In the Ruins

“What about my companions?”

“They’re not wanting your companions.”

Lady Eudokia was seated on a stool under a torn awning fixed in place by four men holding up poles tied to each corner of blue silk. The fabric echoed the clear heavens they could no longer see. Her young nephew clung to her robes, face hidden in her lap. She sipped from a cup while Lord Alexandros spoke to a trio of captains, all of them pale with ash and looking as dour as any farmer who has just seen his field of rye marred by the black rot. Beyond, wagons rumbled into place in a line of march. A rank of mounted soldiers trotted past, heading for the front of the line, which was obscured by haze. The Arethousan army was moving out.

“Exalted Lady.” Sergeant Bysantius dropped to both knees, bowed, and rose. He shoved Hanna forward. “The Eagle, as you requested.”

She tripped over her feet and barely had time to right herself before the general whistled, listening to the report of one of his captains.

“Geza’s gone already? Hsst! We’ll leave a small rear guard behind to bring any who scattered in the night. Bring the horses!” He saw Hanna, but nodded toward the sergeant. “That was fast.”

“I found her wandering, Your Excellency.”

“She’s too valuable to lose, as we agreed before. You’ll be in charge of her, Bysantius. It will be your head if she escapes.” He turned away and walked to his horse.

It was strange how easily she understood Arethousan now, as if the scent of camphor tossed into the flame to let the lady and the general see what she saw had at the same time opened her mind and let it steal words out of theirs.

“I pray you, Your Excellency,” she cried, starting forward. “Exalted Lady. I pray you, my companions … I know where they are. If you’ll just let me go and make sure they’re with one of the wagons—”

He paused, turning back to frown at her. “You misunderstand us. We do not need your companions anymore. They are of no use to us because our circumstances have changed so greatly.”

“Surely you don’t mean to abandon them!”

He shrugged and walked away.

“Sergeant! Exalted Lady!”

Lady Eudokia sipped at her cup and ignored Hanna’s cries.

“No offense,” murmured Bysantius, gripped her arm, “but you’d do better to come quietly.”

“I can’t abandon them! They’ll die!”

“It’s out of your hands, Eagle. You are the prisoner of Lord Alexandros now.”

She ripped her arm out of his grasp and bolted, but two of the guards tackled her. She went down hard, but kept fighting until they pinned all her limbs. They stripped her of her weapons, tied her hands and feet with rope, and threw her in the back of a wagon as it lurched past in the train of Lord Alexandros. Scraped, bloody, and bruised, she wept with fury, hating herself for her helplessness.

4

HANNA did not return. They waited for hours at the edge of camp, hoping not to be noticed, and indeed it was as if they had become invisible. No one paid them the least mind. There was no telling what hour of the day it was, or what service they ought to sing, because the clouds never lifted and the light kept its smoky, sullen glow, scarcely enough to read by.

At intervals they watched vague shapes that seemed to be troops moving in the distance, perhaps a line of march receding toward the northeast, but the haze obscured most movement beyond an arrow’s shot. Their eyes stung and their noses ran from the constant irritation of falling ash and blowing grit. Yet the patter of ash fall eased by the time Fortunatus sighed and turned to Rosvita.

“What if she is not coming back, Sister? Should one of us go look for her?”

“We will not split up. What happens to one, happens to all.”

“We have waited here long enough,” said Mother Obligatia. They had set her litter across the wagon and shielded her with a canvas awning so that the ancient nun could ease up on her elbows and survey the scene. “Night will come and find us standing like dumb beasts in the field.”

Rosvita smiled, feeling how stern her heart had become. Smiles meant something different here in the aftermath; they betokened not happiness or laughter but determination. “You are right. We must make a decision, or others will choose for us.”

They had taken turns circling out from their position, venturing only to that point where they could still see back to the group as they searched in the wreckage for food and water. They had found five corpses, put one dreadfully injured dog out of its misery, and managed otherwise to collect a small store of provisions and, most importantly, a score of sacks and leather bottles filled variously with wine, sweetened vinegar, and a nasty-tasting liquid that stank of aniseed but was something they might be able to drink in dire need.