We unfastened Sebastie’s cloak and used it to cover his face and torso, but his boots stuck out beneath the bottom of the fabric. Slowly, the light from the window disappeared entirely, and still no one came to feed or question us. Soon Sebastie’s body was only a shadow on the ground.
“How many were there when they brought us in?” I asked Aban.
“Seven. Two carrying each of you, and three guarding Sebastie and me. Plus more around the entrances.”
“Did they say anything?”
“Not to me. They brought someone to Bertaldo before they took us away. Signor Querini, I suppose, but I never met him. I was expecting someone younger to be betrothed to Signorina Bertaldo.”
I grunted. “It’s not unusual, especially not in Venice. The men go off and get a little experience, earn something to make their way in the world. Then they return home and marry someone who’s just grown from girl to woman.” Cecilia was older than the typical Venetian bride, but Querini was in line with standard practice for the groom.
“What do you think they’ll do with us?” Aban asked.
“You might be better off hating me again, or at least pretending you do. The Catalans have no love for Gil or me, and their anger is likely to extend to anyone who makes himself our friend.”
“Because you stole Thebes from them?”
“We helped.” The pull of lost lands and possessions wouldn’t disappear, not even after eleven years. It could have grown if more hardship had followed defeat.
Silence engulfed the villa. Since I’d awakened, I hadn’t heard anything other than the men in the cell with me. Nothing from the window that I assumed led to a courtyard. Nothing from the door and the hallway I assumed was just past it. A chill crept in through the stones. I’d taken my cloak back from Sebastie since he couldn’t feel the cold anymore, but an icy caress nibbled at my limbs. I would miss Sebastie. But maybe not for long. The Catalans had wanted us enough to trade away Signor Querini. Either Signor Querini was worthless or the Catalans wanted revenge very badly, and I suspected their idea of revenge included death.
Gil sat beside me, leaning against the wall.
“Will you be all right?” I asked him. My uncle had carved a scar across my face, and Cecilia’s uncle was forcing her to marry a stranger, but Gil’s uncle had been good to him. Good to me, too, from the time I joined the Navarrese Company.
“He’s always been there when I’ve needed him.” Gil wrapped his arms around his knees. “When I was little and my legs would get tired, he would carry me up the hill to our house. After my father died and I needed to get out of the village to find a new path, he came back, recruiting for the company. That time I was locked in the tower and the Catalans tried to blind me and I wasn’t sure if I’d ever see again, he came and got me out, told me Eudocia was safe, that we would figure something out, even if my eyes never healed. And he tried to be there for us today when we drank whatever Bertaldo slipped us.”
I nodded, though Gil wouldn’t see it in a chamber as dark as our cell. “He taught me how to fight. Found that woman who stitched up my face after my uncle cut it. Saved my life at least twice in Durazzo.” I glanced at Aban. “Brought my little brother to me when I didn’t think I’d ever see him again.”
I was already worried about Eudocia and heartsick about Cecilia. Now Sebastie was gone. One more hurt. I believed in a loving God, but sometimes I wondered if I was cursed, because sorrow seemed to follow me everywhere, and now it was hurting not just me but those who were closest to me too.
The moon rose, and the cell became less dark. Aban eventually drifted off to sleep, curled up on the cold stone floor. He looked young in the moonlight, more like the boy I’d left behind and less like the man who’d been so upset to find his brother a Christian instead of a Muslim.
Gil stayed awake, but we didn’t say much. We’d been through hard times before. In Durazzo, when it had taken us nearly two years to take the cursed city. And then when we’d been stranded there and the fever had hit and we’d almost died in turn. First me, then him. There had been other times too, like when Eudocia had been bleeding and Gil had feared she would die, or when we were both stuck in the infirmary after Thebes fell—Gil uncertain if he’d ever see again, me uncertain if I’d ever walk again. After all that, we didn’t need to say anything.
“Gil?” The whisper came from the window in the doorway. There had been no noise, footsteps or otherwise, to warn us it would come. But I recognized the voice. Eudocia could travel halls without being heard. She was here, and she was alive. Hope hadn’t died.
Both of us stood, and Gil bolted toward the door. “Eudocia?”
The lock creaked as it opened, and the door pushed inward.
A shadow burst into the cell and melted into Gil with a sob. Gil gripped his wife in a long embrace.
“I was so worried about you.” She drew back and examined the stitched cut running across his forehead, holding his head for a better look. “When I left the bathhouse, I wasn’t sure you were alive.”
“We felt the same for you.” Gil pulled her into him again and kissed the top of her head. “The Catalans tried to make us think you were dead.”
“I heard you singing. I could recognize your voice anywhere.” Eudocia looked to where I stood partially behind the opened door and gave me a smile. Her face went slack when she spotted the shape on the floor covered in a cloak. “Who is that?”
“Sebastie,” Gil told her.
“Is he . . . dead?”
“Yes. It’s a long story.” Gil’s voice carried a note of sorrow.
“It will have to wait.” Eudocia swallowed. “We should leave while we can. They’ve given me freedom of movement, for the most part, but they’re growing impatient, and they might notice I’m gone any moment. We can pay someone in the company to come back for the body. The Catalans will give his body up for a bribe, but they won’t let us go so easily.”
“No,” a deep voice carried from the hallway. “I don’t think any of you will be leaving as anything other than corpses.”
I couldn’t see who spoke because the door blocked my view of the corridor, but the language was Catalan. More footsteps sounded—enough to come from a dozen men. The night grew lighter, too, as torches were brought closer. “I think we’re through, Little Mouse. You were supposed to steal Acioli from the Navarrese, not interfere with the men we captured today. You’ve broken your agreement. Remember our deal? You do exactly what I say, or the Basque dies?”
Eudocia tried to shield Gil’s body with her own—not very effectively. He was taller and broader than her, and the moment he realized what she was doing, he pulled her behind him.
The end of a sword poked beyond the dungeon door into the cell. I waited, ready to shove the door closed if it came any closer to either of my friends.
“Wait!” Eudocia pleaded. “Give me another chance. I’ll get Acioli for you tonight. I couldn’t do it by myself, but now that my friends are with me, I can’t fail.”
“Now that your friends are with you, you’ll try to run,” the Catalan voice said. “If the Basque and the Moor are both here, who will my men kill in Thebes? I can’t trust you. If I have no leverage over you, you’re more danger than use.”
I stepped closer, but Eudocia motioned me back with a slight hand motion the Catalans were unlikely to notice. “We can work something out. If you kill anyone else, I won’t go back to the castle, and Acioli will remain out of your hands. If you spare them, I’ll try again. And I’ll succeed.”
“Acioli isn’t the only person who can end the siege of Neopatras. We no longer require your services. Come. All three of you.”
There were four of us in the cell, but he hadn’t seen me.
Eudocia turned to Aban and spoke to him. “Come on, Rasheed.” As she turned back, she tossed something to me with a slight flick of her wrist. I caught it. A single key—and I had a good idea of what it opened.
I wasn’t sure Aban would play along, but he stood and followed Gil and Eudocia from the cell. The door slammed shut and the torchlight faded and grew dim.
I’d been stripped of all weapons before being put in the cell. I checked Sebastie’s body—he, too, had nothing but his clothing. I’d have to find a weapon later. The door was locked when I pulled on it, but thanks to Eudocia, all I had to do was slip my hand through the window and unlock the door from the outside. Tricky but not impossible. It groaned when I tugged it open. I winced at the sound. Anyone nearby would hear, and I wasn’t supposed to exist.
Darkness cloaked the corridor. I wished I’d been even slightly conscious when they’d dragged me inside—I had no idea which way the Catalans might have taken the others. Nor did I know which Catalan was in charge. I knew the names of the men we’d taken Thebes from, but I’d kept my distance from most of them, other than on the battlefield. That would make it easier for Aban to pretend to be me—unless they questioned why he looked so young.
I came to a dead end. I blew out a breath of frustration, but at least now I knew to go the other direction. I rushed along in the dark, keeping my hands out in front of me because no torches lined the corridor and the patches of moonlight weren’t strong enough to drive away the deep shadows.
When the undulating glow of torchlight appeared, I slowed. I peeked around the next corner and saw a man standing guard. I ducked out of view and took a few deep breaths. My leg hurt, and so did my head, but whatever Bertaldo had given me hadn’t left me feeling weak. I had to do everything I could to save the others.
I rounded the corner, slapped my hand over the guard’s mouth, and yanked. He fought hard, but I dragged him back into the dark corridor and wrapped an arm around his neck. His elbows pummeled into me, and his boots kicked at me, but I’d positioned myself behind him, where it would be hard for him to get in a good strike.
The force of his blows diminished, then dissipated. He slumped into me. I lowered him to the ground and stole his arming sword and the small knife at his belt. Then I laid him facedown and used his belt to bind his arms and feet, leaving him folded nearly in half but still breathing.
I followed the corridor past where the guard had stood. It led to an empty courtyard. Where had they gone?
A watchman patrolled the wall near the gate. He looked outward, not inward, and dark shadows concealed me as I approached. He wasn’t a threat—yet—but he could easily call for reinforcements. I wanted his sword. One was enough for me, but I wanted to arm the others.
I crept up the stairs. He turned and spotted me. “Did you see it?” I asked in Catalan.
“See what?”
I pointed beyond the wall. “A dozen horsemen. Could be the Navarrese.” How I wished that were true. Twelve reinforcements from the company would make my task far easier. I kept pointing as I approached him.
“I see nothing.” He squinted, searching for phantom intruders. “And who are you?” He turned right into the flat of the sword I’d been swinging into his head. He gasped, then collapsed. I took his sword and crossbow and ran down the stairs and across the courtyard. The building on the north of the villa complex showed lights.
I turned into the covered walkway and spotted two guards. I took care of the first with the throw of a knife and the second with a crossbow bolt. I gathered their weapons and piled them by the door, where I could reach them. Then I cracked open the door they’d been guarding.
“I believe we are done negotiating.” It was the same voice that had spoken in the dungeons.
“Give me another chance!” Eudocia’s voice, and she sounded desperate. “Querini’s plan might not work. But if I get Acioli for you, he’ll have to pull his army away from Neopatras.”
“Acioli would be ideal, but I never really trusted you before—and you’ve proven that I would be foolish to rely on you now.”
“Will you let us buy our freedom?”
As Eudocia asked her question, I reloaded the crossbow I’d emptied into the guard. Then I opened the door enough to see about half the room. Aban’s hands were bound. Gil’s too. Six Catalans stood near them, and a long table lay between all of them and the door I peeked through. I couldn’t see the rest of the chamber, so I wasn’t sure how badly we were outnumbered. A fire burned in the hearth, illuminating the hall. Gil could hold his own in that type of light if he stayed by the fire and if I could get him free and armed. Eudocia, too, but I couldn’t see her yet. And Aban . . . He might be able to keep from getting skewered, if the Catalans had sloppy technique.
I balanced one crossbow over my left shoulder and held the other in my right hand. I had four spare bolts, but I wouldn’t have time to reload during a fight in such close quarters.
“Release you so you can run off and help take Neopatras? I think not. I’m going to do what I should have done eleven years ago. Take them outside and slit their throats.”