a corpse to bones, and another ten would see the bones buried and broken up as well. The swamps of the Levant were the last resting place of a thousand men of Lascanne and Denland both, who would never see home again, and now eight women had joined them.
The colonel was out of his hut, with Captain Mallarkey dancing his usual meek attendance one step behind, but as yet there was no sign of a priest. Eventually, Mallarkey was forced to enter a nearby tent and haul the man out. He was a sway-bellied creature, short and dishevelled, with an uncombed beard and a face blotched with red. His robes of black velvet were open halfway to his navel, stained and torn, and he looked at the colonel with obvious incomprehension. Belatedly, Emily realized that he was drunk.
‘Father Burnloft,’ the colonel said. ‘The service, if you please.’
The priest mumbled something, and turned to face the meagre gathering. ‘List,’ he muttered. ‘Got the list?’
Mallarkey handed him a piece of paper and he nodded myopically at it before focusing on the mourners.
‘Here we gather,’ he intoned, slurring the familiar words only slightly. ‘Here we gather to honour the names of those gone before. Gone before to their judgement. May God look upon them for their deeds here. They died defending their country. No death is sweeter in the eyes of the Lord. They died defending their land and their divinely appointed sovereign. No death better assures them of happiness and content in their new home. They shall not fear harm or tyranny; they shall not know pain or weariness. They shall live the life of the blessed until the last days, when all the world shall be restored unto the paradise once it was.’ This had come out almost as one rambling breath and now he paused. His podgy hands, clutching the list, shook slightly, and Emily could hear his breath wheeze. A single fat tear ran unnoticed down his hairy cheek.
Now we honour those who fell in righteous battle yesterday, and commit them unto the mercy of God that he may know them. Now we honour Geraldine Braedy and Julia Samphor; Elise Hally and Dina Garton . . .’ As Elise’s name struggled through the man’s lips, Emily hugged herself hard, just keeping it all in. Elise, poor Elise, why her? Of Grammaine’s daughters, only Mary had ever been anything other than an indifferent churchgoer, and on this morning Emily’s faith was evaporating like the mist off the swamps.
The priest’s voice had now slowed, and he blinked at the list in his hands. In an aside to the colonel, loud enough for everyone to hear, he said, ‘Must be some mistake. They’re all girls’ names.’
There was a tortured silence then, and Emily felt the grief surge up inside her, ravening through her until her shoulders shook, and each sob battled its way from her by main force. Dear God, dear God, please look after her! Racked with grief she swayed and nearly fell to her knees, as the idiot drunken priest stared at the names, and the colonel ground his teeth and told him to finish it.
‘Marta Sands,’ the priest intoned. ‘Freya Lincaster, Olive Swach, Lindsey Pailler. We ask you, O God, to take them to you and protect them, and reward them for their bravery. This we ask.’
Emily could not bring herself to join in the scattered chorus: ‘We ask, O God.’ She simply hunched over her despair as the priest shambled away, and the mourners drifted apart, each swathed in her own bleak thoughts.
‘Hey, you,’ she heard, but did not look up until a finger prodded her shoulder. The first thing she saw was the rank, the blue and gold wings of a lieutenant on his shoulders. Mopping angrily at her face she struggled to recover her composure and hash out a salute.
‘Sir,’ she choked, still dabbing at her cheeks.
‘Hell, Em, have I changed so much?’
‘Sir?’ She stared at him stupidly, not seeing beyond the decorations on his sleeves – until he smiled at her and then she knew him.
‘Tubal!’
‘In the flesh,’ he said, but that was less true than it had been. He had always been a little round at the waist, a little soft. Now there was nothing of that. He was as lean and honed as Mallen, his long dark face turned gaunt, brown locks shaved almost to his skull. He looked a soldier first and Tubal Salander second.