on occasion, recalling ones he had forgotten or overlooked. Every utterance made by Theophanu, Rotrudis’ children, or their courtiers had to be reexamined. Had he been Liath, he would have recalled every word he had heard, but he was not Liath. He was the flawed vessel, and he worried that he had forgotten something important.
“Of the walls, again. There was building going on?”
“No, but there was one scaffolding. That would have been on the western wall, I think. I remember the light shining on it as we rode out. No one was working there.”
“Within the hall, was there any new work being done? Any repairs? Were the walls freshly whitewashed?”
A whistle shrilled from the woods, down along the trail where the string of sentries ran out farthest.
Sergeant Hugo jumped to his feet. Soldiers grabbed spears, swords, and bows. A bird’s trill rang out, and several among them whooped and clapped.
Captain Ulric rode at the head of his troop, his usually pleasant features creased with anxiety and a certain grim relief at seeing them. The rest of his men spread out so as not to overwhelm the clearing. Soon there were almost threescore folk gathered around the ancient chapel: Hugo’s dozen, the fifteen monastics, and about thirty men at arms, all mounted, with the captain. It was strange, though, since Ivar had thought that the captain commanded almost a century of men.
“We are at your service, Your Grace,” Ulric said after he dismounted and knelt before her. She extended a hand. He kissed her ring. “I pray pardon for coming so late.”
“That you have done this much was beyond my expectation, Captain. I know all among you have kinfolk. A few have wives and children of your own. What will become of them? My half sister Sabella is known to wreak her revenge on the helpless when she cannot find those who angered her.”
“This we knew, Your Grace. It is why we waited so long to act.”
“Why act now?” she asked him, but glanced at Ivar as the words faded and Ulric did not immediately reply. “Brother Ivar convinced you?”
“He gave me the means, but it was not his argument that convinced me. In truth—” He paused to grin at Ivar with a look that seemed half apologetic. “—there have been other portents and omens. Dissatisfactions and fears.”
“Stories of grace,” she said, “as I have been hearing these two days.”
