The night suddenly seemed much, much colder. Gil wouldn’t be as useful outside, but I could ambush the enemy as they left. I would make the change of location work.
“All of them?” another Catalan asked.
“Yes.”
“What of the other two we brought?”
“What other two? One died in the cells. That leaves the thief and the Basque and the Moor.”
“There were two Basques and two Moors.”
A stifled scream that sounded very feminine was followed by the man in charge yelling. “What trickery are you up to?”
It seemed I would have to go in after all. The Catalan might prefer the blood-spilling to take place outside, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t act sooner, especially if he was in a fit of rage and worried about someone like me interfering with the execution.
I kicked the door the rest of the way open. One man had a dagger out and threatened Eudocia, while a second man held her so she couldn’t move away. I launched my first bolt at a man standing near the trio with a crossbow of his own. He fell.
Gil head-butted the man closest to him and ran at the man menacing his wife.
“Get on the floor!” I shouted at Aban in Arabic.
Aban ducked. I used the second crossbow to shoot the man holding Eudocia. She broke away the second his grip loosened and ripped the sword from the dying man’s belt. She swung it into the man who had threatened her with a dagger, then she cut Gil loose. I slid a sword across the table, and Gil grabbed it.
Two of the Catalans rushed me. I dropped the crossbow and raised my sword to block a cut from one. I shoved him toward his companion and turned to block another man cutting toward me with his sword. One of the Catalans ran to the door—probably to call for reinforcements, but I’d already eliminated the nearest men they might call. I blocked a strike from my opponent, then made a quick thrust that sliced into his stomach. He backed away, holding his wound.
In my periphery, I saw Gil bring down one man while Eudocia held off another. Aban crawled toward a blade that lay on the ground.
I met the next man who attacked me and had to step back at the force behind his blows. He was almost as good as Sebastie. Another step back, then a solid bind that neither of us could twist to our advantage. His sword cut toward me, and I evaded, leaving his blade to plow into the stone column we fought beside. Another cut, another parry, and I slashed into his shoulder.
His arm seemed to crumple, and he took a step back. He gritted his teeth and cut toward me again. I blocked, then hewed toward him, purposely putting extra pressure on his injured side. He winced and stepped back again. He couldn’t block my next cut, and my sword sliced into his neck.
Another of the Catalans was on me instantly. Gil and Eudocia still had their hands full, though our numbers were more even now. I couldn’t look for Aban because I was too busy parrying a quick set of cuts.
“You were the one at the gate, weren’t you?” he asked me.
His voice was familiar, the same depth and timbre that had spoken outside the dungeon and then ordered the executions of Gil, Eudocia, and Aban. His question caught me off guard. Did he mean the battle outside Thebes eleven years ago?
“I’m the one who gave you that limp,” he said.
He’d had an ax then, rather than a sword. Memories of that day—intense pain and the raw fear of knowing my body had been mangled—came flooding back. I blocked a strike, trying to push aside images of that struggle to hold the gate open while the rest of the company tried to rush through. They hadn’t made it. I hadn’t been able to keep the gate open long enough, not after the swing that had left me barely able to stumble away to safety.
He cut, and I blocked. I wasn’t about to let him defeat me again. I’d barely escaped with my life then. Now I wanted to escape with both my life and my friends. But he was skilled, and I’d worn myself out on the previous men I’d fought. Nor had I come to the Peloponnese in top shape—the misadventure with the Turks had left my leg ragged. I caught him in a bind and grunted with the strain of holding him.
He got in a kick, right where my leg was weakest. It collapsed under me, and I fell.
His blade cut down toward me, and I barely blocked it. He disengaged and cut again from above. I blocked, and then he stiffened strangely. He stumbled back, revealing Aban standing with an empty crossbow. The Catalan made a sloppy pivot and swung his sword at Aban, but Aban ducked, and then Gil was at Aban’s side, blocking the man’s next blow, then giving him a solid kick that sent him tumbling.
Eudocia stood over me and offered me a hand. “Have I told you lately that you’re my favorite brother?” She helped me up and embraced me. “Thank you for saving us.”
I held her only a moment, grateful she was alive and that the four of us had survived the night but uncertain how long our temporary reprieve would last. “We should go. I have no idea where we are, but if more Catalans are about, I’d like to be gone before they arrive.”
“There are more, but this includes all their leaders.” Eudocia looked at the bodies on the ground.
Gil bent to take a dagger from one of the fallen. I followed his example and found a pair of boots to replace the ones the Turks has stolen from me. Once we had scrounged what was useful, Eudocia led the way to the stables.
Aban walked beside me, and I gripped his shoulder. “I thought you said Sebastie only showed you how to use a crossbow once?”
Aban shrugged. “He was a good teacher. And the Venetians had a few. They let me practice while everyone was out looking for you and Bertaldo’s niece.”
Cecilia. Did she know anything about her uncle drugging Gil and me? She was probably on her way north by now, and I’d never see her again. Not unlike Zubiya. I just hoped that this time, it wouldn’t take sixteen years to get over her.