their own thoughts, always similar, always grim. When they heard the light tap on the door, they went to it desperately hopeful, but also possessed by the fear that it might be a trap.
“What if it’s them?” whispered Kleist.
“Then they’re coming in one way or another, aren’t they?” replied Vague Henri. They both set to and began to pull the door open.
“Thank God, it’s you,” said Vague Henri.
“Who were you expecting?” said Cale.
“We thought it might be those men.”
It was the first time that Cale had been spoken to by a woman face-to-face. Her voice was soft and low, and if his expression had been visible in the dark, it would have shown intense surprise and fascination.
“If the Redeemers come for us, they won’t knock first.”
“We’ve had enough,” said Kleist. “Tell us what you’ve been doing and if we can get out of here alive.”
“Light a candle, we’ll need it.”
In two minutes they could see each other as the gentle light made the scene almost beautiful—the four huddled together.
“What’s that smell?” said Vague Henri. Cale dropped the bag of loam on the floor. “The dogs can’t smell you if you rub this over your body and clothes. I’ll explain what happened while you get on with it.”
In other places in the world, what followed might have been awkward. Riba, shocked by this, was about to protest that she must have privacy, but the three boys all turned their backs to her and to each other. To be naked in the presence of another boy was an offense that cried out to heavens for vengeance, as the late Lord of Discipline was fond of saying. There were many offenses for which heaven bawled for noisy reprisals.
The boys moved into the darkness to undress as a matter of ingrained habit. Left standing on her own, there was no one Riba could see to protest to. So she grabbed a handful of the pungent loam and she too went into the dark.
“Are you ready?” mocked the voice of Cale. “Then I’ll begin.”
Five hours later, as a grubby dawn bled through the murk, Brunt ordered his five secondary search parties, each comprising a hundred men with dogs, out of the main square. As the last group left, four others hooded against the cold tacked themselves onto the end of the column and followed them out of the gates, down the cinder road and to the arid plain below. Here the five hundred Redeemers split into their separate groups and headed out to all points.
The four kept behind the column heading to the south. For an hour they kept pace with them as the preceptor chanted the marching song of shame:
“Holy Redeemer!”
“BANISH OUR SINS!” came the groaning response from a hundred and four voices.
“Holy Redeemer!”
“CHASTISE OUR CRIMES!”
“Holy Redeemer!”
“SCOURGE OUR LUST!”
“Holy Redeemer!”
“THRASH OUR . . .”
And so it went on until a sharp bend around the first hillock of the Scablands, when a hundred and four voices became merely a hundred.
From the battlements the Lord Militant watched as the five hundred emerged from the low fog and after a mile or two began to split into five. He stood until the last one was out of sight and then turned back to go to breakfast, his favorite—a bowl of black tripe and a hard-boiled egg.
The boys would have made forty or even fifty miles before night but for the fact that Riba was a liability. Beautiful, plump and pampered, she had in the last five years barely moved at all, walking only from massage table to hot bath and from there, and four times more in a day, to a dining table filled with stuffed vine leaves, pig’s feet in aspic, spice cake and anything else fattening you could think of. As a result she could no more walk forty miles than she could fly thirty. At first Kleist and Cale were just irritated and told her to move herself, but when it was clear that bullying, threats and even pleading could not push the poor girl to go another step, they sat down and Vague Henri began
“What if it’s them?” whispered Kleist.
“Then they’re coming in one way or another, aren’t they?” replied Vague Henri. They both set to and began to pull the door open.
“Thank God, it’s you,” said Vague Henri.
“Who were you expecting?” said Cale.
“We thought it might be those men.”
It was the first time that Cale had been spoken to by a woman face-to-face. Her voice was soft and low, and if his expression had been visible in the dark, it would have shown intense surprise and fascination.
“If the Redeemers come for us, they won’t knock first.”
“We’ve had enough,” said Kleist. “Tell us what you’ve been doing and if we can get out of here alive.”
“Light a candle, we’ll need it.”
In two minutes they could see each other as the gentle light made the scene almost beautiful—the four huddled together.
“What’s that smell?” said Vague Henri. Cale dropped the bag of loam on the floor. “The dogs can’t smell you if you rub this over your body and clothes. I’ll explain what happened while you get on with it.”
In other places in the world, what followed might have been awkward. Riba, shocked by this, was about to protest that she must have privacy, but the three boys all turned their backs to her and to each other. To be naked in the presence of another boy was an offense that cried out to heavens for vengeance, as the late Lord of Discipline was fond of saying. There were many offenses for which heaven bawled for noisy reprisals.
The boys moved into the darkness to undress as a matter of ingrained habit. Left standing on her own, there was no one Riba could see to protest to. So she grabbed a handful of the pungent loam and she too went into the dark.
“Are you ready?” mocked the voice of Cale. “Then I’ll begin.”
Five hours later, as a grubby dawn bled through the murk, Brunt ordered his five secondary search parties, each comprising a hundred men with dogs, out of the main square. As the last group left, four others hooded against the cold tacked themselves onto the end of the column and followed them out of the gates, down the cinder road and to the arid plain below. Here the five hundred Redeemers split into their separate groups and headed out to all points.
The four kept behind the column heading to the south. For an hour they kept pace with them as the preceptor chanted the marching song of shame:
“Holy Redeemer!”
“BANISH OUR SINS!” came the groaning response from a hundred and four voices.
“Holy Redeemer!”
“CHASTISE OUR CRIMES!”
“Holy Redeemer!”
“SCOURGE OUR LUST!”
“Holy Redeemer!”
“THRASH OUR . . .”
And so it went on until a sharp bend around the first hillock of the Scablands, when a hundred and four voices became merely a hundred.
From the battlements the Lord Militant watched as the five hundred emerged from the low fog and after a mile or two began to split into five. He stood until the last one was out of sight and then turned back to go to breakfast, his favorite—a bowl of black tripe and a hard-boiled egg.
The boys would have made forty or even fifty miles before night but for the fact that Riba was a liability. Beautiful, plump and pampered, she had in the last five years barely moved at all, walking only from massage table to hot bath and from there, and four times more in a day, to a dining table filled with stuffed vine leaves, pig’s feet in aspic, spice cake and anything else fattening you could think of. As a result she could no more walk forty miles than she could fly thirty. At first Kleist and Cale were just irritated and told her to move herself, but when it was clear that bullying, threats and even pleading could not push the poor girl to go another step, they sat down and Vague Henri began
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