He’d muttered once, as they’d reached the foot of the sheep-paths. ‘Are we close to the Lampreda yet? Soon as we get to Tunisia… I’m very well liked in Tunisia… More friends down there than I could count…’
Ignorant of his language, Guthric had stayed silent, leaving the mournful young Pino to respond. ‘Very near, my captain. And we’ll soon be in Tunisia. Oh, yes, very soon.’
Then Renato sighed, and the menagerie of men made their slow, painful way toward the fortress.
* * *
Two hundred, maybe three hundred yards from the entrance, and the column was halted by the sudden appearance of soldiers, the sentinelle armed with crossbows, infantry spears and the weapons they’d employ in a bloody hand-to-hand fight.
Silvano Atzeri shrieked at them to stop.
‘Stay back! This is your governor! I’ve been taken – they’ll kill me - stay back!’
Lanterns were raised to identify Atzeri; to assess the chances of murdering his captors, then drag the governor free.
They were a sorry lot, these foreigners, two of them wounded, none of them protected. A well-loosed quarrel from one of the crossbows, and—
‘Set those lanterns on the ground!’ Falkan commanded. ‘Let fly a single bolt and we’ll send Atzeri’s head rolling amongst you! No personal loss to you, perhaps, but try explaining to his wife how it happened. And then to Don Flavio Abruzzo of Caltanissetta!’
As a descending swarm of fireflies, the lanterns were lowered to the track. No loss in itself, that was true, the beheading of the Governare di Losara. But afterward there’d be questions to be answered, tribunals to be faced, responsibilities apportioned, accusations levelled, punishments meted out – and hangings to be administered from the heights of the sun-bleached castle.
Allow Silvano Atzeri to die in a scuffle, and dozens would die in his wake.
* * *
The sentinelle retreated, not wishing to be recognized by their master.
‘Get on through the gate. Lead the way to your chambers.’ Then a sudden thought and he added, ‘Wait!’
It occurred to Baynard that those outside the stronghold might attempt to bar their exit. Besiege the castle long enough for help to be summoned from Caltanissetta. Plead with Don Abruzzo to descend in force and save his daughter – and incidentally her husband.
‘Tell your men – tell them this. If we see a single soldier near the gate, you’ll be sent out to join him. From up there. The top of that tower.’
Atzeri babbled the warning, then was swung around by Enrique and sent skittering in his soft-soled shoes along a series of tapestried corridors to his quarters.
* * *
Impressed though they were by the magnificence of the colourful, over-furnished room, the Crusader knights gave priority to the wounded Renato Moretti. Expecting to be challenged by household guards, they were pleased to find the exotic chamber empty, save for two startled servants. A guttural threat from the Saxon and the men retreated against the wall, staring as the rapist and murderer was laid on a Moorish diwan, his pain-racked body comforted with cushions.
Guthric then moved toward Quillon, the safeguard swaying on his feet.
‘What ails you, joskin? Jealous of the pirate? The prick of a sword, an’ you think yourself worthy of a couch?’
The young man twitched, the movement intended as an arrogant toss of his head. But the pain of the stab flooded over him, and the retort he’d planned for the flinty old Saxon – the clever riposte – it wouldn’t quite trip from his tongue…
Guthric caught the youngster as he fell, gesturing to Pino to set a few more cushions as a mattress on the floor. Then he knelt and lowered the joskin on his side, muttering a brief, unheard remark before rejoining the knights. ‘I might just have to take it upon me – Teach you how to survive.’
The wounded now settled, the Crusaders turned their justified anger on Atzeri, the governor watched in mute fascination by his servants.
‘We are here for our belongings,’ Falkan told him. ‘Every scrap and item in the chest. And, as recompense for the men your guards laid low near the gatehouse of your brothel, we’ll take the extra you offered. For the errors you made, you remember?’
Atzeri hastened yes. Things had been disturbed in the searching, but everything was safe in the cofrano – ‘Your clothes and armour and weapons. And every last coin you brought to Losara! As for the extra – that desk over there – if you’ll permit me to find the key and—’
Then he gaped in distress as Guthric ambled across to the delicate, inlaid piece, toppled the cabinet face down on the tiles and reached to tear away the polished cedar backing.
Lifting it upright again, he spun it on a single leg, slammed it back on its feet and extracted the drawers. His eyes fixed on Atzeri, he emptied the contents of the desk, holding the Sicilian’s horrified gaze until the final compartment had been ransacked.
And then, uncaring of the contents, he looked across at Falkan and grunted, ‘This one? This the desk he means?’
The knights, the wide-eyed Pino and the quaking servants, stared at the glittering heap he’d spilled from the drawers. It could only mean that Silvano Atzeri preferred to keep his accumulated riches where he could easily get at them; that the sparkling brooches and bracelets, the diadems and necklaces, the pins and buckles and heavy inset rings that now littered the tiles, were there to be admired at his convenience – or that the cabinet contained but a particle of his wealth.
‘Were it not for the wounded,’ Falkan told him, ‘I’d stay longer and strip this castle to the bones. As it is, we’ll collect our chest; and this, the extra—
‘No more than I deserve, signor. I was foolish to underestimate—’
‘And one thing more than that.’
Silvano Atzeri waited, the Sicilian wondering what next he’d be forced to surrender. The chalices from that monastery chapel on Rhodes? The carpets shipped from that palace in Antioch?
‘So what should I offer you, signor, as apology for our misunderstanding; as assurance of—’
‘The Signora Atzeri. Don Abruzzo’s daughter. I’ll take your wife.’
* * *
The governor panicked and ran.
A ridiculous sight, his fleshy thighs slapping together beneath his robes as he struggled for purchase in his soft leather shoes.
Ten yards along the chamber and Guthric stepped in front of him, fisting the man hard in his corpulent belly. With an unpleasant belch of air, Atzeri fell back, yelping as his buttocks hit the tiles.
Winded and gasping, he stayed there while Enrique de Vaca checked the three doors that led from the far end of the chamber. The first opened on to a corridor, at the extremity of which was a small private chapel. The second revealed a spiral staircase. The third—
And a shriek of alarm as the Spaniard brought Signora Atzeri from a room containing a single bed, the bed of a nun; the walls of the cell as bare as those of a convent, adorned only by an olive-wood cross and a faded panel, depicting the Madonna and Child.
It seemed to hurt the woman’s eyes as she was forced into the sensual glow of the chamber, urged into the presence of the still wheezing Silvano. Shielding her gaze, she took stock of the servants, the wounded, the Crusaders, then jerked her arm free from Enrique’s grasp and stalked toward her husband.
‘You’ve a reason for this, mi marito? An explanation as to why I’ve been dragged from communion with God? Who are these intruders? Are we now both to be murdered?’
Watching the woman, Falkan thought, I can almost understand why Atzeri seeks his perverse amusements with his girls. She’s as bad as Renato suggested; a hard-faced bitch with a tone of voice to match. But she makes my task easier; no danger of feeling sympathy for the daughter of Don Flavio Abruzzo.
The bluish-black of her gown was unrelieved by ornament; her sharp features poking for knowledge; her bony fingers like thin, accusative blades. Moving closer to Atzeri, she snapped, ‘I ask you again. Who are these armed and bloodie
d creatures, and why have you allowed them to wrest me from my silent communion—’
The Governor of Losara turned helplessly to Falkan. But the young knight ignored his unspoken pleas, addressing himself to the woman. ‘We are all you say, signora. Creatures bloodied by your husband’s soldiers. Intruders in this castle. But murderers? Not by choice.’
‘Then what business—’
‘Moderate your tone. The governor will explain things to you later. Meanwhile, prepare to keep us company. We’re taking you to see the pretty boats in the harbour.’
* * *
Moments later, under the supervision of Enrique, the servants had produced Tremellion’s salt-rimed chest. Its contents verified, the knights exchanged the Sicilian swords for their own. Atzeri’s jewellery was thrown in with the saddlebags, the clothes and armour, the documents used to deceive Renato Moretti. The servants were ordered to carry the chest, Atzeri placed at the mercy of the Spaniard, the corsair once again entrusted to Pino and the Saxon.
Quillon was helped to his feet, insisting he was as fit as a cock on a midden. He staggered once, then grinned at his companions, challenging them to a duel. ‘But I warn you, I’m as quick with the left as the right—’
Baynard Falkan escorted Signora Atzeri, the woman’s lips pinched in a bloodless line, her body quivering with rage and apprehension. The rumours were true. She had not once left the Rocca di Losara in the past four years…
* * *
Impressed by Falkan’s threat, the sentinelle had withdrawn from the entrance to the castle. But they lined the path that descended to the port, the terrible, square-headed quarrels of their crossbows levelled at the men who dared to abduct Atzeri.
And look! His wife!
They cringed from her glare, knowing that however it ended – unless in a massacre – her revenge would be awesome, her righteous fury unleashed. God help those who were chosen to face the wrath of Signora Atzeri!
The Lampreda lay waiting, her strakes rubbing gently at the quay.
But between the Crusaders and the galley stretched a double line of soldiers, those in front kneeling to form a spiked wedge of blades, those behind with lances and tight-wound crossbows.
A voice from the centre of the ranks called them to a halt. ‘You go no further than this! Throw aside your weapons and release the captives. Submit to the mercy—
‘You’ve missed your moment,’ Falkan responded. ‘It’s no longer just Atzeri who’ll die in the mêlée, but the daughter of Caltanissetta. Be sure of yourself before you tell your archers to let fly. It would take a dint of explaining, the death of the Lady of Losara.’ Then he urged the woman forward, alongside her husband, murmurs of astonished recognition dissolving the ranks.
There were curses and threats and the swearings of revenge, but the Sicilian troops could see the Crusader swords laid close to the necks of Silvano Atzeri and his wife. A single, ill-aimed quarrel, and there’d be scarce enough branches on the trees to support the ropes. Better that Don Abruzzo’s daughter was taken, than that all of Losara should be widowed…
* * *
Renato was carried gently aboard, then settled beside the tiller-bar. The servants hauled the heavy chest up the gangplank, resting it amidships. Atzeri tottered on the plank, turning on deck to half-raise his arms in mute appeal to the soldiers. Urged ahead by Falkan, the governor’s wife elbowed her husband aside. In passing, she spoke for the first time since leaving the castle. Her words for Atzeri alone, they left him gibbering that it wasn’t fair, it wasn’t so, it wasn’t true.
* * *
It was arduous work, releasing the Lampreda, though they managed it, Quillon jamming his knife in his belt to work with one hand, Pino scurrying from bow to stern, Guthric and Enrique obedient to the orders passed from the wounded Moretti to the anxious Baynard Falkan.
It took them an hour to clear the port. But the boom had been raised, navigation lights flickered at either side of the entrance. The oil-doused wood blazed in its cauldrons, each supported by the cage of a tall iron tripod.
And then, as the Eel slipped between the fires, the Governor of Losara seized his chance.
Abandoning his wife, uncaring of the future, he ran to the starboard rail, heaved his way over and toppled into the water. He surfaced behind the ship, splashing and squealing, then fumbled to rid himself of his heavy jewelled belt. The weight of leather and gold and precious inset stones took it downward in a wide, swirling spiral, to be buried for ever in the dull basalt mud.
* * *
It was now midsummer, the promise of day already conveyed from the east. Pino – the sole surviving member of the crew, other than the six who’d fled from the headland – took it upon himself to nurse Moretti.
But as Guthric had forecast, the corsair would die, and no amount of nursing would save his life. Though he was not yet ready, his knees drawn tight to help seal the gaping wound above his groin. He suffered agonies in silence, then emitted a brief groan of intolerable pain, Pino running to comfort him, or dab away the sweat that broke from his brow, the sailor who’d wooed young Quillon now showing the strength of his nature.
Guided by Moretti, the Lampreda skirted the coast, the pirate vessel sliding to meet the day.
And all the while, Signora Atzeri stood close to the port-side rail, her angular features fixed as in stone, her body immobile – an unappealing statue in transport across the sea.
Three hours’ sail from Losara, and with the light now marking the glint of silver on the waves, Baynard conferred with Moretti.
‘It was never my intention to take the Signora Atzeri from her home. To get us out of the port aboard your ship, well, yes, but it gives me no pleasure to abduct her—’
‘Wouldn’t give – wouldn’t give anyone pleasure, an arid bitch like that, eh, Crusader?’
‘Likely not,’ Falkan murmured, ‘though it has to be said, I do at last feel a stirring of pity for her. He’s quite the fellow, Silvano Atzeri. Match him with my own brother Ranulf, and Satan himself would be dining at their table. But listen. Before I tire you—’
‘Tire me all you wish, Crusader. I’d hate to die in silence.’
‘Always the liar,’ Falkan attributed. ‘For once in your life you prove useful, Renato, so you threaten me with dying.’
They gazed at each other, the pirate with his knees strapped tight, the knight crouched beside him, both of them fearing that death would come with the day.
‘You were about to ask? Something to do with the woman?’
‘I want to put her ashore. And take on crew for the Eel. If there’s a port—’
‘Santadi,’ the corsair told him. ‘Less than an hour’s sail ahead of us. I’m very well liked in Santadi. More friends there than I…. Then his voice faltered, his features twisted with pain.
Gripping the man’s shoulder, Baynard said quietly, ‘Yes, I know. More perhaps than the two of us could count.’
* * *
With Pino conning the galley, they entered the ramshackle harbour of Santadi.
The Knight of Tremellion rowed the Lady of Losara to the shore. Once on dry land, he said, ‘Your husband has served me grievously, signora, though the cause of it must remain between the governor and I. However, I regret that you’ve been torn from your devotions, taken from your fortress and hauled away to sea. I’ve more important matters in mind than to see you safely home, but the least I can do is— Here, Signora Atzeri. Here’s money enough to purchase a comfortable return to Losara.’
The woman took what he offered without a word. Then she stood for a moment, staring westward in the direction of the Rocca di Losara.
In her hard, saw-toothed tone she said, ‘I have two things to tell you, you poor pretence at chivalry. I shall not travel in comfort to Losara. Nor shall I spend so much as a lira of your oh-so-generous consideration. It goes to the first church I see. But what I shall do is start inland from here and find my way to the town of Caltanissetta. I shall leave it to my father to judge what should n
ext be done, and to whom.’
Baynard thought, she will do it. Be it fifty miles through the mountains, she will do it.
‘And the second thing, signora?’
Her bleak gaze still directed to the west, she said, ‘Oh, the second thing applies to my husband. You do not seem the type to be well versed in the Bible, although you call yourself a Crusader, so you are probably unaware of what the blessed Apostle Matthew wrote. “It had been good for that man if he had not been born”.’ She turned to Baynard, her smile stirring the hairs on the back of his neck. ‘Now, don’t you think that applies rather well to Silvano Atzeri?’
* * *
With three new crewmen questioned and approved by Moretti, the Lampreda continued east from the port of Santadi. But it was not until the galley had cleared the Punto di Correnti and was heading for the open sea that Baynard was able to forget the woman’s final, horripilant smile.
Chapter Twenty Three
The eldest of the three hired Sicilians was named Domenico Balbo, his knowledge of navigation impressive, his breath raw with the stink of anchovy and garlic. When he’d come aboard in Santadi he’d brought with him a small wooden box of the salted fish, and a string of the bulbous plants. These he would chew with a sweeping disregard for anyone forced to stand near him.
But the odours of his breath were a small price to pay for the accuracy of his orders. He’d satisfied the dying Moretti, and that was good enough for Falkan.
‘He admits to no more than a limited knowledge of the waters beyond Cyprus,’ the corsair recounted. ‘But he claims to have been to that island. And to where he’s taking us now, the island of Crete. You’ve a long sail ahead of you, Crusader.’
The Edge of the Blade Page 21