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  Her heart lurched. Every minute wasted made it more likely Drosik would leave the port, but William waved them out before she could protest.

  Jakov advised Kon they should go by foot to the river inlet north of Termoli where Drosik had offloaded the captives. “It’s more than ten miles, but they’ll easily spot us if we approach by boat. The coastal path is easy. Two of us will be able to tackle the guards.”

  Four hours later, he signalled a halt. “We should head inland from here and approach downriver. The land is too flat and open where my men are being held.”

  They eventually came to the river where they quenched their thirst then sat down in a leafy glade to rest and plan their strategy.

  “Assuming they are still chained together, how will we free them?” Kon asked.

  Jakov opened the satchel slung across his shoulder and produced an adze. “Another ill-gotten gain!” he confessed with a wry smile. “I used it to break the chain off my manacle and thought it might come in useful sometime.”

  “You’re a resourceful man,” Kon said.

  “Needs must…” Jakov replied soberly.

  Kon wondered briefly if he would have such steadfast courage were he ever placed in the same predicament. “What’s the lay of the land?”

  “The river is wider at its mouth, and lightly treed. The sun will be high in the sky in a little while. Chances are the guards will be dozing.”

  “How many?”

  “Two, but well armed, and my fear is they may kill my men rather than surrender them.”

  “Drosik won’t be happy with that notion.”

  “True. It’s a risk we must take.”

  Kon had carried a scimitar across his back. Retrieved from the body of one of the drowned Fatimids, the intimidating curved blade shone in the bright sun when he lifted it over his head and brandished it. “Hopefully these Arabic weapons will put the fear of God into them.”

  Jakov patted the hilt of the scimitar Lupomari had given him. “Do you believe in God, Konrad?”

  He hesitated. “Not long ago, I would have said no, but now…”

  “Never abandon your faith, my friend,” Jakov urged him. “I came close to losing mine when you carried my son’s body back onto the ship, but it’s only with God’s help that I am here with you today.”

  Kon pondered his words as they followed the narrow river to its mouth.

  Zara followed two of William’s soldiers along the dock. “I can’t wait to see Drosik’s face,” she crowed to Rospo. “You did well and I thank you.”

  She was surprised to see a blush spread over the warted features.

  He left her as they passed the Nunziata in order to round up more of the crew. She and the soldiers carried on towards the Ragusa.

  “Wait!” Rospo shouted.

  “We have the law on our side,” she exclaimed confidently, increasing her pace. “Nothing he can do.”

  She reached the gangplank a moment before the first soldier and stalked aboard ahead of him. She shouted to the pirate. “Drosik, where are you hiding?”

  He’d apparently been napping on the forecastle and sat bolt upright. She smirked when the green hat fell over his eyes. He tossed it away and scrambled down the steps. Members of his crew followed him as he rushed to challenge her. “Get off my ship,” he screamed, his face as red as his shirt.

  His glare faltered slightly when he espied the soldiers. “What’s going on here?”

  “Your vessel is carrying contraband,” the soldier declared. “By order of William of Loritello you are to return the goods to their rightful owner, Zara Polani.”

  Drosik’s beady eyes darted here and there, but then he folded his arms and lifted his chin. Her confidence faltered at the wily smirk on his face. “Zara Polani does not have a right to claim my cargo. She is not the owner of the Polani fleet. Bruno Polani owns the ships and their cargoes, and therefore I am not obliged to give her anything.”

  Zara scoffed, but to her dismay the young soldier shot her a questioning look. “Is this true?”

  “Yes,” she had to confess, “but…”

  “Then we can do nothing until we speak with our master.”

  Men and their stupid rules!

  In disbelief, she watched them regain the dock and march off. She turned back to Drosik, only to discover he’d rushed to the forecastle. His crew had retrieved the poles and were ready to shove off.

  Desperate, she peered along the dock. Lupomari and Rospo were leading men from her ship. She had to delay the pirate or all was lost. Side-stepping the rowing thwarts, she hurried to the stern-castle, intending to wrest the tiller from the steersman.

  In her panic, she didn’t notice one of the rowers had thrust an oar into her path until it was too late. She fell forward heavily, banging her forehead on the planking. Dizzy, she sat up, clutching her throbbing head. Her fingers came away wet. Staring in confusion at the blood on her hand, she heard the sounds of running feet, shouts of protest, but the familiar movement beneath her meant the cog was already underway.

  As Jakov had predicted, Drosik’s men were sleeping in the shade of the leafy trees when he and Kon crept close to the clearing. The captives also appeared to be asleep, but stirred when Jakov made a strange sound. “They’ll recognise the call of the red-throated loon,” he explained. “It’s a common sight in Croatia and a signal we often use.”

  To Kon it sounded more like a tomcat seeking a mate, but it had produced the desired result so he kept his opinion to himself.

  The captives sat up; one returned the bird call.

  Perhaps the clinking of chains woke one of the guards. Suddenly, he was on his feet, heading toward the captives. Jakov sprang out of hiding with a blood-curdling yell and swiped his blade across the fellow’s chest. The pirate crumpled to the ground, his dagger still sheathed at his waist.

  The other guard awoke, rubbed his eyes, leapt to his feet when he saw his compatriot, and headed for the beach.

  “Coward,” Jakov yelled before turning to Kon. “Well, that was easy.”

  He strode towards his men. Kon bit back tears as he watched Jakov embrace each in turn. They wept openly at his reassurances they were safe. Kon didn’t speak their language but it was clear many of them couldn’t believe their count was alive.

  It took half an hour of frustrating hammering on the chains with the none-too-sharp adze before the captives were at least separated from each other.

  “Now we walk back to Termoli,” Jakov declared, then he explained the plan to his smiling men.

  The smiles left their faces when Drosik strolled into the clearing with half a dozen men. The Croats disappeared into the bushes in the blink of an eye. Kon didn’t blame them. He and Jakov and the crew from the Nunziata would make short work of the pirate once they arrived.

  His blood ran cold when the Ragusa sailed slowly into view behind the newcomers. Zara was bound tight to the mainmast, a bloody rag tied around her beloved forehead.

  A HIGH PRICE

  Zara strained in vain at the thick ropes binding her to the mast. The throbbing pain in the back of her head had lessened, but the ache of dread in her heart threatened to render her witless. Her foolhardy over-confidence had led to this and put their lives in jeopardy.

  It had been some time since Drosik had taunted her and she wondered where he had gone. When she heard the unmistakable sound of the anchor being dropped, she narrowed her eyes, trying to make out what was happening on shore as the Ragusa hove to. She blinked away the beads of sweat blurring her vision and licked her parched lips.

  Kon was there. She sensed his presence. And Jakov with him. Her belly lurched when she made out the hated red shirt. Drosik must have left the ship before it dropped anchor. “Don’t trust him,” she cried hoarsely, though it was unlikely her warning would be heard over the wind.

  A nearby crewman leaned in close and grinned a toothless grin. The stench of his foul breath sent bile rising in her throat. “Don’t worry,” he crowed. “You’ll soon b
e free. Your Wolf will agree to Drosik’s terms.”

  A whirlwind raged in her head.

  Terms?

  Never.

  Lupomari’s arrival in the Nunziata must be imminent. There would be no need to treat with the despicable pirate. And what would Drosik expect in return for her release anyway?

  Fear blossomed in the pit of her stomach.

  My Wolf? If Drosik was aware of their feelings for one another he would use it against…

  No!

  “Don’t agree to anything,” she urged again.

  When Kon saw Zara was a prisoner on Drosik’s ship he inhaled deeply to calm his rage. It didn’t work. Seething, he urged Jakov to flee. “Take care of your men. It’s vital they remain free. They need you.”

  Jakov balked. “But my debt to you…”

  “Go,” he replied, distracted by the wound Zara had evidently suffered. “Your debt is paid once your men are back in Croatia with their families.”

  The rustle of leaves behind him indicated Jakov had joined his men in the forest.

  “What are your terms, pirate?” he shouted.

  Drosik sneered. “No terms, priest. Signorina Polani will fetch a king’s ransom in the slave market. Such a tasty morsel.”

  Kon clenched his jaw and eyed the scimitar lying on the rock where they’d smashed apart the chains. One blow would be sufficient to lop off the pirate’s head, but he was one man against several. “Why not flee south?”

  “It appears you’ve deprived me of the slaves—my most lucrative prize. I want you to be aware of the price you’ve paid for your pious foolishness.”

  Kon racked his brain for a plan to get Zara off the Ragusa. “I will pursue you to the ends of the earth if you harm a hair on her head.”

  Drosik scoffed. “You’d have to be alive and I don’t intend to permit that.”

  Kon was conflicted. If he succeeded in killing the pirate there was no guarantee he hadn’t given instructions to his crew to sail on anyway. Where in the name of all the saints was Lupomari with the Nunziata?

  He tried one last ploy. “You may kill me, but Zara’s uncle is the Doge of Venezia. He will seek vengeance for such an offence against his family. There won’t be a port anywhere in the Adriatic or the Mediterranean where you’ll be safe.”

  The sly grin disappeared.

  Kon knew what he had to do. “Let her go and take me instead.”

  “See,” the foul-mouthed sailor goaded as he untied the ropes binding Zara.

  She spat in his face. He scowled and brandished a fist at her, but she didn’t flinch. Muttering, he averted his sullen gaze and removed the last of the ropes.

  She looked around the ship, seeking a way to escape, but Drosik’s men seemed to be everywhere.

  The moron shoved her to the side. “Over you go.”

  She braced her legs. “You expect me to jump into the sea?”

  He took a step towards her. “Or I throw you in.”

  She took a last look at the shore. Kon had picked up one of the eastern swords and seemed to be holding Drosik and his men at bay. Why was the pirate letting her go?

  Seeing no alternative and sickened by the prospect of the lout’s filthy hands on her body, she climbed up onto the wale and dove into the clear water, confident the beach wasn’t far away. She was prepared this time for the shock of the impact, but memories of tumbling into the water with the boy assailed her. If only she’d held onto him.

  She resurfaced quickly, coughing out seawater as she tried to get her bearings. The pain in her head hammered when she espied Kon being goaded into a small rowboat at the point of the scimitar in Drosik’s grip.

  “No,” she yelled, choking on salty water.

  She struck out for the shore, her progress hampered by the leaden dread in her limbs. It was a nightmare. She was swimming but making no headway.

  Exhausted, she crawled up the beach and looked back at the Ragusa. Sailors were hauling the rowboat over the side and Kon was nowhere to be seen.

  She retched into the sand, shaking with grief and anger when the ship weighed anchor and she espied Drosik on the forecastle, jauntily waving his green hat.

  DESPAIR

  After being forced at the point of his scimitar to board the Ragusa, Kon glanced back at the shore, relieved to see Zara had made it to the beach. She was alone, but he wagered Jakov would return, and at least she was out of Drosik’s clutches.

  He turned to congratulate the pirate on for once keeping his word when a blow to the back of the head rendered him witless.

  He wasn’t sure how much time had passed when he regained his wits, but the ship was under sail and an ache throbbed in his temples. He tried to press his hands to his head, but discovered his wrists and ankles were tightly bound. Mercifully, he’d been tied with rope and not chained.

  He seemed to be lying in a pool of water in some kind of confined space. His gut knotted when he realized he’d been shoved beneath a rowing thwart. He tried to wriggle out but there was no room to maneuver and he was wedged in tight.

  A booted foot appeared. By the sound of the tapping above his head he assumed the other foot was atop the bench. He wasn’t surprised to hear Drosik’s taunting voice. “I see you’ve awakened.”

  “There’s no need for this,” he replied. “I surrendered to you voluntarily.”

  “Ah, but now you are my captive and I cannot risk losing my profit.”

  An alarm sounded in the back of Kon’s aching head. “Profit?”

  “The Fatimids will pay well for a strapping young man they can in turn sell to the Mamluk army.”

  An icy prickle marched up Kon’s spine. “The Pope has forbidden the sale of Christians to Islamists.”

  Drosik chuckled. “True, but the Fatimids have been known to cut out the tongues of prisoners who protest they are followers of the hated Christian God. You’re swarthy enough to pass for a Mohammedan.”

  The irony struck Kon. If he proclaimed his rediscovered faith, he risked losing his tongue. He had bitter experience of the brutality of the Fatimid traders. “The Nunziata will catch you before you can reach Bari.”

  Drosik braced both feet on the wet planking. “The Nunziata won’t be going anywhere for a while. Do you think I am such a fool not to recognize her in the lagoon?”

  His captor’s laughter faded as he walked away. Kon feared he might retch, unthinkable in the tight space. The uncertainty as to the Nunziata’s fate gnawed at him. The notion of being sold as a slave in the selfsame market where his troubles had begun churned his gut. A life of servitude fighting in an army of slaves loomed. His one consolation was that Zara had been spared the degradation, but the prospect of never seeing her again filled him with despair.

  Zara sat on the beach and watched the Ragusa disappear. “Wolf,” she whispered to the wind, bereft at the loss of the only man she’d ever loved. Dread turned her blood to ice when she contemplated the fate awaiting him if Drosik succeeded in reaching Bari.

  Something untoward had happened to her beloved ship. It was the only explanation for its failure to come to the rescue.

  She barely had the strength to turn when a rustling noise in the trees indicated she was no longer alone. It was a relief to see Jakov and his bedraggled men emerge from the bushes.

  He hunkered down beside her and peered out to sea. “We’ll save him,” he reassured her.

  “Why didn’t you fight to help him?” she wailed, ashamed that her presence aboard the Ragusa had obviously been the reason. Neither man would have risked jeopardising her life.

  He took her hands and helped her to her feet. “Something must have happened to your ship,” he said. “We assumed she would be here by now.”

  She nodded woodenly, thankful he hadn’t asked how she came to be aboard the pirate ship. How to explain the stupidity of William’s soldiers and her own cocksure foolhardiness?

  “At least your men are free,” she murmured lamely, guilt-ridden that she’d been the one who’d contracted to transp
ort them in the first place. She glanced at their faces, aware Polani ships had carried many such honest men, women and children to harsh servitude in foreign climes. Kon had opened her eyes to the evil of it. “I’m sorry,” she murmured.

  He remained stern-faced. “We must begin the walk back to Termoli.”

  The prospect of walking for hours in the hot sun made her want to retch again, but it was the only way to find out what had happened to the Nunziata and hopefully begin the pursuit.

  “We’ll walk upriver first,” Jakov explained. “You can quench your thirst and bathe your head wound. It’s a long trek.”

  She touched a hand to the rag covering the gash on her scalp she’d forgotten. “What will you do when we get there?”

  “Whatever is necessary to save Konrad von Wolfenberg.”

  His promise was a tiny island of hope in a sea of despair.

  Kon baked in his prison for the rest of the afternoon. No one came near him. He was offered neither food nor water. Thirst raged. It was a blessed relief when the sun went down and the air cooled, but the ship sailed on through the night and soon his teeth were chattering.

  He must have eventually surrendered to exhaustion, his sleep troubled by visions of his father weeping. He was rudely awakened when cold water was thrown over him. He licked his lips, hoping to glean a drop of moisture, only to discover it was seawater he’d been doused with.

  “You stink, slave,” the sailor who’d chucked the water exclaimed.

  He narrowed his eyes against the first grey streaks of dawn, bursting to ask what the fool expected of a man shut up in a box, but he deemed it better to save his strength.

  The Ragusa sailed on for hours, propelled by a strong wind. Hunger gnawed. Even a weevil-infested biscuit would taste good. It was apparent his situation was desperate. He’d greatly underestimated Drosik, but dwelling on regrets and recriminations would only add to his torment. He decided to concentrate on the two things that might keep a flicker of hope alive; his faith and his beloved Zara. He lapsed into a stupor until he was dragged back to reality by the insistent call of oystercatchers and the stink of fish guts. They had reached Bari.