Blaze of Silver (20 page)

When she first saw the gathering of nuns, loosely guarded by lay monks, moving slowly along the same route as herself, her heart rose. The gathering was so large that she was sure that their destination must be one of the large convents set somewhere along the Rhine's banks. Today she could ride with them and not worry about getting lost. They would hardly notice her.

There she was wrong. The abbess was soon alerted to the unknown novice traveling in their midst, clearly a runaway. Nothing was done at first but when dusk fell and Marissa tried to leave the nuns behind, one of the monks seized her pony's bridle. “Get off!” Marissa was suddenly horribly aware of her stupidity. “I'm on my way to my motherhouse.” The lie came easily. “They're expecting me.” The monk took no notice but hauled her off the pony and marched her to the abbess. Marissa kept her head. If she struggled and swore, she would give herself away. She must be haughty but dignified if she was to persuade these busybodies to let her go.

But she met her match. The abbess listened politely to Marissa's explanations, even encouraging her in her lie. Where was the motherhouse? In Speyer, Marissa said, not knowing the name of any other large town.
The abbess seemed pleased with this answer and for a moment Marissa thought she had won. Then the abbess smiled. “We too are going to Speyer,” she said brightly, looking Marissa straight in the eye. “You must travel with us and we will hand you safely over to your new home. I'm surprised that you have been sent on this journey alone. Where did you say you came from? Clearly not a convent of any merit.” She glanced up and down at Marissa's grubby clothes.

“But I must hurry,” said Marissa, clenching her fists. The abbess looked at her. “Are you going to hit me?” she asked.

Marissa could not bear it. “Please,” she begged, “please let me go. You don't understand.”

“I think I understand perfectly,” the abbess answered shortly. She had humored this runaway long enough. Then she added, with what she thought to be kindness but to Marissa was maddening complacency, “We'll get to Speyer soon enough, my sister. I'm afraid we are to make many stops on the way, so you will have plenty of time to learn the virtue of patience. But once we get to Speyer you can face the proper authorities.” Though the unhappy girl argued and argued and even tried to tell the abbess the exact nature of her business to stress its urgency, the abbess's ears were deaf, and very soon Marissa found her pony had vanished and she herself was loosely bound to another sister, who, taking very unkindly to Marissa's tugs, kicks, and stream of invective, returned every blow and insult in kind. Marissa tried every trick in her considerable armory to free herself. None worked and though it nearly choked her to accept that she must get to Speyer slowly or risk dying
of fury and not getting there at all, she had little choice. The abbess watched her carefully. In her day, she thought, girls who were told to be nuns just accepted it, even welcomed it. Now she met many more girls like Marissa. The world, the abbess decided, was not moving in the right direction.

For the first few hours, just as Marissa had done, Will thought that he and Ellie would find the journey to Speyer relatively easy. He knew the town was hundreds of miles away, but with so many rivers to use, it was not impossible. He cursed when they had to stop for food and thought ruefully of all the ransom silver. Now he didn't even have enough coin for a bowl of pottage. With false promises he persuaded peddlers and pilgrims to give them bread and oats. The effort of riding made Ellie feverish and Will knew that her wound was still bleeding. He steadfastly refused to look at it, however, terrified to see the discoloration that would spell Ellie's end. It was better not to know. “If the weather holds, we'll make it to Speyer in a month—five weeks at most,” he repeated endlessly as they headed back to the Rhone. Even as he said it, he realized what an impossible task they had. Five weeks! Anything might happen to them in that time. Hosanna and Sacramenta would tire and Amal was on the swiftest horse in the world. Whenever he thought of Shihab, Will ground his teeth. He could not think of her with any affection at all.
Though Kamil had tamed her and Ellie loved to ride her, he wished her ill.

The orange-bringer had no difficulty in following their trail. Like all the Old Man's servants, he was adept at changing his appearance and could speak several languages. Mingling unobtrusively with the peddlers and pilgrims, he elicited information without causing any suspicion. It was less easy, however, to maneuver himself into a position where he could do what the Old Man asked with no risk of discovery.

It seemed to take ages to get anywhere. Miles felt farther here than they did in England. The sky seemed higher. Now that it was just Will and Ellie, it was not just the impossible dialects that made the place feel alien. The wind felt bigger and more menacing than it ever was at Hartslove, as if it wanted to remind them all the time that they were friendless and far from home. They rode past slope after slope of straggling vineyards and sheltered under trees he could not name. Villages were unexpectedly set out and houses unfamiliar shapes. At night he scarcely slept because he could not quite place all the noises. He feared wolves.

Once at the river, Will managed to negotiate a lift on a barge transporting skins. The skins smelled but this was not the time to be fastidious. The horses, hating it, nevertheless stepped obediently onto the rickety wooden slats, holding their heads high to breathe in fresh air. The bargeman, heavy of jaw and with a gypsy countenance, saved all his breath to drive his oarsmen hard. Will exulted as they rowed, bare-armed despite the cold, their muscles knotted and their hands like leather. This was better. Now they were really moving. The
orange-bringer watched them embark, then found himself another barge bound in the same direction. The crewmen hardly noticed him for the man seemed to be exactly what the Old Man so often told him he was—nobody.

Will and Ellie stayed with the barge for many days. The temperature dropped and they feared that the water might freeze. But though the wind turned tears into icicles, the river remained free. Sometimes it cut a swathe under giant, tree-topped cliffs. Other times it rolled through endless valleys bounded by hills shrouded in winter fog. Will tried to be patient, reassuring himself that Amal was also in an unfamiliar land experiencing the same conditions and that a horse galloping alone seldom goes as fast as two traveling together. “We will be in time,” he said confidently to Ellie, “I know we will.”

Ellie didn't reply. To stem his terrors Will began to talk. He spoke of their childhood, of all the things at Hartslove that he loved, of his brother, of his father, of Old Nurse, of Kamil, of Marissa, and of himself. He scarcely knew what he said or how long he sat. As night fell his words were punctuated with sleep, and sometimes the bargewoman, who fancied herself a healer, came and plastered Ellie's bandage with potions, each more evil-smelling than the last. Will did not object, only talked on and on, speaking more quickly when Ellie's temperature was high and more slowly as it sank. He had no idea how many hours had passed by the time he noticed that Ellie was actually listening. Then he talked more gently and more guardedly, finding himself quite suddenly, when the fever left her and she looked
at him again, afflicted by his old doubts as to whether he would ever know whether she could really love him. He was amazed to find these thoughts surfacing at such a time. Would they never go away?

A week later, after the bargewoman reassured them that the danger to Ellie had passed, Will's relief was enormous. When the barge stopped to replenish food and water stocks, he took the horses off and stretched their legs along the river valley, encouraging them to pick at what grass they could scrape through the snow that fell sporadically. There was no goodness in what they cropped but they enjoyed the temporary freedom and when Will brought them back, Ellie told him that their flanks looked rounder and their thick coats less dull. Will also used these excursions to listen for news of Amal and Shihab. Shihab was too distinctive to miss. But they heard nothing and Will slowly began to allow himself to hope that something had befallen them miles back and that the race to get to Richard was already won.

All the while the orange-bringer followed on close behind, but now he was nervous. Time was passing and he did not want the Old Man to sail without him. He would have to act soon. His moment came when the barge could go no farther and Will and Ellie mounted the horses again. At once, the orange-bringer bargained for a mount for himself and pressed hard behind them.

As far as the orange-bringer was concerned, the first night ashore was a failure for Will hardly slept and kept jumping up at unexpected intervals, disturbed by Hosanna, who would not settle. However, the second night, when Will had pushed the horses hard all day
and sleep felled him like a giant stone, the orange-bringer managed to creep very close. The horses were loosely tied outside the deserted herdsman's shelter into which Will had pushed Ellie, making a bed for himself in the doorway where he lay, his hand on his sword, as dead to the world as a marble knight atop a crusading tomb. The orange-bringer slid up to Hosanna, slowly drew out his dagger, and grabbed the red tail. Two seconds later, he had been kicked unceremoniously backward and Sacramenta, jerking up from her doze, heard a great and furious rumble emerge from deep within Hosanna's chest. It alarmed her and, tugging on her rope, she freed herself. Fearing Will, the orange-bringer limped quickly over to the safety of a rock as the mare barged past him. He cowered into a cleft but though Will murmured and his hand clutched his sword hilt, he did not wake. Beyond exhaustion, his senses were dead. Inside the cave, Ellie heard nothing and turned to the wall.

The orange-bringer waited a moment or two, then tried again. Again Hosanna made a racket and the man knew at once that he would never be able even to touch the horse's tail. Yet he could not afford to come away with nothing, so he held back until Hosanna quieted down, then slid forward once more, this time avoiding the horses altogether. Crawling on his belly, he slithered past Will and only once inside the shelter did he stand up and flatten himself against the rough stones. With senses sharp as a cat's, he could tell at once where Ellie was and in what position she was lying. Now he grinned. With her face to the wall, his task was easy. Crouching down on all fours, his dagger between his
teeth, his fingers slowly crept over the blanket until he found what he was looking for. The plait, so long and heavy, was curled like a thick auburn rope in the dirt. It felt soft and strong and the orange-bringer stroked it gently. How many years must it have taken to grow? What did the girl look like as she shook it out? His eyes narrowed and flickered quickly up and down as Ellie shifted in her sleep and he felt the sudden hot dart of temptation.

Then he heard Hosanna stamping outside. At once he focused only on his task. Ellie's skin twitched as he delicately touched her neck and pushed his hand farther up until he was right at the root of her plait. He tested his knife's sharpness with his tongue before, with one fluid movement, he sliced. The plait came away so quickly that he was caught off balance and nearly dropped it. Quickly he scooped it up before it could begin to unravel, extracted a thong from his pouch and tied it tightly around both top and bottom. His grin returned as he backed away, stepping quietly over Will, who slept on. At the sight of the young man's unprotected face, the orange-bringer's hand prickled. Success made him bold. It would be so easy to cut that Christian throat. What a pity the Old Man had wanted both Will and Ellie to remain alive. Yet … Suddenly inspired, the man turned the tip of his blade into a pen and deftly carved the dagger mark of the Assassins onto Will's cheek. His touch was like a feather. Will felt nothing. The orange-bringer's grin grew wider. He did not bother to approach Hosanna again and Sacramenta had disappeared. He shrugged. Maybe he could have got the tail hair from the mare. Never mind. He would
get the Old Man his red fly-whisk from another source. It was the girl's plait that was the real prize. He felt it, folded it into his pouch, and felt it again. What a thing of beauty was a woman's hair. Then he shook himself, cast one more baleful look at Hosanna, and vanished.

Will woke with a great start. Surely he had been asleep only for a second? He pulled himself up, hardly noticing the stinging in his cheek. He saw at once that Sacramenta was missing and that the ground around Hosanna was scuffed and trampled. Exclaiming out loud, he made sure that Ellie was still lying asleep before racing to the track up which they had ridden the evening before and gazing down it, praying to see the mare. He saw nothing and rushed back to check Sacramenta's rope. It had not been cut. Now he felt a fool. This was his fault. He must have tied the rope too loosely, simply trusting that the mare would not test it. He did not want to call out for he wanted to find Sacramenta before Ellie woke. Instead, furious with himself, he untied Hosanna, who stamped his foot, edgy and troubled. “Find her, Hosanna, for God's sake, find her,” Will begged. Surely she would not have wandered far? He let the horse go and Hosanna obediently moved off, but only yards. Will was right. Sacramenta had not wanted to leave the camp. She was grazing behind a tree, easily visible had Will looked in the right direction. Will sagged with relief. When he whistled, she ambled slowly toward him. He swiftly retied her and turned to find Ellie standing in the doorway of the cave.

He could not, at first, decide what was so strange about her. Her face looked different but the features were the same, except that they were expressing a degree
of such shock that Will automatically moved toward her. “It's all right,” he called, “Sacramenta's here. She must have just got loose in the night.” Ellie glanced over to the mare briefly but without seeing her. She had no idea the horse had ever been missing. She opened her mouth, trying to say something, and when nothing emerged, slowly turned around instead.