The sun was now risen. The pied and various world in which they found themselves had breakfasted or was breakfasting. Noise prevailed, self-wrought into some kind of harmony. Here were women, soldiers’ and others’ wives, and frank harlots, and here were children, seraphic, impish, and all between. Here harboured men of sorts, men who cared for horses, were smiths, menders of harness and armour, fitters of lance-heads to lances, fletchers of arrows. Here were barber-surgeons, cooks, and servitors of servitors. Sutlers and merchants of small wares showed both men and women, as did also the amusement-mongers. There abounded folk of nondescript and uncertain trades, or of no trades at all, mere followers and feeders, a true rabble. And there were gamesters and cunning thieves.
Elias of Montaudon and Jael the herd came into this throng in the company of the women who had washed by the brook of Saint Laurent. The air was yet hung with mist-wreaths; they entered with these about them, and none took especial notice.
The washerwomen did not stray from the brook. Down they flung their half-washed, wet, and dripping loads, and complained loudly to any who would listen of Jacques le Noir and his demon band. Some listened, some did not; the most had recitals of their own. Voices sprang like grass-blades, were confounded.... With the others Jael threw upon the ground her load, Elias set down the child he had carried. Then in the confusion they went away, leaving without staying word or hand the group that had brought them thus far. They followed the brook Saint Laurent and they passed many folk, buried in their own concerns. To an eye not observant beyond a certain point, the two would seem a loitering couple of the camp, vacant and idly straying, being set at the moment to no task. None greeted them as acquaintances—but there seemed here no eye to note that fact. Units and groups shifted like the bits of glass in a kaleidoscope. Continually the tube was shaken and there came up new arrangements. The two went on, and none saw in them wandering bodies from outer and hostile space, pursuing a course athwart the field of the kaleidoscope.... The mist was gone, the sun poured light; looking back, they saw Roche-de-Frêne, indeed, but always farther, farther from them.
They approached the edge of the camp-followers’ demesne. It frayed out among trees and gullies and heaps of refuse. Presently came a strip of bare earth, recently burned over, licked clean by the flame, and desert of human works or being. Beyond, flung widely, grey reefs across their way, were soldiers’ tents. Jael the herd’s lips moved. “Come down, for a minute, into this hollow where none will see.”
Descending a miniature slope, they stood in a narrow space between walls of parched earth. The camp behind them, the camp before them, sank abruptly from view, though the sound of each remained. Roche-de-Frêne sank from view; they were roofed by the blue sky. A lizard ran from stone to stone; a wind, circling the place, lifted into air dead leaves and particles of earth. The herd-girl, seating herself, opened the scrip that she carried. The jongleur watched her take from it something at which he started. It was a piece of saffron-coloured cloth, cut in the shape of a cross. The upright measured near two feet, it and the arms had a palm’s breadth. The next thing that she did was to find a needle and thread; then she took her frieze mantle, and after an instant of looking into the pure, deep heavens, began to fasten upon the mantle the saffron cross.
Garin held his breath. Holy Church had many penances for erring souls, and the most were acquiesced in with the least possible inner pain, and some were dreaded, and a few were direfully dreaded, shudderingly looked upon. The most were burdensome but matter-of-fact; some gave the weak flesh sharp pain, but did not necessarily humble one in the eyes of the world and the neighbours. A certain number had for label, Humiliation, and they were dreaded. A few were more sinister than these, frightening the imagination. One or two brought a dark terror, dark and cold. These did not partake of the nature of prostrations, or of prayers in multiplied repetition, or of flagellations, or pilgrimages, or amercement of goods. Flagellation was of temporary account; pilgrimages a way to see the world as well as to wipe out sin; loss in money and land a serious thing, God knew! but though bitter, without ignominy. None of these came under the same sky with excommunication, which was not penance, but doom and living death! But to wear a cross like this came under the same sky.
It carried no physical pain with it, nor imprisonment within material walls. Of itself, it did not dip into the purse, or shear away house and land. Of itself, it did not say, “Leave your home, penitent, and wander to many a shrine, know many calvaries!” Incidentally it might have come after—most often it did come after—these lesser things. It was rarely bound, like the mark of Cain, upon the young in offending. It came somewhat rarely upon any but the poor. So long as there was any wealth there might be compounding for something less than the millstone.... It was not likely to be imposed for any less time than a long, long while. Perhaps it was worn for years, perhaps they died wearing it. It weighed hardly anything materially, but it weighed life down. The people regarded it with superstitious horror. It said, “Lo, shadow and substance of sin that may hardly be pardoned! Lo, here the Obdurate, the Ancient and Resigned to the Prince of the Power of the Air—preserved that ye may see—set aside in the midst of you that ye may know! Not to be touched, not to be dealt with in pleasant, human ways—any more than a leper!”
Garin looked. His face had paled beneath the stain applied by the true Elias. “Ah!” he said, “what people of the future comes, my Lady Audiart, from such as you!”
The other stood up, her sewing finished. She drew the cloak over her shoulders, and her right arm and side showed the saffron cross. Her dark eyes met Garin’s. “Now you are my brother. We are twin, and Saint Peter himself would not have you utterly forsake me! Let us go.”