'Take all the time you need,' the old pilot told her. 'It matters not a whit to me. As I told your father, my lady, never fear: though the Lord return and sound the heavenly trumpet to call the faithful home to paradise, you will find old Haemur here and waiting still.'
'Thank you, Haemur,' Cait replied. 'Even so, should we be gone longer than I expect, I am leaving enough money to keep the ship in harbourage and for any provisions you will need. And,' she added, 'you know where Duncan's sea chest is kept if ill befalls and you need more.'
'Worry not,' the old seaman replied. 'In a lively harbour such as this, there are always nets to be mended and hulls to caulk. If our hands keep busy, we should not want for anything. There is just one small matter, however…'
'Yes?'
'Gines was hoping to stay on with us awhile, if you have no objection.'
'I have no objection whatsoever. He has given us good service, and I am grateful.' She nodded to the Galician fisherman, who was standing quietly aside, looking on. 'If he wishes to stay, so be it.'
'Thank you, my lady,' said the pilot with some relief. 'In a place like this it helps to have a friend who can speak the tongue of his countrymen, if you know what I mean.'
'I understand. He can also help you keep the young men out of trouble.'
'That he can, my lady.'
Caitriona bade him farewell, and then took her leave of Olvir and Otti-the latter of whom was not at all happy to be left cooling his heels in port while the others rode away. 'Otti,' Cait said, 'who will guard the ship, if not you?'
He tried to think of some way to dispute this fact, but could not rise to the challenge. 'But you will need me, too,' he insisted.
'I do need you, it is true,' she said gently. 'I need you here, Otti.' She rested her hand lightly on his arm in confidence. 'The others are not as strong as you, and if any trouble should arise, you must protect them and guard the ship.'
Feeling that he was failing to persuade her, he lowered his head in sullen defeat.
'Listen to me, Otti,' she said, 'I am counting on you to look after the others.' When she saw that he understood, she added, 'Now then, I have left Haemur a little money for ale for you and Olvir. If you do well, he will give it to you.'
At the realization that she had made provision for him and Olvir, that they were not to be forgotten in her absence, Otti's face lit with simple pleasure. He accepted this compromise happily and Cait joined the others at the end of the wharf to begin the ride to Vitoria – accompanied by the hostler who, for a small additional fee, had agreed to be their guide.
So, as she climbed into the saddle, Cait took a quick mental inventory of her company. First came the hostler, a short, stocky man named Miguel, a pleasant fellow with a ready, if somewhat toothless, smile-he had been kicked by a horse and was missing both upper and lower front teeth; he rode a hinny and led a pack mule bearing equipment and supplies for the camp. Following the hostler were Yngvar and Svein who had tied long strips of blue cloth to the heads of the lances they carried; the improvised pennons fluttered in the light breeze. Alethea, hair gathered beneath a low-crowned green hat with a veil to keep the sun from her face, had managed to make her place beside Dag, who, Cait noticed, had lately begun to reciprocate her sister's undisguised interest. Next came Rognvald, tall and upright in the saddle, a wide-brimmed leather hat high on his head, the sleeves of his shirt rolled to his elbows. The knights all had shields slung upon their backs, and swords at their sides; Cait, dressed in a simple red shift and mantle, her dark hair swept back and held in place by small silver combs beneath her hat, carried the sword Rognvald had given her, its gleaming slender length sheathed for protection of blade and rider. Both Svein and Dag led pack animals carrying the rest of the armour and weapons; and Abu, his face all but hidden beneath a large straw hat, brought up the rear, leading two more mules laden with provisions, provender, and drinking water for the journey.
Freshly shaved and dressed in the clothes she had bought for them in Cyprus, their weapons gleaming in the strong sunlight, Cait thought her knights a fine and handsome sight. As she took her place beside Rognvald, she was filled with a sudden and unanticipated joy, and a sense of righteous certainty, almost inevitability-that her feet were established on a path which had been prepared for her long ago. She was where she was meant to be, and doing what she had been born to do. Tightening the scarf holding her pale yellow, wide-brimmed hat, she raised a hand to show that she was ready. The hostler cracked his whip, and the company set off.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The road was good and the sun hot; the company travelled quickly, passing through numerous settlements of the deep river valley. At several of these, the sky darkened and they smelled the sharp stench of sulphurous smoke; black ash rained out of the air, and they saw heaps of spent slag darkening the hillsides. The river turned an ugly rusty colour and barges loaded with pigs of rough iron floated slowly towards the harbour.
They soon left the last of the iron-working settlements behind, and the sky became clear and the air clean once more. Despite their long absence from the saddle, the knights rode easily and lightly, talking and joking as they went along, and making the hills echo with the sound of their banter. Cait liked hearing them; it confirmed in her the feeling that she had done well to save them and give them back their lives.
That first day, they rode as long into the evening as they could and then made a simple camp: grass sleeping-mats arranged around a stone-ringed fire with the star-flecked sky for a roof over their heads. They were on the move again as soon as light permitted the next morning, and the second day passed like the first; the only difference they noticed was that the settlements were smaller and further apart. On the third day, the hostler pointed out a tiny projection rising like a dark sliver from a distant hill. 'That is the bell tower of the church of Vitoria,' he told them.
The rest of the day they watched the tower slowly grow as they came nearer. They also began to smell a foul odour as they approached, for the town was supplied with no fewer than three tanneries which used water from the streams to wash the hides, and dumped the scraped offal and waste in the water to be carried away downstream. The heat of the sun raised a stink that could be smelled for a great distance around, which the party did its best to ignore.
It was only when they reached the town square that they gained some respite from the smell. The tower stood on one side of the square; attached to it was a church, which was connected to a monastery where, according to Archbishop Bertrano, they would find Brother Matthias. Cait slid down from the saddle, and dropped the reins on the dusty ground. 'Rognvald, come with me. The rest of you wait here,' she said, and went straight to the monastery gate and presented herself to the porter. He listened politely, and then conducted her and Rognvald to the friar.
'Brother Matthias is not here,' said the clean-shaven friar who met them outside the chapel. 'He was here- earlier this spring, for a time – but he is gone now.'
'Gone?' wondered Cait, as if trying to think what the word could mean. Frustration sharp as despair arrowed through her.
'Gone,' the friar confirmed. 'I am sorry. Good day to you.'
Caitriona stared at the insipid smiling cleric and thought of all the time and effort-not to mention expense!-she had employed just to get this far… only to be told by some fool of a priest that her pains had been for nothing.
It took a moment before she could trust her voice to speak. 'I would thank you to tell me where we might find him,' she said, masking her acute disappointment with a smile. 'We have journeyed a very long way to see him.'
'It makes no matter how far you have travelled,' replied the friar carelessly, 'he is not here and that is that. Now, if there is nothing else, I have duties elsewhere -' He made to leave, but Rognvald reached out a hand and took hold of his brown robe, bunching it in his fist and holding the monk firmly in his place.
'Perhaps,' the knight suggested, 'your duties are not so pressing that you could reconsider the lady's question with the courtesy it deserves.'
