My cheek rested against something soft and warm. My nose told me it was a horse, and the wave of nausea that rushed over me confirmed the horse was moving. I struggled against the ropes that had me trussed up like a piece of baggage where I lay across the animal, bound and disarmed and stripped of my armor. Another scent crossed my nose. We were near the sea. I cracked my eyes open, but the glare sent a new pain into my skull. I would use my other senses, at least for a moment.
I’d started the day with a headache; the pounding was worse now. It was hard to think, but I remembered the raid. What had happened to all those I’d galloped away from? Had the Turks attacked them, or had they been content with abducting Cecilia?
Hooves struck the ground at a trot. Men called out to each other with Turkish tongues. Gulls shrieked in the heavens. A woman cried in alarm.
Cecilia. I forced my eyes open. Was she officially part of the pillage now? Would they all have a turn with her, or would they refrain so she’d be more valuable when it came time to sell her?
The ground blurred below me, but the distortion gradually grew more defined and the jolting less severe as the horse slowed. A pair of Turks removed some of the ropes binding me to the horse and dropped me to the ground. My hands were tied in front of me, so I couldn’t properly catch myself, but I rolled to take the brunt of the impact with my shoulders. I landed next to a Venetian with a bloody bandage wrapped around his upper arm. One of the Turks threw Cecilia to the ground beside me. Then he stole our shoes and boots and chained our ankles together.
Cecilia’s eyes were red, as if she’d been crying, and they were narrowed into a glare directed at the Turk who had handled her so roughly. When he left, she squeezed her eyes shut and took several deep breaths. Then she opened her eyes and turned to me. “Messer ibn Musa, how is your head?” Her hands weren’t tied, and her fingers gently probed the back of my scalp. “I believe they whacked it with the flat of the sword, but with enough speed behind it that I am surprised to see you with your eyes open.”
The pain grew worse at her prodding. “It was enough to knock me out until we arrived here.” The sun was low. I’d been unconscious all afternoon.
“There is blood and swelling, but I don’t think it is deep. I would give you my handkerchief, but I left it on Messer Sartore’s body back where we were attacked.” She turned to the other man. “And you, Messer Cornario? How is your arm?”
“If I could get out of these chains and if I had a sword, I would be willing to do battle again.”
“You would be greatly outnumbered.” Cecilia glanced at the group of Turks milling about. Some sorted through pillaged possessions. Others cared for the horses—several of which I recognized. Gil’s gray stallion was among those captured, along with six of Bertaldo’s.
“Did they send a group back to attack the others?” I asked.
“No,” Cecilia said. “They rode hard for the sea but did not go directly south. They led us a bit to the east. So the Sea Maiden is to the west, if we can get there.”
“That’s not likely.” Cornario gestured to the horizon. “I suspect that ship is theirs, and we’ll soon be loaded on board and taken to a slave market.”
The Turks hadn’t finished off Gil, Sebastie, Aban, or the remaining Venetians. Sebastie could track a group like ours easily enough. But there were too many Turks for them to launch a rescue. I expected them to come, and if they saw us, I expected them to try despite the odds. But I doubted we would still be here when they arrived.
One of the leaders stopped to stare down at us, planting his feet wide and balancing his hands on his hips. He wore a large turban and my brigandine, and he sneered at me before turning his focus on Cecilia.
She lifted her chin and met his gaze. “My uncle is willing to ransom me and these men. If you see that we are treated well, you have a chance to earn a great deal of money.”
The man huffed. He seemed to have understood her words and answered in halting Italian. “We sell you. Make plenty money. And not have to worry about well treatment.” He turned to supervise the preparations. The ship was drawing closer, showing itself to possess both oars and sails.
I remembered Cecilia’s cries from earlier. “Have they treated you well thus far, Signorina Bertaldo?”
She swallowed. “They have not forced themselves on me, but they have made threats. Tell me, Messer ibn Musa, do you swim?”
Her question surprised me. We were in chains and too far up the beach to reach the water. “In calm water, for small distances, when my hands aren’t tied.”
Cecilia undid the tight knots around my wrists, then retied them. “That will come undone with a good tug.” She did the same thing with the ropes binding Cornario’s hands. “How much will your injury hamper you?” she asked him.
“Signorina Bertaldo, I do not think we can escape. If we try to run, they will shoot us. If we jump overboard, the chains will pull us to the bottom. I am sorry.”
I tested the chains by lifting my foot. They were solid but not as heavy as I thought they would be, and there was only a pace or two of length between each of our ankles.
“I can’t be captured.” Cecilia looked at the ship, then at Cornario. “Even if they don’t know who I am, I know what fate awaits me if we are sold. I would risk drowning to avoid it because I think a death on the ocean floor is preferable to slavery. Surely you do not wish to become a galley slave.”
Cornario moved his ankle, rattling the chains. “I’ve rowed in the galleys often enough.”
“Yes, but you are free, and you are fed.” A pleading note worked its way into Cecilia’s voice. “I have seen the galley slaves kept by the Turks. They are neither free nor well fed.”
Cornario glanced at the Turkish corsair, then at Cecilia. His lips pulled into an unhappy line, but he nodded. “I’ll risk it.”
Both of them turned to me. I might have a better opportunity to escape if I waited, but time would take me farther and farther from home, farther and farther from the friends who needed my help. “I am not a great swimmer, but I am willing to try.”
“As long as you can float, I’ll pull you,” Cornario said. “I come from a long line of swimmers. My cousin once escaped from an enemy galley and swam to the Venetian fleet to warn them that most of the Genoese ships waited over the horizon, out of sight. He prevented the loss of the fleet, and I am his equal in the water. And Signorina Bertaldo is a regular dolphin.”
“You’ve known each other long?” I asked.
Cornario nodded. “I sailed with her father. So did she. Long enough that I’ve come to trust her, even with plans that sound foolhardy.”
“What is your plan?” I turned to Cecilia.
“The tide is wrong for them to beach the ship here—there are too many rocks. When they row us out to their corsair, we’ll jump overboard.” Cecilia looked at the ship and the sky. “I think it will be dark by then. That will aid us.”
The Turks divided into groups. Some took strings of horses—including the stolen ones—and rode east. Others loaded booty onto a small rowboat and took it out to the ship. Most of their plunder must have come from raids other than the one they’d made against our group. Today they had captured only horses, slaves, and the armor they had taken from me and Cornario.
The sun had dipped below the horizon by the time they came for us, though there was still enough light to see by. Six Turkish guards took us to the rowboat. Though Cecilia was chained on my left, the chain stretched enough to put her in the center of the boat. Cornario and I were told to man the oars—a small taste of what we might expect as galley slaves. Rations that barely staved off starvation would make it even worse, though I could hope the pounding in my head wouldn’t always be so persistent. We took our time—darkness would aid our plan. The Turks who guarded us cursed our slowness and the practiced clumsiness. Cornario complained that one of his arms did not row as well as the other—plausible, given his injury. He led us on a crooked path that angled away from the ship.
Cecilia gave a very false-sounding sneeze. That was our signal. She’d timed it so my oars were recovering. I used that momentum to knock an oar into the head of the man nearest me. I yanked my hands apart, and as promised, Cecilia’s knots came undone. I grabbed a dagger when the Turk I’d clobbered dropped it, then lunged across Cecilia to stab the man who was in a scuffle with Cornario. We flung our oars as far from the boat as we could to delay the Turks’ pursuit.
“Now!” Cecilia called. She splashed into the water, and Cornario and I followed.