THIRTY-THREE
Melitta could feel George's curiosity at her tears, but she couldn't seem to stop the flow. She'd opened her mind to the townspeople while she lay in the bath, and though she'd closed herself off from their thoughts since, their vast grief still roiled within her.
Those girls. Those poor girls...
"That vile beast must die."
George agreed wholeheartedly. How had she ever thought him a coward?
Haltingly, she began her tale. The tale of a city in mourning.
The words came slowly, describing the images lifted from so many minds, but the gist was the same.
On the day the priests blessed the fleet in the name of Our Lady, they had led a great procession out of the city toward the river. In the forefront of the throng was a statue of the Blessed Virgin, carried by four virgi
