rousing himself from his torpor.
The man gripped his sword tight as he focused his anger on the two who had wronged him most: Gerda and Raphael.
Andreas cast about for some way to stop him in time and darted for the spear dropped by one of the inquisitor’s men. He scooped it up, gauged its heft, and felt it to be too heavy for much distance. But it wasn’t going to have to fly far. He got his weight behind the throw and hurled the spear.
As the magistrate raised his sword over Gerda and Raphael, the spear struck him square in the chest, splitting his ribs and lifting him off his feet. He tumbled to the ground, quivered once, blood spurting from his mouth, and then lay still.
Raphael had not even looked up.
“Lie still,” Raphael insisted. “I can bind your wound if you let me work.”
“Why?” Gerda rasped, a trickle of blood running from the corner of her mouth. She tried to smile. “I will see my Otto soon. Why would I want to stay here?”
Raphael had no answer for her.
“Did you find him?” she asked.
“We did.”
“Bring his body here,” she said. She coughed, choking on the blood in her throat, and more of it ran from her mouth as she turned her head. “Let us be together,” she whispered, her voice fading. “In the old way. Scatter our ashes over the fields. Let us be the offering.” She reached up, touching his face, and he felt her blood mingle with the tear on his cheek. “Let me go,” she said.
“I’m trying,” Raphael said. “It is very hard to do.”
“I know,” she sighed, closing her eyes.
HUMILIS
Andreas stood at the edge of the field beside Raphael’s majestic and patient horse and idly ran his hands through the beast’s glossy mane as he watched Raphael pace back and forth across the fallow earth.
Tiny white clouds floated in Raphael’s wake as he scattered handfuls of ash from a basket clutched beneath his other arm. A playful wind had blown a fair amount of the ash of the lovers back at Raphael, and his torso and legs were lightly dusted by the time he was finished with his task.
“
“Were we wrong?” Andreas asked.
Raphael shook his head. “I don’t know, Andreas. I have fought Saracens beneath the banner of Christ. I have fought alongside Moors in Iberia. I have stood with pagans against the Church. Our own order tries to forget its past, and have we lost our way as a result? These people had a relationship with this land that existed for generations. Who are we to say that what we have brought them is better or worse?”
Andreas patted Raphael’s horse. “Maybe it is best to be simple knights,” he said. “Defend our honor and the honor of those who cannot defend themselves.”
Raphael offered him a wan smile. “I admire your simplicity.”
“Good,” Andreas said. “Then perhaps you will not mind my company on the way to Mainz.”
“Why do you think I am going to Mainz?” Raphael asked, a note of cautious curiosity in his voice.
“I wish to speak with the Archbishop there,” Andreas said, ignoring Raphael’s question. “The abbey at Lorsch used to have a library, but the monks tell me it was closed on the Archbishop’s order. I wanted to ask him why.”
“The library,” Raphael said slowly, as if he was examining Andreas’s words for some hidden meaning. “At Lorsch.”
“Yes.” Andreas shrugged. “Though I suppose we
“He
“It does only seem right that we let him know how his tribunal turned out, don’t you think? In case he wants to send a report to Rome.”
Raphael laughed. “Your simplicity has an unnerving daring to it, Andreas.”
“I am but a mere sword.” Andreas extended his arm, fingers outstretched. “Point me in the direction of our enemies.”
Raphael clapped the younger man on the shoulder and climbed into the saddle of his horse. He raised his hand against the morning glare and made a show of looking from horizon to horizon.
“That way,” he said, pointing to the east.
