After cleaning it with dirt she let the man carry the statue outside. He was surprised to find it so light, both from his own strength and not knowing it was hollow.
Outside in the courtyard people were taking stones from the wall to make benches, filling the few remaining puddles as well as helping the priest drag a stone basin on its iron support all the way from the back of the burned down church.
With him was Grisval who whistled at the sight of the marvel Brenin held.
Villagers and men-at-arms likewise stopped and approached to see it, to touch it even. It was pristine, it was marble and so looked out of this realm for them.
"What is this?" They asked. "How is it possible?"
Brenin had already decided on his lie: "The church had hidden it under the workshop."
"It's a miracle!"
"It's the saintess! The saintess is with us!"
Joan only emerged as the villagers exclaimed, yapping like dogs. She could tell it was hardly joy but despair talking, the need to hold on to any hope they could find.
Still, her measly craft had brought back some heart into those humans. They piled up stones to put it behind the priest's basin. With the well broken people were rushing back to the stream and the village for water and planks.
And Brenin in turn excused himself.
"I'll go fetch some grapes to decorate."
This was nothing special: a few villagers, accompanied by the oathless knight, were already busy looking for flowers. But Grisval still hurried to accompany him.
The two left, a grey mantle and a blue cape, walking away toward the hill in search of a hole more than anything else.
As their distance grew one horsemen also trotted away.
The last footman was able to block his path.
"And where are you going?"
"On patrol, just in case."
"If you flee we'll be the ones paying, and then you'll be a bandit. Is that what you want?"
"Let go!"
The horseman made his horse rear up, yet could not shake up his peer.
"They'll have your head!"
"We're all doomed if we stay! There is no one around, just hop on and we'll be gone!"
"You idiot!"
His horse had attracted attention but other than that, few were paying attention to the two men. Joan herself could not care less about their dispute.
"You really think lord Mercier's son will stay here? He will get married and leave with the crown. You get it? We'll be out soon enough."
"And if he doesn't?"
"Where would he sleep? Why would he stay? There is nothing for him here. The knight is on our side and lord Mercier won't lose twenty men to a fool. What more do you need?!"
The horseman still hesitated.
He looked around at that helpless crowd, at the carriage left unguarded, at the priest to see him embarrassed, the lady at his feet.
She was rubbing his wet black robe.
The same way she had cleaned her dress, Joan was drying the man's attire. He had protested but could hardly do a thing about it.
That sight, of a noble bowed before the priest, had the horseman calm down.
"We'll regret it." He groaned.
"Get off that horse already, it's not even yours."
He dismounted.
At the same time she had finished her work. Under her human hands the tissue had dried, all remaining traces of soot gone. The priest would have been astonished by that if he dared looked down at her.
Joan rose and turned away without a word.
She went through the improvised benches, all the way to the basin to touch the water they had poured in. Just cold water from the stream.
Brother Aymon had followed behind her like a sheep.
"Bless it." She ordered.
"No."
He had only whispered under his breath, eyes to the ground.
But in her mind Joan was getting angry again. She had already failed and to suggest she could not take some holy water on her face was turning the knife.
The lady walked to that timid priest to raise his chin with one finger.
"Head high." Her cold tone ordered. "A whole domain depends on you."
Her finger touching his bonecheek was the sharp blade of a sword burning his skin. Was it fear or something else, the young man was trembling.
She approached him, her face close to his.
"That saintess of yours." She whispered in his ear. "What does she know about love? Where can I find her?"
It was the tone of a predator looking for a new prey. Licking its fangs in advance.
When his freckles threatened to skim her soft cheek the priest rushed away. He took refuge behind the basin where he remained, a hand on his ear, as if wounded.
She knew the villagers had seen them. Though none said a thing, just their glances told enough. Of course, those discouraged eyes expressed, only the sinful would bother to come in this forsaken land.
With this she had tarnished the reputation of sir Corentin.
And the noble was coming back, with the remaining guards and two small carts filled with all the food they had gathered. There was no bread but oats, eggs, beans, lettuces, a flurry of vegetables, cheese as well as bacon.
At his approach one guard ran to the back of the church, climbed the ruins all the way to the bell and, with his axe, started to bang it.
It wasn't the heavy, solemn ring people were used to but still, it was something.
Sir Corentin made his horse leap over the low wall. He quickly reached the makeshift wedding ground where the crowd was assembling.
"Good." His voice softened. "Very good. Are we ready?"
Brother Aymon nodded at him.
"Then let us not delay any longer! This is a joyful occasion, once we are done all of you will join our little feast!"
No one had heart to cheer at that, nor did the noble expect it. But he had indeed brought enough to feed some thirty people.
He himself trod to the carriage where he left his horse and climbed inside. The curtains were gone but that hardly stopped him from removing his mail, then the gambeson so soaked in sweat. Likewise the tunic and tabard.
In the chest waited another tunic for the ceremony.
Meanwhile lady Joan had abandoned her gray mantle to stand near the basin in that scarlet dress. She looked stunning, she looked depraved, a thorny vine before the crowd assembled.
"Who is she?" A woman asked among the villagers.
"I don't know. She must be from Pivert."
"She loves the priest more than the lord."
That word attracted her gaze, which caused the rumors to die down.
But sir Corentin had opened the jewelry box. He stood there a moment, his hands on the prize, then left the carriage in his new tunic and surcoat.
She turned to face him as he walked along the small crowd on his sides.
What he held in his hand had been a crown. The copper had white patches large enough to absorb most of it. It had broken in three pieces.
The son of Pivert went past her, reached brother Aymon and threw those pieces at his feet.
"What is the meaning of this?!"