Obilot stopped. She looked at him. "You'll want to go on by yourself," she said. Rather miserably, Garivald nodded. He'd fought for his life with Obilot as well as lain beside her, but all his life before the Algarvians snatched him lay ahead. He wouldn't have come back if he hadn't wanted that. "Go on, then," Obilot told him. "I'll come along in a little while. We'll see how things are when I get there." When he still hesitated, she pushed him. "Go on, I told you. I knew how things were when we left the woods."
"All right." Garivald trudged on along the path. When he looked back over his shoulder, Obilot stood in the middle of the road, cradling her stick in a way that said she'd used it many times before and was ready to use it again if anyone bothered her.
But Garivald was looking ahead, eagerly looking ahead, when he rounded that last bend. Obilot was behind him now, in the path and in the past. Ahead of him lay the field he and his fellow peasants worked and…
Nothing.
When he looked to where the village had stood, nothing was what he saw. The Algarvians must have made a stand here. Not a house still stood: not his hut, not Waddo the firstman's two-story home, not his friend Dagulf's. None. The buildings of Zossen- the houses, the smithy, the tavern- were erased as if they had never been.
The people? His wife? His son and daughter? Maybe they'd fled. He shook his head. He knew what the odds were. Far more likely- likely almost to the point of certainty- they'd died with their village.
He was still standing, still staring, when he heard footsteps behind him. He turned. Obilot came up and put a hand on his arm. "I'm sorry," she said. "Now you have nothing, too, just like me."
"Aye." Garivald's voice was still dull with shock. He and Obilot stood side by side surveying the devastation, both their lives in ruin.
Vanai was cooking rabbit stew with prunes and dried mushrooms when Ealstan gave the coded knock at their door. She hurried over to unbar it and let him in. When she did, his face glowed with excitement. That made her smile, too. She kissed him and then asked, "What's happened? Something has. I can see it."
"You'll never guess," he said.
She looked at him in amused annoyance. "I was hoping I wouldn't have to."
"You know how Herborn's fallen to the Unkerlanters," he said.
"Oh, aye." Vanai nodded. "The news sheets finally admitted that a couple of days ago, when they couldn't not admit it anymore, if you know what I mean."
"That's right- and the Algarvians and Plegmund's stinking Brigade were going to chase the Unkerlanters out again any minute now. I lose track of the lies sometimes," Ealstan said. "Well, Pybba knows more than the news sheets do. For instance, had you heard the Unkerlanters caught King Mezentio's cousin Raniero, the fellow he'd named King of Grelz?"
"No!" Vanai kissed Ealstan again, this time for bringing home such wonderful news. "What are they going to do to him?" To her way of thinking- Brivibas' way of thinking, too, but her grandfather never entered her mind- the Unkerlanters were barbarous enough to be capable of anything.
"They've already done it," Ealstan told her. "That's the real news. They held a ceremony in Herborn and boiled him alive."
"Oh." For once, the lurch Vanai's stomach gave had nothing to do with her pregnancy. "That's…" She didn't know quite what it was. "I wouldn't wish it on…" Why wouldn't you wish it on an Algarvian? she wondered. You've wished plenty of worse things on them, and what they've done to your own folk makes them deserve every one. "Good riddance," she said at last.
"Aye, just so," Ealstan said. "That's how they serve up rebels. And they slaughter their own folk when… to strike back at the Algarvians."
When the Algarvians slaughter Kaunians, he hadn't said, even if he'd started to. He tried to spare her feelings. And Forthwegians looked down on their cousins to the west hardly less than the Kaunians of Forthweg did. The only difference was, the Kaunians of Forthweg looked down on the Forthwegians, too.
Ealstan went into the kitchen and came back with two mugs of wine. He handed Vanai one and raised the other in a toast: "Down with Algarve!" He drank.
"Down with Algarve!" Vanai would always drink to that. The mere idea made any wine sweeter.
Over supper, Ealstan said, "One of these days before too long, Swemmel's men are bound to strike blows in the north to match the ones they're making down in Grelz."
"Is that something else Pybba knows but the news sheets don't?" Vanai asked.
He shook his head. "No. I wish it were. But it stands to reason, doesn't it? They'll want to run the redheads out of all of their kingdom, not just part of it."
"If they do run them out of Unkerlant, they'll run them back into Forthweg- and then they'll come after them," Vanai said. "That stands to reason, too."
"Aye." To her surprise, Ealstan didn't look so happy about it. He explained why: "We don't get rid of our occupiers. We only trade one set for another."
"It's a good trade," Vanai said. Ealstan nodded, but with something less than full enthusiasm. It would certainly be a good trade for Forthweg's surviving Kaunians; the Unkerlanters didn't much care about Kaunianity one way or the other. But an Unkerlanter occupation might not be such a good trade for the Forthwegians themselves. The men of Swemmel's kingdom liked them no better than they liked Unkerlanters.
Wistfully, Ealstan said, "It would be nice if King Penda could just come back."
Vanai reached across the table and set her hand on his. "Aye, it would," she said, giving him- and Penda- the benefit of the doubt as he'd given it to the idea of an Unkerlanter occupation.
As she was washing the supper dishes, Ealstan came up behind her and began to caress her. "Be careful," she warned him.
"I am," he said, and he was. Vanai had trouble concentrating on the dishes. Her breasts had grown more tender since she'd started expecting a baby, but they'd also grown more sensitive. After a little while, she decided the dishes could wait. She turned and put her arms around Ealstan.
Forthwegian-style tunics were easier to get out of than the short tunics and trousers she'd worn back in Oyngestun. Certain post-imperial Kaunian writers had used that truth to sneer at the morals of Forthwegian women. Back in the bedchamber, Vanai simply found it convenient.
Afterwards, she rubbed her upper lip; Ealstan's mustache had tickled her when their lips clung while they made love. "I'm happy with you," he said.
"Good," she answered. "I'm happy with you, too." She kissed him again, careless of that vicious mustache. She meant it. The accursed Algarvian officer who'd introduced her to what passed between man and woman might have been- probably had been- more skilled in this and that than Ealstan was. But so what? It wasn't even that Spinello hadn't wanted her to have pleasure. He had- so her pleasure could give him more. But his own delight came first, always. Ealstan wanted to give her pleasure for her sake, not his. He might have given a little less, but she took ever so much more.
Spinello went off to Unkerlant, she reminded herself. With any luck at all, he's dead, horribly dead, or else crippled or in torment from his wounds. A lot of Algarvian officers go to Unkerlant. Not so many come back in one piece.
"What are you thinking?" Ealstan asked. He would do that every once in a while, after lovemaking or just out of the blue.
Usually, Vanai felt obligated to answer with the truth. Tonight, she gave him only part of it: "I love you."
As she'd known it would be, that was the part he wanted to hear. He squeezed her to him. "I'm glad," he said. "I don't know where I'd be without you."
You'd be back in Gromheort with your family, she thought. If you weren't already married to some Forthwegian girl, you'd be pledged to one. You're too good a catch not to be. I ought to know.