by Hilary Green
Ranulph shook his head. 'I don't think so, Dirk. He always said you didn't have it in you to make a good sailor. That's not your fault. It's a life that suits some people and not others. Be honest. Would it have made you happy?'
'It doesn't matter one way or the other now, does it?'
'So, why are you here? If your father and mother need you at home, what are you doing sailing with the Genoese?'
'Because I can't waste my life scratching a living on the docks at Bruges! I've got my own way to make. I can make a fortune like this.'
Ranulph nodded slowly. 'Yes, I see that. Well, you have a good cargo waiting in your warehouse. Your share of that should give you a healthy profit. Enough to take care of your mother and father for some time.'
Dirk shrugged and looked away. Then he lifted his head and his eyes took on a hint of their earlier triumph. 'Yes, and there will be more. A new caravan is expected any day now.'
'I know, but you will have to bargain for a share of that. You have us and the Venetians to compete with now.'
Dirk got up, flexing his arm and clenching and unclenching his fingers. 'That's all you know! I shouldn't bother waiting around for it, if I were you. My captain has the hakim in his pocket. It's all arranged. When the camel train arrives the whole lot goes straight into the Genoese funduq. You won't even get a smell of it.'
Ranulph rose too. 'You don't mean that?'
'Oh yes, I do. Just wait and see. Or rather, don't wait. Much better to get away now and hope you can pick up some scraps elsewhere.' He walked to the door. 'Now piss off. I've said what I needed to say. I don't need to fight you any more.'
He opened the door and Ranulph, stunned by what he had just heard, walked past him, down the stairs and out into the street.
Heading back towards the funduq his mind was in a turmoil. Dirk was still alive. That was one death off his conscience, perhaps the one that most distressed him. But in the place of that guilt there was now something else. He had left Piet just at a time when he was most needed. Dirk's words rang in his mind. 'It wasn't just my mother's heart you broke.' Now there was this new development. Could it be true that the Genoese had already got their hands on the whole caravan – or as good as? Was it possible to suborn the hakim to that extent? And if it was true, what were the implications for himself and Beppo?
He was so absorbed in these thoughts that he paid no attention to the footsteps approaching him from behind until his shoulders were gripped by heavy hands and a voice said, 'Come with us. You are under arrest.'
Ranulph twisted in his captors' grasp but the grip only tightened. There were two of them, large black men, heavily muscled and each carrying in his free hand a curved scimitar. It was clear that any attempt to escape would result in serious injury or worse.
'By whose orders?' he demanded. 'Why am I being arrested?'
'By the orders of the hakim. Move!'
'Why? What am I accused of?'
'You'll find out. Now shift yourself – or do we have to drag you?'
20.
Ranulph shrank back into the corner of the filthy pit as the grating above his head was lifted. At the beginning, the stench of the place had almost made him vomit, composed as it was of rotting scraps of food and human excrement, to which, to his shame, he had now been forced to add his own. Now he hardly noticed it. It was three days since his arrest, as well as he could judge by the faint light that filtered through the grating, or the lack of it. Three days during which he had subsisted on hunks of mouldy bread and jugs of slimy water, lowered down to him by guards who refused to answer his pleas to send word to his friends. In those three days, the opening of the only access to fresh air had been the precursor to horrors he had heard of but never thought to experience. Each time he had been hauled out and dragged to the inquisitors' room, where he had heard the repeated demand, 'Confess! Confess your crime!' His desperate requests to know what crime he was being accused of had provoked only agonising punishment. He had been stripped of his boots and hose, hauled up by the ankles and whipped on the soles of his feet until they were a bloody pulp, then flung back into his pit.
Now the grating was opening again and he found himself whimpering with fear of what was to follow. It crossed his mind that it might be better to confess to whatever crime it was and bear the punishment, rather than endure the torture of the bastinado again. A guard reached down and hauled him to his swollen feet, forcing from him a sob of agony. He was pulled out and, unable to stand alone, was gripped between two men and half dragged, half carried along a passageway. Dimly he realised that this was not the way to the usual torture chamber and a faint spark of hope was ignited. They had understood their mistake, his friends had spoken for him, he was about to be released! They crossed a courtyard, where the fierceness of the sunlight almost blinded him, and passed under a portico and into a large hall, crowded with people. At the far end was a raised dais and as his eyes adapted to the change in the light he recognised the figure sitting there. It was the hakim. Hope and despair surged through his brain, like two equally matched armies. He was not about to be released; but at least now he would find out what crime he was accused of and have a chance to clear himself.
His guards dragged him to a spot in front of the dais and released him, and some vestige of pride kept him on his feet. To his left he heard a rustle of movement and turned his head. To his joy, he saw Beppo and ibn Khalid with a small group of companions. Beppo made a small gesture, which conveyed a message, 'Courage! You are not alone.' Ranulph forced himself to respond with a grimace that was intended to be a smile.
The hakim spoke. 'You are accused of stealing money and valuable jewellery from a fellow merchant. How do you plead?'
Ranulph stared around him. Where could this accusation have come from? 'I am not guilty, sir. I have stolen nothing. I will swear it.'
'Your oath is of no value here,' the hakim replied grimly. 'Who is the accuser?'
'I am, my lord.'
A man stepped forward from Ranulph's right and he recognised him as one of the Venetian merchants whose ship had docked a few days earlier.
'And what is the basis for your accusation?'
'I discovered that some valuable gems and money had disappeared from my room at the funduq. When I asked the men who keep watch for us if they had seen any strangers in the building they told me that this man,' he pointed to Ranulph, 'had come, purporting to look for a friend who was not there at the time. I had reason to suspect that he harboured evil intentions, so I sent men to search his belongings.'
'And they found?'
'These, my lord, the money and the jewels I had lost. They were in this man's chest, hidden under some clothing.'
He held up a small casket. The hakim reached for it and tipped its contents onto the table at his side. Jewels sparkled in a shaft of sunlight falling through a high window.
'These are items of considerable value. This alone must be worth a great deal.'
He held up a jewelled pendant and Ranulph caught his breath. Everything was clear now. The last time he had seen that pendant it had been around Viviana's neck. Just as predicted, even after all this time, her vengeance had followed him.
The hakim looked at him 'Well? These items were found in your possession. How do you account for that?'
'My lord, I have been falsely accused. That pendant belongs, not to this gentleman here, but to a lady who … who believes that I have wronged her. She has sent this man to accuse me out of revenge.'
'Not so, my lord!' the Venetian protested. 'That jewel has been in the possession of my family for generations. I inherited it from my mother.'
'You hear that?'
'He lies, my lord!'
'Or you do. That seems to me the most likely explanation. These items were found in your chest, concealed. You concoct this far fetched story about a lady you have wronged and you expect me to believe you rather than this gentleman? I have heard enough. You are guilty of theft and will be punished according to the law.'<
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'Saheed!' ibn Khaled was on his feet. 'I must protest. You have only this man's word that the jewels were ever stolen.'
'Where are the men who searched his room and found the stolen items?' the hakim asked.
'They are here, my lord,' the Venetian answered, beckoning two men in his livery forward.
'You found these things as described?'
'Yes, my lord.'
'In the funduq belonging to the Amalfitans?'
'Yes, my lord.'
'Signor Benevento,' the hakim turned to Beppo, 'you are the head of the Amalfitan funduq. Did these men come there?'
Beppo rose, casting a glance of desperate apology in Ranulph's direction. 'They did.'
'And did they find these items?'
'They … appeared to find them. But I believe they brought them with them and then pretended to find them. I would swear on my life that this man,' indicating Ranulph, 'is not a thief.'
'I have told you, your Christian oaths are of no value here. I have heard enough. Sentence is pronounced. Take the prisoner away.'
As he was dragged away Ranulph heard voices raised in protest as his friends struggled to make themselves heard, but the sounds faded as he was taken back across the courtyard and along the corridor. The one small comfort was that he was not thrown back into the pit, but shoved into a cell which already contained a dozen or so men. He sank down in a corner, wrapped his arms round his updrawn knees and buried his face in them. He was shaking all over. It was sometime before he felt calm enough to raise his head and when he did he found a man of about his own age, dressed in a filthy djellaba, his hair and beard matted with sweat, gazing down at him.
'You are not one of us. How do you come to be here?'
Ranulph passed his tongue over parched lips. 'I am accused of theft,' he croaked, and added with a desperation he knew to be useless, 'I am innocent.'
The other man gave a brief, bitter laugh. 'Like the rest of us, if you believe what you are told. You were convicted?'
'Yes.'
'That's it, then. No more to say.'
Ranulph looked up at him and voiced the question that was haunting his thoughts. 'What is the punishment for theft, according to your law?'
'You don't know?'
'No.'
He gave another mirthless laugh and held out his left hand, bringing the edge of his right down on the wrist in a chopping motion and accompanying the action with a gruesome crunching noise. Ranulph stared at him a moment longer in unbelief, then he whispered, 'When?'
The man shrugged. 'Tomorrow, the next day – who knows.'
It was another three days before the guards came to summon them out of the cell, days which had at least allowed Ranulph's feet to heal enough for him to stand. They were lined up, shackled to each other by the ankle, and forced by blows and curses to shuffle out of the prison and into a public square where a scaffold had been set up. The executioner stood behind a bloodstained block, his bare arms rippling with muscles, his axe in his hand, and beside him a cauldron of boiling pitch bubbled. The square was packed with people and there was an air of eager anticipation. Even the driver of one of the carts that collected the city's night soil had stopped his vehicle right behind the scaffold, its noisome contents adding to the stench of sweat and fear that choked Ranulph's nose. He searched the crowd for a friendly face and found none. It was not surprising, he thought, that none of his comrades wished to witness his agony. He forced himself to hold his head high. The other men in the line were mostly Egyptians, though there were some of other races, but he was the only European. He told himself that he would show them how an Englishman could endure pain.
The first man was unshackled and dragged up onto the scaffold. Ranulph forced himself to watch as the axe descended, but it was the man's scream and the smell of burning flesh as the stump of his arm was thrust into the boiling pitch to staunch the bleeding that almost made him vomit. Slowly the line shuffled forward. There were three men ahead of him, then two. The man in front of him had lost control of his bowels and hot excrement dripped onto Ranulph's feet. He gritted his teeth and determined that he would not allow himself to be humiliated like that. The man was unshackled and hauled up and this time Ranulph closed his eyes as the axe descended. He heard the clang as his own feet were released and the executioner's two henchmen reached down to pull him up.
As they did so, there was a loud shout from somewhere in the crowd and then a confused clamour as other voices joined in. The executioner turned to look for the cause of the noise and his assistants did likewise and in that instant Ranulph heard a whistle, a sound he knew well from life on board the Santa Christina where it was used to summon the crew. He looked round wildly for the source of it and the driver of the soil cart threw back his hood and revealed the face of Beppo. The noise in the square had escalated into a full scale riot and for a few more precious seconds the executioner's attention was distracted. Without hesitation, Ranulph launched himself off the scaffold and into the stinking contents of the cart.
As he sank into the mess he felt the cart jerk into motion, as Beppo plied his whip. He held his breath for as long as he could and when he was forced to come up for air the shouting had faded into the distance, but Beppo turned in his seat and growled, 'Stay down! We're not clear yet.'
Ranulph managed to turn himself onto his back so that only his nose and mouth were above the surface. The smell was sickening, but he was well used to that kind of stench by now and he managed to control the urge to vomit. The cart lurched and swayed along rutted streets and when he next raised his head enough to look up he could see only the sky and the occasional fronds of a palm tree. It seemed they were outside the bounds of the city. Carefully, he levered himself up further and saw that his guess was correct. Cultivated fields spread away on either side. For the first time he began to believe that he might actually have escaped.
After a while Beppo turned the cart off the track and drove it through the doors of a large barn, doors which were immediately closed behind them. The cart shook as someone climbed up to look over the side. Ranulph rubbed at his face, trying to clear his eyes, and found himself looking into the concerned eyes of ibn Khaled.
'Come, let me help you out! You are safe now, for the time being at least.'
Beppo appeared at his other side and between them they lifted him out of his filthy sanctuary, Beppo snorting with laughter tinged with disgust.
'By Christ, lad! The very depths of hell cannot stink worse than you do.'
'It's where I've been, these last days,' Ranulph mumbled and let himself go limp in their arms.
After that everything became rather vague and confused. He was aware, dimly, of being stripped of his filthy clothing and lifted into a bath of warm water and of crying out as the water found the still unhealed wounds on his feet. Someone, ibn Khaled he thought, wiped his face clean and rubbed some kind of perfumed oil into his hair and beard. Then he was lifted out and laid on a bed and Al Tayibb appeared and anointed his feet with salve and bandaged them. Ibn Khaled held a cup to his lips and when he gagged at the bitter taste murmured, 'Drink. It will ease your pain. After, you can have water to clear your mouth.' He drank as he was bidden, drained the cup of water that followed, and sank into welcome oblivion.
When he woke, he was in a white walled room and a shaft of amber sunlight lay across his body. He knew instinctively from its colour that it was evening. For a long moment he lay quite still, allowing the idea to sink in that he was safe and whole and in friendly hands. Then he turned his head and found Beppo sitting on a stool few feet away. Hearing him move the sea captain got up and came to the bedside.
'How do you, lad?'
'Thirsty,' Ranulph croaked.
Beppo brought water from a jug on a table nearby and helped him to sit up. When he had drained the cup Ranulph said, 'You saved me. I haven't thanked you.'
'God's blood, man! I don't need thanks. I couldn't let those heathens deprive my secretary of his hand.'
&nb
sp; 'I write with my right,' Ranulph murmured, managing a smile for the first time.
'Well, that's as may be, but you need both hands on board ship.'
'How did you manage it? I can't remember clearly.'
'Well, we had to wait until we knew when the punishments were going to be carried out. Ibn Khaled said there would be a big crowd to watch, so we placed the crew of the Santa Christina among them with very precise instructions. They had to wait for just the right moment. Too soon and you would still have been chained to the man behind you. Too late … well, no need to dwell on that. Then one of them had to pretend his pocket had been picked and the rest were to use that as a pretext to start a fight.'
'I thought I heard Amalfitan accents,' Ranulph said. 'How did you get hold of the dung cart?'
'Ibn Khaled fixed that. The driver owed his father a favour for helping his wife through a difficult birth.'
'You took a terrible risk,' Ranulph said. 'If you had been caught … I tremble to think what they would have done to you.'
Beppo shrugged. 'It was touch and go, I have to admit. But it was the best plan we could come up with.'
'Well, it worked – and I am eternally grateful to you all,' Ranulph said.
It took a good meal of broth and fresh bread and another solid night's sleep before he was able to turn his mind to his current situation. Next morning Beppo and ibn Khaled came to see him and his first question was, 'What now? I suppose the authorities must be looking for me.'
'It's hard to know,' Ibn Khaled replied. 'There was so much confusion at the time of your escape that it's possible no one noticed one less hand had been chopped off. I think we can be reasonably sure that no one actually saw you escape – or no one who would wish to inform the authorities. Otherwise Beppo would have been followed and arrested. But we can't take any risks. You must stay here until you are strong enough to travel, and then we must work out a way to get you out of the country.'
