"Do you see that woman? " Francis asked, pointing across the field to a woman walking with a limp and a stooped back and carrying two pails for water. "Her name is Merry Cowsenfed," Francis explained. "She came from Falidean town, far to the south, by way of St. Gwendolyn. She, too, is scarred with the rings of the rosy plague, but Abbess Delenia went to her and healed her."
"And Abbess Delenia is now dead," Bou-raiy reminded him. "And St. Gwendolyn is a mere shell, being run by but a handful of minor sisters."
"But they tried," Francis explained emphatically. "And because Abbess Delenia had the heart to try, Merry Cowsenfed is alive. Now, you will argue that her life is not worth that of a single Abellican, let alone an abbess, but look at her! Watch her every move! The woman, this peasant that you would so easily disclaim and allow to die, is beatified by her every action. A hundred years hence, there may well be a new saint, Saint Merry, who would have died unnoticed had not Abbess Delenia tried. You cannot place value upon people because of their temporary station in life, brother. That is your error, the arrogance that allows you to justify your decision to hide behind thick stone walls."
Master Fio Bou-raiy stared long and hard at Merry Cowsenfed as she made her slow, deliberate way across the field. Then he turned back to Francis; and for a moment, just a split second, Francis thought that he had gotten through to the stubborn man. But then Bou-raiy snorted and waved his hand, and whirled about, his flower-sewn robes flying wide.
Francis just put his head down and walked back out to his people. As he had promised, he went to the newest addition to the plague camp, the exiled young Brother Gellis, that very night, and together, they fiercely battled the rosy plague within the monk.
For only the second time in the few months Francis had been outside, he believed that he was making strong progress against the disease, but then, one morning, Gellis awoke with a scream, his body racked by fever.
He died that same afternoon.
Francis walked with the bearers as they carried his emaciated body to the pyre for burning. He noted that his fellow monks were watching that procession from St.-Mere-Abelle's wall, prominent among them Fio Bou-raiy, with his flowered robe and his grim expression.
He and Francis locked stares from across the distance for just a moment, but it was not a harmonious joining of mind and spirit.
Chapter 32
It felt so good to have the wind on her face again-not the limited breeze that whistled through Castle Ursal's windows, but the wide and strong wind, blowing across the fields, bending trees and grass, carrying the scents of the summertime flowers.
Constance Pemblebury urged her horse on even faster, a full gallop, despite the cries of protest from Danube and Kalas behind her. She needed this moment, this brief, too-brief escape from the grim realities of the rosy plague. King Danube had arranged it, had cleared a wide path to the gardens, lining them with vigilant Allheart knights so that he and his two friends could at last enjoy a morning outside the castle, out of sight and sound of any of the miserable plague victims. Danube had hoped that Merwick and Torrence would accompany them as well-he had even rigged a seat to put behind Constance's saddle for Torrencebut Constance, though more than ready to take this chance for herself, would in no way allow her children out of the relative safety of the castle.
Constance felt her hair waving out behind her, felt as if she had escaped the very bonds of Corona itself. But then she had to slow, for she was approaching the far end of the rectangular garden, Allheart knights were warning her back, and Danube and Kalas were calling out to her.
She brought her horse to a trot and heard the approach of the two horses behind her. It was easy enough for her to turn in her sidesaddle and glance back at the King and Duke, and she did so with a wistful and mischievous smile. "Why haven't we done this a thousand times?" she asked.
Before either of the two men could answer, though, there came a tumult from the other direction, from the near end of the garden; and all three looked to see a mob of peasants bursting through the Allheart ranks, crying out for their king.
"Ye must save us!" It started as a plea.
"Where's our God? Why's he not hearing ye, me King? " Then the voices rolled in together, as if the whole mob had taken on a single heart and voice. From begging to questioning to, at last, and predictably, anger.
"Ye've abandoned us! Ye're lettin' us rot!"
The Allheart knights rushed around on their horses, trying to stem the tide; and under normal circumstances, they would have easily controlled the ragtag peasants. But nothing was ordinary about this scene-for the mob was too wild and uncontrolled, for these were people with absolutely nothing left to lose: people who would even, at some basic level, prefer the lance of an Allheart knight now compared to the slow and agonizing death they were facing. Also, the knights themselves didn't attack with vigor, for they understood that these were plague victims, walking poison. To strike one was to wear the blood of one; and then even a noble Allheart knight could find himself on the other side of this line.
"Run him again, and swiftly!" Duke Kalas called to Constance. Before the stunned and emotionally wounded King Danube could begin to react, quick-thinking Kalas grabbed the King's horse's bridle and pulled the beast in a turn with his own, then reached back and swatted Danube's horse a sharp crack on the rump.
Off they flew, all three, running fast for the southern gate of Castle Ursal, leaving the mob behind, and approaching, Danube saw to his dismay, a line of archers preparing their deadly volley.
" Bobbed arrows alone!" he commanded, referring to the practice, headless arrows the archers often used in Castle Ursal's wide courtyard.
" But, my King-" the leader of the brigade began to protest. Danube shot him such a scowl that the words stuck in his throat.
Satisfied that the brigade would do as he commanded, Danube thundered away for the southern gate, urging his horse into a rough lope and running purposely on the cobblestones now, the sound of the hooves drowning out plaintive and angry cries from the field behind.
An upset and dejected Danube sat on his throne later that day, his hands out before his face, fingers tapping.
"Only a handful were seriously injured," remarked Duke Kalas, sitting next to him. "Only one peasant was killed."
"Your AUhearts performed with their usual brilliance," Danube offered, but that recognition hardly seemed to brighten his mood. "Though I fear we'll not know the full extent of the disaster until weeks have passed," he added, a clear reference to the fact that several of those Allheart knights might have become exposed to the rosy plague in the riot.
And all of it, both men understood too clearly, was due to the fact that the King merely wanted a day out in the sunshine, a day out of the tomb that Castle Ursal had become.
"We should be looking to the greater fortune of the day," said Constance, standing a short distance away. Behind her, Merwick and Torrence played in the bliss of youthful ignorance, making toys out of relics, smudging priceless tapestries, laughing and crying with equally fervent passion. "Had we not reacted as swiftly as we did, it is possible that all three of us would have found ourselves in the midst of the plagueridden."
"They would not have unhorsed us," Duke Kalas said with a fierce and determined look.
"Would they have had to? " Constance answered. "Or would the King of Honce-the-Bear soon be facing the same executioner as they? "
It was true enough, and no one had an answer against it. The plague victims had come close to the King himself, far too close.
"We will not be able to do such a thing again," Danube announced. Kalas, whose stress had grown with each passing day, scowled all the more. "We were foolish even to go out there at this time."