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of almostangelic sadness. Her heart caught and she found herself grieving for this man, cut down too soon—
    Then she realized that Josef still breathed.
    The sudden revelation struck her like a physical blow. She hastily placed Josef’s porridge on a stool and ran to the side of his bed, more afraid now that his life might slip away as she watched.
    Placing a hand on his neck, she bent her ear to his lips. His pulse throbbed strong and steady under her fingers, and while his skin was damp with sweat, he was warm, not chilled or clammy. She listened to his breathing; it was stronger and steadier than she had a right to expect—strong enough that the heat of his breath warmed her ear and brought a flush to the side of her face. It was a flush that deepened to embarrassment when he groaned and turned his head so that his lips brushed the side of her cheek.
    She pulled away quickly and looked at the man, briefly convinced that he had feigned unconsciousness to take advantage of her. It was a vile trick worthy of Lukasz.
    But one look at Josef showed that he feigned nothing, and Maria felt shamed for thinking ill of him. Even in slumber, this man was of nobler bearing than Lukasz could ever aspire to.
    If only the same could be said of his smell.
    Maria wrinkled her nose. As the initial panic gave way to relief, she realized that Josef not only lived, but had fouled himself. She looked at the unconscious knight and bit her lip, slowly realizing what her duty to this wounded man would entail.
    “It is my duty,” she whispered to herself. Then she retreated to fetch a bucket of water and fresh linens.
    When she returned, she faced Josef with some trepidation, afraid that he might awake while she cleaned him. The trepidation vanished when she pulled aside the soiled sheets covering him.
    Whoever had brought Josef here must have shared Maria’s thought that he would not make it to nightfall. They hadn’tbothered to do more than remove his armor. He still had on the torn, gore-stained padding he had worn under his mail, and his legs were still wrapped in hose rank with blood, mud, and waste.
    She bit her lip again, holding her tongue for fear she might blaspheme in her anger. The Germans and Poles might not be friends, but there was no excuse for this. Even if Josef wouldn’t make it through the night, it was petty bordering on cruel to allow him to suffer this kind of indignity.
    She cast aside her own embarrassment, rolled up the sleeves of her chemise, and worked on stripping the filth from the young man. It helped to think of her father, and of caring for him these past few months. She focused on the mechanics of tending to someone bedridden and too weak and insensible to care for himself.
    Thinking of this young man as a frail invalid kept her thoughts on a proper course while she did what needed to be done. At least until he began groaning words in slurred German.
    The first time he spoke in his delirium, the washrag in her hand was uncomfortably far up his inner thigh. She snatched the rag away, suddenly realizing that this was no frail old man she tended to. Fortunately, Josef did not regain consciousness.
    Maria took a few deep breaths as Josef continued mumbling. She should go and find someone else to attend to this man; she should ask to be relieved of this duty. Rycerz Telek obviously had counted this man as one soon to die, but had misjudged Josef’s strength. Would they have given her this duty otherwise?
    But what do I do, leave this poor man naked and half-washed because of my own modesty? What fault of it is his?
    She sighed and took a new washrag to hand, doing her best to ignore the sounds Josef made. The only complete sentence he spoke came when she cleaned and replaced the dressing on the massive wound in his abdomen. As she brushed the still-raw edges of the wound, he sucked in a breath and said, “It is here!”
    Maria heard the panic in the man’s voice and instinctively turned to look for what had