In the Ruins - Page 131/233

“You saw what?”

“The Pit. There was a big wind. There was fire. The earth split apart. It swallowed people. All that poison poured out. Wasn’t that from the Pit? It was stinky.”

“Maybe so, child. Do not vex yourself. You were not punished.”

She bit her lip and stared at the letters, then with a sharp movement wiped the slate clean. “I’ll do them again,” she said. “I’ll be perfect so God won’t punish me.”

2

ANTONIA meant to stop in her audience chamber—there was so much work to be done—but her steps led her to the North Tower. This time of day, all the prisoners would be within. Blessing was allowed into the courtyard only in the morning, under guard, and her attendants had leave to exercise only in the afternoon, so none would be able to attempt escape without leaving the others behind.

“Holy Mother.” The guards dropped to one knee, bowing heads, then rose and opened the door.

The lowest room of the North Tower was now a barracks. Pallets and rope beds filled half the floor, benches and three tables the rest. Men knelt as she entered. At least two dozen were barracked here.

“Holy Mother.” A sergeant—she’d forgotten his name—came forward. “The queen is above with Captain Falco. Have you come to see the new prisoners? They were brought in at dawn.”

“Yes. I’ll go up.”

A stone staircase curved along the outer wall of the tower, leading up to the next level. Here, the three servants slept on pallets laid out on the plank floor. Two of them, the barbarians, sat here now. The young male was binding hemp into rope. He looked up at her, his gaze impassive, and without the least interest in her rank and exalted status he went back to his work. The female had her eyes shut and, although she was sitting, seemed to be asleep. What coarse hands she had! They were large and callused, and she had the unattractive, flat-faced features of the Quman, although Antonia had been told she was born to a different tribe entirely. It made no difference. They were both doomed to the Pit, because they were heathens who refused to accept the Circle of Unity. Except for a single chest, the rest of the circular room was empty and the shutters barred. A pair of guards sat on the wooden steps that had been lowered from the level above, fastened with ropes and a pulley. The stone staircase, continuing upward, had been blocked off with planks.

“Holy Mother! Will you go up to see the prisoners? Let us help you, if you will.”

A brawny and gratifyingly polite young soldier lent her a steadying hand. It was not as easy as it had once been to climb stairs that were almost as steep as a ladder, but she got to the second floor without incident. In this chamber Lord Berthold and his attendant slept on decent beds, and therefore good tapestries were hung from the walls and two braziers, now cold, hung from tripods. Carved benches flanked a good table. There was even a chair set beside an open window.

He sat there, staring out over Novomo with an expression on his face that made her shiver because it was so inhuman in its lack of emotion.

“Brother Heribert,” she said, that thrill of rage and helpless expectation flooding her weary bones. Ought not a child to love its parent? Didn’t the Holy Book enjoin obedience? He did not turn or even acknowledge that she had spoken. She might as well have been invisible, and mute.

“Heribert!”

He roused, startled, and looked at her, but did not rise to greet her, as any natural child would have. He should love her and be grateful to her. He had been a great burden to her, after all, since it was expected she would be celibate. That his father had seduced her—well, that was the work of the Enemy, and no doubt those seeds sown had sprouted and corrupted Heribert in a most improper way to make him so rebellious and ungrateful.

Before she could speak to tell him so, Captain Falco spoke, his voice heard through the open trap cut into the ceiling. “I will ask you again, where have you come from? Who is this young woman who accompanies you?”

He got no answer.

She walked to stand under the trap. The stone staircase here had also been blocked off, and the ladder that offered access to the third floor rested against one of the benches.

“Can I help you with that, Holy Mother?” asked the guard, who had followed her up. “Can you climb the ladder?”

“I can,” she said grimly.

The man set the ladder up through the trap. Heribert rose. From the chamber below, she heard voices.

“Let me up, I pray you!”

“My lord, you weren’t to have gone out! The queen was very angry. We told her you were ill with a terrible flux. Lord Jonas threw a hood over his head to pretend he was you and let Paulinus and Tedwin escort him out to the pits. He rowled like a cat hung out on a hook.”