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〃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 meaty smell was appetizing to a man who hadn't been fed for a week。
〃I'm not losing anything；〃 he said in lieu of prayer。 〃I've had a useless life。 If it ends here； so what？〃 The prisoner at his left was young： no more than fifteen。 A drummer…boy； the sergeant guessed。 He was quietly crying。
〃Look over there；〃 Mamoulian said。 〃Desertion if ever I saw it。〃 He nodded toward the sprawled bodies； which were already being vacated by their various parasites。 Fleas and nits； aware that their host had ceased； crawled and leaped from head and hem； eager to find new residence before the cold caught them。
The boy looked and smiled。 The spectacle diverted him in the moment it took for the executioner to position himself and deliver the killing stroke。 The head sprang； heat escaped onto the sergeant's chest。
Idly； Mamoulian looked around at the executioner。 He was slightly blood…spattered； otherwise his profession was not written upon him。 It was a stupid face； with a shabby beard that needed trimming； and round； parboiled eyes。 Shall I be murdered by this？ the sergeant thought； well； I'm not ashamed。 He spread his arms to either side of his body； the universal gesture of submission； and bowed his head。 Somebody pulled at his shirt to expose his neck。
He waited。 A noise like a shot sounded in his head。 He opened his eyes； expecting to see the snow approaching as his head leaped from his neck； but no。 In the middle of the square one of the soldiers was falling to his knees； his chest blown open by a shot from one of the upper cloister windows。 Mamoulian glanced behind him。 Soldiers were swarming from every side of the quadrangle； shots sliced the snow。 The presiding officer； wounded； fell clumsily against the brazier； and his fur coat caught fire。 Trapped beneath the tree； two soldiers were mowed down； slumping together like lovers under the branches。
〃Away。〃 Carys whispered the imperative with his voice： 〃Quickly。 Away。〃 He belly…crawled across the frozen stone as the factions fought above his head； scarcely able to believe that he'd been spared。 Nobody gave him a second glance。 Unarmed and skeletal…thin； he was no danger to anyone。 Once out of the square； and into the backwaters of the monastery； he took a breath。 Smoke had started to drift along the icy corridors。 Inevitably； the place was being put to the torch by one side or the other： perhaps both。 They were all imbeciles： he loved none of them。 He began his way through the maze of the building； hoping to find his way out without encountering any stray fusiliers。
In a passageway far from the skirmishes he heard footsteps…sandaled； not booted…ing after him。 He turned to face his pursuer。 It was a monk； his scrawny features every inch the ascetic's。 He arrested the sergeant by the tattered collar of his shirt。
〃You're God…given；〃 he said。 He was breathless； but his grip was fierce。
〃Let me alone。 I want to get out。〃 〃The fighting's spreading through the build