So he spent his days at the snowy barricades with his legionaries, doing no more than sharing in their danger and discomfort; showing he was not scared. Keturah, against Tekoa’s fervent insistence, accompanied him. More than accompanied him. Barred by the quarantine from stepping foot inside the affected streets, she went to the markets at the request of those within the barricade, trading for whatever it was they particularly desired. In this capacity, she encountered Gray’s wife Sigrid, who, as well as trading for the subjects caged by the quarantine, sat at one end of the barricade and told stories to those on the other side.
It was Roper’s first encounter with Sigrid, who was quite as stupefyingly beautiful as Keturah had described; almost intimidatingly so, with silver-blonde hair, high cheekbones and eyes of such a light grey that Roper found them abrasive to look into. She did not have Keturah’s sense of humour, coming across as kind but unyielding. “So here’s the lord who had my husband travel home in a wagon of corpses,” she had said when first meeting Roper, referring to the deception that had gained him entry to the Hindrunn.
“That is I, my lady,” confirmed Roper, taking her hand and not quite clear whether she was joking.
She surveyed him for a moment. “Well, I shall forgive you for your bravery in coming onto the streets now, lord.” She looked stern until she greeted Keturah, the two embracing like old friends. “Thank you for the last time, my love. How are you?”
“Thriving, blooming, inspired, fulfilled,” said Keturah carelessly, making Sigrid laugh.
Keturah had begun to follow Sigrid’s example and sat on the barricade with her; the two women taking it in turns to tell stories. Keturah told those which came from the Hindrunn and which her mother had taught her when she was younger. There were many of the chivalric deeds of legendary warriors; a few on the race of dwarves which emerged after dark to snatch newborn children from their cribs and the subsequent adventure in recovering the infants; some which told of talking livestock, mistreated by their owners who then spilt their secrets about the fortress.
Sigrid was a child of the east, like the refugees, and the stories she had learned as a girl featured mighty storms after which nothing was the same; strange happenings when watching over the flock at night, or miraculous objects discovered in the iron mines.
Though the subjects who gathered around to listen covered their mouths and noses with cloth, Roper still felt his heart quicken at the sight of them. It seemed that the two women were inviting infection, but he knew how Keturah would react if he suggested she should take more care.
Roper left Keturah with Sigrid and toured further afield. His presence was most valuable spread as far as possible; theirs in individual communities.
“I’m running out of stories for them,” said Keturah one evening to Sigrid. It was dusk, the sun now hidden behind the walls of the Hindrunn but an orange glow capping the snow-blanketed roofs around them. The two women were walking to a new barricade, one they had visited two days before, to attempt to lift the spirits of the people trapped there. The snow squeaked beneath their feet and was hard going for Keturah, who felt weary.
“Then maybe you should go home and get some rest,” said Sigrid. “The plague will still be here tomorrow.”
“I can rest later, I must just think up another story.”
“You look tired,” said Sigrid, examining her. “These people will die with or without our help. All we’re doing now is leaving behind an example to those who survive.”
“You’re staying though,” said Keturah.
Sigrid gave her distinctive smile: a slight narrowing of the eyes and twitching of the corners of her mouth. “I’m older than you. I’ve had my children, I’ve done my service, and I have had enough happiness for several lifetimes. You’ve got all that to come.”
Keturah raised her eyebrows at that. “Worthy of a Sacred Guardsman.”
Sigrid smiled. “Who would want to be a Sacred Guardsman? It seems an unrewarding lifestyle to me: all the prestige in the world can’t make up for a complete lack of freedom.”
“It offers recognition,” said Keturah, who quietly coveted the extreme prestige of those three hundred men.
“That’s true,” said Sigrid thoughtfully. “Though what sort of person spends their life seeking recognition? A discontented one, I suggest.”
Keturah frowned. “Why does Gray do it?”
“The same reason we are doing this,” said Sigrid. “To serve.”
A left turn and they reached the street they had been aiming for. But it was deserted. Four cold legionaries stood guard over the barricade, with nobody in sight beyond them.
“Those bodies were there when we last were,” said Sigrid.
Keturah looked and saw six corpses, lying facing east, further down the street. They lay on a bed of ash, where several fires had evidently already burned themselves out and which had melted a crater in the snow. She turned to the guards at the end of the barricade. “There’s been much death in this street?”
“A lot,” confirmed the legionary. “Dozens have died here.”
“When did you last see a subject alive inside the barricade?”
“Two days ago. A man laid out the final body and then went back inside.”
There was a long pause. Sigrid was gazing out
