At the top of the steps Maev Ring hugged Grymauch. His body had jerked when the muskets fired, but he was still standing. She felt the strength of his arms around her, and the warmth of his chest against her face. She wanted the moment to last for ever. The smell of woodsmoke and sweat was on his clothes. ‘You think I’d let them kill my woman?’ he had said. Deep down she had always known he would come for her. If only to die trying to save her. ‘We must go now, you foolish, wonderful man,’ she said. He did not answer. Nor did he move. She pulled back gently and looked up into his face. ‘We must go, Jaim,’ she said again.
There was blood upon his lips, and she felt the desperation in his embrace. He was clinging to her now. ‘Oh, no, Jaim,’ she cried. He sagged against her, and she could scarcely hold the weight. A huge man appeared alongside them. Huntsekker grabbed Jaim and lowered him to his knees. Blood gushed to Grymauch’s beard, and he held to Maev’s gaze. Maev took hold of his hand, squeezing his fingers. ‘Don’t go, Jaim,’ she pleaded. ‘I love you. Don’t leave me. Not now!’
‘Never . . . will,’ he said, his voice breaking. He fell against Huntsekker, who threw his arm around Jaim’s shoulder, holding him.
‘I’ll get her safe from here, big man,’ said Huntsekker. ‘You have my pledge on it. No harm will come to her while I live.’
‘Go . . . now,’ whispered Jaim, his body convulsing.
‘No,’ cried Maev. ‘I’ll not leave you!’
But Grymauch could not hear her. Huntsekker laid his body on the steps then took Maev by the arm. She clung to Jaim’s hand, staring at his still face. ‘His death will be for nothing if they take you now,’ said Huntsekker. ‘Let him go.’ Huntsekker gently laid his own hand over hers, loosening her fingers. Then he drew her up and led her into the cathedral, pausing only to push shut the great arched doors.
Maev Ring stood silently. Brilliant sunlight was spearing through the smoke outside, and Jaim Grymauch was bathed in gold.
Then the doors swung shut, the light disappearing from view.
Galliott walked slowly up the steps and knelt beside Grymauch’s body. Placing his hand on the dead man’s chest he said: ‘I knew you’d come.’ He looked out over the crowd. They were standing quietly now, not a ripple of movement to be seen. His own sadness was mirrored on every face, and yet there was something more.
They had witnessed something majestic, and it had touched all their hearts. No-one wanted to move. In all of them was a desire to hold to this moment, let it soak into their souls. Even the musketeers made no move to arrest Taybard Jaekel. He stood alongside them, tears in his eyes.
Sergeant Packard climbed the steps, and stood staring down at Grymauch. Packard had a lump on his brow, and the skin was split and bleeding. ‘You want us to go after the woman, sir?’ he asked.
‘No, sergeant. That is a Church matter. We are here only for crowd control.’
Packard swung to stare at the burning pyre. ‘That knight didn’t get out,’ he said. ‘Proper fried he was, and good riddance.’
‘I told him not to tackle Grymauch. Some men don’t listen.’
‘Grymauch damn near cracked my skull, but I’m glad I was here to see this,’ said Packard. ‘Something to tell the grandchildren, eh?’
‘Yes,’ said Galliott, wearily pushing himself to his feet.
A group of highlanders, flanked by soldiers, came walking up the stairs. ‘Can we take his body, captain?’ asked the first.
‘Of course,’ said Galliott. Six men moved around the corpse, lifting it gently. One of the highlanders pulled Jaim’s huge glave clear of its scabbard and offered it to Galliott. No highlander was allowed to own a sword, not even in death.
Galliott shook his head. ‘Bury it with him,’ he said, laying it on the body.
The crowd parted once more for Jaim Grymauch. Highlanders and Varlish pulled off their hats and caps as the bearers of the body passed by, and bowed their heads in silent tribute.