Order of Darkness Read online

  ‘What is it?’ Brother Peter mouthed at him.

  Luca pointed in reply. In the road in front of them, scuffed over with dust and hidden with carefully placed leaves, was a rope, tied to a tree on one side, disappearing into the woods on the right.

  ‘Ambush,’ Freize said quietly. ‘You wait here; act like I’ve gone for a piss. . . . Saints save us! That damned ale!’ he said more clearly. He hitched his trousers, slid off his horse and went, cursing the ale, to the side of the road. A swift glance in each direction and he was stepping delicately and quietly into the trees, circling the likely destination of the rope into the bushes. There was a brief silence and then a low whistle like a bird call told the others that they could come. They pushed their way through the little trees and scrubby bushes to find Freize seated like a boulder on the chest of a man frozen with fear. Freize’s big hand was over his mouth, his large horn-handled dagger blade at the man’s throat. The captive’s eyes rolled towards Luca and Brother Peter as they came through the bushes, but he lay quite still.

  ‘Sentry,’ Freize said quietly. ‘Fast asleep. So a pretty poor sentry. But there’ll be some band of brigands within earshot.’ He leaned forwards to the man, who was gulping for air underneath his weight. ‘Where is everyone else?’

  The man rolled his eyes to the woods on their right.

  ‘And how many are you?’ Freize asked. ‘Blink when I say. Ten? No? Eight? No? Five, then?’ He looked towards Luca. ‘Five men. Why don’t we just leave them to do their business? No point looking for trouble. We could just ride on by?’

  ‘What is their business?’ Luca asked.

  ‘Robbery,’ Brother Peter said quietly. ‘And sometimes they kidnap people and sell them to the Ottomans for the galleys.’

  ‘Not necessarily,’ Freize interrupted quickly. He scowled at Brother Peter to warn him to say no more. ‘Might just be poaching a bit of game. Poachers and thieves. Not doing a great deal of harm. No need for us to get involved.’

  ‘Kidnap?’ Luca repeated icily.

  ‘Not necessarily so . . .’ Freize repeated. ‘Probably nothing more than poachers.’

  It was too late. Luca was determined to save anyone from the galleys of the Ottoman pirates. ‘Gag him, and tie him up,’ he ordered. ‘We’ll see if they’re holding anyone.’ He looked around the clearing; a little path, scarcely more than a goat’s track, led deeper into the woods. He waited till the man was gagged and bound to a tree, and then led the way, sword in one hand, dagger in the other, Freize behind him and Brother Peter bringing up the rear.

  ‘Or we could just ride on,’ Freize suggested in an urgent whisper.

  ‘Why are we doing this?’ Brother Peter breathed.

  ‘His parents.’ Freize nodded towards Luca’s back. ‘Kidnapped and enslaved into the Ottoman galleys. Probably dead. It’s personal for him. I hoped for a moment, that you might have taken my hint, and kept your mouth shut – but no . . .’

  The slight scent of a damped-down fire warned them that they were near a camp and Luca halted and peered through the trees. Four men lay sleeping around a doused fire, snoring heavily. A couple of empty wineskins and the charred bones of a stolen sheep showed that they had eaten and drunk well before falling asleep. To the side of them, tied back to back, were two figures, hooded and cloaked.

  Gambling that the roaring snores would cover any noise that they made, Luca whispered to Freize and sent him towards the horses. Quiet as a cat, Freize moved along the line of tied animals, picked out the two very best and took their reins, and untied the rest. ‘Gently,’ he said softly to them. ‘Wait for my word.’

  Brother Peter tiptoed his way back to the road. Their own three horses and the donkey were tied to a tree. He mounted his horse and held the reins of the others, ready for a quick escape. The brightness of the morning sun threw the shadows darkly on the road. Brother Peter prayed briefly but fervently that Luca would save the captives – or whatever he was planning to do – and come away. Bandits were a constant menace on these country roads and it was not their mission to challenge each and every one. The lord of the Order would not thank him if Luca was killed in a brawl when he was showing such early talent as an Inquirer for the Order.

  Back in the clearing, Luca watched Freize take control of the horses, then slid his sword into the scabbard and wormed his way through the bushes to where the captives were tied to each other, and roped to a tree. He cut the rope to the tree and both hooded heads came up at once. Luca put his finger to his lips to warn them to be quiet. Quickly, in silence, they squirmed towards him, bending away from their bonds so that he could cut the rope around their wrists. They rubbed their wrists and their hands, without saying a word, as Luca bent to their boots and cut the ropes around their feet. He leaned to the nearest captive and whispered, ‘Can you stand? Can you walk?’

  There was something that snagged his memory, as sharp as a tap on the shoulder, the minute he leaned towards the captive, and then he realised that this was no stranger. There was a scent of rosewater as she put back her hood and the sea of golden hair tumbled over her shoulders and the former Lady Abbess smiled up at him and whispered, ‘Yes, Brother, I can; but please help Ishraq, she’s hurt.’

  He recoiled from her at once, clenching his fist in the country sign against witchcraft.

  ‘Don’t be a fool,’ she briefly recommended. ‘I can explain. Help us get away from these men.’

  He could not argue with her in whispers. ‘You are my prisoner,’ he said stiffly and was rewarded with her merry smile.

  ‘Help me with Ishraq,’ she said.

  He pulled Isolde to her feet, and then bent to help the other woman. At once he could see that she had taken a blow to the side of her head. There was blood on her face, her beautiful dark skin was bruised like a plum, and her legs buckled beneath her when he tried to get her up.

  ‘You go to the horses,’ he whispered to Isolde. ‘Quiet as you can. I’ll bring her.’

  She nodded and went silent as a doe through the trees skirting the clearing to reach Freize, who helped her up into the saddle of the best horse. Luca came behind her carrying Ishraq and bundled her onto a second horse. Tapping the horses’ chests, urging them with whispers to back away from where they had been tethered, the two men led the animals with the girls on their backs down a little track to where Brother Peter waited on the road.

  ‘Oh no,’ Brother Peter said flatly when he saw the white face and the thick blonde hair of the Lady Abbess. At once she pulled her brown hood up over her hair to hide her face, and lowered her eyes. Peter turned to Freize. ‘You let him risk his life for this? You let him risk us? His sacred mission?’

  Freize shrugged. ‘Better go,’ was all he said. ‘And maybe we’ll get away with it.’

  Freize mounted his own cob, and then cocked an ear to the woods behind them. In the clearing, one of the sleeping men grunted, and turned over in his sleep, and another one cursed and raised himself onto one elbow. The horses left untethered turned their heads and whinnied for their companions, and one started to move after them.

  ‘Go!’ Luca ordered.

  Freize kicked his cob into a canter, leading Ishraq’s horse, with her clinging, half-conscious, to the horse’s mane. Isolde snatched up her reins and urged her horse alongside them. Luca vaulted into his saddle as they heard the men shouting from behind. The first loose horse came out of the woods, trotting to catch up with him, and then all the others followed, their reins trailing. Freize yelled an incomprehensible word of warning to the horses as they clattered from the woods and came towards him. The gang of thieves scrambled after their runaway horses, then saw the little group on the road, and realised they had been robbed.

  ‘Full gallop!’ Luca yelled, and ducked as the first arrow whistled overhead. ‘Go!’ he shouted. ‘Go! Go!’

  They all hunched low over their horses’ necks, thundering down the road as the men spilled out of the wood, cursing and swearing, sending a shower of misdirected arrows after the