"Look to your steering," Walther advised. "We must not be discovered. Find the cove, and when shore is sighted, awaken me.
"Attempt no foolishness, for the Gaul is awake and so are the men of Finnveden. One sight of betrayal, and you will be killed."
Nor did I doubt his words, for the three men of Finnveden were cold and dangerous men, not so cowardly as the others, but morose and silent, vicious in any kind of a fight and without a thought for any but themselves. I suspected I should have to face them one day.
The sea was dark, the waters glassy. No oars were in use, only the sail to give us steerage way, for we wanted no sound to bring attention upon us.
There were no stars. Water rustled along the hull, phosphorescent ripples rolling back from the bow. The sky was heavily overcast with a hint of rain. Timbers creaked as the galley moved in a slow roll through the dark water. Here and there a slave muttered in his sleep, or murmured some half-forgotten name. Metal chinked upon metal as weapons touched in the night, for the men slept fully armed.
She came to me so quietly I scarcely realized her presence but for the perfume. Her hand touched my arm. "You must help us, Kerbouchard! Please!"
Her fear gave me strength, for when is one not the stronger through being needed?
Yet she stirred me in other ways, for along our Breton shores there were no such girls as this. Often they were lovely but never so soft and delicate as this.
"I shall do what I can."
"Already you have helped. It was you who stopped that man."
"Your companion is a Moor?"
"A Norman. He was a great captain among them when he fought against us, but now he has become an ally."
Her nearness was disturbing, for I knew little of women, yet most of my fear was that she should be seen near me and our nearness misunderstood. Such a suspicion might be enough to throw her to the crew, so when she returned to her place near the bulwark, I was relieved.
My experience with women had been slight, with little time for conversation. There had been a few meetings with girls on the moors who had a way of becoming lost where I was accustomed to wander alone.
Of course, there had been a time when a fine caravan camped atop the cliffs, and a young woman came alone to the beach to search for shells. She found more than she bargained for, which she seemed to appreciate and endure with fortitude, even to the extent of taking an active interest in the proceedings.
She was quite a beautiful young woman, the widow, I discovered, of a merchant in Angers. This I learned later at the inn where they stopped for the night. She had come alone to the beach where I lay sunning myself on the warm sand, and her search for shells brought her closer and closer until I began to suspect that her interest in marine life might be more extensive than at first appeared.
When she discovered that I was awake, a conversation developed, so naturally I told her of the cave behind the dunes. Intrigued by the mystery of it, she wished to see the cave, but what she found there was obviously no mystery.
The boom of a not too distant surf interrupted my thoughts, and my call awakened Walther who came aft, rubbing sleep from his eyes. The dark line of the shore appeared, and one of the men of Finnveden took his place in the bow to conn us in.
The cove was a mere cutback in the shoreline, partly screened by a bluff, and no place to lie with southerly or easterly winds. We could dimly make out the white sands, which lay deserted and still.
A change had come over the galley. Once committed to demand ransom for the prisoners, the ship's company was alert. Armed men came aft, and others scattered themselves along the bulwark. From now until we were safely at sea, this guard would stand twenty-four hours a day.
The lure of a strange, shadowed shore was upon me. I listened to the whisper of the sea upon the sand, the creaking of the ship itself, the lap of water against the hull, and the chuck, chuck sound from the trailing oars.
What destiny awaited me here? What girls might lure and laugh and leave me? What fortune might come? What mystery? In the strange and perfumed night I felt a stirring within me, a longing to be ashore, to go walking alone up through the trees that lay beyond the beach.
Walther came aft again with Eric, the eldest of the Finnvedens, Cervon the Gaul, and others.
Redwan was standing, Aziza beside him. Walther stared threateningly at him, but Redwan was not one to be intimidated by casual freebooters. "We shall send three men to Malaga," Walther advised him, "if they do not return, you will be put to death, and the girl, too, in time."
Redwan drew a ring from his finger. "Your men will live if they do as I say and if they convey this to Hisham ibn-Bashar, in Malaga. Tell him I insist upon secrecy and immediate payment."
"Secrecy?"
"Would you want a dozen galleys to descend upon you? Of course, there must be secrecy."
Walther accepted that, but it caused me to wonder. It seemed to me that Redwan might have another need for secrecy, some reason that might concern either Aziza or himself.
Walther hesitated, and I watched him with irritated contempt. He was a petty man accustomed to dealing with paltry sums and people of no significance. He had no idea what ransom to ask, nor did Eric or Cervon.
"I shall demand one ..." he seemed to gain courage, "I shall demand three thousand dinars!" The figure exploded from him; he was frightened by his own boldness.
Redwan laughed harshly, irritably. "You are a fool, and you would make a fool of me! Do you think I am some rascally merchant that you'd demand a slave's ransom?"
There had been talk of ransom over the wine in my father's house. "Ten thousand," I interrupted, "would be the price I would ask, and it would be so small only because it could be so quickly collected and delivered."
Redwan was amused. "Walther, you would do well to resign your position to this man. He's more fitted to be a pirate than any of you."
Walther gave me an ugly look. He liked none of it, for his men were listening. Cervon had been startled by the demand for three thousand, but now that Redwan had accepted the idea of ten thousand Cervon was staring angrily at Walther.
"So be it then," Walther said, his little eyes bright with malice, "and you shall go to collect it, you, Eric, and Cervon."
The Gaul shook his heavy head. "I shall stay." He looked past Walther at Aziza. "Let the brothers go."
"It is better so," Eric agreed.
Redwan was pleased. "You will have no trouble. Hisham ibn-Bashar is skilled in such matters. He is an old man but quick-witted. Explain the situation, and he will do what is needed."
From clothing captured with the looted ship, I found that which suited me admirably, and I dressed as a Moorish gentleman of fashion. There was also a sword, a fine weapon, and one which I well knew how to use.
When I returned to the deck Aziza's surprised gasp was ample reward for my efforts. Even Walther was startled.
It was a temptation when I stood at last before him, a temptation to cut him down on his own deck. Long had I hated him for the brutal way he had robbed and enslaved me, forcing me to slave for his lot of yapping mongrels. When the time came, they would pay and have cause to repent their treatment of me.
Yet my major objective must never be forgotten: to find my way to Cyprus and free my father if he was imprisoned, and to learn of his fate whatever it might be.
Together then we could return to pay our respects to the Baron de Tournemine.
Yet here, now, lay the land of my dreams. Here were the cities of Granada, Seville, Toldeo, and Córdoba. How long had I dreamed, waking and sleeping, of such cities? For I wanted a life wider and deeper than my own Breton shores could offer. To make my way in a larger world, to see more, to learn more, to be more. This was my dream.
Even now I was learning, I was becoming. The clothing I now wore was far better than any I had ever possessed, and with envy I had observed the elegance with which Redwan carried himself. To such things must I pay attention, for I had much to learn.
Dayl
ight was strong upon the water when we landed on the beach. Seeing my reflection in a patch of still water just back from the shore, I was suddenly aware that I need fear comparison to no man. I was taller than when I came to the galley, and infinitely stronger. The months of laboring at an oar added inches to my chest and shoulders, rounding my arms with muscle.
In the black full trousers, black boots of the finest cordovan leather, a smoke-blue turban of silk, a cloak of dark blue wool worn over a white silk shirt and a dark blue sash, I looked quite the Moorish dandy. Under the cloak I wore a waist-length brocaded jacket of gold and blue. Beside me the Finnvedens were shabby, grubby-looking men in their leather jerkins.
Appearances count for little, and I knew I must shape the character of the man I wished to be into something of worth. Among the Moors I must be slow to act, observing their behavior with care, and so learn how to conduct myself.
My Arabic was good, if simple. It was unlikely I would be called upon to carry on discussions of philosophy, so the Arabic I knew would be sufficient. My Latin, if it came to that, was excellent. Here and there I had picked up a smattering of a dozen tongues or their argot, the slang of waterfront and marketplace. Much of this had come from my father's crew who were men of many countries, or from those aboard the galley.
It was good to feel the earth beneath my feet again, but one thing I understood. In my present garb I could not come walking into Malaga like any peasant or herder of sheep. I must have a horse, as a gentleman would. We climbed the hill from the shore and stood at the edge of a coast road if such it could be called.
Suddenly, I knew this was a beginning for me. I was the one with the knowledge, and here I must take command. The Finnvedens were my guards as well as captors. Although I had become pilot, I had no authority over the crew. I was still a captive, a slave. Yet Redwan's message had been given to me, and I would negotiate.
Much of command is the ability to take command.
Eric interrupted my thinking. "Are we to stand here in the sun? Let us be off!"
"Wait!"
They stopped, half angry, for my word had been a command. "There is a caravan coming."
They listened, heard it, and squatted beside the road, irritated at being stopped. I remained where I was. They would appear to be menials; I, the master.
Three riders rode ahead, each dressed in the habiliments of wealth and fashion. Behind them rode twenty soldiers, a train of pack mules, and, I noticed with satisfaction, several spare horses.
Stepping boldly into the road, I lifted my hand.
Six soldiers, moving at some unheard command, detached themselves in groups of three and swept down upon me, swinging in a wide circle and closing in around me with drawn scimitars. It was a pretty maneuver.
Of the three who commanded here, one was young, not more than twenty-five, but haughty efface and manner. He wore a neatly trimmed black mustache and pointed beard; there was a lithe, easy movement about him that indicated trained muscles, but in his features there were lines of cruelty. I decided I did not like him.
He who rode in the center was much older, with a white full beard and a manner both dignified and noble. The third man was stocky of body and powerfully built. This one was obviously a soldier.
"Greetings, Eminence! I ask your consideration."
He with the haughty face spoke first. "Who are you? What do you do here?"
"Oh, Commander of the Faithful, I am but a poor student bound for Córdoba. Our ship was taken by the infidel. I go to Malaga to have speech with Hisham ibn-Bashar on a matter of greatest importance."
"I think you lie."
The older man studied me with shrewd, appraising eyes, yet not without humor. He was richly clad, obviously a person of importance.
"This matter of importance," the old man said. "What is it?"
"A message, Auspicious One, for the ears of Hisham alone."
"Give us the message," the young man demanded. "We will judge its importance."
"I have a trust," I replied.
Before the sharp-featured young man could reply, the older man spoke to the soldier beside him. "Duban, mount these men. When we arrive in Malaga, do you go with him to Hisham. I would have a report of this from him."
The Finnvedens made a hard thing of riding, but I had known the saddles of my father's horses since birth, and while they struggled to maintain their seats, I listened attentively.
The hawk-featured young man was a military commander of importance, called ibn-Haram. It was a name I felt I should have reason to remember, and I liked him not at all.
We rode slowly, affording me ample time to see what lay before and around me, and I was amazed. Never had I seen a city or anything more than the villages along my native coast, nor were those villages beautiful, but mere collections of hovels, squat houses, and narrow streets often filled with refuse.
We passed under the great gate at Malaga and wound through narrow streets. Above us towered the walls of houses, their high windows screened by alabaster. Often behind those screens I caught a suggestion of movement. These might be the Moorish beauties of whom I had heard.
We next passed through a bazaar where booths offered all manner of strange things for sale. Carpets from Isfahan, pearls from Basra, enameled leather from Córdoba, linens from Salamanca, silks from Granada, woolens from Segovia, the blades and armor from Seville or Toledo. Surely, there could not be in the world another city so crowded, so filled with the world's goods! I said as much, and Duban laughed.
"Fool! See Córdoba! See Córdoba and die! One street is ten miles long and lighted from end to end! There is more light there by night than here by day! It has thousands of fountains, scores of magnificent buildings!
"It has been said there are sixty thousand shops in Córdoba! But before you speak of cities, see Baghdad! See Damascus and Alexandria, and there be those who speak of even greater cities farther away to the east.
"This ... ?" he shrugged. "It is well enough, I suppose."
Duban indicated a narrow street that turned off to the right, and led the way. The Finnvedens followed us, muttering irritably at their galled behinds and chafed thighs, sore from unaccustomed riding. "Who was the old one you were escorting?" I asked Duban.
"Abu-Abdallah, a friend to the Caliph." We drew up at a heavy door of oak, bound with straps of iron and iron hinges. On either side was a narrow slit for the use of defenders.
The door swung open as Duban spoke, and we entered. Immediately, the hot street was left behind. We rode a dozen steps alongside a colonnade bordering a patio. Palm trees grew there, and vines trailed from the garden walls. The air was miraculously cool and pleasant. We dismounted, and a slave took our horses.
Duban turned to the Finnvedens. "Remain here," he said, but they began to grumble, so I suggested that I take Eric with me.
Duban glanced at the ill-smelling pirate and shrugged, then led the way along a shadowed passage. A Nubian slave met us and conducted us to a cool, thickly carpeted room. On the far side sat a plump, bearded man with a round, shrewd face and intensely black eyes.
He was neither young nor old, and when our eyes met I felt a premonition that this was a man important to me, and not only for the immediate problem.
He glanced from me to the Finnveden and then came to his feet in one swift, fluid movement. There were muscles beneath that fat.
"Welcome! Duban, you come too rarely to my miserable house!" He bowed. "May your shadow never grow less!" Eric stood glowering, liking none of this, for with no effort on my part the situation had moved beyond control of the Finnvedens, and I intended it to remain so. That they were suspicious of me I knew, and rightly so, for I meant to have the better of that pack of thieves, and not only for myself but for that courageous village woman whom I had seen dive overboard and swim off toward the shores of Spain.
"This one has, he says, a message for Hisham ibn-Bashar." He added with what seemed a warning, "I was escorting Abu Abdallah when we came upon him beside the
road. Ibn-Haram was with us."
"Ah?"
Never had I heard so much expression in a word. I stepped forward. The ring of Redwan was upon my hand, the distinctive seal turned inward, and now with a gesture as of greeting I opened my palm toward him. It was a natural movement, and I doubted even Duban noticed its significance. Yet light fell upon it right as Hisham's gaze touched it.
"You may speak," he said, "what concerns me concerns my friend."
"It is a matter of ransom, a matter of ten thousand dinars. It is a matter, also, of the daughter of ibn-Sharaz." Duban dropped his hand to his scimitar and moved to face both myself and the Finnveden.
"I must speak carefully"—I was using the Arabic—"for I am a prisoner also. This man and those outside were sent to guard me, to kill me if I betray them."
"A lie!" Duban scoffed.
"Wait!" Hisham lifted a hand. He asked several questions then, enough to tell him I knew those of whom we spoke. Had I mentioned them in the presence of ibn-Haram?
"He said nothing," Duban admitted. "It was most fortunate."
Here was some intrigue, and it was obvious they did not want known the captivity of Count Redwan. It was equally obvious that the two were friends to Redwan and enemies to that hawk-faced ibn-Haram, which suited me. "What is done," I suggested, "had best be done quickly. Ibn-Haram was suspicious and might return, discover the ship, and make inquiries."
Hisham agreed. "Will your captain honor the ransom? Will he release the captives if paid?"
"I believe I can impress him that he must. Redwan has worried him by suggesting he would incur the wrath of William of Sicily, but believe me, Your Eminence, Walther is not to be trusted, only frightened."
"And if you return, what will happen to you?" Briefly, I explained my position aboard the vessel. "I shall have to return aboard, but shall stay no longer than Cadiz."
Hisham hesitated momentarily. "Duban and I must talk of this alone. As you may have surmised, this affair has ramifications far beyond a matter of ransom. You and your men will be fed, and we will make a decision."
The Walking Drum Page 3