Gil, Aban, and I rode back to Vostitza with Bertaldo later that morning. It was a sober ride. Sebastie rode in the other direction—to the castle. Having all of us return to the castle had seemed unwise before the body was dropped off. Now it seemed reckless and foolhardy, but I wasn’t sure a journey into Vostitza was much wiser. The alternative was waiting and hoping Eudocia would find her way back to us somehow, but we’d chased her to rescue her, not to wait around for her to rescue herself.
Aban rode beside me. “I’m glad the body wasn’t hers.”
“So am I.”
“I could tell. You were grieving. More than you grieved when you learned of our parents’ deaths.” His lips held question. His eyes showed a spark of disappointment.
“I do grieve for Mother. But it’s different. She was lost to me when I left Valencia. I’ve grieved the separation before, many times. I came to terms with never seeing her again a long time ago. But Eudocia is different. Her disappearance was sudden, and she had no say in the matter.”
“She is not your wife.”
“No,” I said quickly. “No, she is not. She and Gil are like a sister and a brother to me.”
Aban frowned. “Not by blood.”
“No. By action. My family by blood cut me off . . . until you wandered into Thebes.”
His frown faded. “Did you ever grieve for Father?”
“It’s hard to grieve the death of someone who cast me aside. I suppose I should forgive him, because that is what true Christians do. But it may take me a little bit of time to manage it.”
“I don’t think he ever forgave you. I don’t think he wanted to.”
That didn’t end my duty to forgive. Nor did it justify my inability to let go of the hurt. The wound lay in the past, but reminders of it stabbed at me whenever Aban and I disagreed—not even death had ended my father’s ability to poison my relationship with my brother. “Regardless of what our father felt and taught and did, I hope we can still forgive each other.”
Aban considered it for a moment, then nodded.
The walls of Vostitza funneled all travelers through the gates. I wore a hat with a trailing scarf—useful for blocking out the sun and for hiding my face. I pulled it across my mouth and nose as we merged with others entering the town. Someone had seen and recognized me or Gil—or both of us—so we’d decided on caution. It could backfire and prevent Eudocia from recognizing us, but after what happened that morning, we preferred conservative actions to daring ones. The men we worked against were willing to escalate into greater ruthlessness. We wanted to find them, not provoke them.
We split up after we entered the city. Aban went with Gil. That left me with Bertaldo since we were both headed toward the waterfront. We dismounted and led our horses because the streets were too crowded for easy riding.
“Those two are working together?” Bertaldo watched Gil and Aban walk away.
“Yes. Gil has the experience and a tongue that speaks just about any language they might run into. Aban has the sharp eyes.”
“I didn’t think they liked each other.”
“Aban got off to a poor start with all of us, but he’s adjusting.” He was softening, not all at once but gradually, like a slow winter sunrise.
“I realize I have much to thank you for,” Bertaldo said. “You saved Cecilia’s life.”
I nodded.
“But I must ask you to keep your distance now that she is safe again and returned to her proper place.”
My horse wanted to investigate the goat a little girl led along the road, and that gave me an excuse not to answer.
Bertaldo’s face showed weariness. “Since the two of you returned, she’s regressed. Speaking out of turn, questioning my instructions. She was like that when her father died. I think my brother encouraged it, drew her into his work with enthusiasm. It took some time, but I trained her, coaxed her into being a little more docile, a little more reticent. The type of woman to make Signor Querini a suitably submissive wife. I fear that, like my brother, you are enabling her natural tendency to rebellion. This marriage is vital to our family and to Cecilia—it will ensure her future. Querini is an important man.”
Something in my stomach threatened revolt. I didn’t want to anger Signor Bertaldo. I just wanted to steal his niece away and ruin all his carefully laid efforts at achieving a marriage he deemed advantageous. I wasn’t sure that was possible, but even if it wasn’t, I would play no role in suppressing Cecilia’s mind or spirit. That would be destroying something beautiful, and I wouldn’t cooperate in that any more than I would cooperate in burning a piece of art. “Perhaps any man who can’t appreciate Signorina Bertaldo as she is now, without forced docility, is not worthy of her.”
Bertaldo’s eyes narrowed. “I will decide what is best for my niece and who is an acceptable match for her. And who is unsuitable.”
“And will your decision be the same one her father would have made for her?”
His jaw tightened. “My brother did not leave me a great many choices. He could have found a suitable husband for her years ago, or he could have paid a little more attention to the profitability of his business decisions instead of sailing to the far-flung regions of the sea whenever—” Bertaldo broke off. “Perhaps he might have better balanced Cecilia’s needs with the needs of the family, but it’s too late for that now. Signor Querini is a man of respectability and wealth, and by marrying him, Cecilia will make it possible for the family to keep the Sea Maiden. If we lose our galley, we’ll have no way to support the rest of the family. We’re a small group after the war, but we’ve my mother and several aunts to think of.”
“Your niece is clever. We’d both be slaves now if she hadn’t come up with a plan for our escape. You shouldn’t underestimate her mind—she might think of another way to save the family. At the very least, if you listened to her more often, you would be blessed with a better relationship. I know a thing or two about family ties. They can be blessings, or they can be curses, and sometimes we have control over which they will be.”
Signor Bertaldo grew quiet. “I will consider your advice, Messer ibn Musa. I also acknowledge my debt to you for saving Cecilia. But I must repeat my request most firmly. Cecilia’s gratitude at your admittedly impressive feats could easily turn into something unsuitable. Keep your distance from her. You may be right that I ought to give more credit to what she says, but hero worship for someone other than her betrothed will only bring her pain.”
Not as much pain as being forced into a marriage with someone who didn’t love her, but I’d spoken with Querini only once. Maybe he would come to love her. Maybe the push to make Cecilia suitably submissive wasn’t coming from Querini, just from her uncle.
Bertaldo put a hand on my upper arm. “We have an understanding?”
“I understand what you’ve said.” But I didn’t agree with him. “I’ll see you later.” I turned off the main street, and the horse followed reluctantly. The street I turned onto wasn’t my intended destination, but I didn’t want my conversation with Signor Bertaldo to continue any longer. I wouldn’t promise to stay away from Cecilia, not unless she asked it of me. The choice was hers, not her uncle’s.
I walked off some of the anger. I hadn’t realized the family’s fortunes were in such dire straits, nor that the family included more than her uncle who depended on the marriage for the future of their business. I would feel little guilt for forcing Bertaldo into a new career, should his niece decide she wanted to be happy instead of sacrificing herself for the family business. But older women had fewer options, and it explained the weight of duty Cecilia felt for her family.
The horse nudged my shoulder. I needed to pay attention to where I was going. We had enemies about, somewhere. There might be clues around too, and I didn’t want to miss them. I glanced at the stone walls that rose around me. The narrow alley I walked through was hemmed in by homes and by their walled courtyards.
Eudocia could possibly be in an alley, but there were better places for me to search. I went through to a larger street and found myself in Vostitza’s market. Though the collection of merchants was different from the market in Thebes or those in Valencia and Navarre, this market still felt familiar. Farmers selling their harvest, craftsmen selling their wares. I tied the horse up out of the way and promised a young boy three deniers tournois if he kept an eye on him.
“Excuse me,” I said to a man selling last harvest’s olive oil. “I’m looking for information about a Greek woman, about thirty years of age. Olive skin and dark-brown eyes. Pretty, might have passed through over the last few days.”
The man gave me a strange look and laughed. “A good quarter of the women in Vostitza fit that description.”
“This one would have seemed sad.” Or would she have hidden it? “Determined. With eyes that can read you.”
The man shook his head. “Sorry, I can’t help you. But good luck.”
I had no better results from the spice merchant or from the woman selling jewelry. I’d never thought of Eudocia as nondescript, but her features weren’t unique, especially not in Greece.
I paid the boy his coins, collected my horse, and went back to the taverna I’d been to the day before. None of the men from the Navarrese Company were there. They were probably at the castle, helping with the increased security. Or maybe they preferred to come later in the day.
I was missing something, but I couldn’t figure out what. Someone had Eudocia, and they wanted us to think she was dead. So that we’d leave? So that we’d pursue them harder and walk into a trap? Whoever it was, they knew our reputation—or they wouldn’t have thought abducting Eudocia worthwhile. But how well did they know our abilities?
The owner of the taverna suggested a meal of fresh bread, cheese, and olives. I accepted. I hadn’t eaten much while on the run with Cecilia, and fitting in an extra meal would help make up for the meager offerings of the previous days. And maybe I’d be able to concentrate better if the ache in my head eased up.
The food was good—the bread still warm, the cheese rich and smooth, and the olives flavorful. The owner couldn’t tell me anything useful about strangers wandering through, be they Greek or Venetian, but a full stomach helped me put aside depression over Cecilia long enough to focus on Eudocia and how to find her.
I was about to leave so I could continue my search when a group of three men came in. They sat at a nearby table, and the taverna’s owner brought them wine, probably the cheap, watered-down kind he’d served me.
“Regulars?” I asked him.
“No. Rolled in a few days ago.”
I asked for more wine so I’d have a reason to stay. It had been dark the night the Catalans attacked Cecilia and me in the grove of trees, but one of the men had been wearing a jerkin with distinctive leatherwork, and it closely resembled the jerkin one of the newcomers wore. It wasn’t the same item but perhaps had been purchased from the same craftsman, by men in the same circle.
Their words drifted over to me. “It will work, tonight, and then we’ll be back to Neopatras.”
The words were Catalan.