True, the Chosen of the Holy Ghost were putting constant pressure on the trade routes of the People of the True Word and Flesh; they had publicly insulted and denounced the True Worders, and were vigorously proselytizing for their own false religion and its false prophet. Their conquests posed a growing threat to the security of even New Nazareth itself, and of course there was the great spiritual need to bring the light of the True Word to the darkness of the lands the Chosen held in thrall. Still, they were just another enemy, to be dealt with at any time; they were not manufacturing machine guns.
If the report of his scouting party were to prove that the so-called People of Heaven were, in fact, a greater and more immediate danger to the People of the True Word and Flesh than the evil empire of the Chosen, then he could send that report on to the Elders and postpone the inevitable conflict with the Chosen. He was not certain just what action he would take in such a situation; a consultation with the Elders would be needed. He was sure that they would defer to their commander regarding the need to re-think the situation, since it was he, not they, who was here in the field and in possession of the facts, but he was also sure that they would want to do the re-thinking.
The Elders would not, however, be willing to change their plans simply on the word of a captured woman; they would need some sort of convincing evidence. John had been hoping that Matthew would return quickly with that evidence.
He had not been idle since Matthew's departure; he would not have dared to be. His old main camp had been packed up and moved into the village, which was known to its inhabitants by the oddly secular name of Marshside. Some of the villagers were on their way to New Nazareth, under guard; others had been recruited as camp servants. Scouts had been sent out, not only Matthew and his men to Little St. Peter, but others to various points along the borders and even in the Chosen empire itself. The main force of infantry had arrived two days behind schedule, and getting the cavalry back into fighting trim after their post-battle debauch had taken time as well, so the campaign had been delayed already-but not seriously. Preparations had been made, the men were ready, the village's resources were strained-the time had come when the first real assault on the enemy should be made. The plan called for a march up around the marsh and across the Little New Jordan, taking the Chosen on their presumably undefended southeastern flank with a series of harassing raids on outlying settlements by the cavalry, while the infantry drove straight toward Spiritus Sancti.
The entire plan assumed that the Chosen had not discovered the True Worder troop movements in time to move their own main army; John had some doubts about that. He thought that he could win in any case, but knew that the victory would be very costly if the Chosen did, in fact, know that he and his men were coming. And if the People of Heaven were building machine guns, the People of the True Word and Flesh could not afford such a victory.
If the Chosen were truly as ignorant and their southeastern flank as undefended as the Elders believed them to be, then the entire war would be relatively quick and painless and would do little harm to either side-excluding, of course, those who persisted in their heresy-but John did not believe that the Chosen, who had built a respectable empire for themselves, could be that incompetent. He sighed. He did not mind fighting a protracted war; he had anticipated it all along, and accepted the Elders’ plan to come around through the southern badlands because it was as good a plan as any, even if the much-vaunted element of surprise was unlikely to amount to much. The People of Heaven worried him, though-perhaps more than they reasonably should. After all, he reminded himself for the hundredth time, the People of Heaven had no known quarrel with the People of the True Word and Flesh, unless they took amiss the seizure of Marshside. Still, John wished that Matthew had returned. With no word from Little St. Peter he would have to start the march north at dawn.
He was accustomed to operating without crucial knowledge; any military commander had to be. Misinformation about the enemy's forces, inaccurate maps, lying informants, all of those he was accustomed to dealing with, but the possibility of an enemy armed with the incredible super-weapons of legend attacking from behind while he fought someone else was unsettling. A machine gun in Marshside-what if somewhere else he were to run across the super-bombs that destroyed entire cities?
He pushed back his chair and arose, glancing one last time at the papers on the desk. Nothing there was really urgent, and he felt in need of distraction. He had been worrying about both the Heaveners and the Chosen for too long without a break. In the morning he would be moving again, leading his men around the marsh, and there would be plenty of minor problems to deal with, taking his mind off the major ones; why wait until then to let the burden be lightened? He was doing no good sitting at his desk and worrying. He had minor problems here in Marshside that he could attend to.
He walked out of the room without consciously choosing a destination, but knew immediately where he was going-up the stairs to the room across from his own, where Miriam Humble-Before-God was kept.
He threw back the bolt, swung open the door, and looked in, then immediately stepped back. She was not on her bed, which stood against the opposite wall. There was no other furniture in the room, nowhere else she would reasonably be-which meant that she was somewhere unreasonable.
He had not bothered to post a guard here, since there were two at the door of the house; he did not feel he could spare the manpower, and the bolt had seemed adequate. Even had she managed to open or break it, where could she have gone? She might have escaped through the window, if she could find a way safe to the ground and avoid being seen by the people in the street below, or broken through the ceiling into the attic, but again, where would she go?
It was possible that she had escaped, but he doubted it. He had had two weeks now to learn something of her personality, and guessed where she was. Almost amused, he flung out his arm and slammed the door back against the wall with his full strength.
As he had expected, instead of the bang of nearwood against plaster, he heard the thump of the door hitting flesh. He strode into the room and turned.
Miriam stood behind the door, clutching a long, jagged splinter she had pried from the bare boards of the floor; it would have served quite as well as a dagger had he simply walked in and allowed her to reach his back with it. He had not been that careless, and robbed of her victim she looked rather dazed and foolish.
“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?"