I WALKED WITH ODO into the desolate village, the place that only two years before I had called my home.

All around, fields, cottages, and grain holds were no more than mounds of cinder and stone. Dwellings were either caved in and reduced to rubble, or in some beginning stage of being rebuilt. We passed the mill, once the finest structure in town, it's majestic wheel now a heap of ruin in the stream.

People put down their hammers, stopped chopping wood.

A group of children shouted and pointed. Look, it's Hugh. He's come back. It's Hugh!

Everyone looked up in disbelief. People rushed up to me. Is it you, Hugh? Have you truly come back?

A kind of procession picked up around me. What a sight I must have been, in my ragged checkered tunic, my torn green hose. I marched through the cluttered street directly to the square. My last time here, I had been in such a haze, having found out what had happened to my wife and son. Now everything was new, unreal, and so very sad.

A clamor built up, some crying, Glory to God, it's Hugh. He's back, while others spat in my path. Go away, Hugh. You're the devil. Look what you've done.

By the time I reached the square, maybe seventy people, most everyone in town, had formed a ring around me.

I gazed at our inn. Two new walls of rough logs had been erected, supported by columns of stone. Matthew had been rebuilding it, better and sturdier than it was before. A flood of anger rushed through me. God damn them! I was the one who killed Norcross. I was the one who infiltrated the court. What right did they have to take vengeance out on this town?

A rush of tears welled in my eyes. They streamed down my cheeks. I began to weep, weep in a way I hadn't done since I was a small child.

God damn you ,Baldwin. And God damn me ,for my stupid pride.

I fell to my knees. My wife, my son... Matthew... Everything was ruined. So many had died.

The ring of townspeople stood there and let me weep. Then I felt a hand on my shoulder. I choked back sobs and looked up. It was Father Leo. I had never paid much heed to him, with his little domed head, his sermons. Now I prayed he would not remove his hand, for it was all that kept me from keeling over in a ball of shame and grief.

The priest lovingly squeezed my shoulder. This is Baldwin's doing, Hugh, not yours.

Aye, it is Baldwin's work, someone sho............