Free There Will Be Wolves by Karleen Bradford Page A

father, he stared still at Ursula.
    Ursula’s father clutched her arm. “Forgive her, my lord. She is dazed. She knows not what she is saying. The events of the last few days…. The fear she has suffered …”
    “Fear? I see little evidence this girl has suffered much from fear,” the count answered. His voice was silken, but cold. “Perhaps God in his wisdom will remedy that.” For a moment longer he held Ursula’s eyes with his own. That there was a battle going on here, Ursula had no doubt, but even if it were a battle she could not possibly win, she would not give in.
    Suddenly releasing her, the count turned to her father. With a bored wave of his hand, as if tired of the conversation, he motioned them to a seat at the bottom of a nearby table. “Eat now,” he said.
    By the time they sat down, the platters and bowls of food had been thoroughly picked over. Slices of stale bread were passed to them to use as plates. A bowl full of greasy broth, with a few unwanted lumps of fatty meat, was presented to them. Master William dipped in with his fingers and captured one lump. Then, seeing that Ursulawas not following his example, he procured another slab for her and put it on her bread.
    “Eat, child. You must not insult our host.”
    Ursula made no move to pick it up. “I do not eat leftovers at anyone’s table, Father,” she said contemptuously, but, although the food was less than appetizing, in truth her stomach was again knotted so tightly that eating would have been impossible.
    That man is as evil as I believed, she thought bleakly. Perhaps even worse. What is to come of this?
    The conversation, which had ceased when they sat down, began to flow again around them. No one addressed them directly. A few even made the sign against evil and edged discreetly away from them. If it had not been for her father, Ursula would have thrown her portion of food to the dogs that lurked under the tables and left.
      *  *  *  
    It was late afternoon before they could get away and return to the stables. There they found everything bustling. The news had come that Peter the Hermit had determined to leave on the twenty-sixth of this month, April. Barely a week away! All must be made ready immediately.
    For the next few days Ursula had little time to worry. All the herbs and ointments that had beenin their home had been lost in the fire, but the garden was untouched. She and her father gathered as much as they could, then scoured the hills and the fields around for whatever else they could harvest. It was the wrong time of year for picking plants that should be gathered in full bloom, but they had been given a horse-drawn wagon by the count and they transplanted many seedlings into boxes that could be stowed in it. With luck, some of them would flourish. On the last day at their house, Mistress Ingrid hovered around them like a pestering wasp.
    “I’ll look after things here until you return, don’t you worry,” she assured Master William, ignoring Ursula.
    I’m sure she will, Ursula thought sourly. She’ll be picking through the ruins for what she can steal the moment our backs have disappeared down the street—if she hasn’t already. Ursula tried to find the tabby cat, but there had been no sign of it since the fire, her father said, so she supposed it had found another source of milk. Fickle creature. But still, she reasoned, no different from anyone or anything else.
    As they led the horse and herb-laden wagon up the street, Ursula turned for one last look at the rubble that used to be her home. When would she see it again? Would she ever see it again? The folk around the count’s house were talking as if Jerusalem were but a month’s trek away. Amonth’s trek, a few weeks to chase out the Turks, and then, for those who chose to return, home again. Home by harvest time for certain, secure in the knowledge that they had done God’s will and God had forgiven them all their sins. And for those who had no