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SOME THINGS CAN ONLY be known once the knowledge will do no good.
—Madame Verona, soothsayer
* * *
THE MORNING LIGHT BROUGHT movement in the camp, and Gwen’s first thought upon waking was Rolf. She got up from the sleeping mat Madame Gabaldi had ordered the boys to make for her and pulled on the buckskin coat Rolf had worn and which had served as a pillow after she fainted.
Water sizzled. “Take Thomlin with you.” Madame Gabaldi’s tone rippled through the smoke of the campfire she was dousing.
“Yes, ma’am,” Gwen replied before spotting Thomlin and giving him a twitching nod in the direction of a spot at the edge of the encampment where she wanted to meet to ask about Rolf.
The two had barely reached the isolated tree when Gwen asked, “Did you see him yet? Did he come into camp?”
Thomlin’s forehead was creased with worry. He shook his head. “Nothin’. I was the last to sleep, and he didn’t come in before that. That’s all I know. I’ve been askin’ about him, but none of the others have seen him either.”
Seething at Gabaldi’s injustice toward Rolf, Gwen’s tone turned as stern as that of the schoolmistress. “This is not acceptable. Nobody’s seen him and nobody’s looking for him. If it were anyone else . . .”
Announced by an accompanying rustle from behind a scraggly bush, Rolf’s voice suggested an outcome different than Gwen knew she’d been worrying herself into believing. “It’d be the same.”
“Oh, thank goodness,” said Gwen in a long sigh.
Thomlin’s reaction sounded less relieved. “What in a cow’s udder happened to you?”
Rolf clearly found the expression distasteful because he crinkled his face as if he’d eaten something sour. It made his skin look even more drawn than it was and, combined with the dark circles around his eyes, gave him the appearance of a distressed raccoon. “Nothin’.” He shrugged. “But I wouldn’t bet somethin’s not gonna happen to me—to us—all of us.”
“What do you mean?” asked Gwen, on whom it suddenly dawned that her friend had been away from the warmth of the campfire for the whole night without his coat, the one she was wearing. She slipped her arms out of it and handed it to Rolf. “And thank you.”
The hunter’s son took the buckskin jacket and returned her dusty shawl to her but didn’t acknowledge her thanks. When he spoke, Gwen understood why manners seemed unimportant at the moment.
“We’re being followed. Ever since we got out of sight of Vasterberg.”
“Who would follow us?” she asked.
“I dunno. I caught sight of just their scouts at first, but now they’re getting bolder. This morning, I saw some uniforms.”
“Uniforms? What do they look like?”
“Uniforms. Dark. Plain. Boots. All the same.” He looked at Gwen as if she had asked the most stupid question he’d heard.
His dismissive expression and tone set her teeth to itching, and she placed a hand on one hip. “I know what a uniform is. I was asking if you could identify whose uniform it is.”
“I’ve never seen a uniform except for the ones the mayor and Gabaldi wear. How would I know? I just know we’re being followed by men mostly dressed alike who are great enough in number to afford sending out three scouts.”
“How many days to Sutherhold?” asked Thomlin, his voice shaky.
“Six, maybe five if we travel as fast as we did yesterday.”
“We should go back.” Gwen’s voice quivered just slightly too.
Rolf shook his head. “Bad move. Gabaldi’s not going back, and that means we’d have to sneak off and do it alone. It’d be like a lamb leaving the flock. If that wolf Gabaldi didn’t get us, those woodcats of soldiers would be waiting.”
Gwen’s cheeks flushed again at the thought of how foolish she’d been to wander off alone and at the fact she now was recommending doing it again. “You’re right. So what do we do?”
“Wait. Watch. Keep moving with the caravan.”
“And if they attack?” Thomlin asked.
“Get away. Let the others stand and fight if they want. They won’t win, though, so why sacrifice ourselves for certain defeat?”
Something about the ease with which Rolf was willing to let the other trainees fight his battle and possibly die doing it didn’t sit right with Gwen. “Maybe we should tell Madame Gabaldi.”
Rolf’s expression of doubt betrayed his thoughts before his words did. “I don’t know we can trust her either.”
“That’s just not fair,” said Gwen. “She’s been nothing but kind and helpful to me, to everyone. She stepped into that crowd when he attacked you with his sword. She doesn’t deserve this from you.”
“All right,” he said, holding up his hands in surrender. “Even if we can trust her, you know she’ll confront her husband, and then he’ll know we know about the soldiers following us. If he’s in cahoots with ’em, we’d be as good as dead.”
Gwen covered her mouth with her hand then rubbed her face with both hands, leaving her skin tingly, which only added to the overwhelming sense of being watched.
Thomlin’s sudden commanding tone penetrated her thoughts and the fear creeping into her. “C’mon. Let’s get back. I’ll take Buttercup and ride behind the wagon. You drive, Gwen. And Rolf, you get some sleep.”
Rolf practically staggered back to the wagon, which was ready to go by the time he and Gwen reached it. She had taken the seat next to Madame Gabaldi, and Rolf had barely clambered aboard and nestled in between three sacks when Gabaldi arrived as if on cue and glared at the wagon bed.
“Leave him be,” Madame Gabaldi said to her husband before the man had a chance to speak.
The soldier rode off in a huff and signaled the caravan’s front row of riders forward.
Stiff awkwardness filled the space between Madame Gabaldi and Gwen, who considered telling the woman about Rolf’s discovery but decided against it. In fact, the tension was so thick she couldn’t even bring herself to thank the schoolmistress for intervening on Rolf’s behalf. Gwen wondered what she had done to put such distance between them.
From the time they started moving until they stopped at midday, Madame Gabaldi fixated on the book she’d brought out of the schoolhouse at the last minute. The horses seemed to know exactly where to go and at what speed to follow the horsed trainees, so Gwen found driving monotonous. At first, she found herself filling the time by looking around as she’d seen Rolf do, her gaze scanning ridges and breaks in the woods, but unlike him, she saw nothing. One would think the presence of nothing comforting, she thought at first, but later decided not seeing the followers brought no sense of security, only a persistent feeling of being unsettled. After a while, she felt such strain she thought she would crack and blurt out everything to Madame Gabaldi. Even as she considered doing so, she struggled to find the words.
As she thought about what to say and how to say it, the memory of her mother’s voice filtered through as it had on the day before she left home: “You will have everything you need.”
What do I need? Nothing came to mind as a direct response to the question, but her thoughts drifted to the vision she’d had of Thomlin passing her at a gallop as she left the Bastwick cottage. The image of him bouncing on the horse flashed in her mind, and then a nagging feeling crept up her spine. She turned around and looked at the miller’s son following the wagon. There he sat astride his horse, which lumbered along under its rider’s weight. And then it came to her. He wasn’t on Buttercup in the vision! He was on a different horse. She stretched and strained to see the horses in front of her. None had the distinctive black and white speckled coat of the one he’d ridden in the vision. She found it hard to believe Thomlin could take a horse from an attacking soldier. So, if the horse carrying Thomlin wasn’t the one he was on at present and wasn’t another of the horses in the caravan, they might be safe for now.
Gwen turned around and gave a bright smile to Gilly’s future husband, who cocked his head in such an exaggerated way it made his neck appear stuck to his shoulder. Gwen burst out in laughter, and Madame Gabaldi looked up from her book.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb your reading. If I’ve done something to upset you, please tell me how to make amends,” Gwen blurted out, the words coming of their own accord and proving her previous discomfort little more than a frivolous waste of time she could have spent thinking about something more positive and hopeful.
“You’ve not upset me. I do tend to immerse myself when I read. Was I being too somber? I’m sorry if you thought it was directed toward you.”
“Oh, good. I thought maybe my carelessness yesterday had made you angry. I wasn’t thinking, but I am now.”
Madame Gabaldi smiled. “You always were a bit of a thinker. Have you given more thought to your choice of monasteries?”
Gwen confessed she hadn’t had much time to think or read about her choices since she began preparations to leave Vasterberg.
“I’m sure Jacques will prove immensely helpful to you. He’ll like you, and you will like him. I’m certain of it.”
Meeting someone friendly and helpful, someone not treating them cruelly, someone not following them sounded perfect to Gwen. Right now, she’d settle for anyone not intending them harm, and if that was Brother Jacques, so be it. “I’m eager to meet him,” she said with unreserved sincerity, for it was the absolute truth.
It came as no surprise to Gwen or Thomlin when Gabaldi sent Rolf out for the night’s watch again and didn’t arrange for anyone to relieve him halfway through the night as he did for the other trainees.
“I’m goin’ out there. This just isn’t right,” Thomlin told Gwen privately after they’d eaten the bean and grain stew Madame Gabaldi had made for the travelers that evening. “He hasn’t had a decent meal in two days at least.”
“You know he’s trying to find out who’s following us and why,” she replied in a whisper. “He’s probably nowhere near the perimeter. How do you plan to find him?”
Thomlin shrugged. “I don’t know. I just know it’s not right to leave him out there all by himself the whole night.”
Gwen put a hand on Thomlin’s and tried her best to sound comforting. “I know you want to help him, but you said it yourself. You’re not cut out for this. Let him do what he needs to do, and he can sleep in the wagon again tomorrow. I’ll talk to Madame Gabaldi.”
His expression turned from concern to hesitance, and he shook his head. “I don’t know. What if Rolf’s right and she knows more than we think or she says something to her husband?”
She squeezed his hand tightly. “I won’t tell her what Rolf saw. I’ll just ask if she can help Rolf in some way. Leave it to me, Thomlin.”
The miller’s son sighed. “I guess we have no other choice, do we?”
She shook her head. “If we stick together, we’ll get through this. Just a few more days to Sutherhold. Just promise me one thing, Thomlin.”
“What’s that?”
“You ride on Buttercup the whole way. All the way to Sutherhold.”
Thomlin shifted his gaze from side to side. “Um . . . why?”
“I can’t explain it. Call it a feeling. Just stay on Buttercup when we’re riding. For me. It would make me feel better. Please?”
He shrugged. “All right. I guess I can do that,” he said as he stood up to go find a spot to sleep for the night. Madame Gabaldi had made it clear none of the trainees, including Thomlin, were to sleep near her and Gwen. “I don’t see why it would make you feel better. What difference does it make if I ride Buttercup or drive the wagon? Are you sure you’re all right?”
Gwen laughed. “Not really, but I’m not insane if that’s what you mean.”
“No, I didn’t mean—”
Gwen’s laughter cut off his backpedaling. “I just can’t explain it right now. Maybe once we’re in Sutherhold.”
Thomlin nodded and walked away but kept sneaking periodic peeks over his shoulder at Gwen. She could hear him muttering unintelligibly to himself, and she was fairly certain she heard her name at least once. Although she understood why he’d be confused about her request, the thought of explaining to him or to Rolf that she’d been seeing visions and hearing voices made her uncomfortable. How could she explain what she didn’t understand? Trying not to question her own sanity, she pushed the thoughts aside.
The next morning, Rolf didn’t show up at the camp until the caravan was about to leave. Nobody had said a word about his not being there, not even Madame Gabaldi, which shocked Gwen and made her even more fearful that Rolf had been right about her. As the wagon’s wheels creaked into turning, Rolf came running out of the woods and jumped into the back of the wagon. He held up a partially skinned rabbit by its ankles.
Out of breath, he explained. “This little guy was fast. I almost didn’t hit him. I was right in the middle of skinning him when I heard the caravan leaving.”
Although her father was a butcher and she accepted that animals were slaughtered for food, Gwen had never been able to stomach the sight of a skinned animal before it had been cut into indistinguishable pieces. Somehow, not recognizing the body parts made it easier for her to forget what she was eating. For that reason, she forewent eating poultry legs and wings and let her other family members eat them when they had the rare occasion to feast on a hen that had stopped laying eggs. “Eww.”
Rolf laughed and positioned himself next to a railing, over which he finished the job of skinning the already gutted rabbit. He stuffed the skinned animal into a leather pouch and tucked it under one of the smaller bags. “I’d appreciate it if you’d cook this tonight, Gwen, assuming it doesn’t spoil before then.”
“Of course,” she said, looking over her shoulder at him. When their gazes met, she knew he had news he couldn’t share in the presence of others. She nodded toward Thomlin, who was opening the bag of baked goods Gilly had given him. He held the open bag to his nose and sniffed so hard Gwen and Rolf could see his nostrils wiggle, which sent the two of them into giggling fits. “Have some of the dried fruit and bread in my bag. That’ll hold you over until later.”
“Thanks,” he replied before digging into her food stash and helping himself to some dried plums and a hard roll.
Gwen could tell he was chewing each bite for as long as he could, and she thought she heard his stomach growl more than once. Within an hour after eating, Rolf was sound asleep, and Gwen thought it a perfect time to broach the subject of his treatment with Madame Gabaldi. Nodding over her shoulder to the boy sleeping in the wagon, she said, “He needs to eat and get a good night’s sleep, ma’am. Look at how gaunt he’s getting already. He’s our best archer. He needs to be strong. Is there something—”
In a clipped tone, the schoolmistress cut off her words. “What I can do is limited.” Madame Gabaldi cast a glance back at Rolf then looked straight ahead. “You cook his rabbit, and I’ll give you some food from the evening meal and a water pouch after everyone else has eaten. You must make certain nobody sees you giving it to him.”
“Yes, ma’am,” ended their conversation, and Gwen didn’t press the schoolmistress again. She knew which “nobody” the woman meant.
Over the next four days, she and Madame Gabaldi spoke not a single word about Rolf or anything else. Madame Gabaldi read her book when the wagon lumbered along the road. Gwen held the reins and searched the distance for signs of the soldiers. They set aside food for Rolf every evening, and Thomlin stuffed it under his shirt, making a public scene of noting he needed to go into the bushes to relieve himself and smuggling the food and small leather canteens of water to his friend at the perimeter. Thomlin returned and told Gwen the news Rolf had shared. The soldiers were getting bolder each day, moving nearer and nearer to the road, slowly closing the gap between themselves and the caravan. Rolf showed up at the wagon every morning with empty canteens and a fresh kill, either a rabbit or a squirrel or a pheasant, but always an animal small enough to be cooked quickly.
Despite the threat of the soldiers, Gwen’s sense of security remained mostly intact as long as Thomlin sat atop Buttercup. When the caravan stopped for midday and in the evenings, the sense of foreboding she’d felt on the morning of their departure loomed around her like dust from the caravan, seeping into her mood but also wearing her down physically, as if she were fighting with it and losing. The only bright spot in her days and nights became Thomlin. Thomlin atop his gelding. Thomlin sniffing Gilly’s baked goods. Thomlin talking to Buttercup when he led him to a stream. Thomlin giving her a wink each night to let her know Rolf had received the food. She couldn’t help but notice the irony in their situation. The boy who’d once upended her easy friendship with Gilly, the very boy who had become her torment, now gave her the only comfort and security she had in a world not of her choosing. And she loved him for it.