thing I want 。 。 。〃 The voice trailed away。
〃What date is it？〃 〃Sometime in October； isn't it？〃 the sergeant came back。 〃I've lost track of time。 Still； it's fucking cold at night； I tell you that much。 Yes； must be October at least。 There was snow in the wind yesterday。 Or was it the day before？〃 〃What year is it？〃 The sergeant laughed。 〃I'm not that far gone；〃 he said。 〃It's 1811。 That's right。 I'm thirty…two on the ninth of November。 And I don't look a day over forty。〃 It was 1811。 If the sergeant was answering truthfully that made Mamoulian two centuries old。
〃Are you sure？〃 Marty asked。 〃The year is 1811； you're certain？〃 〃Shut your mouth！〃 the answer came。
〃What？〃 〃Trouble。〃 Carys had drawn her arms up against her chest； as though constricted。 She felt enclosed…but by what she wasn't certain。 The open road she'd been standing on had abruptly disappeared； and now she sensed herself lying down； in darkness。 It was warmer here than it had been on the road； but not a pleasant heat。 It smelled putrid。 She spat； not once but three or four times； to rid herself of a mouthful of muck。 Where was she； for God's sake？
Close by she could hear the approach of horses。 The sound was muffled； but it made her； or rather the man she occupied； panic。 Off to her right； somebody moaned。
〃Ssh 。 。 。〃 she hissed。 Didn't the moaner hear the horses too？ They'd be discovered； and though she didn't know why； she was certain discovery would prove fatal。
〃What's happening？〃 Marty asked。
She didn't dare reply。 The horsemen were too close to dare a word。 She could hear them dismounting and approaching her hiding place。 She repeated a prayer； soundlessly。 The riders were talking now； they were soldiers； she guessed。 An argument had erupted among them as to who would tackle some distasteful duty。 Maybe； she prayed； they'd give up their search before they started。 But no。 The debate was over； and they were grunting and plaining as several set about their labors。 She heard them moving sacks； and flinging them down。 A dozen； two dozen。 Light seeped through to where she lay； scarcely breathing。 More sacks were moved； more light fell on her。 She opened her eyes； and finally recognized what refuge the sergeant had chosen。
〃God Almighty；〃 she said。
They weren't sacks she lay among； but bodies。 He had hidden himself in a mound of corpses。 It was the heat of putrefaction that made her sweat。
Now the hillock was being taken apart by the horsemen； who were pricking each of the bodies as they were hauled from the heap； in order to distinguish living from dead。 The few who still breathed were pointed out to the officer。 He dismissed them all as past the point of no return； they were swiftly dispatched。 Before a bayonet could pierce his hide； the sergeant rolled over and showed himself。
〃I surrender；〃 he said。 They jabbed him through the shoulder anyway。 He yelled。 Carys too。
Marty reached to touch her； her face was scrawled with pain。 But he thought better of interfering at what was clearly a vital juncture： it might do more harm than good。
〃Well； well；〃 said the officer； high on the horse。 〃You don't look very dead to me。〃 〃I was practicing；〃 the sergeant replied。 His wit earned him a second jab。 To judge by the looks of the men who surrounded him； he'd be lucky to avoid a disemboweling。 They were ready for some sport。
〃You're not going to die；〃 the officer said； patting his mount's gleaming neck。 The presence of so much decay made the thoroughbred uneasy。 〃We need answers to some questions first。 Then you can have your place in the pit。
Behind the officer's plumed head the sky had darkened。 Even as he spoke the scene began to lose coherence； as though Mamoulian had forgotten how it went from here。
Under her lids Carys〃 eyes began to twitch back and forth again。 Another welter of impressions had overtaken her； each moment delineated with absolute precision； but all ing too fast for her to make any sense of。
〃Carys？ Are you all right？〃 〃Yes； yes；〃 she said breathlessly。 〃Just moments 。 。 。 living moments。〃 She saw a room； a chair。 Felt a kiss； a slap。 Pain； relief； pain again。 Questions； laughter。 She couldn't be certain； but she guessed that under pressure the sergeant was telling the enemy everything they wanted to know and more。 Days passed in a heartbeat。 She let them run through her fingers； sensing that the European's dreaming head was moving with mounting velocity toward some critical event。 It was best to let him lead the way； he knew better than she the significance of this descent。
The journey finished with shocking suddenness。
A sky the color of cold iron opened above her head。 Snow drifted from it； a lazy fall of goosedown； which instead of warming her made her bones ache。 In the claustrophobic one…room flat； with Marty sitting bare…chested and sweating opposite her； Carys〃 teeth began to chatter。
The sergeant's captors were done with their interrogation； it seemed。 They had led him and five other ragged prisoners out into a small quadrangle。 He looked around。 This was a monastery； or had been until its occupation。 One or two monks stood in the shelter of the cloister walkway and watched events in the yard unfold with philosophical gaze。
The six prisoners waited in a line while the snow fell。 They were not bound。 There was nowhere in this square for them to run to。 The sergeant； on the end of the line； chewed his nails and tried to keep his thoughts light。 They were going to die here； that was an unavoidable fact。 They were not the first to be executed this afternoon。 Along one wall； arranged neatly for posthumous inspection； lay five dead men。 Their lopped heads had been placed； the ultimate defamation； at their groins。 Open…eyed； as if startled by the killing stroke； they stared at the snow as it descended； at the windows； at the one tree that was planted in a square of soil among the stones。 In summer； it surely bore fruit； birds made idiot song in it。 Now； it was leafless。
〃They're going to kill us；〃 she said matter…of…factly。
It was all very informal。 The presiding officer； a fur coat pulled around his shoulders； was standing with his hands at a blazing brazier； his back to the prisoners。 The executioner was with him； his bloody sword jauntily leaned on his shoulder。 A fat； lumbering man； he laughed at some joke the officer made and downed a cup of something warming before turning back to his business。
Carys smiled。
〃What's happening now？〃 She said nothing； her eyes were on the man who was going to kill them； she smiled on。
〃Carys。 What's happening？〃 The soldiers had e along the line； and pushed them to the ground in the middle of the square。 Carys had bowed her head； to expose the nape of her neck。 〃We're going to die；〃 she whispered to her distant confidant。
At the far end of the line the executioner raised his sword and brought it down with one professional stroke。 The prisoner's head seemed to leap from the neck； pushed forward by a geyser of blood。 It was lurid against the gray walls； the white snow。 The head fell face…forward； rolled a little way and stopped。 The body curled to the ground。 Out of the corner of his eye Mamoulian watched the proceedings； trying to stop his teeth； from chattering。 He wasn't afraid； and didn't want them to think he was。 The next man in line had started to scream。 Two soldiers stepped forward at the officer's barked mand and seized the man。 Suddenly； after a calm in which you could hear the snow pat the ground； the line erupted with pleas and prayers； the man's terror had opened a floodgate。 The sergeant said nothing。 They were lucky to be dying in such style； he thought： the sword was for aristocrats and officers。 But the tree was not yet tall enough to hang a man from。 He watched the sword fall a second time； wondering if the tongue still wagged after death； sitting in the draining palate of the dead man's head。
〃I'm not afraid；〃 he said。 〃What's the use of fear？ You can't buy it or sell it； you can't make love to it。 You can't even wear it if they strip off your shirt and you're cold。〃 A third prisoner's head rolled in the snow； and a fourth。 A soldier laughed。 The blood steamed。 Its