Red Magic (30 page)

She still couldn't believe what she saw
when she opened her eyes. There was the same morning light, the same sun that
shone on her at home, shining through the bars of a room that had become her
cage.

Her past, the wild Heldenberg, her
freedom—all of it gone! Lost to a chimera of wanting, a dream that she would
ride to find her man, that this would prove her true, true love, this facing
danger for him…and what had it brought? Nothing but death and destruction to
those who had bent to the folly of her desire and will…

And Rossmann—that traitor! Everything Goran
had said and more—who had encouraged her, who had ridden with her knee to knee,
who had smiled and taught her from his store of knowledge, who had so
completely gained her trust all through that lonely, fatal summer…

* * *

Images from the past weeks flooded her mind
as soon as she came to consciousness. She'd traveled the long road to Passau, boarding the
ship. Then down the Danube, the glitter of Vienna, where she'd left Elsa in the house of
those Wagensperg cousins in whose kitchen Ekkehard labored, all of
this passing like
a dream.

No time to wait!

She must reach her husband—must have the
joy of his arms around her! Days were spent watching the glittering water,
nights almost too excited to sleep. They left the river and rode into Hungary, which
had been nearly swallowed by the Turks at the time of their last incursion half
a century ago. Over the last eighty years some parts had won free again. With
armed men, with Rossmann and faithful Goran, they set a course for the camp
where the last letter had come from Christoph.

Caterina was something beyond happy. She
rejoiced in the freedom of traveling, in the strength in her young body, in her
purpose. She headed east with all the determination of a migrating bird.

Rossmann, who had spent the summer
encouraging her to make this journey, seemed to share her delight; he seemed
almost giddy. Goran was anxious, angry that his advice had not been listened to
and clearly worried about the danger into which they were going.

Graf von Hagen's main company was found at
the camp when they arrived, but he and his cavalry were away on a raiding
mission. A week passed of restless waiting. Caterina, encouraged by Rossmann,
pursued the idea of riding out to find him. Everyone else she'd brought from
home—and the commander of the camp—had flatly said it was a bad idea.

"You are in danger here, Grafin.
Outside this camp the roads in every direction are filled with bandits and
enemy soldiers. You should wait here for your husband to return." Goran
heartily agreed. "Best we wait as the commander says. Be patient. The Herr
Graf will return. Besides, we don't know where he'll come from. You could ride
out and miss him, putting
yourself
in danger for
nothing. Staying here is safer than a wild goose chase." But Caterina,
feeling so near to her husband, had been on fire to push on. Rossmann was
reassuring, saying that he knew the land here like the back of his hand.

"Of course Goran is cautious. He is a
brave man, but he is from the mountains to the south, not
so
familiar with this territory as I am. But," he'd ended, his dark eyes
sparkling, "what better way to show the Graf the strength of your
devotion?"

After a few more days, over the objections
of the commander, but accompanied by men he'd provided, Cat, Goran and Rossmann
had ridden east. She'd been scared but sure all would go well, that she would
find her husband quickly. On the second day out, just as Goran had begun to
insist they turn back, they'd been caught by a large Turkish raiding party. It
had burst upon them out of dense thicket which lay on the north side of the
road.

The soldiers fought like tigers, but there
were simply too many. All around her men fell. Her escort, Major von Hoffmann,
urged her to turn and ride, ride for her life, but then blood spurted from his
mouth, spilling down his buff waistcoat. Looking surprised, he'd pitched
forward onto the ground.

She had turned Star and
ridden as fast as she could, calling for Goran.
Together they made a run for it, but were cut off. There were so many! A crowd
of them seized Goran's horse and forced him off it. He disappeared from view, a
wounded boar disappearing beneath a host of dogs. The air was rent with
shouting, and swords flashed and fell upon the fallen man.

When the Turks tried to catch Star's
bridle, the mare reared and kicked. It took several men and foot ropes to hold
her. From somewhere, Rossmann, the only one of her entourage left alive,
appeared. Now he stood beside Caterina, waving and shouting something in a
language the enemy understood.

"Don't do anything, Grafin. I'll keep
you safe."

And he somehow had. As his talk was all in
that strange language, Caterina didn't know why. Slipping to the ground and
bowing, slave-fashion before his captors, Rossmann had apparently explained
that the horse would only go with them willingly if they left the red haired
girl on her back.

Caterina was trapped. She was sick with
fear, rage—and guilt. Surrounded by barbarian soldiers, laughing and crowing to
each other in their raucous tongue, a long march of days began. Curiously,
neither of she nor Rossmann was tied and he was allowed to ride beside her.

"Their Ban, their head man, wants
Star," he explained, "and I think he may want you too, but the Pasha
will be the one to decide."

Caterina tried to hold back her tears, but,
during the long days of travel, many fell. She wept for brave Captain Hoffmann
and the men who had died trying to save her. She also feared for her husband,
for Rossmann said that he'd overheard their captors boast of destroying an
Austrian raiding party.

The greatest pain came with the realization
that it was her fault. Despite what the soldiers—what the faithful Goran—had
advised, she had been head-strong, had brought this disaster about.

Now, as they rode away, she saw that the
Turks had taken fresh territory. There were gruesome burned villages, signaled
long before they were seen by a stench that rose to heaven and a sky darkened
by whirling carrion birds. Caterina hid her eyes from the heaps of splayed and
bloated things that had once been men and women.

By night she could see the stars, see they
were heading due east. Through forest and over a mountain pass they traveled,
at last descending into a river valley. "The Tisza",
said Rossmann. "It flows through those plains I told you about, past the
place where I was born."

They had taken all her jewelry, the golden
chains her mother had given her, the pearl earrings that had been a birthday
present from Christoph, her wedding band. After she'd carefully opened the
wooden locket and showed the picture inside, they had, to Cat's great relief,
lost interest in that. Rossmann gave her a scarf to wrap around the lower part
of her face and head which kept out the dust and also moderated the eternal
gawking of the men. At first, she was simply glad for Rossmann's protection,
but as they rode on, suspicion swelled into fear.

How relaxed he seemed, and on what easy
terms with their captors!

Indeed, Rossmann had said he knew the
country well, but as one day and then another passed, he never said a word
about escape. When she put it to him, he said, "It's not wise to even talk
about, Grafin."

"Why?"

"Because if we tried, I can tell you
exactly what would happen. To start," Rossmann said simply, "They'd
kill me and then they'd all make use of you. If you didn't die of their ill
treatment, they'd sell you. There are, truly, fates worse than death."

She'd shuddered, but managed to ask another
question.

"Well, why haven't they—done that
already?"

Rossmann smiled again, the way a man smiles
when he has a secret.

"I have told them that uninjured, you
are worth a large ransom."

* * *

Upon the plain, the trees dwindled away
until they were nothing more than bushy scrub. All around golden grasses hissed
in an ever present wind.

Rossmann announced with ill concealed
delight that they were on the plains of Hungary. It was his home place!

As they rode knee to knee, Rossmann began
to tell stories about his past, about how his family had herded cattle and
horses on these very plains. With a chill, Cat realized that all he said was
clear confirmation of everything Goran—now a body left behind—had said of him.
"I thought you said you were from the land of the South
Slavs."

"I am a South Slav by blood, a
Bogomil, but my people converted to the true religion—Islam—in my grandfather's
time. He followed a war lord into Hungary in the reign of Selim the
Great."

Rossmann smiled; Caterina felt her face
pale.

"Ah, yes, Goran was right. Your
husband knew, but he's not a believer. A non-believer can never entirely
understand the strength of those of us who do."

Caterina's head spun with so many
questions, so many suppositions, but she dared not speak. Her rage and sorrow
at his betrayal and her folly left her heartsick.

"The Graf von Hagen," Rossmann
was slyly cheerful after they'd ridden for awhile in silence, "is a man
who might have been happier had he been born in this part of the world."

"Why?"

Rossmann had been waiting for that, like a
cat by a mouse hole.

"Why, Caterina," he said, all
pretense of deference abruptly thrown aside, "because a rich man here may
lawfully have as many women as he can keep."

"Here or there, he wouldn't wish for
more than me."

Rossmann threw back his head and laughed,
showing a plenitude of white teeth. "No man made like him, in our world or
yours, remains celibate for a year, in the midst of a war or anywhere
else."

Her thoughts whirling, Cat closed her eyes
and rode, praying for the thousandth time that she would suddenly wake and find
this all a dream, but there was no peace there either. In waking reverie as
they plodded along, or in the unconscious night, the cold gray eyes of Goran
haunted her, accusing scornful of her folly.

* * *

The fearsome soldiers kept their distance.
Sometimes Cat understood they were talking about her, their eyes and gestures
clearly indicated the offensive tenor, but no one tried to touch her. Clearly,
she was to be brought unmolested to wherever it was they were going.

"It will be in the hands of their
Pasha," explained Rossmann, when she, unable to bear her imaginings, began
to speculate upon what her fate might be. "He'll decide."

"Decide what?"

"Whether he wants
you or not.
The Ban says that while it is true
that you are very beautiful, the Pasha has never liked women with red
hair."

"You were my husband's friend, Herr
Rossmann. You must escape. You said you know the country! Find
him,
tell him how to find me!"

"Impossible. As soon as I was gone,
well, I've told you what would happen. No, no, I must stay by your side."

Then he'd looked away, wearing that same
expression of contentment he'd worn since they'd entered the plains. Caterina
shuddered, but even the new fear of him didn't completely distract her from the
idea that he had not yet told her the whole truth.

* * *

In the center of a heavily fortified town
they were paraded, the captured horses, the arms, and Caterina. She and Star
were much stared at. An enormous grinning soldier approached, offering to lift
her from the horse.

The crowd laughed at how both woman and
horse defended themselves. Star reared and kicked. Caterina slapped the soldier
across the face with the reins.

While this was going on, a commanding black
man marched forward. When he appeared, the crowd promptly fell away. At a clap
of his hands, soldiers surged from all sides. They roped Star, head and feet.
When the ropes pulled tight, the mare grew quiet. She knew quite well what
would happen if the foot ropes were pulled.

With the mare hobbled, Caterina dismounted.
At once the enormous soldier stepped forward. His burly hand caught her neck
and forced her down, onto her knees and further, into a head-on-the-ground
obeisance. Her red braid fell into the dust.

Prone, she choked back tears. Once more
scenes of battle came crowding into her mind, of the broken and bleeding bodies
of the men who had died to save her. There was Goran, swinging his bright
sword, trying to clear a path for her escape…

The dreadful reverie did not last long,
however, for in the next moment, she was hauled upright for the inspection of a
pair of lively dark eyes, eyes set in a round black face. Having only a short
time before seen her very first black man, Cat stared back.

His hand, fat and pink-palmed, oddly like a
woman's, reached out and pulled the improvised veil away. To her chagrin, the
plump fingers, fastening on either side of her jaw, forced her mouth open. He
then proceeded to look inside, exactly as if he were buying a horse. She tried
to jerk her head away, but the huge soldier now held a handful of her hair.
When the black man, who was very richly dressed, finished with his examination,
he spoke. Cat was astonished to hear German.