The Mystic Rose (8 page)

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 gray 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, favoring 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.

“Peace! Sala'am!” cried Abu, rushing forward. He beseeched and cajoled, and by degrees calmed the outraged jailer. “He says you must not go among them,” Abu informed Cait, “or you will certainly be hurt.”

“Tell the jailer I thank him for his vigilance and concern,” Cait replied, stepping back to show she understood. To the knight, she said, “Here is my bargain: I require the aid and protection of several men-at-arms for a pilgrimage I intend to make. In exchange for your vow of fealty, I will pay your ransom. Serve me well, and once I have reached my destination and achieved my purpose, you will be paid for your services and released to go your way.”

Lord Rognvald regarded her with the same indifferent expression with which he had greeted her.

“What say you?” she asked. “Do you wish to discuss the matter with your men?”

When he still did not reply, she demanded, “Well? What is your answer?”

“I am thinking.”

The other prisoners began shouting just then, imploring to be recognized, giving Cait to understand that if these Norwegians were reluctant, many another would happily take their place. Putting out her hand to the clamoring captives, Cait said, “You see? There are plenty of others ready and willing to volunteer.”

“This is what I am thinking,” replied the knight, stroking his beard with a grimy hand.

It was at that moment that Cait knew she had made the right choice. “Lord Rognvald, I chose you because while I know nothing about fighting men, I
do
know something about Norsemen. And I know that if a Norseman accepts my bargain I can trust him to keep it, and I will sleep secure in my bed at night.”

“That is true,” replied the knight. “How do you know so much about Norsemen?”

“My great-grandfather was born in Norway, and my grandfather came from Orkneyjar—he served King Magnus on the Great Pilgrimage.”

Lord Rognvald's men stood looking on, their faces pinched with desperate hope.

“Come, let us agree,” said Caitríona. “I think you will find service in my employ far less onerous than your present occupation.”

A ghost of a smile touched his dry lips. “My lady, I accept.”

Cait turned at once to the katib. “These four men,” she said. “How much is the ransom?”

Abu translated her words, and the wazir's secretary cast his eyes over the standing men. He made a mental calculation, and announced the price.

“Ten thousand dirhams,” Abu said, relaying the katib's words. “Each.”

“Very well,” said Cait. “Tell him I agree.”

“With all respect, sharifah, that I will not do,” Abu replied. “It is impious to accept the first price—it shows disrespect for the bounty Allah has given you. Also it is an insult to the intelligence and an affront to the spirit of commerce.”

“I see. Then tell him it is too much,” said Cait. “I will give five thousand.”

Abu and the katib held a short, spirited discussion, whereupon Abu turned to Cait and announced, “Katib says you are not to offend his master the prince with such a ridiculous offer. These are Christian knights, not camels. Ten thousand
is the price for which noble fighting men are redeemed. He will not accept less than eight thousand dirhams.”

“While I intend no disrespect to Prince Mujir ed-Din,” Cait replied smoothly, “I must point out that one of these men is injured, and all of them suffer from lice, starvation, dysentery, and God knows what else. I doubt whether his highness the prince would buy camels in a similar condition. Six thousand, tell him.”

“Seven thousand and five hundred dirhams for each man,” countered the katib when Abu had translated her words.

“I think it is still too much,” Abu confided in a low voice. “These men have been here a long time. Stay at six.”

“Six thousand and not one dirham more,” said Cait through her dutiful translator. Looking around the prison, she added, “I do not see anyone offering a better price. Therefore,” she smiled, “I advise you to accept mine.”

“Twenty-five thousand for all four,” countered the katib serenely.

“Very well,” said Cait. “Twenty-five thousand for these four,” she held up a finger, “
and
freedom for one more of my choosing.” She paused, and added with a smile, “Twenty-five thousand silver dirhams, katib, or nothing. I leave the choice to you. Personally, I think twenty-five thousand dirhams would be very useful in helping repair the earthquake damage to his majesty the prince's reception hall.”

When her words were relayed to him, the katib rolled his eyes. “Yu'allah!” he sighed. “Very well, which is it to be?”

Addressing Rognvald, she said, “Is there any man here with a young family waiting for him at home?”

The knight thought for a moment. “There are two that I know of,” he said, and pointed out two knights, who eagerly rose and stood expectantly.

“Do either of you have a daughter?” Cait asked in Latin.

“I do,” replied one of the men.

“How old is she?”

“Six years this summer,” answered the man.

“When did you last see her?”

“Three years ago.”

“I will buy your release on one condition,” she said. “You must abandon any claim to wealth or rank in the Holy Land and return home to your family without delay.”

“God smite me if I do not fly from this hellhole the moment I am released,” replied the knight, unable to keep the quaver of excitement from his voice.

“Swear it,” she insisted.

“Upon my soul and every hope of eternal salvation, I hereby abandon any and all claims to wealth and rank in the Holy Land, and vow to return home by the swiftest means possible.”

“Very well,” replied Cait. “If you like, you may accompany us to the coast where you will find passage aboard a ship to take you home.”

“Your kindness shames and overwhelms me,” replied the knight. “I thank you, my lady. I am your devoted servant.”

“Your safe return to your family is sufficient.”

Turning to the katib, Cait indicated the man and said, “That one is to be included with the others. They are to be allowed to wash and given clean clothes. Understood?”

The katib bent his head in acknowledgment and the bargain was sealed. Turning on her heel, she walked quickly from the chamber, steeling herself against the piteous clamor of the captives as they cried out to be released. She did not stop until she was outside the prison and drinking in the fragrant air of the prince's courtyard once more.

“Please tell Prince Mujir ed-Din that I thank him for indulging my request so admirably. And I will thank Wazir Muqharik to command the captives to be readied for their release by midday when I return with the money.”

“It shall be done,” replied the katib when Abu had delivered her words.

The party then left the palace and returned to the inn where Caitríona had taken rooms. Leaving Abu and Otti to keep watch in the courtyard outside, she and Haemur brought out the chest containing the items carefully selected for the purpose from among the treasures Duncan had as
sembled to pay for their pilgrimage to Jerusalem. Alethea watched as her sister withdrew a gold bowl rimmed with alternating rubies and sapphires, and a ceremonial dagger with pearl-studded handle and crystal blade.

“Now what are you doing?” Thea asked, yawning with boredom.

“I am selling a few things to pay for knights,” Cait explained, passing the objects to the ship's pilot, who placed them in a cloth bag which he knotted and tied.

“Are you going into the city?” asked Alethea. “I want to go. I hate staying here alone. If you are going, I am going, too.”

“No,” replied Caitríona crisply. “We are staying here.”

“I cannot see why we need knights anyway,” grumped Alethea.

“I told you, it is not safe for us to travel alone,” replied Cait. “We need the protection of a bodyguard.” With that, she and Haemur returned to the courtyard, where Cait instructed Abu Sharma to accompany Haemur to the principal marketplace in the city and negotiate the best terms possible for the sale of the precious objects. “We need at least twenty-five thousand dirhams, as you know,” she said. “Bargain well, and I will give you a dirham for every ten you receive over the necessary amount.”

“Done!” cried the young physician. “Place your full confidence in me, sharifah. We shall return in triumph.”

“Otti,” she said, turning to the seaman, “I want you to go with Haemur for protection. Let no harm come to him. Understand?”

The simple seafarer nodded dutifully, and took his place beside the pilot. She watched them depart, and then went back to her room and lay down on her bed with eyes closed, hoping to escape the heat and noise of the busy streets outside the inn.

It was no use. The barking of dogs, the braying of donkeys, and the restless fidgeting and sighing of Alethea kept her awake. So, abandoning the attempt, she rose and, taking her sister with her, went to find the innkeeper to arrange for
a special meal to be served that evening for her soon-to-be-released warrior band.

“S
HARIFAH!” CRIED ABU
Sharma, his voice loud in the courtyard. “Come quickly!”

Cait awakened at the sound. The chamber door was open to the courtyard outside. “Thea!” she muttered.

Rising, she pulled on her shoes and hurried out to find the courtyard filled with the horses, camels, and baggage of a caravan of Arab merchants newly arrived in the city. The travelers, dressed in dark robes and pale yellow turbans, were standing in the yard overseeing the unloading of their pack animals while the innkeeper passed among them with cups of lemon water and tiny honey cakes. The sun was hovering above the rooftops, and the heat of the day slowly fading.

“Here, sharifah,” Abu called again. “Come and see what I have done for you!”

The young physician and the old pilot stood holding a small wooden casket between them. Otti loomed behind in an attitude of hovering protection. Haemur was grinning like a child with a naughty secret, and Abu was puffed up and strutting like a cockerel. Alethea stood nearby, gawking at the Arab travelers in their opulent, richly patterned robes. The younger men among the merchants were, in turn, ogling Alethea who, owing to the heat, had put off her mantle and come out wearing only her undershift; her long smooth arms were exposed and her legs bare from her shapely calves to her slender ankles.

“Thea! Get inside,” Cait ordered. To Abu and Haemur she said, “Bring it in. There may still be a few people in Dam
ascus who have yet to learn our business. Perhaps we might keep it that way.”

The two men lugged the chest into Cait's room, and lay it at her feet. The others crowded around as Abu pulled the hook from the hasp and swung the lid back on its hinges. “Behold!” he cried. “Silver and gold for her majesty!”

Indeed, the casket was filled with silver dirhams and a scattering of gold dinars. “How much is here?” asked Alethea excitedly, her eyes wide at the sight of so much money.

“Thirty-three thousand dirhams,” replied Haemur with unaccustomed enthusiasm. “It was all Abu's doing. You should have seen him, my lady; he bargained like a champion—”

“That is me: Abu Sharma, Champion of the Bazaar!”

Otti laughed out loud. “He is crazy, this one.”

“That may well be,” agreed Cait, removing a handful of coins from the chest.

“But this is wonderful, Cait,” said Alethea. “Do you not think so?”

“I am delighted.” She counted out coins amounting to eight thousand dirhams, put them in a leather bag which she tied, and returned the rest to the box. To Abu and Haemur she said, “I might have been more delighted if you had accomplished the task in good time.” Taking up a shawl to wrap around her shoulders, she said, “Close the box and bring it.”

Abu's face fell slightly. “You do not wish to hear how the Mighty Abu wrestled the demons of avarice, greed, and desire in the marketplace?”

“
I
do,” said Alethea.

“Later,” Cait said, moving to the door. “I wish to secure the release of the captives before they close the palace gates.”

Motioning Otti to help him, the young Syrian took up the casket. “I know,” he said, brightening once more, “I will tell you on the way. It will pleasantly pass the time.”

“Excellent,” said Thea happily.

Cait turned and handed her the bag of coins. “You are staying here.”

“Ohhh,” Thea whined in frustration. “Cait, please, I want to go.”

“And keep the door closed until I get back.”

Thea frowned.

“I mean it, Thea. I will not have you wandering around outside alone.”

“Otti could come with me,” she suggested hopefully.

“I need Otti with me.”

At Caitríona's command, Abu hired a small carriage from among those waiting outside the inn. She and Haemur rode in the carriage guarding the box, while Otti and Abu walked alongside. Abu, eager to aggrandize himself in the eyes of his patroness, embellished his story shamelessly. However, the tale that emerged bore at least a passing resemblance to what had actually taken place.

As directed, the three men had taken the precious objects Cait had given them from among the items in her father's store, and they had gone to the marketplace, where, in the street of goldsmiths, they sought out the expert valuation of one of the more highly respected craftsmen there. The fellow had examined the items, expressed interest and, when he asked the reason for the sale, had been told the simple truth: to raise funds for the ransom of prisoners. “Fifteen thousand,” offered the goldsmith, upon receiving this information. Abu duly pointed out that the objects were far more valuable than that, but the fellow refused to barter. The offer remained firm. “The walls of Damascus would be easier to move than that pinchfist,” Abu declared.

Undeterred, they took their business to another goldsmith across the street, who welcomed them with small glasses of spiced wine, sat them down, and proceeded to spend a considerable time examining the items they had for sale. They were fine pieces, exceptional pieces, he told them. The finest materials and craftsmanship, beyond the shadow of a doubt. “Why are you parting with them?” he asked, and was told, as before, that the money was needed to ransom captives of war. “Fourteen thousand,” replied the gold dealer.
“Each?” asked Abu Sharma. “For both,” sniffed the dealer. “And I am doing you a favor at that.”

Nor would he improve the offer. “A rock in the sea would have more compassion,” Haemur asserted with a sorry shake of his head.

The next goldsmith they visited offered a slightly improved sixteen thousand—but only when told they had already received an offer of fifteen from a nearby competitor. This is when Abu grew angry. They went out and walked along the street for a while to give Abu time to consider the situation. Haemur was all for going back and letting Cait decide what should be done, but the young Syrian had the bit between his teeth now, and he was determined not to be bested.

They walked to the end of the street, and then down another street, and yet another, coming to the less respectable dealers of gold, gems, and precious objects—places where formerly wealthy people often found buyers for treasures acquired in more prosperous times. Abu chose one of the most disreputable-looking of these, and told Otti to stand across the street and stare very hard at the shabby little shack and not to move. Next he instructed Haemur to accompany him, but to stand by the door and say nothing. It was agreed. Abu drew a deep breath and held it until Haemur feared he would burst, and then, gathering up the box, he darted across the street and into the dealer's dwelling.

“This fellow looks up to see Abu rushing in all red-faced and out of breath,” said the young Syrian, “and it is ‘Allah help you, my friend, what has happened?'” So, Abu explained that he had something to sell, but was concerned that nothing should be known of his visit—not to anyone, not ever. The dealer said that he himself could not imagine any reason why anyone should learn of any transactions they might undertake. He took special pains to point out that his customers often required sympathy and understanding. Ask anyone, he said, they would tell you that Faraq Irbil is the soul of discretion and silent as the tomb.

Apparently satisfied, Abu opened the sack and agreed to allow the dealer to examine the goods—but first would he
mind going to the door and looking outside, please? “This he does,” said Abu, “and as the fellow peers out he sees Otti standing across the street glaring at the door of his hovel. ‘Oh, no!' I cry. ‘We must vanish at once!' I close the sack and jump up to leave.

“The dealer is not content to allow his opportunity to disappear so abruptly. ‘Wait a moment,' pleaded Faraq, ‘there is nothing to fear. Let me see what you have. Maybe I can help.' ‘But no,' I said. ‘It is too late! Too late! I am sorry. I had hoped to raise a little money, but now…Allah help us, it is too late! Forgive me for troubling you.'”

Abu chuckled at his own shrewdness. “I close up the sack and rush to the door. ‘Please do not leave,' the dealer cries, clutching at my sleeve. He has glimpsed the golden bowl with the gem-edged rim, and is loath to let it vanish as quickly as it has appeared. ‘I can see you are troubled,' Faraq says to me. ‘Perhaps events have overtaken you, eh? Yes, I thought so. But there is nothing to fear. You are safe here. Come, sit down. You say you wish to raise money. You have come to the right place. I am a dealer in fine gold, jewelry, and precious stones. Let me see what you have brought.'

“‘Very well,' says Abu, ‘I may as well show you—but remember: no one must ever know I was here. A woman's honor is involved. She is a wealthy woman, you see? The fault is not hers. Forgive me, I wish I could say more.' So, Abu brings out the sapphire-and-ruby-rimmed bowl, and says, ‘It is worth sixty thousand. You know it. I know it. Alas, the time for bartering is past. I will take forty.'

“‘Forty!' Faraq pretends to be shocked. ‘If only that was possible. Alas, my purse is not so capacious as those in the upper street. I am a man of more slender means. Twenty is the best I can offer. You think it over while I go and see if that belligerent fellow is still waiting for you across the street. Oh, yes, he is still there. It seems you must choose between us now.'

“But, Abu Sharma, slayer of demons, is not finished yet. He brings out the crystal dagger, withdraws it from its sheath of gilded leather, and lays the pearl-studded hilt be
side the golden bowl. ‘I see that sacrifices must be made,' says Abu. ‘But it is forty thousand I must have. So: twenty for the bowl, and twenty for the knife.'

“The dealer's eyes grow round. This is a most auspicious day, he is thinking. ‘Truly, my friend, these are exquisite pieces. Therefore, against my better judgment, I will give you fifteen apiece. More I cannot do.'

“‘O, woe, woe! Doom and woe! Why did I ever stray from the paths of righteousness? Alas, I am undone! Cursed was the day of my birth. I must have been fathered by a scorpion!'

“Abu wails and moans, he throws himself about the room, tearing his hair and gnashing his teeth. He scoops up the precious objects and throws them into the bag once more and points accusingly at the silent Haemur. ‘You see? You see? You see how I am destroyed? Now we must make haste and flee the city! Our last hope must be in flight.'

“The dealer, deeply impressed and alarmed by these words, puts up his hands and says, ‘Wait! Wait! I have a brother who might be willing to help us. From him I can get three thousand more. I will add that to the sum already offered, yes? Let us agree and put your troubles to flight, my friend.'

“Under the gold dealer's ministrations, Abu allows himself to be calmed. Thirty-three thousand dirhams it is. The dealer goes out and returns but a few moments later with the gold and silver in a chest. Together he and Abu count out coins amounting to thirty-three thousand dirhams and, with much praising and blessing Haemur and Abu depart, carrying the chest between them.” The young Syrian smiled broadly. “And the rest, sharifah, you have seen.”

“It is a remarkable tale, Abu,” Cait declared. “If even half of it is true, you have earned your reward. I will pay you as soon as we have redeemed the captives and returned to the inn.”

At the palace, however, they found the courtyard deserted and the wazir's secretary less than pleased at having been kept waiting half the day to complete the arrangements he had begun for the release of the war captives.
“Thirty-five thousand dirhams,” he informed Cait when she and the others had been brought into the hall where Wazir Muqharik received his visitors.

“I beg your pardon, katib,” answered Cait, speaking through Abu, “but twenty-five thousand was the amount we agreed upon.”

“
That
was before you kept the prince's chief official waiting,” he replied imperiously. “Thirty-five thousand. Pay it, or go.”

Caitríona motioned for Otti and Abu to bring the chest forward and place it on the table. This they did, and Cait threw open the lid and upended the box, spilling the coins in a glimmering rush over the table. “Twenty-five thousand,” Cait declared. “That, along with my most sincere and profound apologies for the inconvenience you have suffered, should be more than sufficient. I pray you will accept both.”

Having made his point, the katib accepted the money and the apology. “The captives have been washed, and clothed. They also have been waiting,” he said, speaking through Abu. “If you would please proceed to the gate, they will be brought out to you.”

Cait thanked the katib and returned to the palace gate where, a few moments later, the five knights were escorted from the guardhouse by a company of spear-bearing Saracens led by the jailer. They were delivered without ceremony in simple Arabic garb of long, belted tunics and sandals—cast-off clothing and well worn, but clean. They were still unshaven, but they had been scrubbed to a glowing luster, and had made a gallant, if only partially successful, attempt to comb the tangles from their long hair and beards. They hobbled from the courtyard and out through the palace gates without looking back.

Their long imprisonment made walking difficult—to a man they moved with an odd lolloping gait as if their legs were made of wood, ill-fashioned and poorly hinged. Their muscles were unequal to the exertion and after only a few hundred paces they had to rest to catch their breath. Cait sent Abu ahead to a nearby market square to hire two carriages; when he returned, the knights eagerly, if painfully, clam
bered aboard. When the carriages began to roll, leaving the palace walls behind, the former captives overcame their infirmities sufficiently to revel in their freedom by giving vent to enthusiastic whoops and battle cries. Their exuberance drew stares from the people in the streets, many of whom muttered imprecations against ill-mannered foreigners, and fools who could not hold their wine.