Luca and his two companions were quiet the following morning when they started at dawn. Freize was nursing a headache from what he said was the worst ale in Christendom, Brother Peter seemed thoughtful, and Luca was reviewing all that had been said and done at the abbey, certain that he could have done better, sure that he had failed, and – more than anything else – puzzling over the disappearance of the Lady Abbess and her strange companion, out of chains, out of a stone cellar, into thin air.
They left the inn just as the sky was turning from darkness to grey, hours before sunrise, and they wrapped their cloaks tightly around them against the morning chill. Brother Peter said that they were to ride north, until he opened their next orders.
‘Because we like nothing more than when he breaks that seal, unfolds that paper, and tells us that some danger is opening up under our feet and we are to ride straight into it.’ Freize addressed the ground. ‘Mad nuns one day, what’s for today? We don’t even know.’
‘Hush,’ Luca said quietly. ‘We don’t know, nobody knows; that’s the very point of it.’
‘We know it won’t be kindly,’ Freize remarked to his horse, who rolled an ear back towards him and seemed to sympathise.
They went on in silence for a little while, following a dusty track that climbed higher and higher between bare rocks. The trees were fewer here, an odd twisted olive tree, a desiccated pine tree. Above they could see an eagle soaring and the sun was bright in their faces though the wind from the north was cold. As they reached the top of the plateau there was a little forested area, to the right of the road. The horses dropped their heads and plodded, the riders slumped in their saddles, when Luca’s eye was caught by something that looked like a long black snake lying in the dust of the road before them. He raised his hand for a halt and, when Freize started to speak, he turned in the saddle and scowled at him, so the man was silent.
‘What is it?’ Brother Peter mouthed at him.
Luca pointed in reply. In the road in front of them, scuffed over with dust and hidden with carefully placed leaves, was a rope, tied to a tree on one side, disappearing into the woods on the right.
‘Ambush,’ Freize said quietly. ‘You wait here; act like I’ve gone for a piss. . . . Saints save us! That damned ale!’ he said more clearly. He hitched his trousers, slid off his horse and went, cursing the ale, to the side of the road. A swift glance in each direction and he was stepping delicately and quietly into the trees, circling the likely destination of the rope into the bushes. There was a brief silence and then a low whistle like a bird call told the others that they could come. They pushed their way through the little trees and scrubby bushes to find Freize seated like a boulder on the chest of a man frozen with fear. Freize’s big hand was over his mouth, his large horn-handled dagger blade at the man’s throat. The captive’s eyes rolled towards Luca and Brother Peter as they came through the bushes, but he lay quite still.
‘Sentry,’ Freize said quietly. ‘Fast asleep. So a pretty poor sentry. But there’ll be some band of brigands within earshot.’ He leaned forwards to the man, who was gulping for air underneath his weight. ‘Where is everyone else?’
The man rolled his eyes to the woods on their right.
‘And how many?’ Freize asked. ‘Blink when I say. Ten? No? Eight? No? Five, then?’ He looked towards Luca. ‘Five men. Why don’t we just leave them to do their business? No point looking for trouble.’
‘What is their business?’ Luca asked.
‘Robbery,’ Brother Peter said quietly. ‘And sometimes they kidnap people and sell them to the Ottomans for the galleys.’
‘Not necessarily,’ Freize interrupted quickly. He scowled at Brother Peter to warn him to say no more. ‘Might just be poaching a bit of game. Poachers and thieves. Not doing a great deal of harm. No need for us to get involved.’
‘Kidnap?’ Luca repeated icily.
‘Not necessarily so . . .’ Freize repeated. ‘Probably nothing more than poachers.’
It was too late. Luca was determined to save anyone from the galleys of the Ottoman pirates. ‘Gag him, and tie him up,’ he ordered. ‘We’ll see if they are holding anyone.’ He looked around the clearing; a little path, scarcely more than a goat’s track, led deeper into the woods. He waited till the man was gagged and bound to a tree, and then led the way, sword in one hand, dagger in the other, Freize behind him and Brother Peter bringing up the rear.
‘Or we could just ride on,’ Freize suggested in an urgent whisper.
‘Why are we doing this?’ Brother Peter breathed.
‘His parents.’ Freize nodded towards Luca’s back. ‘Kidnapped and enslaved into the Ottoman galleys. Probably dead. It’s personal for him. I hoped for a moment, that you might have taken my hint, and kept your mouth shut – but no . . .’
The slight scent of a damped-down fire warned them that they were near a camp and Luca halted and peered through the trees. Five men lay sleeping around a doused fire, snoring heavily. A couple of empty wineskins and the charred bones of a stolen sheep showed that they had eaten and drunk well before falling asleep. To the side of them, tied back to back, were two figures, hooded and cloaked.
Gambling that the roaring snores would cover any noise that they made, Luca whispered to Freize and sent him towards the horses. Quiet as a cat, Freize moved along the line of tied animals, picked out the two very best and took their reins, and untied the rest. ‘Gently,’ he said softly to them. ‘Wait for my word.’
Brother Peter tiptoed his way back to the road. Their own three horses and the donkey were tied to a tree. He mounted his horse and held the reins of the others, ready for a quick escape. The brightness of the morning sun threw the shadows darkly on the road. Brother Peter prayed briefly but fervently that Luca would save the captives – or whatever he was planning to do – and come away. Bandits were a constant menace on these country roads and it was not their mission to challenge each and every one. The lord of the Order would not thank him if Luca was killed in a brawl when he was showing such early talent as an inquirer for the Order.
Back in the clearing, Luca watched Freize take control of the horses, then slid his sword into the scabbard and wormed his way through the bushes to where the captives were tied to each other, and roped to a tree. He cut the rope to the tree and both hooded heads came up at once. Luca put his finger to his lips to warn them to be quiet. Quickly, in silence, they squirmed towards him, bending away from their bonds so that he could cut the rope around their wrists. They rubbed their wrists and their hands, without saying a word, as Luca bent to their boots and cut the ropes around their feet. He leaned to the nearest captive and whispered, ‘Can you stand? Can you walk?’
There was something that snagged his memory, as sharp as a tap on the shoulder, the minute he leaned towards the captive, and then he realised that this was no stranger. There was a scent of rosewater as she put back her hood and the sea of golden hair tumbled over her shoulders and the former Lady Abbess smiled up at him and whispered, ‘Yes, Brother, I can; but please help Ishraq, she’s hurt.’
He pulled Isolde to her feet, and then bent to help the other woman. At once he could see that she had taken a blow to the side of her head. There was blood on her face, her beautiful dark skin was bruised like a plum, and her legs buckled beneath her when he tried to get her up.
‘You go to the horses,’ he whispered to Isolde. ‘Quiet as you can. I’ll bring her.’
She nodded and went silent as a doe through the trees skirting the clearing to reach Freize, who helped her up into the saddle of the best horse. Luca came behind her carrying Ishraq and bundled her onto a second horse. Tapping the horses’ chests, urging them with whispers to back away from where they had been tethered, the two men led the animals with the girls on their backs down a little track to where Brother Peter waited on the road.
‘Oh no,’ Brother Peter said flatly when he saw the white face and the thick blonde hair of the Lady Abbess. At once she pulled her brown hood up over he
r hair to hide her face, and lowered her eyes. Peter turned to Freize. ‘You let him risk his life for this? You let him risk us? His sacred mission?’
Freize shrugged. ‘Better go,’ was all he said. ‘And maybe we’ll get away with it.’
Freize mounted his own cob, and then cocked an ear to the woods behind them. In the clearing, one of the sleeping men grunted, and turned over in his sleep, and another one cursed and raised himself onto one elbow. The horses left untethered turned their heads and whinnied for their companions, and one started to move after them.
‘Go!’ Luca ordered.
Freize kicked his cob into a canter, leading Ishraq’s horse, with her clinging, half-conscious, to the horse’s mane. Isolde snatched up her reins and urged her horse alongside them. Luca vaulted into his saddle as they heard the men shouting from behind. The first loose horse came out of the woods, trotting to catch up with him, and then all the others followed, their reins trailing. Freize yelled an incomprehensible word of warning to the horses as they clattered from the woods and came towards him. The gang of thieves scrambled after their runaway horses, then saw the little group on the road, and realised they had been robbed.
‘Full gallop!’ Luca yelled, and ducked as the first arrow whistled overhead. ‘Go!’ he shouted. ‘Go! Go!’
They all hunched low over their horses’ necks, thundering down the road as the men spilled out of the wood, cursing and swearing, sending a shower of misdirected arrows after them. One of the stray horses bucked and screamed as it took an arrow in the rump, and raced ahead. The others weaved around them, making aim even more difficult. Luca held the pace as fast as he dared on the stony road, pulling up his frightened horse so it slowed to a canter and then a walk and then halted, panting when they were well out of range.
The stray horses collected around Freize. ‘Gently, my loves,’ he said. ‘We’re safe if we are all together.’ He got down from his cob and went to the wounded horse. ‘Just a scratch, little girl,’ he said tenderly. ‘Just a scratch.’ She bowed her head to him and he pulled gently at her ears. ‘I’ll bathe it when we get to wherever in God’s earth we are going, sweetheart.’
Ishraq was clinging on to the neck of her horse, exhausted and sick with her injury. Freize looked up at her. ‘She’s doing poorly. I’ll take her up before me.’
‘No,’ Isolde said. ‘Lift her up onto my horse. We can ride together.’
‘She can barely stay on!’
‘I’ll hold her,’ she said with firm dignity. ‘She would not want to be held by a man, it is against her tradition. And I would not like it for her.’
Freize glanced at Luca for permission and, when the young man shrugged, he got down from his own horse and walked over to where the slave swayed in the saddle.
‘I’ll lift you over to your mistress,’ he said to her, speaking loudly.
‘She’s not deaf! She’s just faint!’ Luca said irritably.
‘Both as stubborn as each other,’ Freize confided to the slave girl’s horse as her rider tumbled into his arms. ‘Both as stubborn as the little donkey, God bless him.’ Gently, he carried Ishraq over to Isolde’s horse and softly set her in the saddle and made sure that she was steady. ‘Are you sure you can hold her?’ he asked Isolde.
‘I can,’ she said.
‘Well, tell me if it is too much for you. She’s no lightweight, and you’re only a weakly little thing.’ He turned to Luca. ‘I’ll lead her horse. The others will follow us.’
‘They’ll stray,’ Luca predicted.
‘I’ll whistle them on,’ Freize said. ‘Never hurts to have a few spare horses, and maybe we can sell them if we need.’
He mounted his own steady cob, took the reins of Ishraq’s horse, and gave a low encouraging whistle to the other four horses who at once clustered around him, and the little cavalcade set off steadily down the road.
‘How far to the nearest town?’ Luca asked Brother Peter.
‘About eight miles, I think,’ he said. ‘I suppose she’ll make it; but she looks very sick.’
Luca looked back at Ishraq, who was leaning back against Isolde, grimacing in pain, her face pale. ‘She does. And then we’ll have to turn her over to the local lord for burning when we get there. We’ve rescued her from bandits and saved her from the Ottoman galleys to see her burned as a witch. I doubt she will think we have done her a kindness.’
‘She should have been burned as a witch yesterday,’ Brother Peter said unsympathetically. ‘Every hour is a gift to her.’
Luca reined back to bring his horse up alongside Isolde. ‘How was she injured?’
‘She took a blow from a cudgel while she was trying to defend us. She’s a clever fighter usually, but there were four of them. They jumped us on the road trying to steal from us and when they saw we were women without guards they thought to take us for ransom.’ She shook her head as if to rid herself of the memory. ‘Or for the galleys.’
‘They didn’t –’ he tried to find the words ‘– er, hurt you?’
‘You mean, did they rape us?’ she asked, matter-of-factly. ‘No, they were keeping us for ransom and then they got drunk. But we were lucky.’ She pressed her lips together. ‘I was a fool to ride out without a guard. I put Ishraq in danger. We’ll have to find someone to travel with.’
‘You won’t be able to travel at all,’ Luca said bluntly. ‘You are my prisoners. I am arresting you under charges of witchcraft.’
‘Because of poor Sister Augusta?’
He blinked away the picture of the two young women, bloodied like butchers. ‘Yes.’
‘When we get to the next town and the doctor sees Ishraq, will you listen to me, before you hand us over? I will explain everything to you, I will confess everything that we have done and what we have not done, and you can be the judge as to whether we should be sent back to my brother for burning. For that is what you will be doing, you know. If you send me back to him, you will sign my death warrant. I will have no trial worth the writing, I will have no hearing worth the listening. You will send me to my death. Won’t that sit badly on your conscience?’
Brother Peter brought his horse alongside. ‘The report has gone already,’ he said with dour finality. ‘And you are listed as a witch. There is nothing that we can do but release you to the civil law.’
‘I can hear her,’ Luca said irritably. ‘I can hear her out. And I will.’
She looked at him. ‘The woman you admire so much is a liar and an apostate,’ she said bluntly. ‘The Lady Almoner is my brother’s lover, his dupe, and his accomplice. I would swear to it. He persuaded her to drive the nuns mad and blame it on me so that you would come and destroy my rule at the abbey. She was his fool and I think you were hers.’
Luca felt his temper flare at being called a fool by this girl, but gritted his teeth. ‘I listened to her when you would not deign to speak to me. I liked her when you would not even show me your face. She swore she would tell the truth when you were – who knows what you were doing? At any rate, I had nothing to compare her with. But even so I listened out for her lies, and I understood that she was putting the blame on you when you did not even defend yourself to me. You may call me a fool – though I see you were glad enough for my help back there with the bandits – but I was not fooled by her – whatever you say.’
She bowed her head, as if to silence her own hasty words. ‘I don’t think you are a fool, Inquirer,’ she said. ‘I am grateful to you for saving us. I shall be glad to explain my side of this to you. And I hope you will spare us.’
The physician called to the Moorish slave as they rested in the little inn in the small town pronounced her bloodied and bruised but no bones broken. Luca paid for the best bed for her and Isolde, and paid extra for them not to have to share the room with other travellers.
‘How am I to report that we are now paying for two women to travel with us?’ Brother Peter protested. ‘Known criminals?’
‘You could say that I need servants, and you have prov
ided me with two bonny ones,’ Freize suggested, earning him a sour look from the clerk.
‘No need to report anything at all. This is not an inquiry,’ Luca ruled. ‘This is just the life of the road, not part of our work.’
Isolde put Ishraq into the big bed, as if she were an equal, spooned soup into her mouth as if she were her sister, cared for her like her child and sat with her as she slept.
‘How is the pain?’
‘No better,’ Ishraq grimaced. ‘But at least I don’t think I am doomed any more. That ride was like a nightmare, the pain went on and on. I thought I was going to die.’
‘I couldn’t protect you from the roughness of the road nor the stumbles of the horse. It jolted me, it must have been horrible for you.’
‘It was hard to bear.’
‘Ishraq, I have failed you. You could have been killed or murdered or enslaved. And now we are captured again. I have to let you go. You can go now, while I talk to them. Please – save yourself. Go south, get away to your homeland and pray to your god we will meet again one day.’
The girl opened her bruised eyes and gleamed at Isolde. ‘We stay together,’ she ruled. ‘Didn’t your father raise us as sisters of the heart, as companions who were never parted?’
‘He may have done so, but my mother didn’t give it her blessing, she fought against us being together every day of her life,’ Isolde shrewdly reminded her. ‘And we have had nothing but heartache since we lost my father.’
‘Well, my mother blessed our friendship,’ Ishraq replied. ‘She told me: “Isolde is the sister of your heart”. She was happy that I was with you all the day long, that we did our lessons together and played together, and she loved your father.’
‘They taught you languages,’ Isolde reminded her with pretended resentment. ‘And medicine. And fighting skills. While I had nothing to learn but music and embroidery.’
‘They prepared me to be your servant and companion,’ Ishraq said. ‘To serve and protect you. And so I am. I know the things I need to know to serve you. You should be glad of it.’