“If you had killed me,” John pointed out, “my men would have hanged you."
“Only if they caught me,” she spat back. She flung the splinter aside.
“They'd catch you,” John replied as he stooped to pick up the fragment. “Where could you run?"
“Little St. Peter, maybe-they wouldn't follow me there."
“You don't know where it is.” After a final glance at the crystalline edge he tossed the splinter out the window.
“It's three days afoot east of here-and your man's been gone two weeks now, hasn't he, and on horseback? Looks like something happened to him, I'd reckon."
“He's taking his time to look around, I'd say-I told him to."
“You told him to be back in ten days!"
“You heard that? Or did someone tell you? No, doesn't matter, don't say anything. Even if I said that-and I'm not saying I did-he might have had some trouble; could have been taken sick, maybe. We'll see."
“No, we won't; you're leaving tomorrow."
“So are you; I'm taking you north with me."
“What?” Her mouth fell open for an instant; she snapped it closed. “What are you talking about?"
“I'm taking you with me."
“Why, in God's name?"
“Thou shalt not take the name of the Lord thy God in vain,” he reproved her.
“Why are you taking me with you?"
“Because I choose to do so."
“But why? Why don't you just rape me here and have done, get it over with?"
“I don't intend to rape you."
“You don't?” She was plainly startled. “Why not? Your men did; I thought you were just waiting for the right moment. What makes you different?"
“I prefer not to, that's all."
“Are you queer, then? I've heard that some warriors are-that must be it.” Her mouth twisted unpleasantly. “Leviticus, Chapter Twenty, Verse Thirteen,” she said.
“First Corinthians, Chapter Seven, Verse Thirty-Seven,” he replied.
“Oh, so now you're holier than the rest of us?"
“Holier than you, heretic."
She spat in his face.
He grabbed her arm with his left hand and backhanded her across the cheek with his right. “You're coming with me because I don't trust you out of my sight; is that reason enough for you? You're the only person in this stinking village with brains enough to worry me."
She glared at him silently.
He released his grip on her arm; she pulled away fiercely.
“I came up here to see if you were ready to be reasonable, and to see if you would tell me anything else about the Chosen, or Marshside, or Little St. Peter, or that machine gun-and to tell you that you're coming north with me, too,” he said. “Well, I've told you, and it doesn't look like you're feeling reasonable, so I've done what I came to do.” He turned and marched out the door.
She slammed it hard behind him, as he had known she would; he turned back and threw the bolt, then went on down the stairs. He hesitated at the foot, then walked on out into the street, leaving the papers and plans on his desk for later.
The guards at the door saluted, and he paused on the step between them to survey the scene.
Marshside was jammed; his men were sleeping four to a room, the villagers themselves relegated to doorsteps and kitchens for the most part. The street was full of men and boys and horses-and a few women, both villagers and camp-following harlots. It was a safe assumption that these villagers, too, could now be called harlots-the women determined to remain respectable would stay inside until the main body of troops had moved on. John recognized several of the men; his own elite cavalry-what was left of it-had been kept close to his headquarters, with the vast horde of infantry filling the rest of the town.
One face suddenly stood out, a man waving to him; John shouted, “Ho, there!"
Faces all over the street turned to look at him; he pointed at the man he wanted. “Come up here!"
The man obeyed, the crowd parting before him. He saluted as he neared his commander, and then stood at attention a yard away.
“You're Timothy Gates-of-the-City. I sent you to Little St. Peter with Matthew Crowned-with-Glory,” John said.
“Yes, sir,” the soldier agreed.
“When did you get back?"
“Ah… about an hour ago, sir; I was on my way to report.” The man tried unsuccessfully to hide his embarrassment.
“An hour ago?"
“Yes, sir,” he said unhappily. “I was tired and hungry, sir, and I got a meal and took a bath. I rode here without stopping, sir, almost killed my horse."
“Well, darn it, soldier, next time, report to me first; another five minutes wouldn't kill you.” John glared at the man.
“Yes, sir."
“You're here now, anyway. Come inside and report."
“Yes, sir.” Timothy relaxed slightly; he knew he was still in trouble, but the captain was apparently not going to hang him on the spot. He followed his commander into the headquarters building and on to his office.
Timothy stood before the cluttered desk while John seated himself comfortably behind it. When he was settled, John demanded, “Report!"
“Yes, sir; we made good time at first, sir, but Little St. Peter is further east than we had been told, sir. We reached it on March twenty-fourth, and found an inn, but it was late, so we just ate supper and went to bed there."
“Did you talk to any of the locals?"
“No, sir; there weren't any there but the innkeeper. Everyone was at home-they said it was Easter there!” Timothy made a show of astonishment.
John shrugged. “Heretics,” he said. “Go on."
“Well, the next day was April first, and we didn't know if they kept Fool's Day, so Matthew wanted to be extra careful; he sent Barney-Barnabas Righteous-in-Wrath-out, while the rest of us stayed in the inn and talked to people there.” He hesitated. “Ah… we heard a lot of things, sir."
“Skip that for now.” John was becoming impatient. “I'll hear the rest of the details later. For now you can answer some questions."
“Yes, sir."
“Did you see any more machine guns?"
“Yes, sir-there were machine guns mounted on the village walls, five or six of them at least. Big ones, bigger than the one they had here."
“Any others?"
“I didn't see any, sir."
“Did anyone talk about them?"
“Yes, sir-we asked. It seemed a natural thing for traders to ask about, so we did. They bought them from the People of Heaven-everyone agreed on that, sir."
John nodded. Miriam had told the truth, as he had believed all along; much as she obviously hated him and his men, he had not seriously doubted what she had said-including her motive for speaking. Five or six machine guns, bigger than the one in Marshside-an open attack on Little St. Peter would be a bloodbath. Her big mistake had been in assuming that John would be stupid enough to make such an attack.
There were other ways of dealing with enemies than frontal assault.
“Did you meet any of the People of Heaven, talk to them? Were there any of their traders or soldiers there?"
“I didn't talk to them, sir, but I think some of the others did. There were some of them in town, all right-very strange people they were. Tall, all of them, and there was something funny about their clothes, though I couldn't say just what it was. They talked funny, too-didn't pronounce things quite right."
“You think some of the others talked to them? Where are the others?"
“I… I don't know, sir."
“What?"
Obviously miserable, Timothy repeated, “I don't know, sir. I told you, Matt send Barney out that first morning; well, he never came back. So the next day-Tuesday the second-Matt himself and Joey, Joseph Mother-of-Mercy, went out together. Matt didn't come back; Joey came back with a message, said that Matt was going on to the Citadel-that's the homeplace for the People of Heaven-and that we should stay at the inn and wait for him. The next day Joey and Mark Blessed-of-Heaven went out and never came back. I waited at that inn for them, sat around for days; I went out looking a few times, but never found any of them. I'll tell you, sir, I got scared after awhile. Finally I decided that I'd better come back, that they were all four gone for good, and here I am."