started a fierce pain throbbing in her neck. She lay back down and waited for the pain to subside, and listened to the voices in the next room-sombre, subdued, earnest.
After a time, the throbbing eased to a raw ache; she tried again to rise, more carefully this time, and succeeded in holding her head in a way that did not aggravate the wound again. She was light-headed, and slightly wobbly on her feet, but she steadied herself by the bed and then walked slowly to the next room. Rognvald was there, together with Prince Hasan and Brother Timotheus, while Dominico and his family flitted around them preparing a meal. Yngvar and Svein sat on a bench against the far wall, their long legs stretched out in front of them. Dag and Rodrigo sat on stools nearby, jars in hand, drinking in great thirsty draughts until the ale ran down their beards.
To a man, all were so preoccupied that no one saw her standing in the doorway. She took a step forward, and Elantra, Dominico's wife, glanced up and ran to her side. The others noticed the sudden movement and looked around to see Cait walking gingerly, aided by the diminutive woman. 'My lady,' said Rognvald; he was on his feet and beside her in an instant. 'Come, sit down.' He took her elbow and led her to the table as Elantra scurried back to the hearth. 'How do you feel?'
'Well enough,' replied Cait, scarcely recognizing her own voice. She sounded as if she had been swallowing chips of flint, and it hurt to speak; but, aside from the ache in her throat and a brace of bruises on her arm, she felt tolerably hale and whole. 'It seems you shall not be rid of me just yet.'
'Nor, I hope, for a very long time to come,' he said, his voice low so that the others did not hear. She glanced up and saw in his eyes a warmth of regard she had not seen before.
'I am sorry, Ketmia,' said Prince Hasan, rising from his place as they arrived at the table. 'We came as soon as Lord Rognvald reached us with news of the Templars' arrival, but if we had been here sooner…'
Cait did not let him finish. 'It is /who should thank you, my lord.' Taking his hands in hers, she kissed him lightly on the cheek. 'That is small thanks, but it carries all my heart. My debt to you is great, and grows ever greater.'
Turning to Rognvald, she said, 'I owe you more than I can say. Thank you, good friend. One day, perhaps, I will find a way to repay you.' She kissed him, too, and then sat down in the offered seat. 'Where is Alethea?'
'She is helping the sisters who are caring for Archbishop Bertrano,' replied Brother Timotheus, his tone grave. He paused to swallow down his emotion. 'They are doing all they can, but…' His voice faltered and he left the rest unsaid.
'It is not good, Ketmia,' Hasan told her. 'Halhuli is with them. Whatever can be done for the priest, will be done. Yet I fear there is little anyone can do but pray.'
'We were just discussing it when you joined us,' Rognvald said. 'His death will-'
'Heaven forbid it!' Timotheus put in. 'We must not give up hope.'
'Should the archbishop fail to recover,' Rognvald said, amending his words, 'his death would place both Hasan and the village in peril.'
'Blame would inevitably fall upon the Moors,' the prince explained. 'There would be reprisals. The Spanish kings would insist.'
Cait nodded. 'I see.'
'And then there is the question of what to do with the surviving Templars,' said Rognvald. 'There are nine altogether-de Bracineaux's sergeant among them.'
'They cannot have been privy to their commander's wicked schemes,' Brother Timotheus pointed out. 'We must show clemency.'
'But we cannot allow them to simply ride away as if nothing happened,' said Hasan.
'Would you imprison them?' said the priest.
Seeing a tedious discussion stretching ahead of them, Cait stood. 'Please, excuse me. I want to see Bertrano. Where is he?'
'He is in the church,' Timotheus said. 'We thought it best not to move him just yet.'
'Allow me to attend you,' Rognvald said; rising, he took her arm. Cait covered his hand with hers and let the touch linger for a moment. Then, giving his hand a gentle squeeze, she removed it, saying, 'I am well enough, my lord. Stay and finish your talk. I will return when I have seen how the good bishop fares.'
She moved to the entrance where Elantra opened the door for her, then walked with her out into a fresh, crisp day. The sun was high; it had passed midday and the sky was clear and bright and blue. The dead had been removed from the battleground, and were now placed in orderly rows beside the church where Prince Hasan's men and most of the villagers were working over them, removing armour, weapons, clothing, and boots – anything that could be of use to the living.
As she drew near the church, she saw that someone had tried to dig a grave; a long, narrow rectangle had been scraped in the snow, and the green turf beneath was cut. But the ground was too hard, so the work had been abandoned. Down by the lake, she saw men working to erect a wooden pyre; the corpses would be burned.
Upon entering the church, she stood for a moment to allow her eyes to adjust to the dim interior. Then she saw, against the south wall, a heap of wadded cloaks; around it huddled three or four nuns, and Halhuli, sitting on his heels, his hands resting idly in his lap. They turned to look as Cait entered, then returned to their vigil as Alethea rose to greet her sister. The two met and embraced without speaking; they simply stood and held one another. After a time, Cait whispered, 'Thank you, Thea.'
They held one another for a little longer, and then Alethea said, 'They were going to burn the village and the abbey. Once they got hold of the Blessed Cup, they were going to destroy everything.'
'How do you know?'
'The Templars confessed it. Dag and Svein and the others were securing the prisoners, and they told them de Bracineaux had ordered them to destroy everything and kill everyone because he did not want anyone left alive to tell what had happened.'
Cait shook her head in bewilderment and started the pain clawing at her throat again.
Alethea saw her wince, and raised a hand to Cait's neck, touching the bandage gently. 'I think it will leave a scar.'
'I will recover; they say Bertrano may not.'
Alethea nodded. 'His wound is very bad, but it does not seem to pain him overmuch.'
They walked together to the makeshift bed where the archbishop lay. Halhuli rose and said, 'I have made him comfortable. Now we can but wait, and pray the Great Healer to perform a wonder.' Cait thanked him, whereupon he inclined his head in a bow and departed.
The nuns made room for Cait and Alethea as they took their places beside the bishop. Bertrano lay quietly, hands folded over his stomach as if in peaceful meditation. Cait thought he was asleep, but when she had, with Alethea's help, knelt down beside him, Bertrano opened his eyes and smiled weakly. 'You still have your head, my dear,' he said. 'That is good.'
'And we still have the Holy Chalice,' she replied, returning his smile. 'I must ask your forgiveness, archbishop. None of this would have happened if not for me. I am sorry.'
'If not for you and your dauntless sister, dear lady, de Bracineaux would be halfway to Jerusalem with the cup by now. Even so, I do forgive you. Lying to an archbishop is a sin-only a very minor sin, mind, for everyone does it. Still, I would not recommend making a practice of it.' He raised his hand and traced the sign of the cross. 'In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, I absolve you.'
Cait leaned over and kissed him lightly on the cheek. 'Thank you, my lord archbishop.'
'And you, dear girl,' he said to Alethea, 'are a very brave and intrepid adversary. I absolve you, too. Any ill the commander suffered, he brought upon himself. He alone was the author of his demise.'
'My only thought was for my sister,' Alethea replied, 'and for the Blessed Cup.'
'He would have kept it, you know,' Bertrano told them. 'Once de Bracineaux had it, he would never have given it up.'
'Well, it is safe now,' said Alethea.
'No,' the archbishop shook his head weakly. 'The Holy Cup will never be safe here again. Sooner or later, others will come and it will be taken.'
Abbess Annora appeared just then, holding a steaming bowl on a tray; Sister Besa was with her, carrying a pile of clean, folded cloths. She acknowledged Cait's presence with a kindly nod, and placed the tray beside the
