He’d followed my lead; I followed his, freeing one of the Camaeline horses, swinging into the saddle and plunging headlong through the woods, trailing the pony on a lead-rope.
To any who’ve not tried it, I do not recommend a blind flight through the wilds on horseback. We blundered, crashing through the undergrowth, both animals caught by the contagion of my fear. Joscelin caught up with us no more than half a mile out, a dark blurred figure on horseback, and we rode for our lives.
It was a clear night, Blessed Elua be thanked, the stars standing distant and frosty overhead; if not for that, we would surely have been lost, but the Great Plow and the Navigator’s Star stood clear in the black skies above us, guiding our way and shedding their faint silvery light over the snowy landscape. Fixing a map in my mind, I headed us grimly south, hoping to intersect one of the great roads of the realm: Eisheth’s Way, that the Tiberians call the Via Paullus.
Eisheth’s Way leads south, to the coast; Marsilikos is her greatest city-founded long ago by Hellenes, even before Elua’s time-and because it is a harbor city, a great many wanderers end there. I hoped the Marquis le Garde’s men would take our bait, and follow our trail south.
We reached Eisheth’s Way come dawn, our Camaeline mounts staggering with exhaustion, foam-flecked and winded. The pony trotted behind us, sides heaving, still game; half-dead with tiredness as I was, it put me to shame.
There is little trade at this time of year. Now, in the Bitterest Winter, the road stretched open and empty before us, gilded with the pale gold light of dawn.
The Allies of Camlach could not be more than a mile behind us.
"A side road," I said to Joscelin, lifting my voice with an effort. "Any road, leading west. And pray they keep on toward Marsilikos."
He nodded wearily; we pressed the horses, demanding speed they didn’t have to give. An hour along Eisheth’s Way, we saw it, a nameless road, only the signpost with Elua’s sigil indicating that it led to the City.
"There." Joscelin pointed.
I cocked my head and listened. In the distance, I could hear hoofbeats, an erratic multiple beat. A dozen men, riding horses nigh as tired as our own. "Ride!" I gasped, setting heels to my mount.
Once more, we fled.
A mile along the route, we came upon the Yeshuite wagon.
We nearly ran them down, in truth, coming hard around a bend. It was a narrow road. The horses, done in, balked and wheeled; the team of mules set their ears and showed their teeth. Joscelin shouted something, I don’t know what, and a young girl poked her head out of the rear of the wagon even as the driver turned round to look at us.
I’d not known, until that moment, that it was a Yeshuite family, but I knew him by his sidelocks, long and dangling, while the rest of his hair was cropped at the neck. I would have said something then, but Joscelin spoke first.
"Barukh hatah Adonai, father," he said, at once breathless and respectful, giving his Cassiline bow from the saddle before I could protest. "Forgive our intrusion."
"Barukh hatah Yeshua a’Mashiach, lo ha’lam." The Yeshuite driver said the words automatically, keen dark eyes gauging us. "You are a follower of the Apostate, I think."
He spoke to Joscelin, who bowed again. A second face peered through the curtains at the back of the wagon, with a markedly girlish giggle. "Yes. I am Joscelin Verreuil of the Cassiline Brotherhood."
"Indeed. And who is chasing you so hard?"
I drew breath to answer, but Joscelin cut me off. "Men who are apostate even from the teachings of Blessed Elua, father, fruit of Yeshua ben Yosef’s vine. Stand aside, and we will go. Ya’er Adonai panav-"
"And why do they chase you?"
"To kill us, most like, by the time they catch us," I broke in impatiently. "My lord…"
"Your horses, I think, will not go much further."
It was true and I knew it, but they would go a little further, and right then, my only thought was to put as much distance as possible between us and our pursuers, whose mounts must surely be as tired. For after them would come fresher riders, and if we could get beyond the borders of Camlach ahead of them, we would be safer. "Yes, my lord, but-"
"Shelter us." Joscelin’s voice was abrupt, his eyes intense with the plea. "The men who follow us, father, they’ll not think to look in the heart of a Yeshuite family. They think we are rebels, perhaps, Skaldi spies. I swear to you, we are not. We are free D’Angelines, escaped from captivity, and we bear information on which the freedom of our nation hinges."
I drew in my breath, terrified by the trust with which he revealed our secret. The Yeshuite nodded slowly, then glanced at the back of the wagon. "How do you say, Danele?"
The curtains clashed open, and a woman with kind eyes and a shrewd face emerged, shooing the two girls into the depths of the wagon. She sized up Joscelin and me and her face softened, especially for Joscelin. "He is one of the Apostate’s own, Taavi. Let him in." Raising her voice, she called into the wagon. "Girls! Make room!"
And so we came to join the Yeshuites.
Chapter Fifty-Five
I had not known, before this, of the relationship that existed between the Cassiline Brotherhood and the Yeshuites. It is obvious, and I should have seen it; but it is not a thing which is discussed outside the society of Cassilines. For although Cassiel was apostate, as the Yeshuites name him, he never broke faith with the One God, but only turned his face away in sorrow. Alone among the Companions, he kept the commandments of his Lord and did not commingle with mortals.
Of course, the Cassilines believe he took on the duty that the One God neglected-love of the son of Yeshua’s blood-and the Yeshuites do not see it that way, but still, it is enough for a common bond. For as I well knew, even the Cassilines believe Cassiel chose damnation when he became Elua’s Companion, the Perfect Companion.
We turned the horses of Bois-le-Garde loose, driving them southward. Unexpectedly, Danele and Taavi’s girls grew instantly enamored of our Skaldi pony, and begged their father not to loose him. With a thoughtful mien, he acceded, and our faithful pony was tied behind the wagon.
"A little truth seasons a lie like salt," he said pragmatically. "You have turned the horses free; we will say we found the pony wandering, if they ask. If they find us."
They did.
It happened a scant hour after we’d come upon them, and not long after we’d been ushered into the back of the wagon, our gear stowed and hidden. Danele supervised our concealment with level-headed efficiency, marshalling her giggling daughters to move skeins of wool and fabric to hide us; Taavi, it transpired, was a weaver, and she had some skill as a dyer. They made space for us in the tidy, well-ordered wagon, the girls giggling and nudging each other. Joscelin, charmed, smiled at them; they giggled all the harder.
My ears sharpened by Delaunay’s training, I was the one who heard the hoofbeats.
For all that had befallen us, I’d never felt so helpless, crouching in the dark behind bolts of fabric while Taavi answered the riders' questions-two of them, by the sound of it-with disarming frankness. No, they were not bound for the City, but for L’Arene, where they had kin. Yes, they had found the pony on Eisheth’s Way, wandering alone and packless. No, they’d not seen anyone else. Yes, the Camaelines were welcome to look in the wagon. The curtains were yanked aside, and three Yeshuite faces gazed at the Bois-le-Garde riders, silent and apprehensive.
From my hiding place, I caught a glimpse of one of the scout’s faces, weary and uninterested. The curtains clashed closed; we were free to go onward.