_Dear God, is he chasing me on horseback?_

But she could dart into a quintana, the space between two houses. It
would be too narrow for a man on horseback to follow her. She saw an
opening on her left and made for it, begging God to help her run faster.

She felt something whip around her body, tearing her skin. She was
jerked off her feet. She fell on her back on the wet cobblestones. She
lay helpless, stunned and gasping for air. A rope was cutting into her
chest just below her breasts, pinning her arms above the elbows to her
sides. The rope burned her. Her back felt scraped and bruised. She saw a
horse's legs beside her. John was grinning down at her, holding the
other end of the rope. The rain pouring down in her face stung her eyes.

Now that she knew she was caught and helpless, her terror was transmuted
into rage. What right had he to treat her this way?

"May God strike you dead!" she spat. He might not know the words, but
she was sure he could hear the hatred in her voice.

He tugged on the rope to make her climb to her feet. She felt she would
rather lie there and make him drag her, if he wanted her so badly, but
she realized that would only hurt her worse.

She took a grip on the rope to haul herself up. The cold rain beat down,
plastering her hair to her head. She wanted to wipe her face, but her
arms were pinioned. Her back felt as if it were on fire.

She looked at Tilia's house and saw that a man's body was swinging,
sodden and limp, above the door.

Her stomach turning at the sight, she recognized Cassio's features in
the swollen, blackened face. They had hanged him from Tilia's
crenellated balcony. And she had always thought he was such a big, tough
man. She felt a stab of pity for him, even though he had never been
especially nice to her.

Her heart grew heavier and colder in her chest as the horror sank in.
These men had destroyed Tilia's house, killed the men and raped the
women with the gleeful cruelty of small boys stoning a bird's nest.

Another jerk on the rope started her walking back up the street. She
kept her eyes down to avoid the sight of Cassio's body.

As they passed the yellow cart, a voice called out to the Tartar, and he
answered briefly in what seemed to be his own language. Again the voice,
and there was command in the tone. John reined his horse to a stop.

Apprehension filled her. What new indignity would she have to suffer?

Very slowly, the brown-robed Christia