She would flee to the wild fastnesses, the places where there were no overarching systems of any use, where she could blend with the unstable populace and kill in relative peace. What she said is true. Death belongs to God, young man. ‘It is you who is the fool,’ she threw at him, whipping round again. Gianfrancesco had told her about it, how he had played in it as a child with his brothers. ‘I recall my father speaking of you as a Remenham. 133 “TRY ME!” He yelled, his voice booming into the cacophony beyond the walls.
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