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By Root 2192 0

a word out. Finally, he stammered that Cíntio and Cruzes had arrived, on horseback. One of the horses had been ridden so hard it died. The other one might be dead now, too, for when he had last seen it there were rivers of sweat running down its flanks. The two men had galloped for two days without stopping. They, too, had nearly died of exhaustion. He fell silent, abashed, not knowing what to say next, his little almond eyes begging Abbot João for help.

“Tell the Father Counselor the message that Cíntio and Cruzes brought from Pajeú,” the former cangaceiro prompted him. He spoke with his mouth full, for Maria Quadrado had given him a bowl of milk and a little corn cake, too.

“The order has been carried out, Father,” Taramela reported. “Calumbi was burned down. The Baron de Canabrava has gone off to Queimadas, with his family and some of his capangas.”

Struggling to overcome the timidity he felt in the saint’s presence, he explained that, instead of going on ahead of the soldiers after he’d burned the hacienda down, Pajeú had positioned himself behind Throat-Slitter so as to fall upon him from the rear as he attacked Belo Monte. And then, without pausing, Taramela began to talk about the dead horse again. He had ordered that it be butchered for the men in his trench to eat, and that if the other one died it was to be given to Antônio Vilanova, so that he could distribute…But as at that moment the Counselor opened his eyes, he suddenly fell silent. The saint’s deep, dark gaze made Pajeú’s lieutenant feel even more unnerved; the Lion could see how hard his hand was crushing his sombrero.

“It’s all right, son,” the Counselor murmured. “The Blessed Jesus will reward Pajeú and those who are with him for their faith and courage.”

He held out his hand and Taramela kissed it, holding it for a moment in his and looking at the saint with fervent devotion. The Counselor blessed him and he crossed himself. Abbot João gestured to him to leave. Taramela stepped back, nodding reverently the while, and before he left the Sanctuary, Maria Quadrado gave him some milk, in the same bowl that Abbot João and Big João had drunk out of.

The Counselor looked at them questioningly.

“They’re very close, Father,” the Street Commander said, squatting on his heels. He spoke in such a solemn tone of voice that the Lion of Natuba was suddenly frightened and felt the women shiver, too. Abbot João took out his knife, traced a circle, and then added lines leading to it to represent the roads along which the soldiers were advancing.

“There is no one coming from this side,” he said, pointing to the entrance to town on the Jeremoabo road. “The Vilanovas are taking a great many of the old and the sick there so as to get them out of the line of fire.”

He looked at Big João to indicate that he should tell the rest. The black pointed at the circle with one finger. “We’ve built a shelter for you here, between the stables and the Mocambo,” he murmured. “A deep one, parapeted, with lots of stones so that it will be bulletproof. You can’t stay here in the Sanctuary, because they’re coming from this direction.”

“They’re bringing cannons with them,” Abbot João said. “I saw them, last night. The guides sneaked me into Throat-Slitter’s camp. They’re big long-range ones. The Sanctuary and the churches are sure to be their first target.”

The Lion of Natuba was so drowsy that the pen slipped out of his fingers. His head was buzzing, and he pushed the Counselor’s arms apart and managed to rest his great mane on his knees. He barely heard the saint’s words: “When will they be here?”

“Tonight at the very latest,” Abbot João replied.

“I’m going to go to the trenches, then,” the Counselor said softly. “Have the Little Blessed One bring out the saints and the Christs and the glass box with the Blessed Jesus, and have him take all the statues and the crosses to the roads along which the Antichrist is coming. Many people are going to die, but there is no need for tears. Death is bliss for the faithful believer.”

For the Lion of Natuba, bliss arrived at that very moment: