“Now, lady,” I shouted over the din. “We must run.”
Alas, even pulled by the hand, Esmikhan refused to budge until she had recovered her precious veils. That gave at least one man time to realize what we were about. He was the one by the door to the goats’ room, and, a^ fate would have it, the one best skilled with the bow. I saw him nock an arrow and lift his weapon to his sights.
We’re done for now, I thought, and shoved Esmikhan toward the door in front of me. In a moment, one of us would be transfixed by a deadly shaft. God give me the courage to allow myself to be the one!
I heard the arrow fly and felt something like a lash on my arm that as yet gave no pain, but would very shortly. Imagine my surprise when I saw that arrow continue beyond me without a lag in force. It caught Crazy Orhan himself full in the chest.
Surely the bowman must have drunk more than his share to shoot so badly, I thought as I shoved Esmikhan outside. And I could not resist even the threat of a second arrow flying truer to take a glance as I turned to slam the door shut behind me. I saw the dervish, having likewise armed himself with a dagger, move quickly away from the bowman’s side. I saw the bowman slump to the floor—with a slashed throat. The next brigand was too occupied with the sight of the brawl in front of him to turn and look behind; the mendicant stepped into that blind spot and raised his blade.
“By God,” I could not help exclaiming. “The man moves like the Angel of Death himself!”
But there was no more time to think about the matter then. I hustled Esmikhan and, since she was there, Safiye, too, across the yard and onto Orhan’s stallion. His son’s horse I took for myself, but could not begin to race them because I had to lead the girls’ by the bridle. At least I was depriving our pursuers of their best horseflesh if I could not use it to full advantage myself.
And snow was falling, lightly, but in thick, wet flakes that quickly filled in our prints. After an hour or so I began to think, except for the fact that I had no idea where we were going, we might just have a chance to escape. Behind me, the girls began to think so, too. Safiye, at least, began to let out her tension in a string of abuse aimed primarily at me.
“Why did you bring us away from the warm safety of Orhan’s house?” she fumed. “You are an idealistic fool. We shall be lost here in the mountains. No one will ever find us.”
I replied nothing because at the moment I feared she might be right. The snow that covered our tracks also served to hide what primitive sort of trail there might be and moreover prevented me from taking a sailor’s bearings from the night sky. All I could do was to make certain each step was lower than the last one, taking us farther and farther down the gorge.
“Veniero, I am likely to freeze to death. My fingers and nose are quite numb. Surely, being by Orhan’s nice warm fire, even if we were prisoners, is a better fate than this.”
“You should have kept your wrapper and veils with you like a good girl, like Esmikhan Sultan,” I could not resist saving. “She seems warm enough. At least she is not moaning to return.”
The truth was that the air held that curious sort of warmth it sometimes does in early snowstorms, and exercise and nervous energy made me doubt that even in our unprotected condition we had too much to fear from exposure for a while. The lower we came down the gorge, too, the warmer it became. The precipitation turned first to sleet, and then to rain in heavy, messy droplets. Unfortunately, in this form, it soon soaked us to the skin and that, I had to admit, was unhealthy. Besides, the mud was a more permanent medium for our tracks and a less stable footing for the horses.
Safiye continued. She would not believe Orhan was dead. Could not believe that I, a lone and foolish eunuch, could orchestrate a successful escape. Nor would she heed my entreaties for silence lest our position be betrayed to any pursuers.
“By God, I hope they find us,” she said, and shouted once or twice, making the walls of the gorge echo shrilly.
The brigand had the right idea when he bound and gagged her, I thought. She will surely betray us. But though I’d killed a man, I didn’t know how to go about controlling this woman.
In any case, Safiye’s complaints soon became so repetitious that it was easy to turn a deaf ear to them. It was so easy, in fact, that before another hour had passed, Esmikhan was asleep to their singsong. Safiye was too busy thinking of new things to complain about and ways to try and flirt me into listening to them. She did not realize that the head resting against her back was growing heavier and heavier.
But she did notice—and scream—when that head dropped away altogether.
XLVII
Esmikhan screamed, too, because she landed none too gently in the mud in the stallion’s wake. I hastened to pick her up, but could find nothing seriously wrong with her. Nonetheless, she continued to sob bitterly, and to shake in my arms as if death were at her shoulder. Dreams of her recent scrape with
