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Page 284
few minutes of rest acted as a slight restorative. Whatever the reason, the destrier managed to work up a sodden trot that did not slow Geoffrey. Nor did anyone try to attack them. For the few who glanced their way, the bared ax was warning enough. Most did not even look; they only ran, blind with terror.
It was the wailing ahead that warned Geoffrey that the miracle was over. There was no panic or rage in that sound, only ultimate despair. Those who uttered that cry had given up hope. They would struggle no more. They would drop where they stood and let the fire swallow them. It was horrible and it was contagious, but Geoffrey was immune. He had heard that cry from the throats of the defeated often enough. The wailing grew stronger as others took it up and as they neared the cause.
"Geoffrey," Joanna whimpered.
For the first time there was fear in her voice. Geoffrey did not reply. He had no comfort to offer her. Across the foot of the lane, a wall of fire blocked their path. To their left, the houses were already burning and from that inferno great flaming smuts flew across the lane to smolder on the roofs and window ledges of the houses to the right. In minutes they, too, would be in flames. Both his and Joanna's fair skins were reddened and blistering. It was an agony to breathe.
A few of the people milling about ahead of them broke away and rushed back the way they had come. Geoffrey did not even turn his head. They would never reach the square. In only a few minutes, the whole lane in which they now stood would be another solid bed of fire. The fronts of the buildings that overhung the lane would crash down into it. There was no escape in that direction. Instinctively, Geoffrey pressed back out of the path of the fleeing few. He would not delay them, would not add to their agony of mind in the little while they had left. His heel caught on something that emitted a wooden thump and, when he pulled his spur loose, there was a sloshing sound.
Water! A wash of shame passed through Geoffrey. He

 
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