A soft sigh arose from the villagers; I daresay none of them had seen so much gold in one place before. Kazan grinned wolfishly. He'd won them over with it, and he knew it. "And our lads home safe and as much again in gold when the Lady Phèdre is restored to her people!" he shouted, rousing a cheer. Some of those crowded nearest even pressed my hand in thanks, as if I'd willingly chosen to provide them a fortune in ransom.
After this, Kazan gave swift orders for the conveyance of the ransom into safe storage, and the arrival party began to disperse. I caught at Nikanor's arm as he made to pass me.
"Please, my lord Captain," I said to him in halting Illyrian. "Does my lady of Marsilikos send word for me?"
Nikanor's eyes flickered and he drew himself up wearily. "She says ... yes, she sends word. No token, for fear we would be captured. She says to tell you, your uncle received your message, and he sends the aid of which you spoke. Also that she will keep your vow, do we play her fair, and Kazan's men will be restored to us." He made me a brief bow, and I saw that lines of exhaustion and bitterness were etched into his features. "It is enough, I hope."
"Yes," I said, releasing his arm. "Thank you, my lord Captain. It is enough."
It was; it had to be. It was all I had hoped... and yet. It was less.
They conferred that night in private, Kazan and Nikanor and his men, and their taut ran late into the small hours. A keg of wine was breached, and I lay awake in my narrow guest-bed for the first time since Kazan had taken me to the summit of the isle, listening to their voices carried on the night breezes as, toward the end, they got roaring drunk and sang Illyrian war-songs. I knew something of Kazan Atrabiades now, and knew that he meant to have his men back, hale and whole, come what might. I could not blame her, but 'twas a risky thing, this choice of Roxanne de Mereliot's, to keep his men hostage against my return. I'd sooner she had taken his bargain on faith.
Still, without them, she had no surety; fifteen thousand ducats was a mighty sum, and Kazan would be no fool if he took the half and slew me out of hand. It was wisely done. So I told myself and prayed it was true, falling asleep to the distant sound of war-songs.
On the morrow, Kazan was brusque and distant, keeping me out of the way while he closeted himself with his cap tains and discussed strategy. I found Lukin inspecting jave lins in the armory and pestered him for information, grateful that my studies in Illyrian had progressed to a point where I might do so.
"He's right angry, my lady," Lukin said, shrugging apol ogetically. "Though likely he would have done the same thing himself. Still, it put them at risk, to sail such a distance in a half-manned ship. But 'tis no fault of yours, and Kazan knows it, I think."
"Where is the ... trade ... to take place?" I asked him.
"Off the southern Caerdicci coast, there's a little isle, near Baro; small traders put in to take on fresh water, sometimes, but there's naught of value that the Serenissimans would garrison it, and Baro has no navy. The D'Angeline ship should be on its way already, slow as it is." He grinned at the latter; Illyrians have no respect for anyone else's seamanship.
"We trade on land?"
Lukin shook his head. "Nay, we'll anchor at sea, and come alongside her. We're mobile at sea, my lady, more so than any war-galley or merchanter. Kazan's not like to give up that advantage. Nor will he give you over until his men are safe."
In another corner of the armory, two men were tallying barrels of pitch and stripping rags. Kazan Atrabiades was taking every precaution, I thought. "He will, though, yes? Give me over?"
"Of course!" Lukin jerked his head up, as though I'd stung his honor. "If your people do not break faith," he added grimly.
"They will not," I said quietly, taking my leave.
We were four days making preparations for this journey, and I was right, Kazan was indeed preparing for the worst. For three days in a row he drilled his men mercilessly, at close fighting with short sword and buckler, and at javelins and archery with straw-stuffed targets under the blazing sun, until they sweated buckets and cursed his name. I could believe, then, that he had commanded a unit in the Ban's Guard. I do not know much of soldiering, but I have seen some little bit of it, and from what I saw, his men were well-trained; better than one would expect of lawless brigands.
Me, he ignored during this time, and while I was glad enough of the reprieve, it made me uneasy. I knew his mind and his temper well enough by then; I misliked this brooding discourtesy.
Still, the days passed, though they crawled in my eyes, and in time Kazan bade me to gather my things and make ready to sail on the morrow. I thought he had done with me by then, but I was wrong; he had me that last night, summoning me once more to lie in his great bed with the gilded headboard. I went, praying to Naamah to have a care for her Servant, who kept the honor of her bargain so well. He was fierce with me that night—he had learned how well I responded to that, although I do not think he ever fully reckoned why—but his face as he labored above me was closed and distant. What visions Kazan Atrabiades saw behind that fixed gaze, I do not know; his brother, mayhap, or his captive men wearing his brother's face.
What he asked, I gave; I cannot help it.
And on the morrow, we sailed.
Once again, we assembled on the beach, and the old priest gave the blessing. We sailed at dawn, and I stood shivering a little in the rose-damask gown, a woolen cloak over my shoulders. All six ships would set forth on this venture. Marjopí was there, and fell wailing on Kazan's neck; he bore it better than I would have reckoned, until she began to berate the priest on his behalf. To me, she nodded a stoic farewell, and I daresay she was glad enough to see the last of me.
Glaukos would sail on our ship, and he was there, cheer ful and smiling; his young wife had come too, and her sister. They bade me shy farewells, thanking me once more for the meager gift of fabric I had given, awestricken by the lan guage I had acquired. I met their parents, who were a shep herd and wife, tongue-tied and staring, murmuring about
Vili
and thinking I did not understand.
At last it was done, and Volos, the boy who could talk to birds, handed me aboard Kazan's ship. I breathed deep of the scent of sun-warmed pine boards. Kazan gave the command to hoist anchor and it was done; the oars dipped and splashed in the morning light, and our prow turned, nosing outward.
Green water sluiced along the sides of the vessel and a brisk breeze plucked at our furled sails; Kazan gave the command, and his men leapt to obey, scrambling along the yard to unlash the sails. One, three, six ships a-sail... we were off, darting across the sunlit bay toward the narrow passage, and the charming village of Dobrek falling away behind us.
It was a different thing, this journey, from my first sojourn as Kazan Atrabiades' hostage. I had expected similar treatment, reckoning to stake out a place on deck and keep my self out of the way, but he accorded me instead the small cabin within the forecastle for my quarters. There he left me well enough alone, and I reckoned his anger at D'Angelines in general and the Lady of Marsilikos in particular had spilled over onto me. I understood much more of the Illyrian tongue by this time and Kazan's men did small kindnesses for me when his eye was not on them, but there was grim purposefulness to this journey, as opposed to the light-hearted, victorious spirit of the former.
For three days, we wended south down the Illyrian coast and the weather held fair. The long, shining summer was giving way at last to fall, but the seasons change late there and the days remained warm. I judged the time of year by the length of days, and wondered where Ysandre was now, making her
progressus.
Not far, I thought; she would likely have set forth by sail to Ditus, at the tip of Caerdicca Unitas, and would travel by land up the western coast before crossing inland to La Serenissima, seeing how the northern city-States held against the Skaldic border. Quintilius Rousse would have ample time to intervene. If he were canny—and I knew him for no fool—he would send word to Ysandre. With the D'Angeline fleet prepared to move by sea against La Serenissima, surely the city-states of Caerdicca Unitas would mobilize on land. Ysandre would arrive in La Ser enissima with an army of allies at her back.
Percy de Somerville was the only danger. I'd not been able to think of a way to warn the Lord Admiral against him. Still, Rousse was unlikely to recruit the Royal Com mander in this venture. No, I thought, he will send word to de Somerville, but only to alert him. Else, it would leave Terre d'Ange undefended, with the fleet away. Well and so, Percy de Somerville is no fool either. He will bow with the winds, and look to save his own hide. And if Ghislain is with him... Ghislain's troops and estates lie in Azzalle, he has Alba to contend with, and dares not risk the wrath of Drustan mab Necthana. And Barquiel L'Envers rules yet as regent in Ysandre's name, and commands forces of his own.
It would fall out well enough, I thought, and we had sur prise on our side yet, for all that I'd lost weeks as Kazan's hostage. I would be safely returned to give word of de Somerville's treachery ere he could act on it; the web of those loyal to Ysandre would hold long enough for that.
So did I muse, and pass the time aboard the ship, while sun-gilded isles slid past us along the coastline. Glaukos called me aside one day, pointing to the distant east, where a causeway from the mainland rolled out to meet a mighty walled city on the sea.
"Epidauro," he murmured, as if fearful Kazan would hear. I saw many bright-sailed ships gathered in the harbor there, tiny flecks of color against the granite walls. We had given the city a wide berth. Even so, men muttered and made signs against evil, while Kazan stared straight ahead, his jaw clenched with anger.
It was on the following day that we turned west and into the open sea.
A steady breeze blew at our backs, and the ships leapt forward like winged creatures, plunging buoyantly over the deep-blue waves. Seldom were the decks level for long, and I gave thanks to Blessed Elua that I had a strong stomach for sailing. Joscelin would have been green-faced and wretched; it is the only time I was glad he was not with me, though the thought of him made me smile. It was a little frightening, but mostly exhilarating. Even Kazan's mood lightened somewhat, although he would not look at me.
Two days we took making the crossing, and at dawn on the third, he turned back to the grim business at hand, issuing curt orders which were passed by flag-signals from ship to ship. Arms were brought forth from the hold, wrapped in oilcloth against the dampness; swords were honed and bowstrings waxed and plucked, bucklers hefted to test their balance on the swaying decks, javelins sighted down their lengths, ropes snapped on grappling hooks to measure their strength.
By noon we saw the island, a grey hummock rising out of the sea, a patch of green scrub showing faintly where the harbor lay, and the freshwater spring by which sailors knew it. Some leagues beyond it, the Caerdicci coast was a dim haze on the horizon.
And there before it, at deep-sea anchor, rode a single galley. Her sails were lowered against the wind, but there, atop the center mast, flew a familiar pennant—the silver swan of House Courcel. Tears stung my eyes to look upon it, and my heart soared within my breast.
We dropped sail some distance away, Kazan signaling the other ships to fan out in an encircling crescent, bringing the larger craft to bay. Six sailors on each vessel went to oars, using them cunningly to maintain position on the rocking waves. Two scrambled atop the forecastle of each, training arrows on the D'Angeline galley. No sign came from the galley, although I could see people aboard watching, and sunlight glinting off armor.
When he was satisfied that his men were in position, Ka zan stepped up to the prow and cupped his hands about his mouth, hailing the galley in Caerdicci.
"No trade until my men are returned!" he shouted. "I will see them safe first, eh? You put them in a skiff, you, and send them out to us!"
The figures aboard the galley moved, conferring, and then a single figure came forward to reply. His words carried faintly over the water, spoken in D'Angeline-accented Caerdicci. "Show us the Comtesse!"
Glaukos took my arm, leading me the length of the ship to stand beside Kazan. Whatever they saw at that distance, it was enough to satisfy them, for presently a small skiff was lowered into the water and eight men clambered down a rope ladder into it. Kazan pointed toward the other ships. For long, agonizing moments we waited as the skiff was rowed out to meet the Illyrian vessels, three ships taking aboard two men. With each careful exchange, the flag-bearer signaled victory to Kazan. At last it was done, and the two rowers rested their oars, looking back at the galley for or ders.
"Now send the gold, you," Kazan called to the galley, "and I will send the girl!"
Another conference aboard the galley, and the spokes man's reply. "We have given our surety, pirate! Send the Comtesse first and we will send the gold."
It needed only one look at Kazan's face to know he would refuse. I put my hand on his arm, pleading. "My lord, please! I've given you my word, I've sworn my very soul on it. Her Grace's men will not break faith with it, I promise you!"
"Be silent!" Blood darkened his face as he glared at me. "You do not know what you speak of, you! No one treats fairly with pirates, eh? No trade without the gold." Cupping his hands once more, he shouted it to the galley. "No trade without the gold!"
Gulls wheeled overhead, giving their raucous calls during the long pause. I waited it out with my heart in my throat until the spokesman answered. "If you will not send her, then bring her and take the gold yourself! It is our best offer."
