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  Basilio opened his eyes and whispered something toward Daria.

  “Come, come to us!” Gianni shouted to his men. “You must move over here.” They were only ten feet away, but it might have been a Roman mile. Tessa was weeping, hysterical in her fear. She yanked away from Daria as if she meant to go and pull the men to safety.

  Rune staggered to his knees after a fifth arrow pierced his chest. His lips parted and his eyes closed in breathless agony, and then he looked over to Basilio, defeat etched in every line of his face.

  Basilio returned his look and whispered the same words, eyes wide, already fading.

  Rune tried to grab his friend, help him, but took another arrow to the shoulder, almost sending him backward, over the edge himself. Rune looked to Daria, to Gianni, to Piero. Daria sank to her knees, weeping with Tessa, wanting to look away from her friends, but finding it impossible. Her fingers moved to her shoulder, expecting a hot, seeping wound there. But there was nothing. What was Rune saying? He was desperately trying to say something!

  “Post tenebras, lux. Believe . . . you helped me . . .”

  Basilio fell to his side.

  Gianni knelt down then, hand to his shoulder, feeling Rune’s piercings as his own. “Please, my friends. I have no shield. It is but a few feet. Please. Come to us. We will help you. But we cannot come to you.”

  More arrows rained down. They were getting closer. Soon, the Gifted would have no choice but to stand and take on their aggressors. And surely it was not merely the six archers who attacked them.

  A shout went up from the end of the bridge. A cry of rage came from the man in front, a hulking black man with a shield over his head and a long, curving sword in the same hand that held his horse’s reins. “Ha-Hasani?” Daria asked, rising in wonder. Hope surged within her. Could it be?

  Eight other knights charged behind him, similarly armed. Armand’s knights, given the distraction, immediately moved out in pairs, one shielding, one letting fly an arrow. Arrows passed back and forth in the air.

  Two struck Basilio and Rune, a final wave of impact, sending each backward. They hovered on the edge—Basilio on his side and rolling away, Rune slipping over the edge, catching himself, hauling himself up but for a moment—each seeming to wordlessly say good-bye.

  Daria screamed. The sound seemed to hang in the air.

  And then they were both gone at once.

  Daria wrenched forward, out of Gianni’s arms, crawling toward the bridge’s edge as fighting went on all about her. Horses clattered to hurried stops. Men shouted. Swords clanged. More arrows cascaded about them. Dimly she knew that their attackers now began to recede back into the shadows whence they came.

  But all Daria could see was the backs of her two knights, her dear friends, her brothers, as they floated to the surface of the Gardon, facedown, side by side down a pale blue river lined with white cliffs.

  She moved as if to jump after them, weeping hysterically as the phantom pain of the arrow piercings receded, telling her the men were dead.

  A man hauled her backward, up into his arms. But it was not Gianni, who she could see had moved off down the bridge to defend Tessa and Piero from a knight with a fearsome sword. It was Hasani, holding her close, willing his strength into her, protecting her, shielding her as he always had.

  Together they watched the bodies float out of sight, their tears dropping to the waters far below.

  Gaspare arrived beside them, and she knew he was searching for the Lord’s call as well.

  “Do you think we can save them? Can we bring them back? Gaspare? Gaspare!”

  The wide, strong fisherman winced at the impact of her keening cry and slowly shook his head, sorrow etched into every line of his face.

  He had to be wrong! Daria searched her heart, yearning for the same glimmer that told her their God would save Piero. Could they find the men, haul their bodies from the river, heal them? Would God grant them such favor?

  But there was no whisper in her heart, no shimmering hope. Basilio and Rune were gone. Lost to them. Rune’s last words echoed through her head.

  Post tenebras, lux. After the darkness . . . light?

  THE following eve, in the safety of Lord Devenue’s mansion, she sat back in a chair, watching the fire. Basilio’s and Rune’s bodies had been laid out in the next room, so still. She knew she would need to force herself to stand beside them, to trace their faces and remember smiles and grimaces. They were good men, brothers in arms. How could God allow this blow at this time? The Gifted needed them! Needed them! They had been through so much . . . Even Piero had not the wisdom to comfort her. He seemed to be at a loss himself, grieving the men.

  Tessa was on the edge of the room, pacing, still angry with herself for not sensing the enemy’s presence before they attacked. Over and over she worked the story of the prior day, trying to figure out what had happened, why she had so little warning. There were no words to help her; Daria had not the strength to try.

  Hasani hovered near, and she reached out to take his hand, patting it as she studied the flames before her, so thankful for his quiet strength, her oldest friend, beside her once again. So thankful that he had been restored to them as suddenly as Basilio and Rune were wrenched away. When Gianni entered, Hasani sank back into the shadows, giving her husband his rightful place, but still near.

  “Daria,” he said, laying a tender hand on her shoulder. “Cardinal Boeri would like to meet you. Are you strong enough for the task?”

  She glanced from Gianni to Hasani. “It was he who rescued Hasani from the Turkish slavers?”

  “The doge’s men did, as I understand it. Fortunately for us, the slavers elected to try to leave the lagoon without paying the required taxes, probably because they lacked the proper documentation on Hasani. Cardinal Boeri had befriended the doge and persuaded him to release Hasani into his care, confident that he could find us and restore him to us.”

  Daria looked to Hasani, and he nodded in confirmation.

  “Daria, he has been to Avignon and came to us only because Hasani insisted. He knows of Amidei, and I believe he is already well aware that you are the healer of Siena, the healer of the lepers outside Venezia. I would not be surprised if he knew that we were behind the excavations of the churches, or that there is a glass map. He’s always enjoyed the occasional mystery to unravel. It is in our best interests to confide in him, tell him of our story. He may be our best asset when we reach the papal courts of Avignon.”

  She glanced again to Hasani. The man was slower to respond this time, but after several long seconds of thought, he, too, nodded. “And Piero?” she asked. “What does our priest have to say on the matter?”

  Father Piero arrived, as if he knew they might be talking of him.

  “He concurs,” Gianni said.

  “You agree? That Cardinal Boeri may be an asset to us? That we should share our secrets with him?”

  “I doubt we have many that he does not already know, Daria. And yes, as Count Armand suggested, we shall need allies familiar with the papal court, all we can find, in order to avoid the flames of heretics.”

  Daria stared into the flames of the hearth a bit longer and then turned to Tessa. “Come here, my sweet,” she beckoned.

  The girl walked to her, head hanging low, shoulders curved in defeat. “Tess, it was not your fault. We all feel the loss of Basilio and Rune. They were dear to us all. But we are in a battle and must keep our eyes on where God is leading us. We must move forward and honor their memory by keeping to the task at hand. It is what they would have wanted, right?”

  Tessa shrugged her shoulders. Daria pulled her into her arms and gave her a long embrace. Daria shared a look over the child’s shoulder at Piero. She moved Tessa to stand beside her. “Please, child, we need to know more about your gift. The archers moved very rapidly last night; they were upon us faster than any of us ever expected. You seemed hesitant to enter the bridge. Were you not?”

  Tessa nodded her head. “I should h
ave said something!” she said, raising her face. Twin tracks of tears ran down her face. “But it had all been so grand . . . your wedding, the worship, the baptisms, the healings! It felt so wrong to speak up, to shout out a warning when I felt unsure about it. It was only once we were on the bridge, only a few horse lengths along, that I knew for certain they were coming.” Her voice cracked in a sob. “But then it was too late.”

  “Shh, shh,” Daria said, trying not to cry again herself. “It is all right. You are but a girl. A girl with an unfair task upon such slender, small shoulders. It is all right, Tess. Basilio and Rune would have understood.”

  They held each other for a few more minutes. When Tessa quieted, Daria dried her tears with a handkerchief. “Please, Tess. Tell us what happens when you sense good or evil in another.”

  She sat in silence for a bit, watching the fire, considering. “It is simple when a man is good, such as Father Piero, or Hasani, or Gianni. It is also simple when a man is bad, such as Lord Amidei or . . . Baron del Buco.” She hesitated before naming Vincenzo, aware that mentioning his loss still brought Daria pain.

  “What happens when Amidei or Vincenzo draws near?” Father Piero asked. Gaspare and Vito entered behind him, joining their circle.

  “I become weak, sick to my stomach. It is cold; a deep chill enters my very bones.”

  Daria nodded. Was it her imagination, or did she feel a bit of the same when either man drew near? She looked to Piero and Gianni, and both men were nodding as well. Vito, Hasani, and Gaspare concurred.

  “And when there is a good man?”

  “Utter peace. Security. A warmth within me that allows me to breathe freely.”

  “Yesterday,” Piero cut in, “when Basilio and Rune were struck, did any of you feel a touch of their piercing?”

  Slowly, reluctantly, each in the circle nodded.

  “Did the same happen when I was pierced off the isle as we made our escape?”

  Daria thought back to that night, how even in the dark of the storm, they could see the arrows hurtling through the air, piercing their small priest as he rose to protect Gianni, as Basilio had protected her on the bridge. The memory pained her, and then she remembered the feel of it. As if the arrows had pierced her. She remembered all of them falling back, hands clutching chests, as if they had each felt the arrow strike their priest.

  “We all felt it. Every one, Father,” Vito said.

  “And again yesterday,” Gianni said grimly. “It is not good, this progression. It weakens us. We feel not only our own wounds, but those of our brothers and sisters within the Gifted. It is a disadvantage in the fight.”

  “God would not allow us to suffer it if it was not to our gain,” Piero said. “We are the Body, personified. Together, we are working for God’s own good. It makes sense that we might bear one another’s burdens as well as triumphs. But we must be cautious because of it. Tessa was feeling the glory of the day and it made her a bit less sensitive to darkness lurking near. I might be so caught up in Daria’s healing or Gaspare’s miraculous acts that I might forget the way of wisdom.”

  “And yet, together, we are accomplishing ever greater things,” Daria said. “With Gaspare and you others praying with me, we have seen angels about us! Seen Lord Devenue healed! A blind boy granted sight! Surely the Lord is still with us, even in this bitter hour.”

  “Post tenebras, lux. After the darkness, light.” Piero said.

  “What did you say?” Daria asked sharply.

  “After the darkness, light.”

  “Did you say that to Basilio? Or Rune? Sometime before yesterday?”

  Piero considered it, pursing his lips. “Nay. I do not remember doing so.”

  “He said those very same words to me, just before he . . . died,” Daria said. “Rune repeated them.”

  The group was silent.

  “He knew . . . knew we would suffer over their loss, but that their time was over,” Daria said. “He knew that we would need to remember the light ahead, the promise, even in the midst of the darkness. Just as I had to tell myself during my time as Amidei’s prisoner.”

  “It is what must characterize us, from here on out,” Piero said firmly. “In spite of how things may appear, in spite of persecution or loss or failure, we must always believe that our God can see us through. That ultimately he will rule, supreme. We are but his servants, to go where he sends us.”

  “To Avignon now?” Gianni asked.

  “Not yet. We are wounded, mourning. We shall return to Les Baux, see to our farewell to our comrades and regain our strength before we enter the city.”

  “And what of meeting with Cardinal Boeri?”

  “If not for Cardinal Boeri and his men,” Piero said, “we might all be laid out in the next room. Amidei left, knowing it would be a ruse we were likely to want to believe. And he seized the opportunity to try to take us down, or at least thin us out. His plan came perilously close to succeeding.” He looked about at them all. “We shall meet this cardinal. But if any of you—most of all you, Tess—sense any hesitation over bringing anyone into our inner circle, you must speak. Understood?”

  The girl nodded soberly, and they all agreed.

  “What of our prophet? When might we come across him?” Vito asked.

  “Or her,” Daria put in.

  “We may already know him . . . or her,” Piero said. “Hasani was with us for some time before we knew of his gift. Or we may have yet to run across him. The Lord will bring our prophet to us when it is the right time.”

  “Let us hope that he carries a sword as well as the Word,” Vito said. “We are short on knights, without our brothers.”

  “Remember, always remember,” Piero said, “that our ultimate weapon is the Word. God will take care of us if we always fall back to using it to parry against attacks. Now, Gianni, let us meet your old friend, Cardinal Boeri. It is high time we all offer him our thanks for delivering our friend Hasani, and us, upon the Pont du Gard.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  BASILIO Montinelli and Rune of Germany were dressed in Les Baux finery and, according to Les Baux tradition, set upon huge funerary pyres on the cliffs beside the castle, overlooking Les Fontaine Valley. Daria had borrowed a fine white gown from Anette, and together they walked the parapets and guard walks of the castle. Daria lifted her face to the cold winter winds, feeling the welcoming sting of it in her grief.

  Anette took her arm and seemed to hold her up. “How do you fare, my friend?”

  Daria shook her head, pushing back the quick tears that sprang to her eyes. She tried to smile at Anette. “What I wouldn’t give to relive this week again! I’d urge my new husband to gather the men and take us home to Italia.”

  Anette gave her a rueful smile and pulled her forward along the walkway. “How many times did your men come to your aid?”

  “Many. Many, many,” Daria said, willing herself to take one step and then another. “Rune barely made it out of my mansion in Siena, with three arrows in his chest. We were under attack. Just like . . .” Her breath left her chest as if she herself had been impaled.

  “Two days ago,” Anette whispered. “How did he recover then? Did you heal him?”

  Daria shook her head. “They were poisoned arrows. Even in touching one point as I pulled it from him, I was sliced and poisoned. Rune, Tessa, and I nearly died in Siena before the others prayed over us and we were healed. Have you ever been to Siena?”

  Anette shook her head.

  “Tessa was a child of the campo before she came to us. It was she who led us to safety out of the city. And Basilio . . . he has been wounded more than once to protect or free us.”

  Anette shook her head. “You have already suffered much. God must have great plans for you, my friend.”

  “But why not spare my men now? Why bring them so far to allow them to die here? On the edge of . . .” She paused. The edge of what? Completing their mission? Discovering some answers? None of the words sounded right in her mind. Did that me
an it would never be done? The Christian call never came to an end. There were always more to reach, people who had not heard the Word. But would they never be able to rest? Resume some semblance of a normal life again? And if they did, where would that be? She longed to take Gianni home to Siena, but there was no home left to her there; both mansions had been burned to the ground by Vincenzo and his men.

  “No one understands all the ways of our Lord, I least of all. At times, only the months fading away gives us the perspective we seek. If Dimitri had been healed long ago and not now, would I have loved him as much? Would I have glimpsed God in my midst, known his presence as real? Would we have been as likely to be your aides among the nobility?” She shrugged and gave Daria a slight smile. “I would like to think so . . . but if I am honest, I would say no to all those questions. So while there are painful things we must endure, I believe with all my heart, Daria, that God can use them for his good purposes if we allow him.”

  “After the darkness, light,” Daria mused.

  “Oui.” She gave Daria a curious look. “You have seen the inscription, then, above our chapel door?”

  “Post tenebras, lux?”

  “Oui.”

  Daria gave her a small smile. “Nay. I have not. But apparently my men had.”

  They arrived on the cliff face, and the winter wind took their very breath. Anette moved to Lord Devenue’s side, also dressed in royal white finery, and Daria to Gianni. She clung to his elbow, feeling the muscle of his bicep as if it might lend her strength. His hand at the small of her back was a welcome, warm presence. Could it be that they had exchanged vows only three days prior? In many ways, Daria felt they had shared the bonds of marriage for months. But now it was real, a stance of love and hope . . . just as the bodies of her men took position as death and despair. She felt pulled apart inside by the extremes of joy and sorrow warring within her heart.

  The others had already assembled, even those they had left behind to heal—Ambrogio, Ugo, and the boys. Many of the Les Baux villagers attended behind a ring of nobles that Daria did not recognize. She shared a look with Piero and Count Armand. Already, the nobles of Les Baux worked on their behalf to tie other powers to the Gifted.