Fear dawned upon the townspeople and they began to run for cover, the women shrieking and the children screaming. Nogai cut down lengths of cloth offered for sale. He turned his pony and bade it kick at a baker’s stall, making the shelf of freshly baked loaves of bread fall to the ground. Dogs appeared from the shadows to eat the bread and the free ponies ran through the square, causing more chaos. Apples were crushed underfoot. Nogai leered at women, snatching one up, then casting her down into a cart filled with root vegetables. Soup was spilled, meat pies scattered, goldsmiths packed up with haste—and that was before Eustache and his company of knights entered the square.
They, too, seemed bent on destruction, and the larger destriers were far less nimble than the ponies. They fanned out so that the entire square was in turmoil. Thierry whistled and the ponies came to him. Nogai laughed as they rode together toward the street that left the opposite side of the square. He held an apple and took a bite of it with satisfaction. Their ponies galloped together, sending more than one curious townsperson scurrying back into their home. Someone threw slops from a window at them, but the gift missed both Thierry and Nogai. The ponies behind ran around it, as swift as the wind itself.
There were shouts and accusations behind them, then a roar as a knight rode into the falling slops. The town gates were before them. The plump sentry came out of the gatehouse looking sleepy and ineffective. Nogai, right beside Thierry, bellowed, and the man took one look before he fled his post. The ponies thundered beneath the gate and onto the road. It wound beside a wide slow river and Thierry surveyed the shore as he chose a spot for their confrontation.
“There,” Nogai said, pointing to place ahead. There were trees and scrub on the bank, so the details of the fight might be unclear, and no buildings near it. On the opposite side of the road was forest and there was a slight bend in the road, obscuring it from the view from town. “See the ripple?” Thierry’s anda said. “The water is shallow there. You might not drown.”
“A man can drown in the shallows, all the same,” Thierry noted.
“Not if he has his wits about him.” Nogai nodded. “I like this scheme. It will succeed.” He grinned at Thierry. “Farewell, Qaraq-Böke.”
They shared a glance and a nod, then there was a bellow from behind them as Eustache cleared the gates. His destrier was chestnut with white socks and a star upon its brow, a huge beast that sped down the road, its caparisons flying. He had passed Beauregard to someone else, likely for the boy’s safety, and Thierry admired that.
“Clever,” Nogai noted as the gates were closed behind Eustache. That man rode alone, although heads appeared along the top of the town walls as the townspeople gathered to watch the pursuit of the Mongols.
But how to hide Kira from view? The bend in the road was the answer.
“Stay within the shelter of the trees,” Thierry instructed her. “Await the crowds who come when Eustache falls, and disappear into their ranks.”
She nodded and he wished he had time to tell her a dozen things—or maybe just one. He bent and kissed her quickly, then the bend was upon them. He slowed the pony and Kira jumped down. Nogai also slowed his pony. Thierry watched Kira slip into the shadows of the forest, then gave the pony his heels again. When they reappeared to the townspeople, they rode just as they had before, with Thierry slightly ahead.
He turned the pony on the chosen spot and shook his fist at the rapidly approaching Eustache. “Frankish dog!” he shouted. “I will not be your captive!”
“Then you will be my victim!” Eustache roared, raising his sword. “For the king!”
Thierry pivoted and dismounted when Eustache charged. If he had really been battling the older knight, he would have remained on the pony and used his bow. He would have aimed for the gap between the knight’s coiff and his hauberk, and the arrow would have buried in Eustache’s throat, killing him so quickly that he would have fallen from the destrier before that beast could reach Thierry. It was against Thierry’s every instinct to fight on his feet and to do battle with a knife, but it also gave Eustache an advantage.
That man appeared to take it. He bore down on Thierry and Thierry backed toward the river, wishing all the while that he had learned to swim. Eustache slashed with his sword and Thierry ducked beneath the blow. The older knight was either intent upon killing him, or upon making the feint look good. Thierry wished he knew.
The horse passed him, and Eustache turned the creature, heading back for another blow. This time, Thierry ducked beneath Eustache’s arm and touched his blade to the other man’s thigh.
“It must look authentic,” he whispered at Eustache’s surprise to be nicked, and the knight growled.
His blade descended in a flash of silver and Thierry pivoted, falling to his knees as if he had been struck. He raised his sword, though, and let it clash loudly against Eustache’s blade. He stumbled backward, apparently overwhelmed by Eustache’s power and the knight dismounted, supposedly to finish the task.
Thierry rose to his feet, surprising his opponent and they battled back and forth. “You young rascal,” Eustache said through his teeth. His eyes flashed. “Your father’s seed in more ways than one.”
“How so?”
“He would not have made this simple either.”
In that moment, the gates of the town opened and there was a roar. A company of men in blue and gold raced from the village in pursuit.
The king’s men had arrived.
With that sight, Eustache gave a hoot. He lunged with the sword, aiming a sweeping blow for Thierry’s knees.
It was time. Thierry jumped the blade then deliberately stumbled, trusting his opponent’s intent.
Eustache shouted as he positioned himself between Thierry and the town, ensuring that neither townsfolk nor approaching knights could see.
“Midnight,” he said tersely, then thrust his sword at Thierry.
The blade passed between Thierry’s arm and his side but no one could have known as much at a distance. Eustache pierced the wineskin and red blood spurted from it. Thierry cried out in pain and fell backward, landing in the Seine with a noisy splash.
Thierry held his breath and let himself sink, letting the river carry him toward the sea. When he felt the shadow of a bridge pass over him, he rolled over, floating on his back. There was no one within sight, but he could hear the ruckus from upriver. He hoped that all went according to plan, but there was nothing he could do about it. He tugged the wineskin from his belt and let it sink, then counted the bridges passing overhead.
’Twould be a long cold wait until midnight, but it was a better fate than the king’s prison.
And a much better fate than death.
Kira watched with horror as Thierry fell into the river. Though she knew it was only wine, the sight of red flowing freely from him was frightening all the same. Nogai battled with Eustache, exactly as planned, the ponies milling around them. He sliced Eustache’s cheek, a shallow wound that bled profusely, and Eustache muttered a curse. The Mongol was finally subdued and taken captive, his hands bound together roughly by the older man. Kira saw the pair of them exchange a conspiratorial grin, then Eustache shouted back to the village.
“I have need of a healer!” he shouted. “The fiends have cut me!”
The king’s knights were close by this point and surrounded both Eustache and Nogai. The ponies were caught and tethered. People surged from the gates, their curiosity driving them onward now that the barbarians had been subdued. Kira admired how Eustache turned their attention away from the river, so that none sought Thierry.
“Let the sea have him,” he said gruffly. “We have not the time to gather such infidels, much less to waste the expense of a good funeral upon one.”
The knights agreed heartily to this. There was some friction over the loss of their fellows in Paris, and she heard Eustache argue about the need to defend any envoy arriving at the king’s court, for the sake of diplomacy and the king’s honor. She had no doubt that he woul
d persuade them of his loyalty to the king.
When the road was crowded, Kira eased out of the forest. She had turned Thierry’s cloak so that the lining, which was a lighter hue, was showing, and she kept it closed so that no one would notice her garb. Someone drew up her hood and she jumped to find a woman beside her, one with knowing eyes. “You must have lost your veil, sister,” that woman said softly, tugging the hood forward to cast Kira’s face into shadow. She raised her brows when their gazes met. “My lord Eustache would not be pleased.”
A second woman appeared on Kira’s other side and she understood that these were the two whores of whom Eustache had spoken. They remained on either side of her, taking her into their custody, and she wondered if she was their captive or not.
“What is your name?” Kira asked and the woman surveyed her.
“Florine. And yours?”
“Kira.”
The woman nodded, her expression shrewd. “I think your name is Katherine,” she said and Kira would have argued. “It is not foreign,” the woman continued with resolve. “And you must be a mute, Katherine, for your accent is strong.”
“Mute?” Kira echoed.
The woman moved her lips as if she spoke, but no sounds emerged. “No voice,” she said and Kira nodded understanding. She leaned closer, her voice dropping to a hiss. “You will not be found within the ranks of those who follow my lord Eustache,” she said with heat. “For I will not see him condemned by any infidel. I will kill you myself rather than see him accused.” Kira looked up to meet the chill in the other woman’s eyes. “Do we understand each other, Katherine?”
Kira nodded, aware that the woman was completely loyal to Eustache. She remained quiet, keeping Thierry’s knife hidden and her grip tight upon his purse, letting the women guide her. She was so taut with fear that she was certain she would err, and she did not like that she was alone. The king’s knights moved through the company, and Kira cast down her gaze to hide her reaction to them.
“She is not so shy as that,” Florine said with a laugh. “But it is a good trick. There are many who pay more out of their conviction they are first.” Two knights laughed with Florine and Kira felt her cheeks burn, even as she stared at the ground.
She could flee, but that would attract attention to her. Indeed, she feared Florine more than the king’s knights.
In that moment, the boy Beauregard came to her, and slid his small hand into hers, as if they were old friends. He smiled at her with confidence and she suspected that Eustache had sent him to remain with her. He knew the scheme, as well, and Kira dared to smile back at him.
She had to trust someone.
Eventually, the entire company made its way to an inn on the far side of the town, closer to Paris. The horses were stabled and the knights occupied the common room. A hot meal was served, along with ale and wine, and a messenger was dispatched to Paris. But the women guided Kira to another chamber, then barred it against the company and Beauregard.
Kira did not know what to expect, and gripped the hilt of Thierry’s knife beneath the folds of the cloak. “’Twill be a long night, sister,” said Florine.
“I do not mind when they are triumphant,” the other said with a shrug. “’Tis when they are defeated and angry that I yearn for another trade.” As they spoke, the two women rolled a tub to the middle of the small chamber and set it to rights.
Florine pushed Kira to a corner. “Sit down, Katherine,” she commanded. “I know you are tired and cold.” She tugged up Kira’s hood so that her face was completely hidden and tucked the cloak around her, hiding even her boots from view. “Perhaps you should nap.”
Kira understood that she should remain still and quiet.
The other woman was clapping her hands and Kira peeked from beneath the hood to see servants bringing buckets into the chamber. Steam rose from them, and she realized they were filled with hot water. The water splashed into the tub, bucket after bucket of it, until the great tub was more than half filled. They added buckets of cold water until the other woman pronounced the temperature to be right, then Florine waved her into the bath.
“Eustache will have my head if aught happens to this one,” she said softly, standing guard beside Kira.
The other woman barred the door that the servants had used and stripped off her clothing. She was buxom and her skin was pale. Her hair was long and golden, and she bathed with speed. She shook out a sheer kurta from her pack, leaving aside the one she had been wearing, and donned the same wool garment over top. Kira watched her lace the sides so that her figure was displayed, then pull on stockings and shoes. Her legs were bare, for she wore no chalwar, but Kira attributed that choice to her trade. She was braiding her hair when Florine used the bathwater. Florine was more slender and younger than the other woman, but she bathed with the same practicality. When she left the tub, she pointed at Kira.
“It all must go,” she said. “Every scrap must be burned, lest you be found within the company.” She cast a clean white kurta and a heavier garment of wool dyed the hue of cinnamon in Kira’s direction.
Kira bowed her head. “I thank you for the kurta,” she said but Florine shook her head.
“Chemise,” she said, indicating the white garment. “Kirtle,” she said of the woolen one.
“Chalwar,” Kira said, lifting one foot to indicated her sheer trousers.
Florine shook her head. “They will burn.”
There was something of her manner that reminded Kira of the Persian woman in the Mongol camp. How long ago that had been!
Kira undressed, surrendering her garments one at a time to Florine, who rolled them into a bundle. She felt her color rising as more of her skin was bared, but ’twas clear the two women were not going to leave her in privacy.
“Not the knife,” she said stubbornly. “He gave it to me.”
Florine frowned. “And ’tis not such a bad notion. Hide it beneath your chemise.” She made a loop of the lace, showing how it could be bound around Kira’s waist. They nodded agreement together, then Florine reached for Thierry’s pouch.
“Nay!” Kira protested.
Florine held up the embroidered purse, hanging with feathers and tassels. “Only an infidel would possess such a purse,” she said, and Kira had to admit that it was distinctive in this place. She opened it and poured the contents into her palm, took a breath and surrendered the purse to Florine.
Florine considered her clenched hand. “I have an old one,” she said and took a plain cloth sack from her belongings. It had a drawstring on the top and was brown. Kira had seen similar purses tied to the belts of people in these hands. She put the contents of Thierry’s purse into this one and knotted the top securely.
Florine surrendered the bundle of clothes to her companion, then surveyed Thierry’s cloak critically. Kira was glad she was permitted to keep it, for it was cursed cold at night. When the other woman left, Florine secured the door again, then gestured for Kira to bathe.
For the first time in all her days and nights, Kira did not savor a bath. She rushed through it, disliking how Florine watched her. She heard the other woman catch her breath at the sight of the healed scars upon her back, though she tried to ensure they were not seen.
She felt Florine’s fingertip on her shoulder. “Did the barbarian do this?” she asked, her tone cool but her eyes flashing.
Kira shook her head. “My father.” ’Twas easier to admit the truth than it had been once, for her former life seemed years in the past. “The barbarian, as you call him, is far kinder.”
Florine nodded and removed her fingertip, retreating to watch Kira with her arms folded across her chest. Even though the water was warm and it felt good to remove the grime from her skin, Kira could not enjoy the luxury. She was too worried about Thierry, too distrustful of Florine and Eustache, and too uncertain of the future.
Florine was practical, if nothing else. She adjusted Kira’s clothing, braided her hair, and tugged the laces at the sides of her kirtle tigh
t. She veiled Kira’s hair and shook out Thierry’s cloak. She ensured that the knife was hidden from view and that Kira was dressed as expected, then led her into the common room of the inn.
The room was warm and lit by oil lanterns. The air was filled with the laughter of men and the smell of roasted meat. There were trestle tables set up and a fire blazing at the far end of the hall, dogs underfoot and ale being poured into crockery cups. Kira kept her head bowed and followed Florine to a table near the kitchen, ignoring the comments of the men as they passed. She did not understand the words but she guessed the intention, and she hoped with all her heart that Eustache’s plan would bring Thierry back to her soon.
When they put a bowl of stew before her with a spoon, Kira hesitated only for a moment before she ate. The best choice she could make would be to remain strong and healthy, whether Thierry returned to her or nay.
Chapter 14
Thierry had never been so cold in his life. He had slept on plains beneath the stars and even in the snow. He had been without fuel for a fire on a winter night. He had been miles from a welcoming yurt when a storm rose suddenly.
But he had never been so chilled as he was that night, waiting for Eustache beneath the third bridge. Being wet made the difference. Indeed, he feared that he might freeze before the other man arrived.
He stamped his feet and he paced. He swung his arms and he reminded himself that it was far far colder on the steppes than under the bridge. He blew on his fingers and jumped up and down.
All the same, his teeth were chattering when he heard the hoof beats of a horse, the sound so loud that he thought it might lead to his discovery. Thierry was startled when he heard a whistle, a three-note whistle his father used to make. He had almost forgotten that, but he whistled back, hoping it had been Eustache—and fearing too late that it was not.
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