"No matter what, don't make a sound. Pray to every god you know. If we're caught, I'll give you a quick death, quicker than the eunuchs will."
Calloused hands brushed her as he rolled, then he dragged the rug through the door. She heard the click as he locked it. When he hoisted her over his shoulder, she inadvertently grunted.
"Shhh!"
How had he got in there, got the key?
Cat had seen a cluster of these hanging on the housekeeper's belt.
Where were the ever watchful guards?
A thousand questions raced through her mind.
Was it a trap? Whose trap?
The Lady Mother had called her a witch. Was this an excuse to have her killed? Or was Rossmann actually taking her to that friend of the Pasha's, that Ban Nijaz?
Her stomach hurt against Rossmann's shoulder. Sweat trickled down her back. Their joggling passage went on, through terror after terror. Once Rossmann stopped and bantered in their harsh language—at least, so she guessed, for there was laughter. As each gate was passed, certain words were spoken, a kind of formula. Then, at last, Caterina heard the loud creaking of the same wooden portcullis she'd passed beneath on that awful first day.
A little further on, when she thought blood was going to run out her ears, she was suddenly, unceremoniously unloaded. Her landing was hard, but the pain in her middle was relieved and a welcome gust of air blew inside the rug.
With an audible slap of the reins, the vehicle moved off. After they had bumped along for what seemed an endless time, one in which he'd periodically stopped and spoken again—while her heart threatened to burst through the walls of her chest—at last Rossmann called, "Come out now."
She struggled free of the carpet. Taking a huge breath, her first in freedom, she peeped over the jolting side of the cart and saw the torch lit walls of the town rising behind them. Over her head was night, a windy rushing darkness, and thousands of stars.
* * *
In a grove Rossmann stopped, leapt out and began to unhitch the horse. Caterina climbed stiffly out of the back to help him.
"Oh, Rossmann! It's Star! How ever did you find her?"
The mare was pleased to see her too. She whinnied and pressed her nose wetly against Cat's hand.
"Coins in the right hand always work. All as we ride, Mistress." He unbuckled the harness. "The Graf will meet us at a place we both know. I've brought some rations and we'll use a twitch to guide her. Now," he said, pulling something from the cart, "Put this on. In case anyone sees us, they will think I am a Bogomil trader with his wife."
It was a yashmak, which thanks to Ayhan's lessons, she knew how to wrap.
"Here, you get up first, then she'll let me get up, won't you, Star?"
"We can't go fast," said Caterina, laying the saddle bags he was handing over the mare's withers. Her own language felt unexpectedly stiff on her tongue.
Rossmann armed himself with a brace of pistols, then belted on a curving sword. "Yes, she's going to have to carry us a long way."
What exultation Cat felt as she swung upon her mare! Even here, in this terrible danger, to have Star beneath her was as thrilling as any imagined flight upon the winged Pegasi…
"Why does she look so dark, feel so greasy?" Cat asked as they rode along the moon-yellowed track Rossmann indicated.
"I've covered her, head to toe, with soot mixed with oil. As far as anyone saw, a black horse went out tonight with me."
"How did you get her out of the Pasha's stables?"
"She wasn't in the stables tonight, but loose in a paddock with a fine Arab stallion." Caterina started.
"Yes." Rossmann chuckled. "If we are lucky, we will have stolen a fine colt as well as a woman from the Great Pasha Selim."
For some time they rode in silence. Finally, Caterina asked, "Why have you done this, Herr Rossmann? You seemed happy to be back among your own people."
"I am, but this is for my sake as well as yours. Trust me. Soon it will all make sense."
Nothing he said was logical. Still, she was outside the walled city of the Turks. Despite the fact she did not trust the man behind her, she blessed the strange fortune that had brought her here, and stroked the dull wooden case of the Protector.
* * *
Morning came. Villages where there might be soldiers they carefully skirted. Rossmann often walked beside her, leading the horse. They avoided other travelers. By a well, as they drank and rested, Rossmann produced a bag of oats for the mare and dried fruit and hard traveling bread for Caterina.
As the day passed and she felt safer, she began to ask questions. Rossmann, the cheerful smiling Rossmann that she had known during the summer past, seemed ready enough to answer.
"There was no chance to get you away after we'd been captured. I talked to the captain, told him you were a noblewoman, a rich man's wife, convinced him not to harm you. Selim Pasha is a generous purchaser, but he has a fear of disease. He won't touch a woman whom the soldiers have had. I knew the safest place for you, for a short time, anyway, would be in his harem."
"They told me no one ever escapes, that no whole man ever enters the seraglio. How did you manage?"
"Lies! Men do get in. Actually removing an odalisque is not that difficult. It's simply a matter of money and, of course, Kismet."
Through all those locks and gates, past the eunuchs and reptiles like Ayhan! Still, Cat thought: Here I am. The sun shone on her face, the breeze blew through her yashmak.
"Did he ever summon you to his couch?" The words were soft, but his interest in the answer was far too strong to be concealed.
"No," Cat replied. "Ayhan said the Lady Mother thought me a hexe. She said I was to be a gift to one of the Pasha's friends, someone called Ban Nijaz."
Over her shoulder, she could almost feel Rossmann's smile.
"Lucky she thought so. Perhaps the eunuchs will pretend that you summoned your red horse by magic and the two of you flew away together." He emitted a short, harsh bark of laughter. "You know, it is widely believed that the Pasha's mother is herself a witch."
By late afternoon they reached a golden grassland, apparently endless. At the bed of a shallow stream, they let Star drink, filled a skin Rossmann had brought along, and then forded the water. This time, they took a sharp turn north.
"Every water we cross will help us hide our tracks."
* * *
Slowly the empty miles passed. Cat kept looking back, but although occasionally she'd see a herd of sheep, or a lone rider, no one seemed to be following them. Sun beat down relentlessly. After her month of shadows and a life inside, it made her feel almost sick.
By twilight, Cat's head was aching, her belly calling for food, her feet were bruised and sore from long periods of walking. After the hours of emptiness, there were suddenly all sorts of unique features popping up on every side, upright boulders and curiously bent trees. In the far distance, bathed in the last long rays of the setting sun, Cat spied a bald outcropping. The bare rock shone like the top of a freshly exhumed skull.
Star, who had been plodding head down, suddenly pricked up her ears. Swiveling them forward eagerly, she began to pick her way down a sloping, narrow dirt path, well marked by cattle.
"She's scented the water," said Rossmann. "This is where we'll rest until moonrise. Then we'll move again."
At the bottom of a rock-strewn incline, from a cleft in the ground, sweet water rose, a pool of wonderful refreshment for the weary travelers. Star dropped her head and began to take deep draughts even before Cat slid off her back. In the places where legs had rubbed against her sides, sorrel appeared. Cat's clothing and Rossmann's too, were streaked with greasy black.
There was food in the bags and two blankets. Cat unfastened her veil and began to eat hungrily. Rossmann, squatting nearby, watched her.
"Wrap up," he said, tossing her a blanket. "The nights are bitter now, but I don't dare make a fire."
In the last light they found a grassy patch and got the mare to lie down o
n it. Then, together, Cat in her blanket and Rossmann in his, they huddled against the horse's back. In the darkness Cat could see Rossmann's white teeth. He was smiling to himself, that same cheerful smile that had begun after their capture. It seemed so out of place, both there and here.
"My family slept like this sometimes, against the horses for warmth," he said. "How safe one feels as a child! All an illusion, of course."
When the old moon began to climb, Rossmann roused Cat from the exhausted sleep into which she'd fallen. They set off on foot, leading Star. Only at dawn did they begin to ride again, setting their course straight for the great rock Caterina had seen the night before.
That day it grew very hot, the land shimmering around them, the scent of the water starved grasses, a dusty perfume that dried their throats and made them cough. All day the distant bald grew larger and larger.
It was tall, due west, the stone white. After noon, Caterina saw that there were caves in it, too, like an oddly matching pair of black eyes.
"It looks like a skull," said Cat, uneasily studying the strange feature before them.
"It is called Witches' Head," Rossmann replied. "And that is where your husband will come."
* * *
It was late afternoon when they reached their destination. A thin stream emerged from a fissure at the shadowy base and created a long, shallow pool. Here, once again, they drank beside the horse and washed their sweaty faces.
Within the fissure, the entrance to a cave was visible. When Cat went to curiously peer inside, she saw narrow shafts of light coming from somewhere above, illuminating a damp, mossy floor.
"Where have all the people gone?" Cat turned to ask. The lands they'd ridden through were fine pasture. Even though water hadn't been much in evidence on the surface, it could apparently be got by digging.
"War has driven the people away. There were herders here, many tribes of them, some Christian and some Muslim."
Cat rolled up the legs of her harem pants and began to wade in the pool, splashing Star, intent upon washing the last of the soot away. The mare tossed her head and whinnied, but seemed to be enjoying it. Rossmann sat on the bank and chewed on a biscuit, taking obvious pleasure in the sight of the long bare legs of his mistress.
"Your husband will be here at dawn."
When Caterina led Star out of the pool, Rossmann slit open a bag and offered the contents to Star, who happily thrust her nose inside.
"What have you there?"
"I cooked a special mash for her and sewed it up in this bag. She's been working far harder than we have and she'll need extra strength to get you home. After your husband comes, we'll ride for the Tisza. It's still a hard three day's journey to anything close to safety."
"Herr Rossmann, you've thought of everything."
Rossmann smiled. "Yes, the plan was made carefully. Here," he added, handing her a pouch which proved to contain a mixture of shelled nuts and dried apple. "Here's something to keep your spirits up, too."
Crouched by the water, gratefully eating, Caterina felt a growing uneasiness. She noticed that Star kept lifting her head, scenting the air.
"Someone's coming. Look at Star."
"It may be a herder out there, looking for a lost animal." Rossmann seemed disinterested, but Cat stood and shaded her eyes, surveying, once more, the grassy plain. Ever since the ambush, Rossmann had seemed different. She had imagined so many things about him in the two years she'd known him. He'd seemed, by turns, foreign and dangerous, proud and mysterious, handsome and courtly, but now there was a new quality, something slippery. When Cat thought about it—the escape, all of it—it seemed improbable, like one of those romances Wili used to read and weep over.
"Let me show you a back door entrance, so that you know how to escape. You never know when you might need it. Bandits are the only other people who regularly come here, but I happen to know that the Pasha sent an expedition out just a month ago to clean them out. Still, bandits are like rats. There are always more and they always come back."
Had he sensed the drift of her thoughts? Cat felt a stab of anxiety as she followed him into the darkness, but in the last two days he had offered no gesture or word that was less than proper. Last night they had slept close together for warmth, but he had not taken advantage.
* * *
To enter, they had to stoop, but once under the lip of trickling water, they found themselves in a high vaulted room, lit by slanting rays from above. As they moved deeper into the damp twilight, Rossmann paused to use a pocket tinder box.
"Here, Grafin." After lighting a candle, he held out the other hand.
The back of the cave was slimy and green. From above there came a whispery squeaking. Glancing up, Caterina saw a black moving mass. It was, she realized, an untold number of bats clinging to the ceiling.
"Quickly now, or you'll need to bathe," Rossmann said as he followed her gaze.
His candle moved ahead. After a brief climb through a maze of wet, oddly rounded rocks, his light illuminated another low, narrow tunnel.
"Rossmann, where are you going?" Cat cried. "Come back."
"You'll have to crawl," he replied over his shoulder, "but it is important that you see the back door."
His tone was encouraging and his light was receding, so, having no other choice, Caterina dropped to her knees and followed. After a few twists and turns of scuffling, claustrophobic crawling after his outline, she saw him get to his feet. When she reached the same spot, he extended a hand to help her.
The candle in his hand flickered. Caterina saw that they were in the bottom of a dripping, and—except for the light—utterly black hole. Rossmann was turning, shining the candle on the walls, seeking and finally finding the mouth of yet another opening.
"Inside of this next one is what the old ones painted. It's just as I told you the night Star dropped her foal. You, of all people, Lady—must see."
"What? I thought you were showing me a way out."
"It's through here." On hands and knees, neatly balancing the light, Rossmann disappeared again. His enthusiasm for the tour they were making seemed crazy. Cat swallowed her fear, got down on her knees and again followed.
After a blessedly short crawl, she found Rossmann. He was standing, holding the candle high.
As soon as Cat looked about, she forgot her fear. The walls of this tiny space were covered with paintings, paintings of animals. The colors were bright and fresh, the execution spirited. She recognized cattle, elk, deer and horses, but besides these more ordinary creatures, there were animals she'd never seen before. One was large, furry, and sported a trunk.
"An—an—elephant?" She'd had to make a brief mental search to find the name. "Here?"
"Yes. So it seems. It must have been much wetter in those times. Elephants are very big, you know, eat much."
"Have you seen elephants, Herr Rossmann?"
"Yes, I have. They are wise, perhaps the wisest of creatures, but they are very dangerous to their keepers."
"Where did you see them?"
His bright eyes turned thoughtfully upon her. "In Africa."
"I thought these lands were your home place."
"They are, but I have traveled."
The mystery of Rossmann seemed never ending. Cat returned to studying the beauty and energy of the drawings, pushed away the persistent unsettled sense of-something-not-right she'd felt from the moment they'd entered this dank place.
Among, and sometimes atop, the gamboling animals were hand prints, spirals and squiggly lines. In spite of the fresh, bright colors, Cat instinctively knew that these creatures had been painted a very long time ago.
"This is the Cave of the Red Horse. It's a place a woman with your gift should see."
He raised his candle and threw light high up, upon a painting Cat hadn't yet noticed. Almost directly overhead, a fat red horse galloped. A long legged foal was in full stretch, close by her mother's side.
"Oh! She's beautiful!"
"Yes. Sh
e's the guardian of the cave. Long ago a witch lived here. It was said that if a man took her, he'd be a Lord upon this plain, that he would have many sons, many cattle and horses. If her magic resisted him, though, he must die."
He told her this in a sing song tone, like someone reciting a fairy tale. As he spoke, the exhaustion that hummed in her every limb intensified. Caterina felt unspeakably weary, drained…
"I am dizzy, Herr Rossmann. Let's go out."
"Of course. In fact, here is the exit, just behind this rock."
He walked to a pale stone pillar dripping with water, and abruptly vanished behind it. Following, Cat confronted a deeper darkness than the one they'd just come from, a passage as small as the first.
"Watch your head."
Sucking in a breath, Caterina followed. After a far-too-long spell of weary crawling, bumping her knees and her head painfully in that pitch black shaft, Cat again caught sight of his back-lit, scuffling form.
"It's brushy," he called, "but you should have no trouble getting through."
There was a loud rustling and crackling ahead. Although the sudden light was blinding, she hastened towards it. Anxiety at a fever pitch, she pushed through a mass of vines around the opening. Blinking, scrambling to her feet, Caterina found herself facing the sunset on the gently slumping backside of Witches' Head. The slope was dotted with grotesquely bent trees and boulders like a set of worn teeth. At her back, the bald rose in a pale, smooth dome. Cat turned this way and that, brushing herself off while squinting into the low light. Rossmann was nowhere to be seen. A horse whinnied; a horse that Caterina knew wasn't Star.
Chapter Twenty
One pair of rough hands seized her braid, while a second pair wrenched her arms painfully behind her back. A cruel dark face closed on hers.
"Lady von Hagen," the man said, carefully enunciating German. "I am Pasha Selim." From out of the thicket below, armed men appeared. Rossmann tied her wrists with an all-too-familiar fine, silken cord.
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