by Jackie Ivie
Rhoenne regarded his man as if he hadn’t said something witty. Henry was the one who smiled.
“Would you like the good first? Or the bad?”
“Bad.”
“We have a ship that requires several crewmen to man. Luckily the sails were pulled in afore the storm. Otherwise—.”
“We might have capsized. I know that. I reefed the sails.”
“Yes. Well. If you notice, the canvas is still in that condition. We are basically adrift.”
Rhoenne’s shoulders sank. He hoped the shirt hid it. “I need to put sail out? Is that what you infer? And yet, you let me sleep?”
Henry considered him for a bit. “Not really. We don’t actually need wind speed. Not at the moment.”
“What? Why?” Rhoenne asked with just a hint of the surprise that flooded him.
“You asked for the bad first. I am complying.”
Rhoenne gazed down at Henry without expression. The man returned the look. The deck rocked. Wood creaked. Henry finally spoke.
“Would you like me to continue?”
Rhoenne nodded.
“The crew is...mostly gone. Most taken in battle with you. The others were chucked overboard by Euan, myself, and the eunuch. Or perchance, they jumped. There are four left of the original crew.” He shrugged.
“Four? Are they prisoners?”
“Nae. They do not appear to have been in on the plot.”
Rhoenne narrowed his eyes. His headache was in danger of returning. “Plot?” he finally asked.
“The attack was planned, my laird. The fish stew tainted. These four ate it along with our clansmen. Everyone who partook is retching and ill. Except for Euan, and I have no explanation for that. We have three men down...along with the four crewmen.”
“Go on,” Rhoenne prompted.
“We may have to exist on salt biscuits and dry meat for a span. Euan is trying his hand at fishing. He has not had much luck. Oh. And the captain is deceased.”
“The stew?”
“Nae. He bedded in the galley. Pots and pans...tend to shift, even in a small storm. His head got bashed. I do na’ think he felt it.”
“Small storm?”
“I am nae expert of storms at sea. This one did a bit of damage and moved on. The crew may have known this one would na’ be bad, which could explain why the attack happened when it did.”
Rhoenne frowned. He knew exactly why it had happened when it did. He wasn’t speaking of it, however. “So. The captain is dead?” he remarked to get Henry back on subject.
“Aye. Already buried at sea. Or pitched overboard. You may select whichever one you like.”
“How is that bad?”
“Oh. ’Tis not, really. I am heading into the good portion.”
“And...?” Rhoenne waved a hand.
“We now have a goodly amount of goods to salvage. And a ship, such as it is.”
Rhoenne grunted.
“You are well. I am well. Euan is well. The ladies are unharmed and well. The eunuch, also?” Henry finished.
Rhoenne nodded.
“All good. And we have seven crewmen once they recover.”
Rhoenne grunted.
“Oh. We also have freshly-filled rain barrels for water. And here is the main thing, although I am undecided whether to label it good. Or...not so good.”
“Well. What?”
“We are in sight of a port.”
“What? Where?”
“Starboard side.”
Rhoenne rushed to the side, grabbed a line, jumped atop a rail, and grunted with pain. There was a definite dark mass in the distance. He couldn’t see through an instant film. He blinked it back rapidly.
“Do we know which one?” he asked.
Henry stood on deck, his head level with Rhoenne’s lower leg, looking up. His face was expressionless.
“That is the reason for my indecision, my laird. I can’t tell yet. This ocean is full of options. The Domini de Mar is large. The Venetian Republic controls many domains of this sea. It might be Crete. Rhodes? Malta? We might be lucky and it is Sparta, or another part of the western mainland. Or...we may be facing the enemy again. It could be Persia. Or even Cyrenazi. Somewhere else in the Levant. That is why we do na’ need or want wind speed at the moment.”
“I see.”
Rhoenne stepped back to the deck. “I’ll go up. Get a look. Keep this quiet.”
“Have I ever done other?” Henry replied.
“You don’t really wish me to answer that, do you?”
“Well. Then consider. Even if I was a rumor-monger, I have few options to spread any information at the moment. Euan is otherwise occupied. I am not allowed to visit your women. And everyone else is prostrate.”
Rhoenne’s lips quirked. Henry was at a full grin. He was still smiling and shaking his head as Rhoenne started up the pole.
Chapter Fifteen
He wasn’t certain until his third trip up to the mizzenmast, each immediately followed by pretending he didn’t have a newly cauterized wound that wasn’t shooting pain through him, oozing fresh blood through the newly stitched flesh into his bandaging, and making each indrawn breath hurt, following a bitten-off oath, or a stream of them. And it only worked because there weren’t any witnesses.
On his third trip, he’d tacked the mainsail, taking advantage of the breeze. With luck and the right headwind, they’d reach the tide and get pulled into port without much effort. It was a far better option than the aimless drifting they’d been doing throughout the day. If anyone with knowledge had witnessed it, they’d have questioned the captain’s sanity. As if they still had one. But the deck remained empty. Even Henry had gone below.
Closer and closer they’d drifted. The dark mass on the horizon became recognizable as a hill, then a harbor backed by a town. Dun-colored structures cluttered the shoreline before climbing toward a fortress at the hill’s crest. Worry warred with hope within him as the day wore on. Although unfamiliar, it didn’t appear to be an Egyptian or Islamic-held town, but it certainly wasn’t the seaport in Cyprus where they’d departed for the crusade. That particular piece of land was flat.
Euan had given up fishing and followed Henry into the ship’s bowels. They were welcome to it. Rhoenne would rather be out in the air and sunlight.
And solitude.
Mid-afternoon, he’d grabbed a meal of salted meat and dry biscuits washed down with fresh water, taken a slow walk around the ship, using the time to bolster and prepare, and then he’d braved the climb. Each movement had pain attached and every breath carried the same. But it was then he’d caught a glimpse of the flag. Narrowing eyes and focusing for long moments showed a color scheme that might mean safety. Despite straining however, he could barely make out colors. Red and yellow. That was his second trip. On the third one, he knew. Whatever the port, it was part of the Venetian Republic’s maritime possessions called the Domini de Mar. There was no mistaking the yellow Lion of St. Mark on a red background.
Safety. A return to civilization.
And that meant it was decision time.
“See this one? ’Tis called a lemniscate. It’s simply two loops, looking akin to a snake swallowing its own tail. This is the symbol for eight. And this one—.”
Both women looked up as the door shut. Rhoenne’s entrance sifted some of the powder they’d sprinkled on the floor. Cassandra jumped to her feet as if caught in some perfidy. Rhoenne glanced down as she tried to erase her work with the bottom of her slipper.
“Wait.”
She stopped her efforts. Pulled her foot back under her skirt. He walked in another step. Looked down at her scuffed-over etching. Spoke in his language.
“You ken numbers?”
Cassandra shrugged. She kept her head bowed.
“Do na’ bother hiding it. I can see. You know how to work with numbers? Count? Add?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
“How did you learn such?”
She shrugged again.
/> “Oh, come now. Speak up. You know several languages. And now I find you ken numbers? How is this possible?”
“There were many long hours...in a day,” she answered. “And many teachers.”
“You were in a harem.”
“Yes.”
“There were teachers in there?”
Cassandra glanced up at him, her look enigmatic. Carefully blank.
“What is it?” he asked.
She shrugged yet again. Rhoenne sighed. “Cassandra. I asked you a question. I expect an answer.”
She tensed oddly. Then spoke. Her voice was nearly inaudible. “Many women lived in the harem. From many walks of life...and all manner of lands. To an eager student, they were wondrous teachers. The eunuchs taught, as well. Even some of the slaves.”
“What did they teach?”
Cassandra glanced up at him, then away. “All manner of things. Music. Dance. Medicine. Writing.”
“You can write, too?”
“Yes.”
“Which scripts?”
“Most. Arabic. Chinese. Phoenician.”
He whistled lightly. “I do na’ understand. Why would you hide this?”
“I am a woman.”
Rhoenne tensed at the reminder. It was involuntarily. And vicious. A sharp pain went through his sewn flesh. “I am verra much aware of that,” he finally answered.
“Knowledge is of little value for a woman. Some of it is forbidden. And punished.”
“Punished?”
She nodded.
“I see. Yet you pursued it?”
“There are many hours in a day. Life can be tedious. Especially in a gilded cage...with naught to do.”
“I heard they practiced...things. Like being beautiful.”
She snorted something that sounded like amusement. “Beauty is not practiced. It is a blessing. And a curse.” The last was whispered.
Rhoenne grunted. “Then perhaps they played at enhancing beauty?”
She kept her head bowed. It was impossible to see her expression. “One can only spend so many hours looking at one’s reflection in a mirror. Although there were some that thought it of benefit.”
“What of the lessons in passion? Creating desire? And the orgies?”
“Orgies?” Cassandra flashed a glance at him. She looked as shocked as she sounded.
“Those happened. I’ve heard the tales. All those women. One man.”
“You jest,” Cassandra returned.
“Nae. I told you. I’ve heard tales.”
“The tales are lies, I assure you.”
“They didn’t have orgies?”
“One thing I have learned since my escape...is that everything I thought true is open to question. Either my teachers were uninformed or the world has markedly changed.”
“The sultan had dozens of women, yet you expect me to believe he didn’t participate in orgies...or even more horrendous sins?”
“Hundreds,” Cassandra returned.
“Hundreds of sins?”
“No. He kept hundreds of women.”
“Good Lord. What did he do with that many women?”
Cassandra shrugged again. “Fed them. Clothed them. Ignored them.”
“Ignored them? No. I do na’ believe it.”
“The sultan is an auld man. And portly.” Cassandra shuddered visibly before continuing on. “He already has children. Many sons. From many wives.”
“Many wives? So...that part is true?”
Cassandra nodded. “He was also...ill. He rarely visited the harem, even to choose a favorite from among his concubines.”
“You?”
“Oh. No. No. Not yet, Thank God. I was lucky.”
“You’re na’ Muslim?” Rhoenne asked.
Cassandra shook her head. “No. Had I become his favorite, however, conversion would have been forced upon me.”
“This is unbelievable, Cassandra. How could he na’ spot you? Was the man blind?”
She sniffed and this time he was certain it was amusement. “In a crowd of hundreds, all veiled, each with her beauty enhanced...and most vying for his attention, ’twas easy to escape notice. Besides, I was usually reading. Or studying. I was good at hiding both.”
“Because of the punishment involved?”
“And I did not wish the sultan’s favor. I was interested in escape.”
“Oh. Well. Looks like you succeeded with that.”
“Yes. But I didn’t know what I would face! The things I had been taught? The knowledge I gained? None of it is true! Nothing I was told bears any resemblance to what the world is truly like!”
“You speak of last night?” Rhoenne asked.
“And the mercenaries,” she whispered and shuddered again.
“Cassandra. Not all men are like that.”
“Yes, they are.”
Rhoenne regarded the top of her head for a span. “I am different,” he replied.
She cast a glance up at him. Gave a tiny smile. His knees actually quivered. Rhoenne physically fought the reaction even as he denied it. Blamed it on his injury.
“You are a man,” she finally answered. “And men seek to own. Control. And punish.”
“You have a jaundiced view.”
She snorted. “As do you.”
Rhoenne regarded at the top of her head since she didn’t look up. He had no rebuttal to what she’d just said. “I would na’ punish you,” he informed her.
“You punish every woman.”
She sucked in a gasp after the words, and bent her head slightly lower on her shoulders as if he’d react. Long moments passed as he wondered what to reply, or even if he should. She cleared her throat. The sound was loud, yet frail.
“Forgive me. I spoke out of turn.”
“There is naught to forgive. If I am honest, I earned the comment.”
She looked up at him, surprise staining her features. Her shoulders straightened. She stood taller.
“I surprise you?” he asked.
She nodded.
“I do na’ see how. ’Tis obvious you do na’ fear punishment. At least, na’ from me.”
“You speak of the men you killed...on my behalf?”
“Actually, I refer to this.” He stuck his boot atop the figure eight she’d drawn. “If knowledge of numbers is punishable, isn’t it the same for Ida?”
The woman started at mention of her name. Cassandra touched her arm with a reassuring gesture. “A slave with needle skills has value, but one who can work with numbers is rare. It might afford her a better chance at...avoiding the horrors of her station.”
“She is na’ a slave,” Rhoenne answered. “I’m Christian. We do na’ keep slaves. Which is the reason I came here actually.”
“You are freeing Ida?”
“I never owned Ida. She has ever been free. As are you.”
Her eyes went wide. The liquid gold color darkened. “What...are you saying?”
“You have what you wanted. Escape from a harem. And freedom.”
“No! Please. You must reconsider.”
Cassandra leapt toward him, wrapped a hand around his upper arm. Rhoenne fought reacting to her touch. Sweeping her into his arms again like he had just last night. And holding her there.
“You should na’ touch me,” he warned.
“Please! Please! I will do anything. Do not discard me!”
“Discard you? What the devil? I can na’ discard you. I never had you.”
Cassandra’s voice sounded like it filled with tears. “Please. I do not know this world but I have learned much. There is only one safe place for me. And for Ida. And it is...with you.”
“No,” Rhoenne returned.
“Please?”
“I do na’ keep women. I just said as much.”
“Please!”
“You realize what you ask?”
“I beg of you.”
“Cassandra. Calm yourself. Now.”
He removed her hand from his arm and held it within his
fingers. His were massive. Warm. Hers were delicate. Finely-boned. Untouched by labor. And ice cold. She was also shaking. Ida wasn’t silent, either. The woman was clueless to what had transpired, but she’d wrapped her arms about herself and was rocking in place and moaning loudly. Rhoenne looked heavenward, gave a heavy sigh, and looked back down at Cassandra. As he watched, she blinked tears into existence down her cheeks. Licked at them. He glanced there, then looked up and over her head.
“Stay here.”
He didn’t mean to sound angry. He didn’t know what he was, anymore. He released Cassandra and swiveled, opened the cabin door, nodded to Emin, stepped out, and walked away. From her. Taking long strides. Purposeful. He winced with every other one. He was about to do something he’d never done.
Never even considered.
Reaching the door to the hold seemed to take forever. Rhoenne pulled in a breath, bent forward, stifled the agony of the accursed wound, grabbed the iron ring, and yanked the door up, opening a large black hole. And then he bellowed into the aperture.
“Henry!”
“Ramhurst?” A groggy-sounding voice answered.
“I need...help.”
Moments later, four men poured through the opening, one after the other, all bringing swords. The first two stayed on their feet. The last two crawled.
“Well. Where are they?” Henry cried.
“I requested you, Henry,” Rhoenne answered. “Not all of you.”
“We are na’ under attack?”
“Of course na’. Graham? Iain? You can na’ even stand. Get back to your cots. Rest.”
“You have never asked for help, my laird,” Henry answered.
“’Tis na’ that kind of help.”
“What other kind is there?” Euan asked.
“I...need to talk,” Rhoenne admitted.
“You need words? With Henry?” Euan hooted.
“Graham, Iain? Get below. And Euan, assist them.”
“But—,” Euan began.
“Now,” Rhoenne commanded. It wasn’t optional. He already regretted his rash behavior. It sounded in his voice. He waited until the hatch closed before speaking again. “Come, Henry. Walk with me.”
Henry sheathed his sword. “Yes. Well. I stand prepared, Rhoenne. For battle...or an ear for the listen. But I must say, I am surprised. You have never asked for my words.”