The Mystic Rose (34 page)

D
ESPITE DANJI'S REVELATION
and the urgency of her warning, Cait dined with Hasan again that night, and also the next. In any event, she had little choice. Rognvald and the knights were still away, and she could think of no reasonable apology she might offer to excuse herself without rousing unnecessary suspicion—all the more since she ardently professed to enjoy their evenings together. And she did enjoy them, albeit somewhat warily now as she tried to determine the nature of the danger Danji had intimated.

She perceived no change in Prince Hasan; he remained as charming and engaging as ever, and each evening's meal was pure enchantment from beginning to end. Still, the worm of doubt had begun to gnaw its way into her heart. Was he, or was he not, the man she thought him to be?

During the day, she pondered this question, turning it over and over in her mind. On the one hand, she could not discern anything amiss in either mood or manner: he was solicitous, thoughtful, respectful, and polite in every way. On the other hand, there was Danji. If she was telling the truth—and Cait had no reason to doubt her—Hasan was not at all as he appeared.

Although she looked for any opportunity to speak to Danji alone, she did not see the slender young woman again—but she did notice that Jubayar was much more attentive and present than previously.

On the second day, the storm subsided and by dusk the sky had cleared. Cait decided to try the prince's integrity
for herself. When they met for dinner that evening, she said, “The storm has abated, and that is a blessing. Therefore, I was hoping we might ride to one of the valley settlements and inquire whether anyone has word of Ali Waqqar.”

“Of course, my lovely Ketmia; if that is what you wish,” replied the prince smoothly. “After so many days shut inside, even the most splendid palace becomes dreary as a prison. We will ride down to the valley and see if the seeds I planted have borne fruit.” He paused, as if considering the matter more thoroughly. “Although—” he began, then hesitated. “No, it is not important.”

“What is it?” asked Cait, alert to even the slightest nuance of deception. “Tell me.”

“Well,” he said, “I do not expect we shall learn anything, for if Ali Waqqar had heard the terms of my offer, the rogue would have been here already.” He smiled suddenly. “But you must not worry. No doubt the storm has prevented word from reaching him.”

“Yes,” Cait agreed absently, “I suppose it would be wrong to expect too much just yet.”

Hasan's smile broadened; he held out his hand for hers. “Precisely, my love. Give it another day or so, and no doubt the brigand will be beating on these very doors, demanding payment.”

“And then what will you do?” asked Cait sweetly.

Hasan appeared distracted by the question. “Please?”

“What will you do with Ali when you catch him?”

“Why, I shall throw him in chains and, before the sun has set, his ugly head shall adorn a pike above the gate.” He pulled her to him. “But come, Ketmia, it is not seemly for a woman to discuss such unpleasant subjects. Let us talk of finer things. I have written a poem for you. Sit here, my lovely, and I shall read it out.”

Nothing more was said that night, and the next morning, true to his word, the prince had horses saddled and ready for their ride. They left before the sun quartered the sky, and rode out into a bright, crisp winter day. The storm had scoured every cloud, leaving the vault of Heaven clean and polished to a brilliant crystalline clarity.

Wrapped in her fine new cloak, Cait enjoyed the stinging fresh air and the stunning views from the ridgeway high above the valley floor. The trail was steep and winding, and so they rode in single file to the valley. The prince led, followed by Halhuli; Cait came next, and then four mounted guards with banners attached to their spears.

As they neared the lower slopes, they passed through a snow-dusted forest where Hasan pointed out the delicate hoofprints of red deer, and the less dainty tracks of wild pigs in the unbroken snow. Upon reaching the valley floor, the snow vanished entirely, and the track became a road. The nearest settlement was some distance away and it was after midday by the time they reached the place: a small upland village of squat white-washed houses, forlorn amidst bare muddy fields.

At their approach, the villagers came out to watch and greet them. A gaggle of ragged children, wide-eyed and stiff-legged, pointed at the brightly colored banners and exchanged whispered observations behind their hands. While Halhuli and his men looked on, the prince dismounted and spoke to the villagers in Arabic; he passed along the line, handing out silver coins to one and all. The children danced with excitement.

Presently, a stout man with a rough beard and dirty yellow turban appeared and, with a gesture of welcome, loudly hailed the prince. Hasan turned to Cait and called, “Here is Abdullah, the head man. We will learn something now.”

The two walked a little apart from the clutch of villagers. Cait watched them closely, but saw nothing to arouse her suspicion one way or another. After their conversation, the prince placed his hand on the man's shoulder, and then embraced him. They parted then, and the prince returned to his horse and climbed into the saddle.

“Abdullah says that the bandits were seen skirting the village four nights ago—before the storm.”

Cait's heart leaped at this sudden revelation. “And Alethea, was she with them? Did they see her?” She looked at the man, who was now standing beside the prince's horse. “Oh, please, ask him. I must know.”

“I am sorry, Ketmia. It was growing dark and they were far away.” The prince spoke to the head man, who pointed across the fields to a line of trees in the distance. “He says they were riding east toward the hills. One of the boys saw them, and Abdullah went to look but could not tell how many there were—eight, ten, maybe more.”

The prince thanked the villagers and moved his party on, escorted from the village by the children who ran along behind, ululating in a weird chorus of acclaim. They proceeded to the next settlement—a short ride away on the other side of the river which divided the valley in half. Here, as before, the same custom of greeting was observed, and the same discussion alone with the head man of the village—a toothless, hump-backed old man this time—who told them that two of the bandits had come to the village to buy ground meal and cured bacon.

It was almost dark when the men appeared, the chieftain reported, and the villagers were afraid of what the brigands would do if they were turned away empty-handed. So they sold the bandits meal and bacon, and some wine—and the men rode away.

On further questioning, the old chief said that although he did not see any more riders, he knew there were more waiting nearby. Was it Ali Waqqar? asked the prince. Who else? replied the toothless chieftain. It is always Ali Waqqar.

“Then you were right,” said Cait, much relieved by what they had learned. “It is Ali Waqqar.” Her relief was short-lived however, for in the very next breath she asked, “But now that he has provisions, what if he has moved on? What if he is riding south even now?”

“Peace, dearest Ketmia. A little faith can move great mountains—so it is written, is it not? You must trust me.” He remounted his horse, cast a quick look at the sky, and said, “I think we should begin the journey home.”

“So soon?” asked Cait.

“Alas, my love, even a prince cannot prevent the sun from setting.” He smiled sympathetically. “Still, it has been a good day. We have learned much, and I have repeated my
offer of ransom. It will not be long now, I think, before we obtain your sister's release.”

Thus, they started back, reaching the steep trail to the high
al-qazr
as the sun dropped below the ridge to the west casting the valley in shadow. They were just beginning the long climb up the winding mountain track when they were hailed by riders from the south. Halhuli spoke a word of command and the prince's guards lowered their spears and took up a protective position between the oncoming riders and the prince.

“It is Lord Rognvald!” shouted Cait when the newcomers were near enough to recognize.

Hasan shouted a command to his guards, who raised their weapons and rode out to meet the knights. “Greetings, my lord knight,” called the prince as the Norsemen, escorted by his guards, reined up. “Good hunting?”

“No,” said Rognvald, his voice cracking with fatigue, “not as good as we had hoped.”

“We saw smoke from a campfire once,” offered Svein.

“But we lost it before we could find the place,” concluded Dag.

“We never saw it again,” added Yngvar. Too tired to speak, the two Spanish knights shook their heads in agreement.

“Most unfortunate,” answered the prince. “Still, there is cause for joy. We have learned that Ali Waqqar is nearby.”

“Indeed?” Rognvald looked from the prince to Cait, who confirmed Hasan's assertion with a nod.

“The bandits have been seen,” she told him. “They came into the valley for provisions three or four nights ago.”

“That
is
good news,” agreed Rognvald. He rubbed his face wearily. “They are still in the region at least.”

“Yes,” said Hasan. “I think it will not be long now before our efforts are rewarded. As the poet says: ‘A silken net to catch a bird; a silver net to catch a thief.' Ali Waqqar will come to us very soon.”

“I pray that it is so, lord prince,” replied Rognvald.

Hasan signalled to Halhuli, who began leading the way back to the palace. The prince took his place beside Caitríona and rode with her for the rest of the journey. Twi
light was full about them by the time they entered the outer courtyard, the stars shone as bright needles of light in the thin cold mountain air.

They dismounted, and as the grooms came running from the stables, the knights began moving slowly and stiffly toward the palace entrance. The doors were open, and rosy light from the braziers burning in the anteroom spilled out onto the steps and into the courtyard.

“You and your men are exhausted,” said the prince, falling into step beside Rognvald. “Allow me to send a hot supper to you in your quarters. That way you can use the baths and eat at your leisure.”

“Well,” said Rognvald, glancing back at Cait, who appeared not to have heard, “if it is no trouble.”

“Not in the least,” Hasan assured him. “I myself often do this when I return from a day of hunting. Otherwise, I would fall asleep at the table, and that would never do. We will talk tomorrow.”

He sent them off with words of encouragement and, turning to Cait, said, “I am afraid you must endure my company once again. Your knights have chosen to take their meal in their quarters tonight. To be sure, it is for the best—they have been riding three days and are very tired.”

“Oh,” replied Cait, disappointment flitting across her features. “I had hoped to hear more from Rognvald about their searches.”

“Tomorrow, my love,” promised the prince. “We will all sit down together and tell what we have learned. And, who knows? Maybe tomorrow Ali Waqqar will join us and we can put an end to this trouble at last.”

Dinner that night was as sumptuous and enjoyable as any that had gone before. Prince Hasan was charming and attentive, winsome in his manner, and subtly insinuating in his flattery. This time, however, she was able to plead weariness and leave the table with most of the night still before her. Under Jubayar's stern and silent eye, she returned to her chamber feeling more than ever as if she were playing the hapless hare to the prince's falcon.

Mahdi and Pila'i were surprised to see her so early, and
took the opportunity to brush her hair and braid it in preparation for bed, chattering away to her, blithely indifferent to the fact that Cait could not understand a word they said. So absorbed were they in their talk that neither one of them heard the gong ringing at the entrance to the Ladies' Court.

“Shh!” said Cait, putting her finger to her lips. “Listen.”

The gong sounded again—a low ringing tone, not loud.

Cait stood and was moving toward the door, when it burst open and Lord Rognvald entered. The two serving maids began to cry out, but Cait silenced them with a sharp slap on the arm apiece. “Hush,” she said. “I will speak to my friend.”

She crossed to where Rognvald was waiting by the door. “Rognvald, I was hoping to speak to you. How did you know where to find me?”

“Please, I have little time,” he said. “Svein and Rodrigo will keep the guard Jubayar busy as long as they can, but he could return at any moment and I dare not let him find me here.”

“Yes, go on.”

“God knows it gives me no pleasure to say it.”

“Pray, speak. What is it?”

“The prince is lying about the offer of ransom. He never sent his men to the settlements.”

“But, just today I saw—”

“No.” Rognvald shook his head firmly. “The offer was never made.”

“Are you certain?”

“I know enough Arabic to discuss ransom,” the knight replied. “And no one in any of the villages knew anything about Hasan's offer.”

“And Ali Waqqar?”

“Him they knew about—that much was clear. But no one would talk to us. I think they are afraid.”

“What should we do?”

Rognvald regarded her intently, his eyes searching, probing. “If you are with me in this—”

“I am.”

“Then we must confront Hasan and make him tell us the truth.”

“I agree,” Cait replied. “And it must be soon.”

“Tomorrow morning—when we meet to breakfast. We will take him by surprise.”

Cait nodded and, suddenly very grateful for the tall knight's stalwart devotion, she gave him a quick kiss on the cheek.

Rognvald smiled suddenly. “Your change of heart is wondrous to behold. Truly, I did not think you would hear any word against the prince.”