Under the high noon sun, Petra walks. To the relief of everyone, her wailing ceased the moment she crossed the threshold, as though she’d run out of tears. She is walking because when Carolus tried to ride with her straddled across his saddle, her thrashing incited the horse to rear. The two men must take turns walking with her. One rests and leads the rider-less horse while the other languishes under the weight of his armor and the arduousness of his task.

Petra’s wrists are bound behind her back with rope. But this does not stop her from trying to overthrow the grip of her exasperated guards whenever she senses the slightest lull in their attention. Half a furlong ahead, Siegfried rides on, glancing back only ever so often. He devotes himself to being annoyed with the marshal for giving him two tired men from the night guard and with himself for having made a rare error for which he will soon be admonished, and with Petra for being the cause of their slow going.

“Lord steward,” Carolus finally shouts, out of breath, “Can you please tell this godforsaken woman to stop throwing herself about? I shan’t make it to Pettau if it keeps going like this.”
“I wish we still had the cart," Berard complains, halting the horses when his master gives him the signal.