Benito just hoped they'd catch up.
They did. The town gate was closed. 'Let us out!' yelled Erik.
'Not likely. Let's see who you're running from first, foreigner,' said the guard, clutching his spear.
Spiro saved the man's life. 'Open up, Adoni! They're not running from anyone. They're trying to get to someone in hurry.'
The guard peered. 'Oh. It's you, Spiro Volagatis. Well, I guess if it gets you out of the town it's a good thing.' He unbarred the gate, and they rode off down the steep, winding trail.
'Where now?' Benito heard Erik yell as they reached the foot of the trail. Benito missed the reply but they did manage to follow Erik off to the west. Then he spotted the trickle of smoke. By the way Erik was urging the horse into a gallop he'd seen it too.
The Corfiote men and boys, armed with a motley array of old arquebuses, pitchforks, spears and slings, were piling brushwood right across the mouth of the narrow gorge. Already someone had lit one edge. Benito arrived into what certainly sounded like a full-scale riot.
By the three men on the ground some of the locals had been foolish enough to try and stop Erik kicking the fire apart. But now he was under the noses of a dozen arquebuses, and there was a full-scale shouting match going on.
Thalia quelled it with a shriek and a stream of what could only be Greek vituperation. Hastily the locals began to pull the burning branches away and beat at the fire with branches of green leaves. 'What did you say to them?' asked Benito.
'This is a sacred place! The holy mother is in the temple cave up there. This valley ends in some cliffs. There is no other way out.'
'But they've stolen our goats!' bellowed one of the men at Erik. 'They're bandits! They've been shooting goat-boys. And who the hell are you, foreigner? You knocked down my brother. I've a good mind to knock you down.'
'When I come back,' said Erik grimly, hauling brushwood out of the way, 'you're welcome to try.'
But the fire already had its teeth into the dry brush. Benito, beating at flames, got the feeling that he should somehow have gotten Erik there sooner. Already the heat was pushing at their faces and a river of smoke was funneling up the gorge.
And then there was a rumble.
* * *
Even the wet rag wrapped around her mouth couldn't stop Svanhild coughing as she tried, desperately, to calm the horses. Their eyes were wild and rolling and the animals were whickering and stamping. There was little likelihood that anyone could ride them now. The horses were already on the edge of panic.
'We'll have to leave them, Hildi,' said Bjarni. 'We'll have to get to the cliff and try and climb out.'
'We can't! They'll die.'
'If we stay much longer, we'll die.'
There was a rumble and it grew darker, almost by the moment.
'Look at the stream!'
* * *
From atop the high rock Benito reached down and hauled Erik back by the collar. As the Icelander struggled to turn and throw Benito's hand off, the water flumed through, hitting Erik at about knee-height. It knocked his feet out from under him anyway. Benito clung to Erik as if he were a roof-beam four stories from the ground. If he hadn't hauled Erik back, the water-wall would have stuck the Icelander at least belly-button height. Another strong pair of hands came and grabbed Erik's arms. Between Spiro and Benito they hauled him up.
The sudden rain hissed down like arrows. A glance showed the local heroes running for shelter, bedraggled figures pelting away from the scene.
'Thanks,' said Erik, as they hastened to a rock lip that offered some vague shelter. Looking at the torrent and the already decreasing rain, Erik shook his head. 'What caused
Thalia shrugged. 'I told you it was a holy place. The priestesses command the magic here.'
Erik shook his head again. 'Whatever it was, it certainly wasn't natural. It was a clear morning a few minutes ago. Anyway, let me see if I can get up there.'
Thalia took him by the arm. 'I tied the horses just back there. You can probably ride up the valley now.'
Erik smiled at her. 'You're the practical one, Thalia. Seeing to the horses, doing all the things we forget.'
The peasant woman looked serious. 'Somebody has to.'
But Erik had already left at a run.
Benito looked out. The rain was slacking off. It would be gone in a minute or two. The stream was already dropping. And on the blackened, burned brush a green creeper was already twining, growing as he watched.
The intervention had been magical, of that Benito was certain. He was less certain that he liked it.
Chapter 46
Svanhild peered over her brothers' shoulders as they watched by the little protruding ridge of limestone, arquebuses at the ready. The stream, which had been no more than a bare trickle so recently, was now making so much noise that they were forced to shout. But at least the smoke was gone. The rain, too, was nearly over.
