orm, bowed to the crowd and took his seat in
the black-draped, carved oak chair to the left of the Bailiff. His
squire stood proudly behind him. The Bailiff murmured:

"An imposing entrance for one who had only five minutes to dress! Your
fair victim isn't here yet."

Jacques stonily ignored him.

An explosive cry from the stands brought the Bailiff to his feet.

"Here she comes!" he announced with a grin of anticipation. "Take a good
look, Sir Jacques--it's worth while!"

Though it was the hardest thing he had ever done, Jacques refrained from
looking until the woman and her two jailers had nearly reached the
platform steps.

And then he looked straight at her, and the shock of it was a physical
blow. This was Ann, all right. Even after all the years there was no
doubt about it. She was as tall as he remembered her, and there was the
same softness and warmth in the curve of her sun-brown shoulders. He
suddenly felt the old ache for her.

She held a velvet robe around her shoulders, but she held it loosely,
disdainfully. Under it, she was already dressed in the translucent death
gown. Her thick, blond hair, much longer than the fashion of the day,
fell nearly to her shoulders. On her feet were the silver sandals she
would later remove, along with the velvet robe, just before stepping up
on the pedestal in the execution circle.

The two jailers, each in skull cap and long black sleeveless robe, led
her to the prisoner's bench below the dais where the judges would sit.
The sight of her was a torment to Jacques, the ripping open of an old
scar. He knew that in a moment their eyes would meet, but there was not
enough strength in the corded muscles of his neck to turn his face away.

Time had been kind to her, Jacques thought in one corner of his numbed
brain. There were signs of its passing, around her mouth and her eyes,
but it had given her what youth could not. There was a knowing in the
curve of her lips, and he wondered what her eyes would tell him now.

But she glanced first, with some amusement, at the two jailers, who held
their crooked staffs at the alert position. Next, her eyes
contemptuously swept the semi-circle of empty judicial chairs. They
passed by the Bailiff so quickly that he looked cheated, and then they
stopped full on Jacques.

He read in their calm appraisal the knowledge that she had expected him
to be here, and that she was not surprised at what the years had done to
him. Perhaps she h