The sun would soon set. James wanted to find shelter, but Moses Aaron refused to pick up the pace. Irritated, James jumped down, grabbed hold of the Moses Aaron's head and practically drug the mule and the cart off the road. Moses Aaron snorted in protest. The small clump of junipers was not very good covering. "I do not like it here," he said. "But it will have to do. Antone, Brother Matthew, gather some firewood." He told Lydia, “Help me fetch the water.”

Lydia scrambled down and got the bucket from the back of the cart. As they walked to the nearby stream, Lydia was very aware of the tension in James’ body. At the stream he said, "I have to admit, Sister Dorcas was right about a few things. We are on a fool journey, I have not used good judgement and what we are doing is against the law. The worst of it is, that if we get caught the punishment for you would destroy your life. I am ashamed of myself and so very sorry."

Fear rushed through Lydia's mind and body. She said, "There are indeed risks for me, but then I am female and always vulnerable in this world. If you had not found me that night on the road, I would have been forced to share a bed and a life with a brute of a man. I am grateful to God and Dame Paston for saving me from that life. Please tell me you are not abandoning this pilgrimage."

Grimly, he said, "I should, but Sister Dorcas was also wrong. My sister was given an opportunity to follow her calling. I have seen evidence of her work on this journey. She may not still be living, but at least I know she got to live out her calling, even if it were only for a little while. God,help me, but I want the same for you. It is wrong that talent should be poured into a female form and remain unutilized. For now, we will continue onward."

Releived Lydia said, "Thank you, James."

"I am not worthy of your thanks." Though Lydia wanted to argue the point,she did not. He took the bucket from her and swung away from her. Everything about him forbade further conversation. The topic had been dropped and it would not be revisited. With an angry thrust, he dunked the bucket into the stream. When he pulled it up, his eyes scanned the area. His jaw was rigid. He seemed to be considering something but he did not speak of it. After several silent moments he said, “We best get back.”

When they returned to the campsite, a small fire was burning. Brother Matthew had stale buns stabbed through with a stick toasting over the flames. When the buns were ready he passed them around. He sat down beside Lydia and said, “I am thinking it will not be long until the newest Paston heir is born. If, he is a boy.”

Antone who had been about to take a bite out of his bun stopped. His face flushed with anger. Lydia wondered if his anger was due to the fact that as a bastard he had no legal claim to the Paston legacy.

James glanced at his nephew. “I think it is still a bit early.”

In a slow, agonized voice, Antone asked, “Lord Geoffrey got married?”

“Aye,” said Brother Matthew.

“Who did he marry?”

“Lady Marianne La Croix.”

Antone exclaimed, “I thought she was married to Lord Bolton!”

“Oh, my I had forgotten you proposed to her too. Like you had a chance.” Brother Matthew shook his head. “Last year Lord Bolton drowned near the mouth of the River Test.”

Images filled Lydia’s mind. Lord Bolton had been found dead the day her marriage bans to Jacob Higden had been read. That seemed a century ago.

“Lord Bolton is dead.” Antone asked, “Why did no one mention this to me?”

Brother Matthew said, “I did not think you would be interested. Besides, it was an unsavory business, and I try to avoid gossip.”

“What do you mean Pr—“ Antone almost said ‘priest’ but stopped himself.

Dropping his voice to a whisper, as if there was anyone else to hear them, Brother Matthew said, “The marriage was a scandal. Lord Bolton was scarcely cold in his grave when Lord Geoffrey asked his widow to marry him.”

In a peculiar voice Antone said, “If she is still as beautiful as she was when I last saw her, a man would be a fool not to wed her if he had the chance.”

Lydia did not like the route this conversation was taking.

Brother Matthew wrinkled his nose. “Other men might agree but not I. There is something unwholesome about her.”

With venom Antone said, “How dare you speak of her that way! You know nothing of females.”

Unperturbed Brother Matthew said, “Perhaps you are correct, but I do know a thing or two about souls and I can tell a good one from a bad one.”

Before Antone could form a retort, James cut in. “Enough bickering. Eat your suppers.”

After they finished eating, James banked the fire and sent them to bed. He was taking first watch.

Though worn out, sleep would not come to Lydia. Antone’s words haunted her. If he had been able to marry the current Lady Paston he would have. Lady Paston was very beautiful. She always had been. Lydia remembered her dressed in mourning in Father Peter’s church. Then, she recalled how beautiful she had been even in pregnancy. None of the Ladies at Romsey Abbey could compare with her. What was it like to be that beautiful? No one had ever called Lydia beautiful. Her highest compliment had been that she was “a very pretty boy.” Would it be said that she was a very pretty girl? Would Antone think she was a very pretty girl? Would that be enough for him? Or did he pursue beauty? Round and round her thoughts went as she watched the stars above her move. Something akin to sleep pulled at her, but failed to completely submerge her. A dull thud brought her fully awake. She raised herself up on one elbow.

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The dark form of a man stood over James. James was not moving. With silent hands the man began to search James. He was looking for money no doubt. From his bedroll Brother Matthew sprang. He hit the man hard with his body. The man staggered backwards and pulled a knife. Terrified Lydia reached for her dagger. Before she could untangle herself from her bedroll, Antone made a lunge at the man. He knocked him down. There was a jumble of bodies twisting on the ground. Where was the knife? There was a flash of metal in the darkness and then someone groaned. Was it Antone? Brother Matthew grabbed hold of the man and pulled him off of Antone.

Lydia rushed toward them. Antone remained in a crumpled heap groaning. Lydia drew her dagger and plunged it into the man’s side the way Madame Coeur had shown her. The man let out an angry shriek.

Lydia ripped the dagger out of his flesh and shouted, "Get!" The man saw the dagger that dripped his blood and ran. Brother Matthew started after him, but Lydia shouted, "Let him go! We can not have you getting hurt too." To Antone she asked, "Are you stabbed?"

"No. Kneed me in the balls, the bastard."

Visibly, shaken, Lydia wiped off the blade of her dagger. She had never stabbed anyone before and she felt quite sick. She shoved it back in its sheath. Would the man die from the wound she had given him? He might. If he did… A groan from James recalled her to the matters at hand. He was still prone on the ground and breathing unevenly. She knelt beside him. She could smell his blood. From her bag, she pulled a candle from her candle box. With a deft strike of her flint, she lit a candle. A wavering light, tinged with the aroma of honey pooled in the darkness. Blood, James blood stained his clothes.

Brother Matthew pointed at the candle and asked, "Is that a good idea?"

"I think James has been stabbed." James was not moving. He did not have a knife wound but he had an ugly gash bleeding on his head. Lydia checked, James' eyes. With careful fingers she opened one eye and then the other. His pupils shrank in the light. That was a good sign. She examined his head. It was covered in blood. With the sleeve of her pilgrim’s robe, she sopped up his blood. Near his temple was a nasty open wound. It needed stitches. A doctor, a midwife, a barber could stitch him up. If only she had paid more attention to how Aunt Rachel stitched, she could do it, but she had not paid attention. “Brother Matthew fetch me some rags.” When he returned with the rags, she told him to gently put pressure on James wound. She then went to Antone.

With obvious concern he asked, “Is Uncle going to be all right?”

“He needs stitches and medicine. I would feel better if he would come to.”

“As would I. He must be all right. Grandmoder could not bear it if he is not.” Lydia suspected that Antone would find it hard to bear as well.

The light of her candle revealed some bloody scratches on Antone and a place where the knife had grazed his left forearm. The fact that he was unable to uncurl himself concerned Lydia. “You may have an internal injury.” For some reason, Antone smirked at her. He was so confusing. He assured her his pain would pass, so she went back to James.

Brother Matthew said, “I will go fetch Moses Aaron." He blew out her candle.

As Lydia cradled James bleeding head she prayed. He had to be all right. He just had to be. Suddenly, James jerked awake. His hand went to his head. "What happened?"

Antone exclaimed, "Thank God you are awake Uncle! You were attacked by a man."

James asked, "Where is he? Was it Cyril?"

"He ran away after Luke stabbed him,” Antone replied. “No, it was not Cyril. He was taller and tougher than Cyril and he did not reek of pig."

"Blast it all," groaned James. "Did he take anything?"

"No, Brother Matthew was on him too fast for that."

Carefully, Lydia and Brother Matthew got James into the cart and then helped Antone. While Brother Matthew drove Moses Aaron, Lydia continued to hold the rag against James head. If only the bleeding would stop. Still worried, Antone sat beside his uncle, clutching his arm. Every bump in the road caused James to wince.

After what seemed like a long while, the light of day began to color the sky. In the distance a small group of buildings appeared. Moses Aaron headed straight for them. The mule did not halt until he was ready. He chose an oblong house with a big barn and stopped.

Before Lydia could get down, a tall man opened the front door and came out to the cart. He held an oil lantern in his hand. His beard was long. Lydia could not tell if he was young or old. On his head was a small cap. His faded tunic had a badge sewed on it. He asked, “How may I help you?” His dark, dark eyes appraised her. They were so black, black like the tiles of the labyrinth floor at Amiens. So black, she could see her reflection in them.