by Carmen Caine
The gray mare was a favorite of his, and he’d spent hours training her to come whenever he would call. Still cursing under his breath at the inconvenience, he cupped his mouth and let out a loud, shrill whistle.
He waited.
There was nothing. Not even the faintest whicker in response.
“By the Virgin!” Julian swore louder just as the innkeeper joined him at the door.
Upon learning of the theft, the man shook his head gravely. “Ach, ‘tis the times we live in! I’ll round up my lads and we’ll search the village at once!”
Julian cocked a brow at the line of carts disappearing towards the highlands. “Then have them be swift!” he said with a grim set of his jaw and nodded at the fleeing villagers. “That gray mare is special to me.”
“We’ll find your horse, my lord! And the thief as well!” the innkeeper promised before shouting over his shoulder and disappearing back into the inn.
Julian expelled a breath. He sprinted around the building to do a quick search himself, and whistled numerous times, but clearly his mare was gone.
With his brows knit into a scowl, he watched as the innkeeper and his sons spread out in different directions to begin their search of the village and figuring to use his time well, Julian headed for the inn’s stables to find Dolfin.
The stables were housed in an ancient, half-crumbling building of moss-covered stones and a moldy, straw-thatched roof. The large doors were open, and stepping inside, Julian found the place stuffy and quite empty, save for an old donkey and a very familiar gray-haired man grooming a fine black gelding.
Julian grinned in relief.
It was Dolfin. The old salt spy was safe.
Moving closer, Julian opened his mouth to surprise his mentor when he noticed that the man’s hands were shaking. Drawing his brows in consternation, Julian peered closer, detecting a frailness that he’d never discerned before.
He waited a few moments, and then changing his mind, announced his presence with a gentle clearing of his throat and a soft, “Well met, Istruttore.”
Dolfin jerked in surprise, but the eyes he turned upon Julian were smiling ones. “We meet again, caro vecio.”
Greeting him with the customary embrace, Julian’s concern deepened. The old man looked ill. His face was haggard, his long sweeping cloak unusually soiled and mud-stained, and he stood slightly hunched to one side.
“There’s no cause to fret over me.” Dolfin’s sharp eyes lit with amusement. “It is plain on your face that you think me an old dotard!”
“Not so!” Julian protested half-heartedly.
Dolfin slapped his horse upon the rump, and the animal flicked his ears immediately in response. “I was on my way to find you in Edinburgh,” he said. “I’ve tarried here too long.”
It was then that Julian saw the saddle and bags lying on the ground at his feet. He’d nearly missed him. “Then ‘tis glad I found ye, Istruttore! Allow me to help ye!”
Ignoring the man’s protests, Julian made short work of hefting the saddle onto the gelding and pulling the cinch tight. And as he buckled the saddlebags, he murmured, “I’ve a matter of mystery to discuss with ye ere ye leave this place.”
Dolfin’s expression brightened with interest, and seeing that his gelding was secure and busily feeding on a bit of hay, nodded towards the outside. Exiting the stuffy stables, the two men moved to a secluded stand of birch trees close by, a place somewhat cooler, and also one in which they would not be overheard.
“Ye’ve men on your trail,” Julian murmured softly as he pulled the Saluzzi leather belt from his sporran and held it out for the spy to see.
Dolfin turned white and staggered back. He would have fallen had not Julian caught him with a steady arm.
“Ye recognize it? Tell me then, what does it mean?” Julian’s brows rose, surprised at the strength of his mentor’s reaction.
“You have figured out for yourself that it is a code, then. What are the words?” Dolfin whispered hoarsely.
Softly, Julian repeated the ominous Latin he had puzzled out before.
“Then even the Saluzzi know!” Dolfin swallowed, instinctively drawing his hood over his face. “And now they seek you as well.” Raising imploring eyes to the heavens, he choked, “What have I done?” Grabbing the belt from Julian, he looped it around to read the words softly for himself, again and again.
His hands were shaking so strongly that Julian felt a ripple of unease. “Are ye ill, Istruttore?” he asked with a perplexed frown.
Dolfin straightened. And then in a sudden movement, he crushed the belt in his fingers and said in a horrorstricken tone, “I have brought death upon your head, Julian!”
Julian’s first reaction was to smirk, but he managed to suppress it out of respect. Clearing his throat, he gently asked instead, “Then tell me why I’m to die?”
But the old man didn’t reply. Heaving a sigh, he braced himself against a slender birch and simply shook his head.
It was an obstinate gesture that Julian knew well. One that meant little information would be forthcoming. How could his mentor refuse to talk now? Pulling out the bone-handled stiletto from his belt, Julian offered it to Dolfin hilt first.
“Then mayhap ye’ll speak of this instead?” he challenged with a half-grin.
Dolfin cast him a sideways glance and then his brows rose to his hairline. Snatching the stiletto, he gasped. “Where did you come by this? How? This blade couldn’t have been seeking your blood! It would never have missed!”
“Aye, this blade prevented my abduction and mayhap saved my life in Fotheringhay,” Julian answered with surprised curiosity. “It struck the Saluzzo who wore yon belt.” He nodded at the stretched leather that Dolfin still clutched tightly in his hands.
The old salt spy stared at Julian as if he’d gone mad. “There is no doubt that they saved you! Had the Saluzzo taken you captive, you would not have lived long. But why? Why?” he repeated several times. “Why would they save you?”
“They?” Julian prodded when he fell silent once again. Ach, but the teasing of information out of the old man was proving to be an aggravating task!
And then, handing the blade and the belt back to Julian, Dolfin closed his eyes and murmured, “They must be at war again!”
And the man fell silent once more.
Growing impatient, Julian planted his feet wide apart and crossed his arms. And when Dolfin offered no further explanation, he peered down at his mentor from under his dark lashes and offered, “Then ye speak of the war between the Saluzzi and the Vindictam?”
Dolfin cast him a startled glance. “Already you know too much,” he said in outright concern.
“Then tell me more!” Julian invited with a lopsided grin. “Ach, ye must! If ‘tis already enough to kill me, then to have more can do me no harm, Istruttore!”
The old man bowed his head, and then his lips parted. “Know that the Saluzzi are to Ferrara what the Vindictam are to La Serenìsima. They are both families of powerful assassins, faithful to their city-states,” he whispered. “Their names alone strike fear in the heart of any who hears them. For years, they were sworn enemies, that is, until recently. The families have forged an uneasy truce. But, if the Vindictam has spilled the blood of a Saluzzo, then the truce is broken.”
Julian nodded slowly. He’d already surmised as much. “But tell me, why are the Saluzzi after ye now, Istruttore?”
Dolfin shuddered and then confessed in a voice so low that it could scarcely be heard, “I stumbled upon a secret, caro vecio, and for that, the Vindictam exiled me from my homeland. They sent me away from any who would protect me and even now seek my death to prevent this secret from being known.”
“And?” Julian prodded when the silence became prolonged.
Dolfin’s stooped shoulders sagged even more. “’Tis death to hear it Julian, but you have the right to know.” He paused and swallowed several times. “The Dominus Granditer, the Grand Master of the Vindictam, is near death and has finally chosen
his heir from amongst his sons. He has made his choice of who will rule one of the most powerful families of Europe. And he has chosen the youngest over the two elder sons, a choice that does not sit well with them, but it is the youngest who is the Electus.”
“Electus,” Julian repeated softly. It wasn’t a question.
As he spoke, Dolfin picked up a stick and bent over to scratch the ground, murmuring, “I have seen his ring, his mark, the mark of the Electus.”
“Then the Vindictam seek to silence ye afore the Saluzzi can wrest his identity from your lips. And somehow, the Saluzzi have discovered our relationship and seek to use me as bait to loosen your tongue,” Julian concluded. “Then they care nothing for their truce. The Saluzzi seek to slay the Electus.”
“Perhaps,” Dolfin said in a thoughtful tone as he continued to scratch in the ground. “There is unrest in the Saluzzi ranks. Perhaps not all would betray this treaty. This could be the work of few men, but even those few can ignite a bloody war. And if they succeed in slaying the Electus, the very ocean will turn red with blood.”
And then dusting his hands, he rose shakily to his feet, and Julian glanced down at the symbol etched in the dirt.
His brows arched in shock.
He’d seen the mark before—a bold ‘V’ entwined with a crown and a sword. He could scarce believe it.
Liselle’s cousin, Pascal, was the Electus? The arrogant, dark-haired youth who had threatened him in Fotheringhay.
“Soon, a new man will control the destiny of the Vindictam,” Dolfin was saying. “And it is vital that his identity remains unknown in order to protect him. The Vindictam has many enemies. They will never stop searching for me, caro vecio. Both the Vindictam and the Saluzzi will see me dead.” And then nodding at the belt, he added, “And mayhap you as well, though why the Vindictam would have saved you … I cannot understand.”
Julian made up his mind at once. Tugging a ring from his finger, he pressed it into Dolfin’s hands. “Then I’ll hinder your journey no longer. But do not tarry in Edinburgh. Get ye gone to Cambuskenneth Abbey straightway and find Father Ulric. Show him this and tell him that I request he provide safe passage for you to Dunvegan Castle in Skye, to a man I know there by the name of Ruan MacLeod. You will be safe there, at least, for a little while.”
Dolfin took the ring, but his face suffused with concern. “But what of you, Julian?”
With a grin, Julian leaned forward and chuckled. “Your Vindictam and Saluzzi dinna know that I am Le Marin, Istruttore! Ye’ve taught me well. I’ll not come to harm by them.”
The old man winced a little, and his nod was an uncertain one. “But this is like nothing you have ever faced, caro vecio.” He paused, and then added in a puzzled tone as if he had just thought of it, “Though why the Vindictam saved your life is a mystery. Something is amiss. Strangely amiss …” he repeated the words several times, still shaking his head.
Julian frowned. Aye, something indeed was amiss. Was the old man becoming forgetful? The sooner he had Dolfin safe in Skye, the better!
“Mayhap ‘tis best that I travel with ye, at least as far as the abbey,” he said, looping his arm around Dolfin’s shoulders. “The lads should have found my horse by now. And if they havena, I’ll get another—”
“Nay! I am not yet useless!” Dolfin interrupted, his eyes turning sharp once again. “Have I taught you nothing over the years?”
“Aye, but—” Julian protested.
“I will go my own way. It is safer for us both,” his mentor insisted, and his voice suddenly sounded strong, more like his Istruttore of old.
Wincing, Julian nodded. “Aye then, go, though ‘tis against my better judgment.”
“Then allow me to say my farewells here.” Dolfin smiled, clasping Julian’s shoulders in a warm embrace. “I will see you in Skye, have no doubt.”
“Aye,” Julian agreed. But he could not hide the uncertainty in his voice.
Dolfin gave a soft laugh. “Do not worry for me, caro vecio. It is you who walks the dangerous path. Be wary!”
They said little after that and returned to the stables. And leading the black gelding out of the stall, the old man mounted, and with a wave of his hand, trotted after a group of carts rolling down the King’s Road towards the highlands
Following him a few paces down the path, Julian folded his arms and shook his head. Sweet Mary, but his mentor had grown frail! And his bouts of forgetfulness were disheartening. Dolfin had always been a man of sharp wit and keen eye.
Still shaking his head, Julian was of half a mind to buy the nearest nag and trot after him anyway, when he noticed the flutter of a black cloak near the edge of the inn.
Whirling, he caught a fleeting glimpse of a short dark form as it disappeared behind the building.
His eyes widened. There could be little doubt.
The Saluzzi had arrived in Channelkirk. Or mayhap it was the Vindictam.
Julian set off after him at once, but upon reaching the back of the inn, he saw no sign of the assassin.
“By the Virgin!” Julian swore under his breath.
Had the man simply vanished? Returning to peer down the King’s Road, he took consolation in the fact that he could still see Dolfin in the distance, trailing after the carts headed for the hills. There were no signs of a dark figure racing madly after him.
Either the assassin was more interested in Julian, or he hadn’t arrived in time to see the old man leave. In either case, Julian quickly decided that the best course of action would be to keep the murderer occupied whilst Dolfin made his escape.
“The lads are yet searching for yer horse, my lord!” the innkeeper greeted Julian as he stepped inside the common room. “They’ll find her and the lout who dared take her, never fear!”
Julian grimaced. He wasn’t so sure. If they hadn’t found her by now, they likely never would. Still, the longer he kept the assassin in Channelkirk, the safer Dolfin would be. “Then I’ll need a room this night, good man,” he announced to the innkeeper and tossed a few coins onto the table.
Suddenly, the old woman sprang up from her stool with a spry eagerness that belied her age, and snagging his coins, bit them with her remaining teeth. Grinning, she tucked them away. “Aye, ‘tis nae black money!”
The innkeeper clucked and sent his mother an exasperated scowl before nodding at Julian. “Pay my auld mother nae mind, my lord. Choose any room ye like, save the one in the attic. The foreign merchant paid good coin for a room of his own.”
“Aye, then,” Julian grunted in reply as a sudden draft of cool air filtered through the muggy, peat-scented room. He arched a brow. Had the assassin entered through the back door?
Heading up the creaking stairs, he peered down through the cracks in the steps and was rewarded with another brief glimpse of dark cloak.
Without a moment’s hesitation, Julian dashed in hot pursuit of the assassin yet again. But once more, he could find no sign of the scoundrel.
Aye, ‘twas aggravating; it was as if the man were a ghost.
Julian shook his head and with a quick step, made his way to Dolfin’s attic room.
The lodging was a simple one, consisting only of a bed, which nearly took up the entire room, and a single shuttered window that faced the cobblestoned road in front of the inn. Crossing the floor, he opened the window’s shutters, but it provided little relief to the stifling air.
There was not much there that he could use to ensnare the stalker. Most of his belongings were presumably still in his saddlebags, which were most likely still on his horse. And that fine mare was probably trotting friskily towards the highlands at that very moment.
The heat was almost unbearable, and sweat beaded Julian’s forehead.
Unfastening several buttons of his shirt, he fished about in his sporran until he found the small leather pouch he sought. Contained within it was a secret mixture of blue woad and other dyes that Dolfin had given to Le Marin as a gift several years before. By sprinkling the powder on th
e door latches and shutters, he could stain any unwary intruder’s fingers blue long enough to aid in identifying the culprit later on, should he fail to trap them first.
It didn’t take long, and surveying his handiwork with a grin, he tucked the pouch away.
Most likely, the assassin would wait for darkness before making his move. A bit of rope would prove useful to fashion a snare.
Not caring to turn his own fingers blue, Julian unlatched the door with the blade of his dirk and slipped down the stairs in search of rope.
He found it easily enough, a small coil resting on a wheelbarrow near the stables. And picking it up, he headed back to his room to fashion a snare.
Cautiously, he pushed open his door, but when the room proved empty, he quickly stepped inside. He’d just kicked the door shut when he heard the soft rasp of a blade leaving its sheath, and at almost the same moment, that blade was pressed against his throat.
He barely registered surprise before his knee was kicked sharply from behind, and as he half fell to the floor, a foot struck him on the side of the head, hard enough to knock him flat to the floor.
Cursing, Julian rolled sideways and leapt to his feet only to see the small, cloaked figure diving out of the window.
But by the time he reached it himself, he caught only a glimpse of the fluttering cloak as it disappeared over the edge of the thatched roof.
Julian didn’t hesitate.
Squeezing through the window, he quickly slid down the thatching, and dropping to the cobblestoned street below, landed lightly on his feet.
But his assailant had already disappeared; nothing moved in the sweltering afternoon sun.
“Sweet Mary!” Julian swore. By the Saints, but the little man was quick on his feet!
And then a loud crack from behind shattered his thoughts.
He whirled to see a horse bursting from the inn’s stables, bearing down upon him. And diving from its path, he rolled in the grass as it thundered past him with the slight, dark-cloaked form clinging tightly to its neck.
And then Julian let out a hearty laugh and leapt to his feet, recognizing his own favored gray mare in an instant.
