meant...I meant that bringing an enemy’s corpse in here like that...so cold-bloodedly—it—it bespeaks a vengefulness, a call to bloodletting for its own sake.”
“Vengefulness,” Simon repeated hollowly. He peered up at Michael, his eyes suddenly filled with a pitiable mixture of pain, alienation, and moral confusion. “Isn’t that what you came to me and pleaded for after your brother was murdered?”
Michael stumbled back a pace, head hung low, a harpy of guilt clawing at his soul. He moved slowly to the bench where Lydia sat, expressionless.
“What’s wrong?” she asked gently.
He sighed. “Me, I suppose.”
Her brow furrowed, but she let the comment pass. “So—Simon has come back. I suppose I should have expected it.”
“If he had been welcomed as a man long ago,” her husband said in a voice fraught with self-accusation, “instead of as a thing.... If he had been accepted the way my poor brother accepted him, then maybe it wouldn’t have been necessary for him to come now. For this. Maybe Flavio would still be alive. And a lot of other people with him.”
She pondered his words. Her lips parted, but she said nothing.
* * * *
A curious surprise came to them in the cavern an hour or two later. One that refueled Wilf’s passion to get a crack at formidable Castle Lenska.
Most of the gathering had cleared to the surface. There remained a clutch of city officials, headed by Milorad and Anna Vargo, who sat on benches and clucked and fretted over the city’s immediate future. Grouped around the long table were the militia captains: Gonji, Michael, Garth, Anton, Roric, Wilf, Monetto, Gerhard, Berenyi, Szabo, and Nagy. A few pairs of militiamen had been sent up to begin apprising their assigned sectors of the alert plan. The military leaders finalized their company and squad rosters and planned the synchronized raids and pitched defenses calculated to seize back the city from the occupation force with a minimum of risk.
It was decided that if the evacuation through the catacombs and the wagon dispatch could be brought off carefully, there was a fighting chance at recovering the city. However, the grim realization of the heavy reinforcement column that was sure to hurtle down from the castle (in addition to the cretin giant and whatever else Mord might be able to raise against them from the nether-worlds—which subject was tactfully sidestepped) left the leaders rather glum.
To smother their despair, Alain Paille showed the sketches of his “armored wagons,” borrowed from da Vinci’s designs. A small thrill of optimism gripped them when they viewed the cross-sectional drawings of large commerce wagons plated in the inside with steel from the foundries and cut through with loopholes for firing at enemies. They were topped by portable cupolas for the drivers and their accompanying crossbowmen or pistoliers, and drawn by teams of armored destriers.
“Not terribly fast, given all the weight I calculate,” Paille judged, “but they’ll move. And motion will be of paramount importance, eh?”
“Rolling drum towers,” Roric described them, holding up his younger son for a better look.
“Very nice,” Gonji agreed warily, “but the practicality of their fashioning remains to be seen, neh?” Some of the optimism fled the band.
Through it all Simon sat apart from them, listening to their planning but contributing nothing. Wilfred began to wonder at this mystery man’s role, a bit miffed at his aloofness. The young smith decided he rather disliked the man and distrusted his seeming lack of dedication. After all, what vested interest had Simon in the fate of Vedun? Who was he? What did he stand to gain? And why had his identity and purpose been withheld by some of those Wilf most trusted and loved: his father, Michael and Lydia, and even Gonji?
That was when they were treated to the surprise.
One of the bushi, a provisioner, emerged from the tunnel that led to the chapel. Breathless, about to say something—But Strom Gundersen’s voice called out from the flickering lamplight of the tunnel:
“Hey, do ya mind?”
All heads in the cavern turned. Strom and Lorenz, who had ascended earlier with their alert list, returned now.
And each held by one arm...Lottie Kovacs.
Strom grinned slyly, his squirrely brown eyes searching out his father.
“Lottie!” came shouts and whispers in several voices.
Wilf gaped. “Lottie’s back,” he breathed, rushing forward to the slender blonde woman, mystified.
Anna Vargo was the first to observe social propriety, moving to the girl in her arthritic pain to hug her tearfully and offer her condolences. Others followed, leaving Wilf on the fringe, beside himself with curiosity and excitement.
“Lottie,” Wilf broke through at last, “Lottie, how did you—?”
“I smuggled her in,” Strom declared proudly, “true, Lottie?”
A small smile creased the girl’s narrow, doleful face. “Igen, Strom was very brave.”
“But what about—?”
“Hold it,” came Gonji’s paralyzing shout in High German. The samurai strode forward, scowling. “Will someone tell me what’s going on here?”
Wilf realized that they had been speaking mostly in Hungarian, keeping Gonji in the dark. He grinned and waved off the sensei’s suspicion. “It’s Lottie Kovacs, Gonji—Genya’s good friend. Her father was the lorimer murdered on the day of the occupation,” he appended with a respectful head bow. But his enthusiasm returned instantly. “But how did you get away from the castle? What did Strom have to do with it? What about Genya? How is she?”
“Slowly, Wilfred,” his father cautioned. “Give the girl room to breathe.” Garth ambled toward Strom, eyeing his youngest son’s puffed posturing curiously.
Lottie flicked her gaze over their looks of anticipation, blanching noticeably when she saw Gonji stroking his beard, his dark eyes riveting her. “I—uh...it was the night the king left for Vedun, for the banquet. I just...couldn’t stand the place any longer. I arranged to be smuggled out in a dray leaving the bakehouse for Vedun, under some empty grain sacks. I was fortunate. There was no search. But I knew I couldn’t press my luck. A search might be made at the main gate to the city. So I...I slipped out in the hills. Saw Strom. I knew I could trust him, but I feared to try to enter the city. I thought they might be searching for me. Strom hid me in the hills. He insisted on helping me steal into the city when I had the courage to try. We did so tonight. When the late herdsmen drove in their flocks, we mixed with them. That was very brave of you, Strom.” She smiled distantly at him. The shepherd was red-faced and beaming.
“What about Richard?” Wilf found himself asking. “Why didn’t he try to escape with you? ‘Bun-brains’ had no stomach for it? And what about Genya?” he added in a rush, not allowing her to answer.
Lottie nodded mechanically, staring at a fixed point on the far wall. “Yes, Richard and Genya were to escape with me. But they were...detained. I...I couldn’t wait. Couldn’t bear another night in that place. So I left...without them.”
Wilf
