Virtually everyone in the crowd crossed himself. The incident was still vividly remembered, though it had been some time before. Dozens of their daughters had been butchered or raped or taken to be sold as slaves or prostitutes. Their sons had been killed like animals, beheaded, and castrated. No vile or foul thing had been left undone. These memories made the townspeople cringe with horror.
“We must flee Pansa!” shouted Francisco. “Gather our families and run while we can!”
“But to where?” shouted someone from well back in the crowd. “Where is it that we can flee? What refuge can we seek?”
“The City!” rejoined Pepe the goatherd. “Barcelona. It’s our only chance!”
“But the city is so far,” cautioned Manuel, now on his feet and regaining his composure. All eyes turned to him. “Suliman’s men will catch us on the road long before Barcelona is in sight. We’ll be cut down like dogs!”
“Then what shall we do?” yelled Tomasina de Cordoba, wife of Sancho the candlemaker.
Manuel shook his head.
“Run to the hills!” shouted Pablo.
“Are you mad?” rebuffed Francisco. “Suliman is in the hills! His spies must be near Pansa already!”
Gasps abounded and the crowd fell into a despondent silence. Indeed, things looked bleak.
Sinbad held out his arms, catching their attention. “Just a minute,” he said. “We must get organized. We must know exactly what we’re up against before making any decisions. The wrong choice could kill us all.”
The crowd stared, awed by his words and his command of them. But some had doubts.
“And who are you to speak for Pansa?” called Pablo. “You are not of this village!”
“Yes!” shouted a fisherwife. “I was on the beach the day you were found. You are not of us. You are a foreigner!”
“A Moor! He’s a Moor!” somebody called angrily, and the crowd turned hostile.
“Kill him! Kill him! He’s a spy!”
“Yes! He’s a spy for Suliman!”
A handful of citizens began to mount the steps in rage, sticks in their hands to be used as clubs. Sinbad stepped back toward the church door, his hand slipping to his knife.
“Stop this!” cried Father Augusto, before the mob had taken over. “Dare you defile this church?”
“But, Father,” protested Francisco. “He is a Moor — ”
“He’s not!” The voice was loud and strong; the crowd looked away to where Maria Elisa de Leon and her two sisters came striding across the road. They bristled past the startled onlookers and climbed the church steps. Elisa pushed Pablo out of the way and the cobbler’s mouth hung open in amazement.
Elisa scanned the gathering and looked at them with scorn. “This man, this foreigner, is the only chance we have,” she snapped. “Yes, he’s from across the sea. But were not the Three Wise Men? And the disciples? Would you condemn them as well?”
The crowd stood in shocked silence. Elisa’s lips trembled as she addressed them again. “This man is not a Moor. But he knows their ways, and he can help us fight against them — ”
“Fight?” mimicked an amazed Francisco. “How can we fight against Suliman and his army? This is madness!”
“Then run!” shouted Victoria, taking her sister’s place at the forefront. “Go on! Cowards! Let Suliman sack Pansa. Let him burn our homes and our farms, steal our livestock and take with him everything we’ve ever held dear.” She gestured to the bell tower above. “Even our church will be destroyed. Desecrated. Left in ruins at the hands of the infidels. Is this what you want?”
“No! No!” came the response of everyone. “Never! Never!”
Maria Vanessa smiled thinly. “Good. Then it’s agreed. We hold our ground. We keep our homes. That is,” — she turned meekly to Sinbad, who was standing in the shadowed doorway of the church too dumbfounded by these most recent events to speak — “that is, if our Captain still wants to aid us … ”
Sinbad slowly stepped into the open, a smiling Father Augusto at his side. “The girls are right,” the priest said to the crowd. “If we leave Pansa now, we shall never return. And even I, a man of the cloth, say that it is better to meet the infidel than flee before him.” He held out his hand for Sinbad to shake. “Well, Captain? Can our humble village entrust itself to you?”
Sinbad bit tensely at his lip. They all sounded very noble in this dark hour, very courageous. But what would happen when the moment itself came and Suliman’s hordes swept down upon them all? How could this ragtag group of well-meaning old men and girls possibly defend an entire village?
“I’ll do what I can,” he said at last. “But no promises.” Then he took the priest’s hand and shook it.
Manuel de Leon came forward. “What shall we do, Captain Sinbad? What do you want us to do?”
Sinbad thought fast. “First of all, I want us all to learn as much about the enemy as we can. Which among you saw the campfires last night?”
A small hand stuck out from among the crowd and Sinbad peered to see. A young boy, not more than thirteen, stepped from the group and came to the foot of the steps. “I saw them, sir,” the youth said hesitantly. “In the early hours, before my father came to tend the flocks.”
Sinbad beckoned him closer. “What is your name, son?”
“Rudolpho, sir.”
The mariner smiled. “You needn’t be frightened, Rudolpho. Just tell me, tell us all, what you say.”
The dark-haired, scruffy youth gulped. “At first,” he began, “I heard only the hooves of horses, many horses. And then I peered beyond the meadows and saw them riding. A hundred horsemen, señor. Perhaps more; I cannot tell. They made their camp near the flat. I heard much laughter, much singing as they set up their tents and built their fires. In the darkness I crept closer, as close as I dared.” Here he shuddered, making the sign of the cross. “I saw him. Suliman the Filthy.” He spat. “A pig of a man. I watched as he commanded his lieutenants to fortify their positions. Then, while these horsemen ate and drank, other bandits came. On foot. Dark, dirty men, carrying spears and swords, dragging behind them dozens of prisoners with ankles and hands bound by rope. These prisoners cowered under the lash; I heard one beg, heard his guards laughing cruelly as they beat him again and yet again. It was terrible, señor … ”
“Go on,” urged Sinbad.
Young Rudolpho shivered as though a cold wind had swept over him. “Then I saw the poor man fall to the ground, whimpering. A friend of his came to his side and spoke a few words in a tongue I could not understand. Suliman’s soldiers knocked him down as well, and then, while the first man screamed, they cut his tongue from his mouth.”
The crowd looked away, sickened at the awful tale. Rudolpho looked up and said, “Must … must I go on, señor?”
Sinbad nodded firmly. “Yes, Rudolpho. As painful as it may be for you, it’s vital that everyone hears it. Please, young friend, do continue.”
The lad sighed deeply and began again. “There were women as well among the prisoners. Girls from nearby villages, one of whom I recognized. Carmen, daughter of Paulo the swineherd … ”
Faces of stone cracked in horror as many among the gathering acknowledged that they knew her also. “What happened?” asked Father Augusto.
Rudolpho swallowed hard. “I saw Suliman’s men take her and bind her to a tree. Then, filled with the fire of wine, they … they used her … ”
The priest was aghast. “Dios mio!” he mumbled beneath his breath, making the sign of the cross.
“Never mind that,” said Sinbad softly … “What else can you tell us about Suliman’s army?”
“Very little, señor,” admitted the boy. “The sentries became suspicious and began to scour the wood where I lay hidden. Frightened of being found out and captured, I ran back to my home as quickly as I could to tell my father. He, of course, came here to Pansa this morning and told Father Augusto of the things I had seen. The rest you already know.”
Sinbad frowned. The lad
’s story had been vivid and truthful, yet it provided little in the way of real information about Suliman’s forces — information that he must have if Pansa were to try and hold her own against him.
He mussed the boy’s hair and smiled. “Thank you, Rudolpho. You’ve done a very fine job; we’re all proud of you. But,” — and he sighed, shaking his head slowly — “we’re going to have to find out a lot more.”
“What more is there to know?” questioned Manuel, now over the shock of the tale. “Suliman is coming. Is that not enough?”
“I’m afraid not, my friend. If we are to defend the village, we have to learn something more than this about our enemy’s strength. For example, how many men does Suliman really command? One hundred? Two? Three? Are they seasoned fighters or rabble? Are they planning to attack us at night while they think Pansa is asleep? Or do they plan a frontal assault at dawn, with the sun before their eyes? How skilled are these bandits, will they run if challenged? Or will they fight to the death? All this we need to find out, in order to plan our own defense and strategy.”
Father Augusto understood what the mariner meant and he looked at Sinbad darkly. “How do you propose we obtain this knowledge?” he asked.
Sinbad met his stare and didn’t flinch. “There can only be one way, Father: sneak right into Suliman’s camp and take a prisoner.”
Maria Elisa gasped; she flew to Sinbad’s side and clung to his shirtsleeve. Breathlessly, she said, “And who shall be the one to capture the prisoner?”
Sinbad smiled glumly. “There’s only one person here who has even a chance of pulling it off. Me.”
Victoria paled and tottered; it seemed she was going to faint. Father Augusto and her sister steadied her until the shock had worn off.
“Don’t worry,” said Sinbad, looking at the distraught girl but really addressing everyone. “I’ve been in scrapes like this before. I’ll manage.”
“You’ll be killed!” cried Manuel de Leon. “Caught long before you even reach their camp.”
“No he won’t!” called young Rudolpho boldly. All eyes looked upon the boy as he said to Sinbad, “I’ll take you, señor. I’ll show you the way through the hidden trail … ”
Sinbad clasped him by the shoulders. “You’d risk your life again?” he asked.
Rudolpho nodded somberly. “For my village and my friends, yes.”
“Then it’s settled. At dusk the boy and I shall leave for Suliman’s tents.”
“And what about us?” shouted Francisco. “We thought you were going to stay and help us!”
“And so I am!” He turned to Father Augusto. “Father, while I’m gone you and Manuel are in charge … ”
The priest nodded. “I understand, Captain Sinbad. What do you want us to do?”
Sinbad lost no time; he pointed to the narrow street at the end of the plaza. “I want a barricade set up beyond the well,” he said. “Use any materials you have — wood, brick, anything … ”
A short, balding man stepped forward. “I can build your wall,” he said. “I am Javier, the mason.” And he bowed politely.
Sinbad smiled. “Good, Javier. Round up as many able-bodied men as you can. I want it up before tomorrow.”
“And what can we do?” asked Miguel the fisherman.
“Gather all of Pansa’s supplies. Take the children and keep them out of the streets. Gather them in the church.”
Miguel nodded. He called his fellow fishermen and they set to the task even before Sinbad had finished.
“And what about us?” said Elisa. “We want to help also.”
“That’s right,” chimed Victoria. “We all want to do our part.”
“Everyone will have to,” replied the mariner dourly. He peered up at the morning sun. “My guess is that we have forty-eight hours at the most before Suliman and his band are ready to march again. Forty-eight hours until all of Pansa is under siege. Find every available weapon you can. Knives, bows, rolling pins and kitchen boards if necessary. Come the day after tomorrow, we’re going to be fighting for our very lives.”
*
Crossing a copse, Rudolpho dashed among the thick trees and indicated for Sinbad to hurry up and follow. Impulsively, the boy ran forward, plunging himself among the long, lengthening shadows. In a half a dozen full steps he had cleared the trees and made his way onto a small rise that looked down upon a lush field of tall grasses.
Sinbad hunched down and crawled beside him. Rudolpho was busy scooping handfuls of earth and smearing it across his face. “It will help keep us unseen,” he assured the mariner. Sinbad nodded and spread a thin layer of dirt over his own face. Now their faces almost blended with the approaching night.
“How far to the camp?” Sinbad asked.
Rudolpho lifted his hand and pointed far across the field. It was then that the first flame of a campfire suddenly appeared, a thin crimson finger dancing gently in the mildest of breezes. Luck was with them, Sinbad knew. Since yesterday, when the boy first came upon the camp, Suliman had not moved his forces. It was obvious that he was resting his men, feeding them, letting them enjoy the spoils of the last campaign before moving on to the next. And this brief respite was exactly what Sinbad had been hoping for. Now if only everything else would go as well …
“We must be doubly careful from here on out,” said Rudolpho. “Suliman’s sentries patrol the perimeter as far as here. They must not have any opportunity to grow suspicious.”
“Don’t worry,” said Sinbad. “I know exactly what to do. I’m going down first. You follow, but linger behind. Don’t stay too close.” Then he looked at the youth darkly. “If I should get caught, you run back to Pansa as quick as you can, understand? I don’t want any heroics.”
Rudolpho nodded. “I understand completely. Good luck, Sinbad.”
The mariner mussed the boy’s hair, then in a slow belly-crawl he inched his way into the field and hid among the grass. It was a tedious process to make his way toward the glowing fires. As he crawled, he could hear the laughter of Suliman’s swarthy villains growing louder, hear their cruel jokes and exultations about what they would do to the villages that lay between here and the walled city of Barcelona itself.
There was a narrow path in the grass, marked by a tall cherry tree. Sinbad crouched beside the trunk and peered out at the lone sentry, curved sword dangling from his side, who patroled the perimeter. As the leaves rustled with the breeze, Sinbad slid back down, this time on his back, and slipped out his dagger. Then he patiently waited. He could feel the sentry coming closer by the heavy step of his boots. Sinbad tightened his grip on the blade and held his breath. Like lightning he was up; he caught the man from behind, choked him with his free hand, and plunged the blade up into the small of his back with the other. The sentry’s eyes widened, he gurgled and then crumpled into Sinbad’s arms. Sinbad dragged him behind the tree and tucked him out of sight among a patch of high weed and scrub. With a thin smile of satisfaction the mariner continued his journey toward the camp.
By now he could smell the aroma of stuck pig on the skillets and of the heady wine being passed around in goatskin pouches. He could almost see the lustful fires burning in the eyes of the bandits as they contemplated the spoils to come, vengeful eyes, filled with hate and malice. Oh, Sinbad knew he’d seen their kind before; scavengers, always there in any land, waiting for the opportunity to rape and plunder and gather the spoils that war spilled carelessly all around.
A scream brought him back to reality. Across the camp, near a cluster of trees, he saw for the first time the groups of prisoners. Set apart from Suliman’s soldiers, they had been herded into bunches, just as Rudolpho had said, hands and feet bound, waiting meekly while the guards taunted them. A girl had been dragged from her companions screaming and kicking and pulled roughly into the darkness behind the trees. Sinbad winced at the sound of her agonized shrieks, not even daring to conjecture what those spineless animals might be doing to her. As for the other prisoners, several had tried to protest, but
angry kicks in the face and groin by Suliman’s laughing troops were the only reward for their concern.
Knife blade firmly clenched between his teeth, Sinbad pushed himself forward on his elbows and slowly began to circle the camp, heading in the direction of the prisoners. From everything he had observed, those guarding the hapless groups were both drunk and careless. With any sort of luck, he knew he might be able to slip inside the camp itself unnoticed — and free at least some of the hostages before anyone even realized he was there.
Foul-mouthed and crude, the soldiers went on with their sport. Sinbad looked back over his shoulder and, hooting like an owl, gave waiting Rudolpho the signal that everything was well. Then he crept on again, this time purposely away from the dim light of the fires and back into high grass. The ground was rough and damp; he strained every meter of the way, every few moments freezing in his place when another sentry passed on his rounds nearby.
Soon the silent silhouettes of the prisoners were in full sight. Tied in small units of five or six, women mingled with men at random, they sat crosslegged and weary, tattered clothes giving testimony to the cruelty they had endured since their capture.
Sinbad studied them all before making another move. Right now he had to be prudent and select from their number one or two of the fittest, healthy men who could run fast enough to elude the guards who would surely give chase.
Raucous laughter arose from nearby. A handful of grinning soldiers, their needs satisfied, came stumbling out of the bushes. Behind lay the wimpering form of a girl — the girl they had dragged away only minutes before. While the guards snickered among themselves, complimenting each other on their virility, Sinbad tucked his knife into his shirt and stole to the very edge of the camp. A pair of startled eyes caught his fleeting shadow and stared. Sinbad stared back, catching a glimpse of the man’s features as a crackling ember sent a quick needle of light his way. Sinbad rubbed his eyes, disbelieving what he had seen.
But no, there was no doubt. The craggy face, sunken eyes, strong hands … It could be no other.
The Thief of Kalimar; Captain Sinbad; Cinnabar Page 75
