Hundreds upon hundreds of blue tents, twenty deep along a row, stood in the meadow at the end of the hilly landscape Ailfrans had just left behind him with their columns and disappearing out of sight in both directions. Men and women worked and lived below; they moved like tiny dark specks against a base of beaten brown flourish of green glass. The train that had traveled with him south was winding its way into the camp to be broken up and fitted into the rest. The mass of people would add another third to the number of those already in the plains.
The black tower of the Sloanish banner stood out in stark contrast above the tops of each of the tents, folded over itself in the windless day. Several fires had been started throughout the camp despite the warmth of the day; the days in Fiore
