“I’m your prisoner?” I shouted.
“I prefer ‘guest,’” she said. My jaw dropped. Anger burned up any words in my throat. She tugged at her chain mail, which clinked softly, and adjusted her tunic in the mail’s armholes. “Fadri, I am serious. She stays here.”
“I can’t stay here! We need to find Arturo.” Panic fought with fury, and fury was winning as I stomped toward the stairs.
Fadri grabbed me by the shoulders and pulled me back as I struggled in his grip.
Elena watched me, her face revealing nothing. “Kate, I have said I will help you find Arturo. I am not entirely heartless. As for you, Fadri, Kate knows we plot against Rodrigo. So tie her up, tie her down, knock her out. Do whatever you want. My wife and I no longer see eye to eye on...anything. Eight years is just too long.” Without even looking at me, she shouldered her way past the stunned soldier and disappeared down the stairs.
Chapter Nineteen
I sat on a stool by the window watching men and horses pass on the street below, then scanned the room for a means of escape. This building must have been a potter’s shop judging by the broken potter’s wheel slumped in one corner. Forgotten shards of orange clay pots had been swept to the edges of the floor. A lone cupboard along one wall contained a few dusty clay pots.
I blinked back tears of self-pity, but a few left a chilly trail down my cheek. What now? Damn.
Fadri sat on the floor, arms crossed, silent for the first time since I’d known him, so I turned back to the window. Moors and Christians passed each other with glares or insults. Tahir and his men might rip the army wide open before Rodrigo could take Valencia, or before Elena could implement whatever plans she had. The street filled with noise as horses clomped by, followed by wide-faced mules loaded down with bags of an armorist’s selection of weapons. Rowdy laughter drifted up from groups of drinking soldiers.
I rested my elbow on the rough wooden windowsill. This was an absurd predicament, and one I had not foreseen. In all the scenarios Professor Kalleberg and I had discussed, none included Elena working against Rodrigo.
“Fadri, tell me more about Rodrigo and how he has changed.”
The blond man shrugged. “He goes into rages, loses control, orders the torture of good men, forgives nothing. Then he will withdraw and not speak for days.”
“How long has he been like this?”
“Six months, maybe more. We cannot talk or reason with him. Only an old Jew who comes with a vessel of ale can calm him. Luckily, the Jew started showing up months ago, as we began heading toward Valencia, and bears this ale that Rodrigo craves.” Fadri ran a hand through his shaggy hair. “Rodrigo loses control. Nearly sliced off Nuño’s head one day. Shakes and trembles like a mad man. Only the Jew’s ale calms him down.”
An alcoholic? I suppose it made sense, since Rodrigo had always been a heavy drinker, but why had his personality changed now? Chewing the inside of my lip, I turned back to the window.
By the time I recognized him, Carlos was directly opposite my window, searching each face he passed. “Carlos,” I hissed. As a wagon rolled over the cobblestones beneath me, I leaned out so Fadri would not hear. “Carlos!” I had almost forgotten my elderly spy, whom I’d sent on to Valencia to be my eyes. “Carlos!” He still didn’t turn around, but I heard Fadri getting to his feet. Scrabbling along the floor, I found a chunk of pottery and flung it out the window at Carlos’s back.
“Hey!” Fadri grabbed my arm and pulled me back inside. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
I stared up into Fadri’s concerned face and knew how I could escape. This was Fadri, after all. I didn’t believe he would harm me, and I knew I couldn’t use my only obvious weapon, my dagger, which neither Elena nor Fadri had considered dangerous enough to take from me. But I had another weapon.
I pushed Fadri away. “I’m throwing things. Haven’t you ever seen an angry woman?”
“Luis only does what is best,” Fadri said. “You should not be angry.”
“Luis only does what is best for him.” I touched the younger man lightly on the chest. “He thinks he can tell me what to do, but he can’t.” I ran a finger along his stubbly jaw. “Do you remember when we first met?”
Uncomfortable at my touch, Fadri took a half-step back. “Mirabueno. I was taking a piss with Enzo and that young Moor, and you appeared, wearing almost nothing.”
I smiled shyly, not looking forward to what would come next, since Fadri had obviously taken the bait. I had been wearing shorts and a T-shirt, nearly naked for a woman in the eleventh century. “Do you remember you asked Luis if you could have me?” I wet my lips, letting my tongue graze the tips of my teeth. Oh, I was shameless.
“Ahh, yes.” Fadri’s gaze followed my hands as I unlaced my tunic.
“Even then Luis treated me as his property,” I said. “But I’m not. I can be with anyone I want.”
Fadri took another step toward the wall. “Kate, I’m a married man.”
“Are you faithful to your wife?”
“Now and then, but you and Luis—”
“Are over.” My tunic dropped to the floor, and I reached for the laces on my shirt. I could feel my breasts moving freely under the thin linen.
Poor Fadri swallowed, but we were alone, and the growing bulge under his woven wool tunic told me I’d reached first base, or maybe second. I never understood that system. I dropped my shirt off my shoulders, letting Fadri’s hungry gaze take me in. “Jesus,” he breathed.
I backed him up toward the wall and reached for my waistband. Two more steps...almost there. With one hand I pulled Fadri’s head down until we kissed, then when he clasped my breast with a rough-skinned hand, I fastened my other hand on the nearest pot from the cupboard.
Fadri moaned, kissing me deeply, tasting of ale, and I sent him a silent apology when I slammed my knee into his swollen groin. With a sharp gasp, he clutched at himself, and I stepped back, smashing the pot against Fadri’s hopefully-thick head. I winced as the pot shattered and my jailer collapsed at my feet.
“Fadri, Fadri, I’m so sorry,” I moaned as I dressed. “I’m afraid that when you wake up, you’ll have traded your large erection for an even bigger headache.” I grabbed my things and dashed down the rickety stairs. Carlos couldn’t be that far away. A cooling mist fell as I entered the street, but I didn’t care. I inhaled the freshness and ran in the direction Carlos had taken.
It didn’t take me long to catch sight of the elderly tour guide from the future. “Carlos!”
He turned, then lifted his arms, worry creasing his well-lined face. “Kate,” he murmured as we hugged. “I’ve been searching everywhere for you.”
“Come, I must keep moving.” I grabbed his elbow and hurried him along, telling him about Arturo and al-Saffah. He clucked with concern as I finished. “I need to know where al-Saffah camps. Do you know? Do you know anyone who might know?”
“There he is!” Behind us a wall of Moorish robes began to run straight toward us. Confused, I hesitated, then decided running seemed a good idea, since I was wearing men’s clothing and could be the one they were after.
“They mean you?” Carlos squeaked as I dragged him into a run.
“I’m having a bad day. Where are you staying?”
“I know a man who can help. Meet us at dawn at the Roman ruins north of town. Go! I’m slowing you down.”
He was right. “Tomorrow,” I said, then sprinted ahead. Carlos stumbled back against the nearest building. Thank god the Moors paved their streets so my feet could find purchase in the rugged cobblestones. I ran for my life, taking the first side street, leaping over a game of dice in front of a blacksmith shop. I choked at the waves of heat until I cleared the shop and took another side street, where I skidded to a stop, flailing to avoid slamming into a ten-foot-high pile of rotting animal remains. Gagging, I stepped back, hand over my mouth, waving away the black flies suddenly thick around me. The army butcher obviously felt no need to transport the bones a
nd skulls out of town, probably thinking what did it matter; it wasn’t his town anyway.
Gasping for air, I stumbled, turned and ran right into a man’s lowered shoulder barreling toward my stomach. “Oof!” The man stood, and I found myself draped over the shoulder of a human tree trunk.
“Let me down, you prick!” I beat on his broad back, but he just chuckled, then broke into such a rollicking jog my teeth and eyeballs nearly fell out. I gripped his robe to steady myself and soon my head was so filled with blood my ears rang.
“I got him!” the man crowed.
“Bring him along,” a woman’s voice answered. I twisted and turned but couldn’t see behind me. The voice was familiar, but everything sounds funny after you’ve been upside down for awhile. My tree trunk walked, but I heard horses behind me, and when we turned a corner I was able to arch high enough to see a flash of blond hair, a woman’s elaborate robe.
“Anna!” I yelled. “God damn it, tell Redwood here to put me down.” I released a healthy string of curses in English.
“Tsk, tsk, my dear, your language has really deteriorated over the years.”
I swung from the tree’s shoulder, feeling like Fay Wray in Kong’s paws, or Barbie in the hands of a sadistic kid. Fury pumped through me. Anna rode right next to me now.
“Anna, we have to talk. Put me down!”
“It’s good to see you again. Although the only thing I see of you is your ass. It was always one of your best features.”
Damn it. I clutched at the tree’s robe and began bunching it up, pulling the back hem higher. Wonder what he wore underneath? Time for a little air conditioning. See how he liked having the world see his ass.
I exposed his hairy, stumpy legs, bringing delighted whoops from the riders with Anna. Filling my arms with fabric, I grabbed the last bit to really let some fresh air in, but he took three steps to the left, twisted sharply, and slammed me against a stone building.
I yelped, then dropped the robe to grab my head and stop the ringing.
“Relax, my love, we’re almost there.”
“I’m not your love,” I snarled. I had intended to be cool and calm the first time I encountered Anna back in time, but the circumstances made that impossible.
“Oh, that’s right. You love Luis, the lovely Luis.”
Before I could respond, a horse clomped past me, manure-scented tail flicking in my face. Its rider stopped, and the whole procession creaked to a halt in front of a building. “My lord, Rodrigo Díaz!” the man called in a clear voice, using the odd mixture of Arabic and Spanish so prevalent in Moorish territory. “Under a white flag of truce comes Paloma de Palma, envoy and advisor to our great caliph al-Rashid, the one Allah smiles upon more than any other.”
Hanging upside down, I could see nothing but my captor’s robe, but I picked up the murmurs of Christians nearby. We must be outside Rodrigo’s headquarters.
“We come to negotiate for the safe release of Valencia. We bring proof that we alone have the power to negotiate and avoid a battle for everyone involved.”
More murmurs, then everyone dismounted, saddles creaking, and we all moved inside. My head still hurt so badly my eyes watered. I tried to raise up by arching my back and pressing my hands against Redwood’s hips, but the room was packed so tightly with men that I couldn’t see a thing. Frustration rumbled in my throat as I gave up and hung there like a doll.
“I have spoken with Ibn Jehaf.” Rodrigo’s voice boomed from somewhere near the center of the room. Elena likely stood at his side. “Jehaf tells me al-Rashid is dead.”
Anna’s voice was strong, but shook. Anger? I listened closely. No, excitement. “Jehaf is a liar. The great al-Rashid is not dead. He will appear on the walls of Valencia tomorrow so you will know Ibn Jehaf lies.”
Angry whispers ran through the Christian soldiers. “Silence,” Rodrigo roared. “We shall see. But if he brings me his son as a gift, then he and I will negotiate.”
“My lord,” Anna said, “once again Ibn Jehaf lies. For he does not bring you his son. I do.” A sharp clap of hands, then the crowd around me shifted. I heard the heavy lid to a chest being flung back. “Why would you negotiate with a weakling such as Ibn Jehaf?” Anna asked. “He cannot even protect his own son.”
When gasps and sharp curses exploded in the room, I twisted around the tree trunk and for a second the man in front of me moved, just enough so that I saw someone holding, by the hair, the head of a young Moor. Just the head.
Shit. The gap closed and I swung back, breaking into a hot, steamy sweat. Dark-skinned. He wasn’t Arturo, but he was so young. So many fourteen-year-old boys. Ibn Jehaf’s son. Al-Rashid. Arturo. I moaned quietly with terror for my son.
The commotion died down and I struggled for breath all tangled up in Redwood’s robe. “Very impressive,” Rodrigo said. “Clearly al-Rashid does have some control in the city. I will consider negotiating with him. But...” I could just imagine his hard face contemplating Anna, one hand stroking his thick beard. “I do not negotiate with women.”
When the men around him laughed, I searched the visible legs but couldn’t tell if Elena was here. My heart sank. Of course she would be.
“That is very interesting, my lord Rodrigo, because I thought you enjoyed women in positions of power.”
Rodrigo snorted and my heart pounded so loudly I could barely hear anything else. “There is only one position for women,” he said, following up with a lewd grunt. Appreciative chuckles ran through the crowd.
“Then why, Rodrigo, do you allow women to dress as men in your army?”
Rodrigo’s laugh was harsh. I tried to slow my racing heart with a palm pressed to my chest. “That is ridiculous,” he boomed.
When my tree trunk moved forward through the crowd, I knew my day was about to get even worse. He stopped and set me down in the middle of the tile floor. My legs had turned to noodles so I collapsed on my hands and knees, deeply grateful to be upright again as my blood redistributed itself.
“Do you know this soldier?” Anna yanked my head back with a fistful of hair, forcing my face into Rodrigo’s view.
He looked at me, then shrugged. “I have two thousand men. They all begin to look alike.”
“Ah, but do they all feel alike?”
Shit, shit, shit. Someone pinned my arms back, two others grabbed my kicking legs and dragged me within Rodrigo’s reach.
“Feel this man,” Anna crooned. “See if he is manly enough for your army.”
As Rodrigo leaned forward to cup my crotch in his filthy hand, I saw Elena behind him, face white as death. I winced as Rodrigo, now alarmed, poked and prodded. He drew back, hissing sharply. Then he looked, really looked, at my face. “You!” he spat, whirling to face Elena. “You told me the bitch left years ago. And now she’s back. In men’s clothing.”
Elena said nothing, her thick brows tight together.
The men released me and my brain whirled. Keep the attention on me, it screamed.
“Do not expect Luis Navarro to be shocked by this woman’s behavior,” Anna said.
I stood, wiping my clammy hands on my pants. “Anna, don’t do this,” I said in English.
She smiled at me, almost radiant, also answering in English. “I have waited eight years for this moment. Why would I stop it?” She glanced at Elena, seeing, as I did, those eyes now dark with fear. Next to her, Nuño looked like a man about to be flattened by stampeding horses, powerless to get out of the way.
“My lord,” Anna said smoothly, “Luis Navarro is herself a woman.”
The absolute silence lasted the longest ten seconds of my life, then Rodrigo flung back his head and guffawed, the other Christians joining him. Elena’s gaze never left Anna’s. “Luis a woman?” Rodrigo had to stop and wipe his eyes on his sleeve. “It may be true he is too pretty for his own good, but Luis is no woman.”
“My lord,” Anna’s voice shook, since she hated to be laughed at. “This is my gift to you. Not only are they both women, but because
they have lived as man and wife, they are unnatural women. I know you don’t like to be the butt of a woman’s joke. Yet this woman, who calls herself ‘Luis,’ laughs behind your back every day. She laughs at all of you.”
The room quieted as Rodrigo shook his head wearily. “You have an odd way of befriending me, Señora de Palma.” He flicked a hand in Elena’s direction. “Drop your pants, Navarro. It will amuse me to see the look on her face.”
Elena snorted rudely. “Only if I can use what I reveal. Perhaps she would like to raise her skirts and spread her legs for me.”
This set Rodrigo laughing again, and when he shook his head sadly at Anna, I could sense the shift. He would not press his best general any further. Elena’s fear was replaced by a wary look, so my pulse slowed to a healthier rate.
Without turning her head, Anna flicked one finger toward me, and I was yanked off my feet, my head driven back by a thick arm. An ice cold dagger bit into my exposed throat. “Oh god,” I muttered between clenched teeth, my feet dangling above the floor.
“Luis Navarro.” Anna’s voice dropped low. “Drop your pants before Rodrigo, or Kate Vincent is dead.”
I bit back a moan as the dagger cut me and warmth trickled down my throat. By straining my eyes downward, I could only see the tops of heads. Above me loomed a wooden beamed ceiling. Dusty cobwebs. My last view of life? I shut my eyes. Arturo. I haven’t found you yet. I can’t die now. Unwanted tears slid into my ears.
The room was silent. I breathed through my mouth, shallow, short, carefully. I could hear Elena pulling up her tunic. Leave your sword belt on, I pleaded, then my eyes shot open. This would be why Rodrigo killed Elena. Not over treason, not over Valencia, but over a truth revealed.
The Crown of Valencia Page 19
