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By Root 2290 0

chambers. “The battle of Sir Olivier with Fierabras,” he thinks. It is one of the episodes from the tales of the Twelve Peers of France that he is fondest of, a duel that he hasn’t heard the story of for years and years. The voice of the minstrel is coming from the intersection of Campo Grande and Divino, where many people have gathered. He draws closer, and on recognizing him, people move aside for him. The one who is singing of Olivier’s imprisonment and his duel with Fierabras is a child. No, a dwarf. Tiny, very thin, he is pretending to be strumming a guitar and at the same time is miming the clash of the lances, the knights galloping on their steeds, the courtly bows to Charlemagne the Great. Seated on the ground, with a tin can on her lap, is a woman with long hair, and at her side a bony, bent, mud-spattered creature with the sightless gaze of blind men. He recognizes them: they are the three who appeared with Father Joaquim, the ones whom Antônio Vilanova allows to sleep in the store. He reaches out and touches the little man, who immediately falls silent.

“Do you know the Terrible and Exemplary Story of Robert the Devil?” he asks him.

After a moment’s hesitation, the Dwarf nods.

“I would like to hear you recite it sometime,” the Street Commander says in a reassuring tone of voice. And he breaks into a run to make up for lost time. Here and there, there are shell holes along Campo Grande. The façade of the former steward’s house of Canudos is riddled with bullet holes.

“Praised be the Blessed Jesus,” Abbot João murmurs, sitting down on top of a barrel next to Pajeú. The expression on the caboclo’s face is inscrutable, but he notes that Antônio and Honório Vilanova, old Macambira, Big João, and Pedrão are all scowling. Father Joaquim is standing in the middle of them, covered with mud from head to foot, his hair disheveled, and with a growth of beard.

“Did you find out anything in Juazeiro, Father?” he asks him. “Are there more troops coming?”

“As he offered to, Father Maximiliano came from Queimadas and brought me the complete list,” Father Joaquim replies in a hoarse voice. He takes a paper out of his pocket and reads out, panting for breath: “First Brigade: Seventh, Fourteenth, and Third Infantry Battalions, under the command of Colonel Joaquim Manuel de Medeiros. Second Brigade: Sixteenth, Twenty-fifth, and Twenty-seventh Infantry Battalions, under the command of Colonel Inácio Maria Gouveia. Third Brigade: Fifth Artillery Regiment and Fifth and Ninth Infantry Battalions, under the command of Colonel Olímpio da Silveira. Chief of Division: General João da Silva Barboza. Field Commander: General Artur Oscar.”

He stops reading, exhausted and in a daze, and looks at Abbot João. “How many soldiers does that add up to, Father?” the former cangaceiro asks.

“Some five thousand men, it would appear,” the little priest stammers. “But those are only the ones that are in Queimadas and Monte Santo. Others are coming from the North, via Sergipe.” He begins reading again, in a quavering voice. “Column under the command of General Cláudio da Amaral Savaget. Three brigades: Fourth, Fifth, and Sixth. Made up of the Twelfth, Thirty-first, and Thirty-third Infantry Battalions, one artillery division, and the Thirty-fourth, Thirty-fifth, Fortieth, Twenty-sixth, Thirty-second Battalions, and another artillery division. Four thousand more men, approximately. They disembarked in Aracaju and are advancing on Jeremoabo. Father Maximiliano was unable to obtain the names of the officers in command. I told him it didn’t matter. It really doesn’t matter, does it, João?”

“Of course not, Father Joaquim,” Abbot João answers. “You’ve managed to obtain excellent information. God will repay you.”

“Father Maximiliano is a good believer,” the little priest murmurs. “He confessed to me that it scared him to do that. I told him that I was more scared than he was.” He gives a forced laugh and immediately adds: “They have a great many problems there in Queimadas, he told me. Too many mouths to feed. They haven’t organized their train yet. They