To Kon it sounded more like a tomcat seeking a mate, but it had produced the desired result so he kept his opinion to himself.
The captives sat up; one returned the bird call.
Perhaps the clinking of chains woke one of the guards. Suddenly, he was on his feet, heading toward the captives. Jakov sprang out of hiding with a blood-curdling yell and swiped his blade across the fellow’s chest. The pirate crumpled to the ground, his dagger still sheathed at his waist.
The other guard awoke, rubbed his eyes, leapt to his feet when he saw his compatriot, and headed for the beach.
“Coward,” Jakov yelled before turning to Kon. “Well, that was easy.”
He strode towards his men. Kon bit back tears as he watched Jakov embrace each in turn. They wept openly at his reassurances they were safe. Kon didn’t speak their language but it was clear many of them couldn’t believe their count was alive.
It took half an hour of frustrating hammering on the chains with the none-too-sharp adze before the captives were at least separated from each other.
“Now we walk back to Termoli,” Jakov declared, then he explained the plan to his smiling men.
The smiles left their faces when Drosik strolled into the clearing with half a dozen men. The Croats disappeared into the bushes in the blink of an eye. Kon didn’t blame them. He and Jakov and the crew from the Nunziata would make short work of the pirate once they arrived.
His blood ran cold when the Ragusa sailed slowly into view behind the newcomers. Zara was bound tight to the mainmast, a bloody rag tied around her beloved forehead.
A HIGH PRICE
Zara strained in vain at the thick ropes binding her to the mast. The throbbing pain in the back of her head had lessened, but the ache of dread in her heart threatened to render her witless. Her foolhardy over-confidence had led to this and put their lives in jeopardy.
It had been some time since Drosik had taunted her and she wondered where he had gone. When she heard the unmistakable sound of the anchor being dropped, she narrowed her eyes, trying to make out what was happening on shore as the Ragusa hove to. She blinked away the beads of sweat blurring her vision and licked her parched lips.
Kon was there. She sensed his presence. And Jakov with him. Her belly lurched when she made out the hated red shirt. Drosik must have left the ship before it dropped anchor. “Don’t trust him,” she cried hoarsely, though it was unlikely her warning would be heard over the wind.
A nearby crewman leaned in close and grinned a toothless grin. The stench of his foul breath sent bile rising in her throat. “Don’t worry,” he crowed. “You’ll soon be free. Your Wolf will agree to Drosik’s terms.”
A whirlwind raged in her head.
Terms?
Never.
Lupomari’s arrival in the Nunziata must be imminent. There would be no need to treat with the despicable pirate. And what would Drosik expect in return for her release anyway?
Fear blossomed in the pit of her stomach.
My Wolf? If Drosik was aware of their feelings for one another he would use it against…
No!
“Don’t agree to anything,” she urged again.
~~~
When Kon saw Zara was a prisoner on Drosik’s ship he inhaled deeply to calm his rage. It didn’t work. Seething, he urged Jakov to flee. “Take care of your men. It’s vital they remain free. They need you.”
Jakov balked. “But my debt to you…”
“Go,” he replied, distracted by the wound Zara had evidently suffered. “Your debt is paid once your men are back in Croatia with their families.”
The rustle of leaves behind him indicated Jakov had joined his men in the forest.
“What are your terms, pirate?” he shouted.
Drosik sneered. “No terms, priest. Signorina Polani will fetch a king’s ransom in the slave market. Such a tasty morsel.”
Kon clenched his jaw and eyed the scimitar lying on the rock where they’d smashed apart the chains. One blow would be sufficient to lop off the pirate’s head, but he was one man against several. “Why not flee south?”
“It appears you’ve deprived me of the slaves—my most lucrative prize. I want you to be aware of the price you’ve paid for your pious foolishness.”
Kon racked his brain for a plan to get Zara off the Ragusa. “I will pursue you to the ends of the earth if you harm a hair on her head.”
Drosik scoffed. “You’d have to be alive and I don’t intend to permit that.”
Kon was conflicted. If he succeeded in killing the pirate there was no guarantee he hadn’t given instructions to his crew to sail on anyway. Where in the name of all the saints was Lupomari with the Nunziata?
He tried one last ploy. “You may kill me, but Zara’s uncle is the Doge of Venezia. He will seek vengeance for such an offence against his family. There won’t be a port anywhere in the Adriatic or the Mediterranean where you’ll be safe.”
The sly grin disappeared.
Kon knew what he had to do. “Let her go and take me instead.”
~~~
“See,” the foul-mouthed sailor goaded as he untied the ropes binding Zara.
She spat in his face. He scowled and brandished a fist at her, but she didn’t flinch. Muttering, he averted his sullen gaze and removed the last of the ropes.
She looked around the ship, seeking a way to escape, but Drosik’s men seemed to be everywhere.
The moron shoved her to the side. “Over you go.”
She braced her legs. “You expect me to jump into the sea?”
He took a step towards her. “Or I throw you in.”
She took a last look at the shore. Kon had picked up one of the eastern swords and seemed to be holding Drosik and his men at bay. Why was the pirate letting her go?
Seeing no alternative and sickened by the prospect of the lout’s filthy hands on her body, she climbed up onto the wale and dove into the clear water, confident the beach wasn’t far away. She was prepared this time for the shock of the impact, but memories of tumbling into the water with the boy assailed her. If only she’d held onto him.
She resurfaced quickly, coughing out seawater as she tried to get her bearings. The pain in her head hammered when she espied Kon being goaded into a small rowboat at the point of the scimitar in Drosik’s grip.
“No,” she yelled, choking on salty water.
She struck out for the shore, her progress hampered by the leaden dread in her limbs. It was a nightmare. She was swimming but making no headway.
Exhausted, she crawled up the beach and looked back at the Ragusa. Sailors were hauling the rowboat over the side and Kon was nowhere to be seen.
She retched into the sand, shaking with grief and anger when the ship weighed anchor and she espied Drosik on the forecastle, jauntily waving his green hat.
DESPAIR
After being forced at the point of his scimitar to board the Ragusa, Kon glanced back at the shore, relieved to see Zara had made it to the beach. She was alone, but he wagered Jakov would return, and at least she was out of Drosik’s clutches.
He turned to congratulate the pirate on for once keeping his word when a blow to the back of the head rendered him witless.
He wasn’t sure how much time had passed when he regained his wits, but the ship was under sail and an ache throbbed in his temples. He tried to press his hands to his head, but discovered his wrists and ankles were tightly bound. Mercifully, he’d been tied with rope and not chained.
He seemed to be lying in a pool of water in some kind of confined space. His gut knotted when he realized he’d been shoved beneath a rowing thwart. He tried to wriggle out but there was no room to maneuver and he was wedged in tight.
A booted foot appeared. By the sound of the tapping above his head he assumed the other foot was atop the bench. He wasn’t surprised to hear Drosik’s taunting voice. “I see you’ve awakened.”
“There’s no need for this,” he replied. “I surrendered to you voluntarily.�
��
“Ah, but now you are my captive and I cannot risk losing my profit.”
An alarm sounded in the back of Kon’s aching head. “Profit?”
“The Fatimids will pay well for a strapping young man they can in turn sell to the Mamluk army.”
An icy prickle marched up Kon’s spine. “The Pope has forbidden the sale of Christians to Islamists.”
Drosik chuckled. “True, but the Fatimids have been known to cut out the tongues of prisoners who protest they are followers of the hated Christian God. You’re swarthy enough to pass for a Mohammedan.”
The irony struck Kon. If he proclaimed his rediscovered faith, he risked losing his tongue. He had bitter experience of the brutality of the Fatimid traders. “The Nunziata will catch you before you can reach Bari.”
Drosik braced both feet on the wet planking. “The Nunziata won’t be going anywhere for a while. Do you think I am such a fool not to recognize her in the lagoon?”
His captor’s laughter faded as he walked away. Kon feared he might retch, unthinkable in the tight space. The uncertainty as to the Nunziata’s fate gnawed at him. The notion of being sold as a slave in the selfsame market where his troubles had begun churned his gut. A life of servitude fighting in an army of slaves loomed. His one consolation was that Zara had been spared the degradation, but the prospect of never seeing her again filled him with despair.
~~~
Zara sat on the beach and watched the Ragusa disappear. “Wolf,” she whispered to the wind, bereft at the loss of the only man she’d ever loved. Dread turned her blood to ice when she contemplated the fate awaiting him if Drosik succeeded in reaching Bari.
Something untoward had happened to her beloved ship. It was the only explanation for its failure to come to the rescue.
She barely had the strength to turn when a rustling noise in the trees indicated she was no longer alone. It was a relief to see Jakov and his bedraggled men emerge from the bushes.
He hunkered down beside her and peered out to sea. “We’ll save him,” he reassured her.
“Why didn’t you fight to help him?” she wailed, ashamed that her presence aboard the Ragusa had obviously been the reason. Neither man would have risked jeopardising her life.
He took her hands and helped her to her feet. “Something must have happened to your ship,” he said. “We assumed she would be here by now.”
She nodded woodenly, thankful he hadn’t asked how she came to be aboard the pirate ship. How to explain the stupidity of William’s soldiers and her own cocksure foolhardiness?
“At least your men are free,” she murmured lamely, guilt-ridden that she’d been the one who’d contracted to transport them in the first place. She glanced at their faces, aware Polani ships had carried many such honest men, women and children to harsh servitude in foreign climes. Kon had opened her eyes to the evil of it. “I’m sorry,” she murmured.
He remained stern-faced. “We must begin the walk back to Termoli.”
The prospect of walking for hours in the hot sun made her want to retch again, but it was the only way to find out what had happened to the Nunziata and hopefully begin the pursuit.
“We’ll walk upriver first,” Jakov explained. “You can quench your thirst and bathe your head wound. It’s a long trek.”
She touched a hand to the rag covering the gash on her scalp she’d forgotten. “What will you do when we get there?”
“Whatever is necessary to save Konrad von Wolfenberg.”
His promise was a tiny island of hope in a sea of despair.
~~~
Kon baked in his prison for the rest of the afternoon. No one came near him. He was offered neither food nor water. Thirst raged. It was a blessed relief when the sun went down and the air cooled, but the ship sailed on through the night and soon his teeth were chattering.
He must have eventually surrendered to exhaustion, his sleep troubled by visions of his father weeping. He was rudely awakened when cold water was thrown over him. He licked his lips, hoping to glean a drop of moisture, only to discover it was seawater he’d been doused with.
“You stink, slave,” the sailor who’d chucked the water exclaimed.
He narrowed his eyes against the first grey streaks of dawn, bursting to ask what the fool expected of a man shut up in a box, but he deemed it better to save his strength.
The Ragusa sailed on for hours, propelled by a strong wind. Hunger gnawed. Even a weevil-infested biscuit would taste good. It was apparent his situation was desperate. He’d greatly underestimated Drosik, but dwelling on regrets and recriminations would only add to his torment. He decided to concentrate on the two things that might keep a flicker of hope alive; his faith and his beloved Zara. He lapsed into a stupor until he was dragged back to reality by the insistent call of oystercatchers and the stink of fish guts. They had reached Bari.
DREAD
Zara feared her trembling legs might not sustain her any further after four hours of trying to keep pace with Jakov. She’d lived a life of comfortable ease and wasn’t prepared for strenuous exercise. When the tower of Termoli castle came in sight at last she was tempted to fall to her knees in thanksgiving the ordeal was over.
Then she sobered. Kon was likely suffering far worse torments than she, and they had yet to begin the pursuit. She surmised Drosik would head for Bari. The Pope had forbidden the sale of Christians to Mohammedans, but Jakov and his men were living proof such rules meant nothing to slavers.
The tide was out when they reached the lagoon. She was torn between laughing and crying when she espied the Nunziata mired in the mud. She’d feared her beloved ship lay at the bottom of the sea.
Lupomari was pacing on the dock and hurried towards them. “Madonna,” he exclaimed, bracing her as she staggered into his arms. “I beg your forgiveness, Signorina Polani. We were unable to give chase. The cursed pirate damaged our rudder. We had to wait for low tide for Rospo to make repairs. Thanks be to the saints you are safe.”
She struggled to stand on her own feet, anger endowing her with new strength. “But Konrad Wolf is not. Drosik has taken him prisoner. We must get underway as soon as possible.”
She lay flat on the dock and peered down to the brown mud under the flat-bottomed hull where Rospo and others labored to repair the rudder. She heard hammering and cursing but couldn’t see them. “How goes it?” she shouted, holding her nose against the reek of the sea’s detritus.
The noise ceased.
“Smashed,” Rospo called back.
“Can it be repaired?”
There was a long pause.
“Sì.”
She breathed again. “How long?”
“Hour.”
The hammering resumed. She scrambled to her feet and turned to Jakov. “I cannot ask you to come with us. You must see to the safety of your men.”
The Croat smiled. “Konrad said the same thing, but I owe you both a debt and we must aid you. Besides, I’ve taken a fancy to a certain cog owned by a cruel pirate. She would serve nicely to get me and my men back to Istria. I’ve stolen many things, what’s one more? I will pray for forgiveness.”
She marveled he still had his sense of humor after his suffering. “I am grateful. You’ll make a fine captain for the Ragusa.”
Rospo’s raspy voice emerged from below. “Two hours.”
Jakov must have sensed her frustration at the further delay. “Enough time for us to find sustenance and clothing for my men,” he interjected. “And to ponder a new name for our ship.”
“I can provide food and clothing,” Lupomari said. “Come with me.”
A certain William of Loritello should be told of the catastrophe his men had unwittingly provoked. The least he owed her was a good meal and a bath. “Let your men go with my captain, Count Jakov. I suggest you and I pay a visit to the castle.”
The freed captives looked hesitantly to their leader, but he reassured them with a nod, then proffered his arm to Zara. “It will be my pleasure,” he
replied.
~~~
Kon couldn’t see anything of the port of Bari from his prison, but the sounds and smells were sickeningly familiar. The gentle rocking of the Ragusa at anchor did nothing to calm the dread raging within him.
The cries of gulls reminded him of his incredulity at the first glimpse of slaves being herded off ships years ago.
The clink of chains brought back memories of his horror at watching men and women being treated like dogs.
He recalled the bile that rose up his throat every time he visited the docks and smelled rotting fish.
When he heard foreign voices haggling in the market he relived the blows rained on him by the outraged Fatimids.
Duke Heinrich’s angry face loomed. From his twisted mouth emerged the taunt. “Soon it will be your turn.”
He had long held the conviction that forced servitude was ungodly. Now as fear and helplessness threatened to stop his heart, he knew why.
He prayed like he’d never prayed before. He begged forgiveness for his disbelief, and pleaded for an acceptance of his fate. He thanked his Savior for the priceless gift of sacrificing his freedom for the woman he loved.
He kept his eyes closed when Drosik came. “I’m off to scout out buyers, priest. My men will get you ready for their inspection.”
Rough hands hauled him out of the stinking box. They cut the rope binding his ankles but his legs buckled beneath him. They held him up, tore off his shirt and doused him with seawater again.
Then, an unexpected blessing. A tumbler was thrust into his bound hands. “Drink,” a voice admonished.
Trembling, he raised the tumbler to his parched lips and guzzled the watered ale so fast he nigh on choked. He held out the tumbler for more but it was yanked out of his hands.
He heard Drosik’s voice speaking Arabic. It was only then he summoned the courage to open his eyes and look into the greedy gaze of the Fatimid who had come to buy him.
He was tempted to laugh at the sight of Drosik’s green hat, but the pirate was making a big show of cleaning his filthy nails with the point of a dagger. The message was clear. If he wanted to keep his tongue he’d best remain silent.
Faithful Heart (The Von Wolfenberg Dynasty Book 3) Page 8
