As soon as the voices faded, she fled.
When she returned to the chamber, the bathtub was gone and a flagon of wine, a round loaf of bread, a saucer of greenish olive oil and some cheese sat on the crude wooden table against one wall. De Valery was half-dressed in a long, loose shirt, apparently one he found in the wooden chest at the foot of the bed, the lid of which now stood open. The holy man paced back and forth in front of the casement.
‘Do not argue, de Valery. It is done.’
Soraya edged around the perimeter of the shadowy room, staying out of the holy man’s path, until she reached the bed. In one bound she sprang behind the still-drawn curtain.
‘It will be dangerous,’ the knight snapped. He slammed his wine cup onto the table, and Soraya winced.
‘It is already dangerous,’ the monk shouted. ‘We leave before lauds. Get some sleep.’
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