Aylmer looked at him once, swiftly, speculatively, and then turned steadily towards Claire.
"And you?" he asked quietly.
She did not flinch; she did not even show, this time, any sign of repulsion. The note in her voice now was exasperation, the nervous defiance of one confronting an intolerable situation from which there was no escape.
"I? I should think as my father thinks," she said coolly. She turned as she spoke and looked impatiently at the line of waiting horsemen.
Aylmer nodded.
"Thank you," he said briskly. He made a sign towards Perinaud, who jogged forward leading the spare horse whose bridle he had been holding. Aylmer vaulted into the saddle, and reined in beside his friend Rattier, who, using the pommel for a desk, was writing a few lines of instruction to his lieutenant. A guttural order rumbled from the native officer's lips.
The line of horsemen wheeled and deployed into lines of four. With a jingle of accoutrements, they jogged off into the dust of the allies towards the eastern gate.