other things she wished she had said to put haughty Lord Rognvald in his place.
After a time, the others returned with Abu's donkey. They rested through the heat of the day, and moved on again when the sun began its descent in the west. A few small ragged clouds had drifted in from the coast after midday, bringing with them a slight freshening of the air. Thus, the party resumed their journey in better comfort than before, and continued on until darkness made the road difficult to see.
They camped then, a little distance from the track, in a grove of ancient olive trees which were fed by a tiny spring. While the others set about watering the horses, Haemur, Otti, and Yngvar prepared a meal. The moon had risen by the time the food was ready; they ate by moonlight, and stretched themselves beside the dying fire to sleep. Caitriona lay awake for a long time, watching the stars slowly turn in the heavens. The moon rose above the far-off hills, causing the night creatures to stir. Somewhere out in the unseen wilderness a bird called, filling the silence with its sad, forlorn song. Tears came to Cait's eyes, for she heard in the sound the cry of her own wounded soul, and she felt a cold hard ache inside-as if a sliver of ice had pierced her breast and lodged itself deep in the hollow of her heart.
She would feel the ache, she told herself, until she-God's instrument of Holy Vengeance-had sent de Bracineaux's black soul to judgement.
The night passed, but gave her no rest, and she rose to begin another day on the trail ill-at-ease and irritated. They broke camp and started off; it was not long before she found herself riding beside Rognvald once more.
'We will get you some weapons when we reach Tyre,' she said when the uncomfortable silence grew too great to bear. 'The markets are good there. We should be able to buy whatever you want.'
Rognvald thanked her, but made no further reply.
'I would have preferred to get weapons in Damascus,' she continued, 'but the merchants are forbidden to sell arms to Christians.' She paused, glancing sideways at the tall Norseman. His proud silence was beginning to irk her.
'I suppose,' she said, trying to draw him out, 'Abu might have bought something for us somewhere.'
Again, he waited before he answered. 'No,' he said at last. 'It is better this way.'
'Better?' she challenged, her vexation flaring into anger. 'In what way better? Knights without weapons are not much use.' He looked at her calmly, and that irritated her the more. 'Well?' she demanded.
'If any of Prince Mujir ed-Din's soldiers had caught us with so much as a pruning knife between us while we were still in the city, we would have been thrown into prison again-or worse,' he told her. 'I think it is better this way.'
For some reason this reply annoyed her, too.
'Well, then,' she said tartly, 'if we are attacked on the road, I will just leave it to you to explain to the cut- throats just how much better it is this way.'
She snapped the reins and made to ride away, intending to leave him behind with the sting of her retort. But the knight reached out and took hold of her mount's bridle, jerked back on the reins and brought both horses to a halt.
Surprised, and instantly furious, Cait glared dangerously at him and was about to lash out at his impertinence, when he looked her in the eye and said in a low, deliberate voice, 'So long as I have breath in my body, no harm will come to you.'
He paused to make certain she understood, then added, 'That is my solemn vow, and I do not make it lightly.' He looked at her again, and she felt herself unsettled by the intensity of his gaze.
'My lady,' he said, releasing his hold on her mount's bridle. He snapped the reins and rode on alone.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Dusty, saddle-sore, hungry, and with a throbbing thirst clawing at their throats, Cait and her small company arrived at the port of Tyre. It was late in the day and, after the stifling, airless heat of the dry plain, the wind off the sea was cool silk on her skin. As they rode through the wide main street of the city which led down to the harbour Cait saw the white glimmer of sun on water just ahead, and heard the cry of gulls, and was instantly transported to the coldwater bay below Banvaro' in Caithness.
The elation she felt at this sudden memory faded with the realization that her father would never see his home again, never again sail into that generous bay, never again sweep his darling Sydoni off her feet and fold her in his strong arms. Poor Sydoni, Cait thought, she does not even know Duncan is dead. She is waiting for him to come home and he never will.
She felt the sadness rising up in her like a spring, but like the girl in Abbot Emlyn's tale of the overflowing well, she dropped the heavy stone lid back into place and the upsurge of grief subsided. There would be time one day to lament her father's death and mourn him properly. But that day would have to wait. Grief was an extravagance she could not afford-there was too much to do, too many responsibilities, too much ground to cover. Later she would grieve, she told herself, when her work was finished. You will be avenged, Papa, she vowed once more.
As they drew near the harbour, she sent Haemur and Otti to buy food and drink for their supper, while she and the others proceeded to the wharf. Upon dismounting, she dismissed the hostler, paying him a little over the agreed amount for the use of his horses, thanked him and sent him on his way. She also gave the last-chosen knight a handful of silver coins and sent him on his way, saying, 'Should you be tempted to desert your family again, remember your vow and know that God will hold you to account.' The knight bowed and, thanking her lavishly, hurried away along the wharf in search of a fast ship to take him home.
She then climbed aboard the waiting Persephone to be welcomed by Olvir, who had been left behind to watch over the vessel in her absence.
'Are you certain they are knights?' wondered the seaman, observing the Norsemen as they clambered on to the deck. 'They look more like pig thieves.'
'They have been in prison,' Cait informed him. 'How do you think you would look if you had been left to rot in chains for three years?'
'Who is that dark one? Is he also one of ours?'
'That is Abu,' Cait replied. To prevent further discussion, she added: 'He is a physician and interpreter, and will prove very useful in dealing with the Arabs.'
Olvir counted the extra mouths that would need feeding every day. 'Maybe I can teach him to cook, too.'
Cait glanced at the sun, and then at the ships crowding the harbour; one of them caught her eye. Hanging from the top of its mast was a white flag bearing a crimson cross: a Templar ship. The sudden recognition brought her up short. She told herself that it was unlikely de Bracineaux was aboard that ship; even so, it served as an unwelcome reminder that the murderous commander had allies everywhere, and he would not be idle. Because of the knights' inability to travel at speed, it had taken far longer to reach the ship than she had anticipated and, seeing the Templar ship, she was loath to waste another moment.
'Show the men where they can stay, get them some water to drink, and fetch some soap so they can wash,' she told Olvir, making up her mind at once. 'Then make ready to sail.'
'This late? My lady, the day is soon over,' protested Olvir. 'We have few provisions and little fresh water on board. Let us leave tomorrow when all is in order.'
'Will no one obey a simple command without crossing swords?' Cait scowled at the obstinate sailor. 'I want to depart as soon as Haemur and Otti return from the marketplace. Now go and do as I say.'
A grumbling Olvir hurried off, and Cait went to her quarters to wash and change her clothes. It was cool and dark below deck, which she found soothing after days in the relentless sun. She undressed and laved the water over herself. There was a little soap left, and a clean cloth, and she luxuriated in scrubbing her face and washing her hair. Most of the water in the basin ended up on the floor before she was finished, and when Alethea came in she complained of the puddles. But if she had made ten times the mess and used up a week's supply of water, Cait would not have cared: it was well worth the delicious thrill of being clean again.
She dressed in fresh linen and, feeling civilized once more, left Alethea to bathe, and returned to the upper deck. The Norsemen had assembled and were stamping their feet on the planking, pounding the rail and mast with their fists, and remarking on the admirable qualities of the ship.
