good to you, noble lady,' he said. 'Abu Sharma is at your service. Please tell me now, how am I to help you?'
Cait had taken him aside and explained what she wanted him to do, and how they were to proceed. 'Simplicity itself,' remarked Abu when she finished. 'You may rest your trust in me completely. Abu Sharma will help you obtain the best possible price.'
'Do that,' Cait told him, 'and you shall receive double your fee.'
'Watch and be amazed!' He made a low bow, and they joined the long parade of dignitaries, merchants, and suppliers of various goods and commodities making their way into the palace-a grand if slightly formidable edifice of stone covered in mortar which had been tinted green so that it gleamed in the sun like a massive block of jade. They passed through a double set of arched timber gates, and into a palm-lined courtyard filled with scribes at tables.
It is because of the earthquake last month,' Abu said, and explained that owing to the damaged reception hall, all court affairs were taking place in the outer yard where scribes toiled away at their tables, busily recording the representations of each visitor wishing to do business of one sort or another with his exalted highness, Prince Mujir ed-Din.
The party presented itself to one of the prince's many functionaries who, upon hearing the reason for their visit, conducted them forthwith to his superior Wazir Muqharik. The red-turbanned official listened to their request, stroked his beard thoughtfully, then gave his consent, promptly sending them off to the prison in the company of his katib, or secretary.
Once inside the prison, they were conducted along a row of cells where local malefactors awaited judgement for their crimes, and then down a flight of stone steps to the lower prison where the captives of war were kept in perpetual stink and gloom.
Now, Cait stood retching in the dim half-light of the dungeon, feeling the cold sweat on her clammy skin as wave after wave of doubt assailed her. Eyes watering, stomach churning, she looked down the narrow corridor; at the end of the passage was a barred and locked timber door. Once across that threshold, there would be no turning back.
This is madness, she thought. I do not have to go through with it. I can let it end here, return to the ship and sail for home, and no one would blame me.
But Cait was not made that way. The dauntless spirit of her clan was her spirit; it was their blood that pulsed through her veins; her heart beat with the same strong rhythms; its destiny was her destiny, too. She had accepted the charge of the White Priest, and she would do whatever that service required-so long as it brought about the destruction of the Templar commander. Failing that, she would appeal to the ancient code of justice which demanded an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, and a life for a life. One way or another, she would have her revenge.
Sweeping all doubts aside as if they were straws before the cold gale of her retribution, she steadied herself, removed the bunched-up hem of her mantle from her nose and mouth, and nodded to the jailer, who placed the great iron key in the lock. The prince's secretary turned to address Cait through her interpreter. 'As you will see,' said Abu, translating the katib's words, 'there are many prisoners from which to choose. If you wish to speak to one, you have but to point him out, and the jailer will have the man brought to you.'
Cait nodded to show that she understood, whereupon the jailer pushed open the door and stepped through into the cavernous chamber. Cait followed, with Abu Sharma close behind. Haemur and Otti came next – in attendance not because they were any real use in this matter, but for propriety's sake: Cait had quickly learned that the Saracens respected only those women who appeared to possess the support and protection of men.
The lower prison was little more than a dark noisome hole; the only illumination came from the grates of the open sluice drains in the floor above. Despite the stink, the cell was cool and dry-an acceptable trade, Cait thought, for if one could not have the light, at least one did not have to endure the heat. In the surrounding gloom, the captives lay: eighteen or twenty men, all knights, all of whom had been captured in one battle or another.
As Cait moved into the high-vaulted room, the captives stared up with hopeful faces, and began clamouring for attention. The jailer waded in, roaring at the prisoners and clouting them with his ring of keys until rough order was restored. He then stepped back, and beckoned Cait forward to examine the goods on offer and make her choice.
Cait had already had plenty of time to decide what she wanted. She stepped forward, and raising her voice to the hopeful men addressed them in slow, distinct Latin. 'Believe me when I tell you that I am sorry for your plight,' she said. 'My own father sat in this same cell awaiting ransom and release. It came for him eventually, and I pray that it will come soon for each and every one of you.'
She paused to allow her words to be relayed by Abu to the jailer. 'Today, however, liberation has come to a fortunate few,' she told the prisoners. Then changing smoothly to a simple, but serviceable Norse, she asked, 'Are there any Norsemen among you?'
Several voices answered eagerly: 'Here!' said two; and 'Over here!' said another.
'Stand, please,' commanded Cait. Three men rose eagerly to their feet. Pointing to the nearest of them, she turned to the jailer, who motioned the prisoner to step forward.
Hobbling, his hands and feet shackled and chained, the man edged into the light. Tall and gaunt, his fair hair and beard hanging in dirty tangles, his face grey with despair and lack of light, he regarded the young woman with an expectancy almost painful to behold.
'What is your name?' Cait asked in the northern tongue.
'I am Yngvar,' replied the man, his voice cracking dry. He held himself gingerly, favouring one side, as if to protect an injury.
She looked him up and down. 'Are you well enough to fight, Yngvar?'
'I am that,' he replied without hesitation.
'These others,' she said, indicating the knights waiting their turn. 'Do you know them?'
He nodded his head once. 'They are my swordbrothers.' Pointing with both hands to the thick-shouldered, heavy-browed man behind him, he said, 'That is Svein Gristle-Bone.' Nodding to the young, dark-haired man a short distance away, he said, 'That is Dag Stone-Breaker.'
She summoned them by name. 'Svein, Dag, come here.' As they shuffled painfully forth, she asked, 'Where is your lord, Yngvar? Was he killed in battle?'
'By no means,' replied the knight. 'He is here with us even now.' He turned and pointed to a man squatting on the floor a few paces away.
Cait moved to him and he looked up at her impassively. His face
what she could see of it beneath the foul mat of his hair and beard
was broad, his chin and cheekbones strong. 'This man here says
you are his lord.'
'He speaks the truth.'
'Then why do you refuse to stand with the others?'
'You did not say how many would be chosen,' he replied evenly. 'If any are to gain freedom today, I want my men to have first chance.'
Cait nodded thoughtfully. 'If I pay ransom for your men, will you join them?'
'Of course,' he said. 'I am their lord.'
'Tell me, how did you come to be here?'
'There was a battle,' answered the knight. 'We lost.'
'Is that all? Nothing more?'
'That was enough.'
'I mean,' said Cait with exaggerated patience, 'is there nothing more you care to tell me about how you came to be here?' 'We are warriors, not criminals. There is nothing more to tell.' 'Then let us strike a bargain, you and I,' replied Cait, satisfied at last.
The knight climbed slowly to his feet. Even in chains, his clothes little more than filth-crusted rags, he held himself straight and tall. 'I am Rognvald of Haukeland,' he declared. 'Tell me your bargain.'
'It is this,' said Cait. Before she could continue, the jailer, who had been talking idly to the katib, suddenly thrust himself between them, shouting and swinging his keys again. Instantly, the knight raised his shackled hands, caught hold of the iron ring, and held it firm so that Cait would not be struck. The jailer roared with frustration.
