Martyr's Fire (26 page)

Thomas dreamed that gigantic court jesters juggled him as if he were a tiny ball, laughing and yelling as they tossed him back and forth.

He woke with a muffled shout just as the most hideous jester dropped
him, and discovered indeed he had been tossed back and forth, but in the confines of the brig in the belly of the ship.

Thomas propped out a hand to keep from pitching back to the other side and waited for his eyes to adjust to the dimness. The extent of his new prison—walls of rough wood and iron bars for a door—made the cell in Lisbon seem like a castle.

His head felt as if it might split.

Uncanny
, he thought with a twisted grin,
they managed to hit me in the exact spot of my previous lump. Do bumps grow atop bumps?

He was able to contemplate this imprisonment for several hours before he had a visitor.

“No,” he groaned at the scent of perfume, “curse me with your presence no longer.”

“Hush,” Katherine said. “I risk too much even now. A real noblewoman saved from the attack of a rebellious servant would never grace him with a visit.”

Thomas shook his head slightly, but at the reverberations of pain, held it very still. “You had us watched as we spoke,” he accused. “And they believed I would harm you.”

“Would you?” Katherine asked.

“Then, no.” He touched the back of his head. “Now, yes.”

She smiled. “I have little time. Yet I want to answer your question.”

Thomas studied her face through the iron bars.

“In Kingston upon Hull,” Katherine began, “you made an error. You sought advice from an old hag who sold fish, advice on how to reach the Holy Land.”

Thomas shrugged, then winced. “Unfamiliar with the ways of the sea, I needed that advice. And I dared not ask any ship captain. I did not want
him to know my destination. So I asked her, thinking she would never remember a passing stranger.”

“A passing stranger with a tail sticking out of his cloak as he walked away.”

“Beast.” He lurched upward. “Where is—”

“Now safely hidden in my quarters,” Katherine assured him. “From the old woman, I discovered your destination. There was only one ship in the harbor leaving for Lisbon. It was not difficult to sign on as a cook’s assistant.”

“Why—”

“Hush. Time flees.” She took a breath. “I had intended merely to follow you. Until you lured me into the trap and had the misfortune to be arrested.” She stopped, puzzled. “How was it you guessed you had been followed aboard the ship?”

“The manner in which three hardened sailors fell at the wave of my sword. It was the same mysterious manner in which my soldiers fell at Magnus.”

Katherine giggled. “The surprise on your face as they fell!” Then she sobered. “A Druid trick. Which we are happy to use when it benefits us. Short, thick hollow straws. A puff of breath directs a tiny pellet coated with a sleeping potion. I was in the shadows nearby, watching because I had heard the crewmen speak and knew you were in danger.”

A Druid trick. Either she tells the truth and is an Immortal who knows much about the enemy. Or she
is
the enemy. How do I decide?

Thomas nodded to conceal his doubt. There was yet the major flaw in her words. So he spoke the question aloud. “Why reveal what you did last night? Why now if not ever before?”

“I will tell you now. And there is no need to threaten to throw
me overboard,” Katherine replied. “When you were arrested, desperate measures were needed. I had to help you and could only do so by playing the role I did. As a noblewoman. And by then, I had also decided you were not a Druid. Not if you were truly going to the Holy Land by yourself.”

She hesitates. What does she hide?

Katherine must have caught the doubt in his eyes. “Hawkwood is gone. If you are an Immortal, I need your help as badly as you need mine. It was a risk worth taking. If you are a Druid … I knew I was safe, protected by your gold as a noblewoman there in Lisbon and here on the ship.”

Perhaps. But there must be more. It is obvious in her manner
.

Thomas thrust his hands through the gap between the iron bars.

She took his hands in hers. Although he had meant the gesture as an appearance of trust, the touch of her hands in his filled him with warmth.

Do not trust her, nor your heart. Yet remember the first time you met her, and how there had been an instinctive reaching of your heart for hers, as if it were remembering a love deeply buried
.

Yet he could not ignore the happiness that swelled his throat.

“I pray in the Holy Land that much more will be revealed to both of us,” she said.

A noise from behind startled her into dropping both his hands.

“Thomas,” she said quickly, “if it is possible to return safely, I will. Otherwise …”

She picked up the ends of her long cape and disappeared in the opposite direction of an approaching crewman.

Thomas did not see her until the galley reached the harbor of St. Jean d’Acre, the last city of the Crusaders in the Holy Land to fall to the Muslim infidels.

Two crewmen brought Thomas to the deck of the ship as summoned by Katherine. He needed the help given by their rough hands grasping his upper arms to keep him upright. Not only was he weak from the lack of proper food, but the brig had been so cramped his legs were no longer accustomed to bearing his weight. And his ankles were now shackled by chains of iron.

The crewman left him beside Katherine and waited watchfully nearby. Beast whined and wriggled in delight at seeing Thomas.

Katherine, on the other hand, showed no such happiness and remained silent. It would serve neither of them if she appeared anything but the vengeful noblewoman.

Thomas stared past her at the half-ruined towers—still magnificent—rising from the land at the edge of waters of the Mediterranean Sea.

St. Jean d’Acre was a town on a peninsula surrounded entirely by sea. Once—when still in Christian hands—it had been protected by a massive wall that ran across the peninsula, so that the only approach for attack was by water.

The air around him was steamy hot—a heat he had never felt before. The sun seemed much larger than he remembered of the sun in England, and its glare was an attack of fury. The buildings that shimmered before his eyes as the galley grew closer were formed in unfamiliar, sharply rounded curves.

At that moment, despite the heat, Thomas felt a chill replace his anticipation.

This land is so foreign that I am doomed before I begin. Muslims have fought Christians here for centuries, and I step onto their land, not even able to …

Thomas took a deep breath as that new thought almost staggered him.

I have been so intent on reaching the Holy Land I have overlooked the single most obvious barrier to my success here. I do not speak the language!

He wanted badly to discuss this with Katherine, but as he shuffled sideways to whisper his concern, the ship’s captain approached.

He was a great bear of a man with swarthy skin and a hooked nose. Curiously, he wore a purple turban.

“M’lady,” he said respectfully, “we all wish you Godspeed in the search for your relatives. Many were lost to fine families during the Crusades, and perhaps you will find one or two still alive among the infidels.”

He paused, searching for a delicate way to impart advice. “This is a strange land with strange customs. Men … men take insult if a woman shows her face. To be sure, you will have no difficulty finding a buyer for your wool. Yet you must wear this during all times in public, including the times you negotiate with merchants.”

The ship’s captain held out a black veil.

Katherine slipped it over her head. It stopped short of the clasp at her neck that held her cloak together.

“You have my gratitude,” Katherine told the ship’s captain. “Would that all I meet might have the grace and kindness that you have extended me.”

He bowed slightly, then frowned at Thomas. “Shall we whip him once to ensure meekness ashore?”

Katherine removed the veil, held it in her left hand, and touched her chin with the tip of her right forefinger as she studied Thomas. A mischievous glint escaped her eyes.

“No,” she said finally. “I think the shackles should suffice.”

Thomas, unshackled now that they were clear of the galley, could hardly believe his ears.

He stood with Katherine in the crowded
fonduk
, a large open-square warehouse on the eastern waterfront. It had belonged to the Venetians before Acre fell to the Muslims. Now, as the best trading area in a town where major trading routes met the sea, it was occupied by hundreds of sharp-eyed Arab merchants.

He stood amazed for one simple reason. The clamoring babble that surrounded him made sense.

“Don’t trust his olive oil!” one shout reached him clearly. “That merchant is a crooked as a snake’s path!”

“Here for the finest salt!” another voice called out.

“Silk from the overland journeys!”

“Camels for hire!”

Each fragment of excited conversation filtered through his mind.

He understood each word!

And Katherine stood in front of him, her face hidden modestly by her veil, bartering over the price of wool with an eager merchant.

In their language! Impossible …

He stood and watched the chaos around him with an open mouth. The harbor area of Lisbon now seemed like a sleepy town. Beast, too, must have been overwhelmed. He stayed almost beneath his feet, every step, occasionally causing Thomas to stumble.

In all directions were camels, donkeys, and gesturing men in turbans and what looked like long white sheets. There were strange animals with long slender tails—could these be the monkeys of which he
had read?—and finely woven carpets, baskets as tall as a man, beggars …

Katherine tugged on his arm.

“I have finished,” she said in English. Satisfaction filled her words. “As predicted, I have doubled my investment.”

“
Our
investment.” Thomas felt the need to immediately correct her, although more pressing things engaged him.

He leaned forward.

“Their words!” he said. “I understand them.”

“As well you should,” Katherine replied. “It is—”

A beggar darted up to her and chattered excitedly. “Lady, lady, from where did you get such a fine clasp?”

Katherine reached for her neck and touched it in response.

“I—”

“Very fine! Very fine!” the beggar interrupted. “I can find someone to give you an excellent price for it!”

“I am flattered, of course, yet—”

“Double what you had expected!” the beggar insisted. Then he stopped and looked at her coyly. “Or is it a family heirloom?”

Katherine nodded firmly from behind her veil. “It will never be sold.”

Unexpectedly, the beggar darted away without another word.

“Strange,” Thomas said. “About this childhood matter …”

“Of course,” Katherine reassured him. “But first, we must purchase you clothing that lets you blend among these people. And a sword.”

She giggled. “And once again, you are in dire need of time in a public bathhouse.”