Free Pagan in Exile by Catherine Jinks Page B

can’t help asking.) ‘Were they stolen?’
    ‘No.’ She seems distracted. Scans her surroundings for a friendly face. ‘We don’t eat meat. Or eggs.’
    ‘But why?’ That’s crazy. ‘I don’t understand.’
    ‘Meat and eggs are born of the flesh by generation or fornication, which is the greatest sin because it condemns another soul to imprisonment on earth,’ she rejoins. ‘And besides, it’s a sin to kill animals or birds. They too have their holy spirits, which pass from one body to another.’
    Weird. Glance at Roland, who frowns back ferociously. No religious dialogues, Pagan.
    Esclaramonde prepares to dismount.
    ‘Wait.’ Roland’s tone stops her. ‘Where are your friends?’
    ‘I don’t know. Inside, I assume.’
    ‘How many live here?’
    She thinks for a moment. ‘Twelve, including me. And Aribert, of course.’
    ‘Are they usually inside, at this time of day?’
    ‘Well, no. But –’
    ‘Stay there.’ Roland swings his leg over Jennet’s back, and slips gracefully to the ground. ‘Pagan, you’ll have to hold the horses. Don’t leave this spot unless I summon you.’
    ‘Yes, my lord.’
    ‘Wait.’ This time it’s Esclaramonde who speaks. ‘What are you doing? Where are you going?’
    ‘This place is small and unprotected,’ Roland responds. ‘It’s vulnerable to attack. I want to check inside. Make sure that everything’s safe.’
    ‘Of course it’s safe. We’ve never been attacked, here. Who would attack us?’
    Who would attack you? Stupid woman. Anyone with long fingernails and half a dozen pointed sticks would make a slaughterhouse of this place. Just look at it! You couldn’t be more tempting if you had a roast pork supper laid out for visiting brigands.
    Roland decides not to argue. He draws his sword as he turns to face the nearest building: a long, low farmhouse with shuttered windows. His blade flashes like silver in the sunlight.
    ‘Stop!’ Esclaramonde slides to earth, clumsily, making her horse shy. ‘You can’t do that! Put that away! Please! Put that away right now!’
    I don’t believe it. Put that away? Who does she think she’s talking to? Roland stares in astonishment.
    ‘No swords, not here,’ she gasps, seizing Roland’s arm. ‘You mustn’t. It’s wrong. You’ll frighten them –’
    Roland tries to shake her off, but she clings like a limpet.
    ‘Get back,’ he orders. ‘Get back! Now!’
    ‘Put your sword away!’
    ‘Let go!’
    ‘ Put your sword away! ’
    ‘Are you mad?’ he exclaims, more surprised than angry. ‘Where is your reason? I am here to protect you.’
    ‘I won’t let you go in there with a drawn sword!’
    ‘It’s for your own safety, woman!’
    ‘Put up thy sword into his place!’
    ‘ Get back on that horse! ’
    Suddenly someone emerges from the farthest dwelling. A tall, middle-aged woman in a blue robe. She heads straight for Esclaramonde, who drops Roland’s arm.
    ‘Garsen!’
    ‘Esclaramonde –’
    ‘What’s happened? Where is everyone?’
    ‘Praise God that you’re here.’ Garsen has a face like a watchtower wall, but her voice is surprisingly gentle. ‘Garnier is dying. His soul must be freed from his body. He needs the blessing of the consolamentum , and you’re the only one here who can pass on the holy spirit.’
    ‘But didn’t you –?’
    ‘This morning we sent Aribert to Saint-Martin-la-Lande, to bring back a Good Man. But he hasn’t returned.’
    And he won’t, either. Esclaramonde glances up at Roland, who says nothing. So she turns back to her friend.
    ‘Garsen, this is – this is Lord Galhard’s son, Lord Roland Roucy de Bram. And his squire Pagan.’
    Garsen drops to one knee. As she rises again, Esclaramonde continues.
    ‘They haven’t eaten since last night, and they still have a long way to go. Can you fetch them some food, Sister? Maybe some bread and herbs – there should be almond cakes, too –’
    ‘First I will see Garnier,’ Roland interrupts. ‘Did you