'Mel?' Bradan looked around. Melcorka lay beside him, tied up as he was and unconscious, while strange, brown-faced men crowded Catriona. Struggling to sit up, Bradan peered over the gunwale. Catriona was in the middle of the pirate fleet, a few yards off a shore of yellow sand and tall palm trees. More pirate ships were hauled up on a steeply shelving beach. Flames and smoke rose from a sizeable village of thatched-roofed houses, where armed men chased terrified people, dragged women away and plunged spears and swords into any men who tried to fight back.
Bradan groaned as memories of Norse raids and Hebridean Caterans flooded into his mind. History was repeating itself, except now Melcorka did not have her sword, they had no allies, and they were thousands of miles from home. Screwing up his eyes against the pain in his head and the pounding sun above, Bradan watched, with his heart sinking within him.
What manner of trouble have we landed in this time?
The pirates were not indiscriminate. They only killed the old and weak, the very young or those who showed resistance. The rest, they herded up and shoved towards the fleet.
'What's happening?' Melcorka opened her eyes and smiled. 'Have we found Defender yet?'
'It's a slave raid,' Bradan told her. 'This is a slavers' fleet.'
'Oh.' Melcorka shook her head as if to clear it. 'Are we collecting slaves?'
'No, Melcorka,' Bradan said. 'We are the slaves.'
'Oh.' Melcorka shook her head again. 'If I had Defender, I would not be a slave.'
'I know,' Bradan said softly. 'I know that, Mel.'
Bradan watched as the slavers drove their captives onto the ships, tied them hand and foot and left them lying on the deck. The slavers were laughing, enjoying their work as they decapitated the dead and lifted the still-dripping heads. Some of the men dragged away the more comely of the women, while others laughed and jeered at the screams of the victims.
The sun slid behind a range of hills to the west, colouring the sky ochre and purple in a beauty that seemed obscene beside such a scene of horror. The pirates bundled the slaves onto the boats and followed, blood-smeared, smoke-stained and laughing. Only then did Bradan realise that the oarsmen had not left their places. They were chained to the oars.
'Galley-slaves,' Bradan said, feeling sick. He had heard that the life of a galley-slave was short and brutal. He had no desire for a period of intense toil under the lash of some sadistic overseer, to die at the oar and be pitched overboard as food for the sharks. If he died, what would happen to Melcorka? Ordinarily, Bradan would have no fear for Melcorka's ability to cope with whatever the world threw at her, but now that something had broken in her mind, she was vulnerable to any man, or woman.
I will survive, Mel, Bradan promised. I will survive whatever these pirate slavers do to me and do my best to get you back to yourself. Somehow.
Melcorka lay on her side, smiling and singing a small, childish song. Bradan wanted to hold her close, to protect her from all the evil in the world. He also wanted to weep. No, he told himself. I cannot do that. I must keep strong for Melcorka's sake.
Night fell with the usual swiftness of tropical latitudes, and a sky of brilliant stars gleamed above the fleet. The pirate ships left the village and sailed north, with the drums still beating and the oarsmen giving a hoarse gasp with each haul on the oars. Bradan lay awake, listening to Melcorka's steady breathing as she slept and desperately trying to wrestle free from his bonds.
A guard stood over him, bent down and tested the rope around his wrists and ankles, grunted and stepped to Melcorka. He looked at Melcorka's body and slid a hand over her left breast.
'If you touch her, I swear by every God you know that I will kill you,' Bradan said.
Not understanding, the guard barely spared Bradan a glance. He moved his hand to Melcorka's right breast until Bradan wriggled closer and kicked out with his bound feet. He caught the man at the back of the knees and knocked him to the deck. The guard bounced back in a second, drew a wavy-bladed knife and stepped toward Bradan, until another slaver intervened, laughed and pushed him away. Uncaring, the oarsmen rowed on through the night.
* * *
They were approaching land again. Bradan had been watching the increasing number of birds around the fleet and could smell vegetation and a faint hint of spices. Wriggling backwards and propping himself against the mast, Bradan looked over Catriona's bow, to see the distant serration of mountains. As the steady beat of drums encouraged the fleet forward, the land became more visible and the details more apparent. The fleet was approaching what looked like a large harbour, part-shielded by a long, rocky island. Flags and banners showed that snarling yellow beast, prominent on its blue background, a warning to all to keep clear.
The slavers were talking as they approached the sheltered harbour. A stocky, broad-shouldered man sat at Catriona's tiller, giving sharp orders that saw a man furl her sail as the ship kept formation with the rest of the fleet. Whatever these pirates were, Bradan thought, they were good seamen. They had mastered Catriona's unfamiliar sails and oars within minutes.
'Where are we?' Bradan asked.
Nobody replied.
He tried again in Latin, with the same result. Catriona pushed on until they were level with the island. Only then did Bradan see that it was fortified, with stone walls rising from the rock and faces peering from the embrasures. Spear points glittered in the sun and archers waved as the ships sailed in, one by one and line astern. Four large machines stood on platforms a few paces behind the walls; Bradan recognised three of them as catapults that would hurl huge boulders at any
