Harissa, Kemal and even Flint gathered to speak a few words of friendship for Bay. Kidd remained a while longer. He took The Tears from his neck and laid them briefly on the mounded sand. They sparkled with a subtle incandescence and again he heard whispers on the wind. He thought he could make out the words, but they were carried away by the breeze. He lifted The Tears from the sand, hung them back around his neck, and said his final farewell.
The makeshift army of farmers and peasants disbanded and drifted off into the desert as quickly as they had appeared, taking a small piece of ivory from Harissa’s box as their payment. The final piece was traded for two spare horses. Kidd hoisted Flint into the saddle of the first, before mounting his own. The mare wasn’t Esperanza, but he wasn’t about to complain.
“Let’s weigh anchor,” said Harissa, “Beirut is not much more than a day’s ride. Nothing stands in our way now.”
They departed the ancient watchtower and set off at a brisk trot. Kidd remained ever watchful, but saw no sign of the enemy. With only small burdens the four riders were able to travel at a gallop. The desert slowly gave way to more hospitable ground, with small shrubs and tussock growing in pockets here and there. By late afternoon they found a good site to rest at the base of a hillock, and though Kidd was keen to press on, he could see his companions were fatigued and hungry.
Flint gathered some sticks. His health and spirits had improved. “I’ll cook us a nice bit of stew. I could use a warm meal in my belly.” Kidd opened his mouth to object, but Flint knew what he was about to say. “Don’t worry, Will. You know I can make a fire with no smoke, and there’s plenty of dry wood to be found.”
Harissa rode to the top of the rise and scanned the horizon with her spyglass. “That’s a fine idea. There isn’t a soul to be seen for miles and a hot meal will do us good.”
Flint grinned. “There you go, Will. Seeing as you’re the concerned one, fetch me more firewood.” He turned his attention to Harissa as if the discussion was closed. “What have you to cook with?”
Kidd huffed, but grudgingly went in search of wood that would burn cleanly. There were plenty of sand beaten, desert-dry sticks scattered about, and he found the simple task a pleasant distraction from his thought of the trials of the past months. He realised he couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten a proper meal.
When he returned to the camp, a small fire tickled the base of a pot. There was only a slight ripple of heat in the air to show it was burning at all. Flint wasn’t out of practice. The pot was already bubbling and Kidd smelled slow-stewing meat. Kemal stood watch, occasionally raising a spyglass to his eye. Harissa had taken the opportunity to escape the sun and rested in the shade.
“I’m impressed,” said Kidd. “I had no idea you were all so skilled in the domestic arts.”
“I can take no credit,” muttered Kemal.
“Well, I will,” said Flint. “It tastes pretty damned good.”
Kidd sniffed the pot. It did smell good. “What have you found to put in that?”
“Dried meat, some beans, and plenty of local spices.”
Kidd dropped the armload of twigs next to the fire and sat down with his legs crossed like a boy waiting for his supper.
“Don’t just sit there looking useless,” grumbled Flint in a matronly manner, “go tend to the horses.”
Kidd decided it was better to do as he was told than allow his friend to return to a cantankerous mood. He opened a bag of oats, set it on the ground, and brushed the horses down while they fed.
Eventually Flint banged his spoon on the pot and called them for dinner. He carefully portioned the stew into small wooden bowls.
Kidd sat down and had swallowed two mouthfuls before he noticed Flint wasn’t eating. “I thought you were hungry.”
“I’ve eaten enough tasting the pot. If I had any more, there wouldn’t be enough to go around.”
“It’s very spicy,” remarked Kemal, “and you’ve added a bitter flavour I’m not familiar with.”
Flint lay down and covered his face with his hat. “Ah, and I suppose you want me to part with the recipe too? Sorry, trade secret.”
They finished their meals. Three empty bowls proved the stew was edible. Kidd shielded his eyes and watched the sun descend over the sand dunes, a spectacle of orange-gold light. Although it wasn’t late, he felt sleepy. A belly full of hot food was having a similar effect on the others, as they reclined in patches of tussock.
The fire slowly dwindled to a few embers. The horses were calm and hung their heads to sleep. Kidd pulled his blanket up around his neck and nestled down to sleep. He squirmed. The sand felt lumpy and hard. Kemal, Harissa, and Flint lay still, fast asleep already. What was wrong with his patch of sand? His muscles began to ache and he realised there was something more than hard ground interfering with his sleep. He tried to stand, but his muscles clenched and cramped. The more effort he made to move, the more his limbs seized, as if struggling made the problem worse. He felt like a fly caught in a spider’s web. No, more like the victim of a snake bite, a very big snake with venom that caused paralysis. The stew had been heavily spiced to disguise a bitter flavour, and the cook claimed he had eaten, but hadn't been seen tasting.
Flint stood up and shook the sand from his hat. In turn, he gave Kemal and Harissa a sharp kick to the ribs. Neither responded, probably unconscious, possibly dead.
Kidd spat out one word before his jaw locked. “Bastard!”
Flint had been called far worse, but now he appeared to be insulted. “Bastard?! Me? You’ve a hell of a nerve to cast such slurs.” He paused, specks of foam on his lips from the outburst. “What, no gallant rebuttal? Oh, that’s right you’re probably having a bit of trouble speaking right now, eh? Well, allow me to continue. I’ve a fair idea of what you’d have had to say anyway.”
Flint struck a pose. “You’ve betrayed me,” he said doing a fair impression of Kidd’s voice.
“That’s correct, Will. Brilliantly deduced.”
“But why, Tom?”
“Ah, they always ask why. Well, because The Tears represent power. And power is the means to get what we want.”
“But I thought you wanted to help me, Tom, because we’re friends.”
“Ah, yes, friendship. It is the greatest of bonds, surpassed only by love. I knew you had metal hands, but I didn’t realise your brain was rusty too.”
Flint stirred the fire and nursed the embers back to life. He began to add the remaining wood. The sticks caught and soon there was a roaring blaze.
“Yes, I take full responsibility for misleading you, Will. I tried to broker a deal to protect you, but you seem to have a fairly long list of enemies these days.”
Flint cocked his head to one side. “But Tom, I saved your life, saved you from having Henry cut off your head.”
“Ah, now we’re getting somewhere, Will. Why don’t we take advantage of this special moment together to reflect on your mistakes?”
Kidd could only look on as Flint tossed handfuls of green leaves into the fire. A thick column of smoke billowed upwards. It would be visible for miles around. Rage surged through him, but it quickened the influence of the poison. He forced himself to relax and breathe slowly, to resist the toxin for as long as he could. In the distance, he could hear hoof beats in the sand. Whoever Flint had signalled wasn’t far away.
“Where shall we start,” Flint mused. “Ah, yes, the cutting off of heads. I forgive you for that, Will. That’s your nature. You live for the moment, seeing only what’s in front of your nose. That’s why we were such a good team. You cracked skulls while I considered consequences and made tough decisions.”
“But, Tom, I would never betray you.”
“Ah, Will, but you did. Did it never occur to you that I didn’t want you to defend me after I was caught with the King’s mistress?” He shook his head with disappointment. “But you interfered nonetheless, and now look at us. Look what we’ve become.” He fixed Kidd with a stern gaze. “I would hav
e been better off dead than living in exile, in disgrace, never allowed to set foot on English soil again. Never again to see Rosa, my true love.” He paused to stir the fire. “I want you to know this was a difficult choice for me. There were many times I thought I might turn my back on the devil. You see, he came to me before you did, and offered me the only thing you never could, to get my life back, all of it, including Rosa. And for the life of me, I’d no idea we’d actually get hold of The Tears.”
“But but but, Tom—”
“Shut up and listen, Will. Here comes that word again—consequences. I’m doing you a favour with this intervention. You’ve persisted with the ridiculous notion of taking The Tears to Rome. And don’t tell me you had no choice because some jumped up Cardinal threatened you with a death warrant! Seizing The Tears is a game for kings and the like. But for men like us, it brings favour.” Flint reached into his pocket. “Don’t look at me with that tone. If our places were changed, you’d do the same. See? They even gave me this too.” He held up a gold ring etched with a lion and unicorn and Flint’s family crest. He eased it onto his third finger.
“Righto, I’m glad we had the chance to have this candid exchange. Now to business.”
The hoof beats grew closer. There were at least a dozen riders. They pulled up and dismounted. Kidd felt sick, but not as a result of the poison.
“Good work, Tom Flint, and welcome back to the King’s service.” Hamilton Rush’s lisp had grown worse. “Where are The Tears?”
Kidd wished he’d given Hamilton Rush something far worse than a speech impediment all those months ago. A broken neck sprang to mind. Flint bent down and removed the gold chain from around Kidd’s neck and presented Rush with The Tears of Christ. The disdain in which he dropped the stone in Rush’s palm showed there was still no love between the two men. But there was a higher power at work and that was Flint’s affections for a concubine named Rosa.
Rush looked smug as he ceremoniously hung The Tears around his neck like a self-appointed king. He knelt down and stared into Kidd’s eyes. “Ah, William, only a foolish dog lowers its head while it chews its meat.” Rush seemed satisfied with the way Kidd’s eyes bulged at the comment. “I really should thank you. Finding The Tears was a nasty business. You might have lost your life on more than one occasion. Don’t think that I don’t appreciate your efforts. Here, your reward.” He reached into his pocket and withdrew the engagement ring intended for Maria of Portugal, the ring Kidd had been charged to retrieve. He flicked it off the end of his finger so that it struck Kidd in the face. “Perhaps you can offer it to Suleiman in exchange for your life.”
“Although I imagine he’ll want to torture you slowly before he kills you,” Flint added and tipped his hat. “Farewell for the last time, Will, it has been a genuine pleasure knowing you, for the most part.”
Anger rippled through Kidd’s body, but he could not speak, just watch as Hamilton Rush mounted his horse and rode away. With The Tears gone, the poison numbed his head just as the night swallowed the day. His vision was filled with darkness.
~ Chapter 34 ~
HOPE AND DESPAIR
The city of Beirut, in the Ottoman Empire
The first thing Kidd noticed as he regained consciousness was the taste in his mouth. It was decidedly like horse. He blinked, fully expecting his eyelids to refuse the request to open. They did, but he wasn’t pleased with what he saw. A huge snout and tongue nuzzled his face, followed by a gentle neighing. When the snout withdrew, Kidd recognised Esperanza, the horse he had let loose at the Roman watchtower. He reached out to pat her nose and she whinnied. He extended the touch to her reins and grabbed hold. Esperanza felt the resistance and backed away, hauling Kidd to his feet. He relaxed his hold and petted her as gently as he could. Kemal had been right, Esperanza had brought him luck.
He blinked in the sunlight. Everything was harsh and bright and he struggled to focus. Eventually he realised he was at the same place where Flint had poisoned him, but he had no idea how much time had passed. It might have been hours, or even days.
Shaking the fog from his head, he looked around for his companions. Kemal lay nearby. The snake poison had most certainly immobilised his body, but the bullet hole in his forehead marked the fact that someone had finished the job. Flint’s trademark kill shot. Kidd couldn’t decide if it was an act of revenge or mercy. There had been no love lost between the two men, but Flint’s pistol ball would have saved Kemal from a far worse fate in Suleiman’s torture chambers. Kidd pressed his face to Kemal’s cheek. His corpse was cold and stiff. At least a full day had passed.
He wanted to give Kemal a proper burial, but a few handfuls of sand and some kind words had to suffice. Kemal’s compass was still in his pocket. Kidd took the brass device. He would be lost without it. He searched the surrounding tussock, but there was no sign of Harissa. However, Philip’s ring still lay in the sand, sparkling in the sunlight. He picked it up and tucked it into his pocket along with the compass.
He pulled himself onto Esperanza’s back and pointed her west, in the direction of Beirut. Once he reached the city, he would have to find passage on a ship. Maybe the Masala was still there.
His thoughts turned to The Tears, now making their way to England. He would follow, but not because he hoped to recover them. He was as good as dead. Cardinal Cresci would sign his death warrant at the first news of The Tears being in English possession. No, he would follow, because if there were anything he could do with his life, he would ensure Hamilton Rush and Tom Flint died before him. He remembered Vllen’s words, and his promise to him to preserve life, even that of his greatest enemy. “Promises be damned!”
After half a day’s ride, he saw tall palms and caught a scent of sea air on the breeze. He passed a number of farms and settlements on the outskirts of Beirut, but didn’t linger, despite the tantalising smells of spicy food and roasting meat. He found the road and followed it to the city, clinging to the coastline, and taking care to keep his distance from other travellers.
Once there, he led Esperanza to the port and strolled along the pier. He tried to appear calm. Any hope that the Masala remained anchored in the harbour vanished at the sight of La Fortresse and the Mano Del Dios. Also noticeably absent was the Excalibur. The English vessel would be charging homeward at the best speed she could muster.
In any other place, Kidd could simply offer a bribe to find out when the English had departed. He cursed himself for never having learned to speak even a few words of Turkish.
Despondent and fatigued, he sat on the pier for a rest, absent-mindedly rattling Philip’s ring in his hands while he listened to the incomprehensible babble of the Turks passing by. Hamilton Rush would have known how much it hurt him to have the ring returned at last. To escape Suleiman’s clutches he would need money, and so would have to sell the ring. By doing so he would fail another employer and become no better than a thief. Doubtless, Rush’s final insult would be to call on Philip and blame Kidd for the theft of the ring. Life was going to be hard enough when Cardinal Cresci signed his death warrant, but there would be no safe haven once the future King of Spain wanted him dead.
A few words of French cut through the meaningless chatter of the street. A pair of sailors approached, arrogantly talking at the top of their voices. An idea sprang to mind. He might not be able to speak Turkish, but he could speak French well enough. If he could get his hands on a uniform, he was one step closer to stowing away aboard La Fortresse. It was preferable, even if only marginally, to his present predicament.
He grabbed Esperanza’s reins and pulled her along. She whinnied softly as he disturbed her from her rest, but followed without protest. The ring slipped back into his pocket. Selling it would be the last resort.
He trailed the sailors deep into the city, where the buildings flowed seamlessly along the street, punctuated only by pillars and wide archways. They turned down a narrow alleyway into a residential district and stopped outside a ground floor home. The Frenchmen ch
ecked over their shoulders to see if they had been followed, but didn’t notice Kidd lurking in the shadows. They knocked four times, a bolt was drawn, and they were admitted inside.
Kidd released Esperanza and crept along the cobblestones to the house. He pressed his ear to the door but couldn’t understand the murmurings within, so he risked a peek through the shutters. The occupants were too engrossed in their activities to notice they were being watched. He counted three men plus another man he remembered all too well. The Caretaker was hunched over a figure bound to a chair. He stood tall and struck the prisoner across the face. When her head recoiled from the blow, Kidd realised it was Harissa. She was pale and drawn, still sick from the snake venom. She bled freely from the mouth and showed a bruise below the eye, but The Caretaker showed her no mercy. He picked up a thumbscrew from a tray of cruel devices and prepared to fit it to her hand.
Kidd was filled with a terrible rage. He ran at the door, and kicked it open with no care for the consequences. The French were taken by surprise and two men fell unconscious before they saw his face. The next Frenchman gathered his wits, produced a knife, and lunged. Kidd brushed the blade away with his left palm, and felled the Frenchman with his hardened fist.
The Caretaker had his wits about him and a pistol in his belt. He whipped it out, pressed it to Harissa’s temple, and cranked the firing pin into place. “So, we meet again, Iron William Kidd.” His voice quavered and sweat dotted his brow, but his hand remained steady. “Perhaps you would like to tell me where The Tears are and save this poor woman’s life.”
Kidd stepped forward. “I’m going to kill you regardless, so shoot her if you like.”
The pistol shook in The Caretaker’s hand and he turned it on Kidd. He was too reliant on having his thugs manage this kind of situation.
Kidd balled his fists and stared The Caretaker down. “You’ll only be able to fire once. How good is your aim?”
The Caretaker’s eyes flicked around the room and settled briefly on each of his unconscious or dead countrymen. A nervous smile crossed his face. He raised the pistol to his mouth and pulled the trigger. Kidd saw the powder flash behind The Caretaker’s teeth an instant before he lost half his head.
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