The Promise Read Online Free PDF Page B

his hand. Though she righted herself immediately, he did not release her. For her good, he told himself, but he could not deny the part of him that needed the comfort of her presence.
    They walked together arm in arm to the gravesite, where the soldiers lowered Martin and the others into the pit. The chaplain completed the simple rites. Silence reigned for several moments while, weeping, Alonsa crossed herself and clutched worn wooden rosary beads to her breast.
    The men gazed expectantly at Günter, who stepped forward and drew an eight-stringed cittern from its sling across his back. It held, temporarily, the place of honor where his Zweihänder great sword should be.
    Günter plucked the courses to find the key, then started strumming a slow, melancholy rhythm. He pitched his voice above the patter of the rain. The men knew the song—usually a merry one—well. It had been Martin’s favorite tavern tune, and they’d sung it many times together in happier days.
    Günter’s throat closed up and he faltered, no longer able to hold back the tide of emotions bombarding him. Several voices, most of them rough and unexceptional, picked up the tune. Finally, his own voice rose above the rest as they sang the chorus:
    “Today we drink the last wine
    And throw the dice for the last time …”
    The final note held long and sweet. Günter closed his eyes for a moment. Etched against his lids he saw Martin as he used to be, as he always would be … a beer mug in his hand, a broad smile on his lips.
    The mourners filed away, one by one. Only Alonsa and Günter remained. They stood for some time in the light sprinkle that continued, but spoke no words. Günter wouldn’t leave her, though he doubted she even knew he waited nearby.
    The rain seeped into his cloak and doublet, and misted the plumed cap on his head. She gazed at the grave, the black lace shawl around her head growing damper by the moment. Even in the gray darkness, Günter could see the tears mixing with the rain on Alonsa’s face. He knew he would have to convince her to leave the graveside soon or she would catch her death of cold. Still, he understood her reluctance to go.
    “Señora, you must come away,” he said at last as the dawn began to lighten the sky.
    She did not respond.
    “Alonsa.” He spoke her name firmly, and she turned, blinking as though she saw him for the first time.
    “Come,” he said again. “I will ask Inés to make you something hot.”
    He took her cool hand; she flinched, but he did not let go. She allowed him to lead her back to the camp.
    The rain drifted away as they walked.
    Inés had preceded them. Though the rain made the wood too wet to start a campfire, she had managed to get a small blaze started under a cook stove. Günter gently pushed Alonsa toward her tent, his concern for her growing. Inés handed her a wooden bowl filled with hot, thin soup, a worried frown creasing her forehead. Alonsa looked dully at the bowl.
    Günter took her other hand, placed it on the warm bowl, and led her inside the tent. The thick canvas walls blocked the worst of the cold, its sides billowing in the wind. He sat Alonsa down, helped her to remove her shawl, blotted her tear-stained face, then lifted the bowl to her lips.
    “Drink,” he murmured.
    She obeyed him, but he suspected she did not even taste the soup. She swallowed, looking up at him with dark eyes filled with pain.
    “I cannot believe he is gone,” she said, and burst into tears.
    Her racking sobs tore at him until he could bear no more. He set the bowl down and held out his arms to her. To his surprise, she came into them, holding on to him tightly. He soothed her, comforted her as best he could, and tried to subdue the aching emptiness he felt in his own heart at the loss of his dearest friend.
    “It is all my fault,” she whispered. “He is dead because of me.”
    “Nonsense,” he murmured. “Martin was a soldier. He understood the risks he took for his pay.” He