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  DREAD

  Zara feared her trembling legs might not sustain her any further after four hours of trying to keep pace with Jakov. She’d lived a life of comfortable ease and wasn’t prepared for strenuous exercise. When the tower of Termoli castle came in sight at last she was tempted to fall to her knees in thanksgiving the ordeal was over.

  Then she sobered. Kon was likely suffering far worse torments than she, and they had yet to begin the pursuit. She surmised Drosik would head for Bari. The Pope had forbidden the sale of Christians to Mohammedans, but Jakov and his men were living proof such rules meant nothing to slavers.

  The tide was out when they reached the lagoon. She was torn between laughing and crying when she espied the Nunziata mired in the mud. She’d feared her beloved ship lay at the bottom of the sea.

  Lupomari was pacing on the dock and hurried towards them. “Madonna,” he exclaimed, bracing her as she staggered into his arms. “I beg your forgiveness, Signorina Polani. We were unable to give chase. The cursed pirate damaged our rudder. We had to wait for low tide for Rospo to make repairs. Thanks be to the saints you are safe.”

  She struggled to stand on her own feet, anger endowing her with new strength. “But Konrad Wolf is not. Drosik has taken him prisoner. We must get underway as soon as possible.”

  She lay flat on the dock and peered down to the brown mud under the flat-bottomed hull where Rospo and others labored to repair the rudder. She heard hammering and cursing but couldn’t see them. “How goes it?” she shouted, holding her nose against the reek of the sea’s detritus.

  The noise ceased.

  “Smashed,” Rospo called back.

  “Can it be repaired?”

  There was a long pause.

  “Sì.”

  She breathed again. “How long?”

  “Hour.”

  The hammering resumed. She scrambled to her feet and turned to Jakov. “I cannot ask you to come with us. You must see to the safety of your men.”

  The Croat smiled. “Konrad said the same thing, but I owe you both a debt and we must aid you. Besides, I’ve taken a fancy to a certain cog owned by a cruel pirate. She would serve nicely to get me and my men back to Istria. I’ve stolen many things, what’s one more? I will pray for forgiveness.”

  She marveled he still had his sense of humor after his suffering. “I am grateful. You’ll make a fine captain for the Ragusa.”

  Rospo’s raspy voice emerged from below. “Two hours.”

  Jakov must have sensed her frustration at the further delay. “Enough time for us to find sustenance and clothing for my men,” he interjected. “And to ponder a new name for our ship.”

  “I can provide food and clothing,” Lupomari said. “Come with me.”

  A certain William of Loritello should be told of the catastrophe his men had unwittingly provoked. The least he owed her was a good meal and a bath. “Let your men go with my captain, Count Jakov. I suggest you and I pay a visit to the castle.”

  The freed captives looked hesitantly to their leader, but he reassured them with a nod, then proffered his arm to Zara. “It will be my pleasure,” he replied.

  Kon couldn’t see anything of the port of Bari from his prison, but the sounds and smells were sickeningly familiar. The gentle rocking of the Ragusa at anchor did nothing to calm the dread raging within him.

  The cries of gulls reminded him of his incredulity at the first glimpse of slaves being herded off ships years ago.

  The clink of chains brought back memories of his horror at watching men and women being treated like dogs.

  He recalled the bile that rose up his throat every time he visited the docks and smelled rotting fish.

  When he heard foreign voices haggling in the market he relived the blows rained on him by the outraged Fatimids.

  Duke Heinrich’s angry face loomed. From his twisted mouth emerged the taunt. “Soon it will be your turn.”

  He had long held the conviction that forced servitude was ungodly. Now as fear and helplessness threatened to stop his heart, he knew why.

  He prayed like he’d never prayed before. He begged forgiveness for his disbelief, and pleaded for an acceptance of his fate. He thanked his Savior for the priceless gift of sacrificing his freedom for the woman he loved.

  He kept his eyes closed when Drosik came. “I’m off to scout out buyers, priest. My men will get you ready for their inspection.”

  Rough hands hauled him out of the stinking box. They cut the rope binding his ankles but his legs buckled beneath him. They held him up, tore off his shirt and doused him with seawater again.

  Then, an unexpected blessing. A tumbler was thrust into his bound hands. “Drink,” a voice admonished.

  Trembling, he raised the tumbler to his parched lips and guzzled the watered ale so fast he nigh on choked. He held out the tumbler for more but it was yanked out of his hands.

  He heard Drosik’s voice speaking Arabic. It was only then he summoned the courage to open his eyes and look into the greedy gaze of the Fatimid who had come to buy him.

  He was tempted to laugh at the sight of Drosik’s green hat, but the pirate was making a big show of cleaning his filthy nails with the point of a dagger. The message was clear. If he wanted to keep his tongue he’d best remain silent.

  He didn’t understand the words the two men exchanged but suspected Drosik was describing him as a Mohammedan. If he protested, the fat Arab wouldn’t understood German. He was turbaned but wore no face wrap. He wrinkled his bulbous nose in disgust as he perused and poked biceps, belly and thighs.

  Kon had an urge to spit in his face, but doubted he could summon enough saliva. He clenched his jaw and conjured memories of swimming in the cool waters of the Elbe as a boy. He’d been brought up to honor his body and the degradation of filth was humiliating.

  “Don’t worry,” Drosik hissed between gritted teeth. “He’s using the excuse to lower the price. He knows once you’re cleaned up you’ll be worth a king’s ransom.”

  A tremor of hatred and fear seized him as the two men wandered off, still haggling.

  THE NEW ZARA

  William spluttered his disbelief and apparent anger when he learned what had happened as a consequence of his soldiers’ actions, and promised they would be reprimanded.

  He arranged for a bath to be brought to a chamber for Zara, and invited Jakov to use the facilities in the barracks. “King Ruggero has soldiers stationed here now,” he explained sheepishly. “To keep an eye on me. He also takes a dim view of pirates.”

  She knew a twinge of pity for him, but at least he still lived in his family’s castle. “We thank you,” she replied, though she worried for Jakov if any soldier espied the manacle around his wrist.

  The bath water was tepid, but renewed her spirit. She washed her hair and carefully bathed the wound on her scalp, pleased to feel a scar had begun to form. She hoped there would be no lasting mark.

  There was scant chance comfortable clothing would be located. She was reconciled to donning the same outfit after drying her body. There seemed to be a dearth of servants around the place, but she preferred to take care of herself in the circumstances.

  She narrowed her eyes at the ragtag Zara Polani who stared back from the silvered glass. Certainly, she was no longer the unconventionally but well-dressed Venetian businesswoman. However, something else had changed. The new Zara was a woman in love who’d known the intimate touch of a passionate man. A determination to rescue her lover from a terrible fate burned in her eyes. She squared her shoulders and signed the cross of her Savior.

  Yet, as she made the familiar gesture, she pushed aside doubts about a God who would consign a man like Kon to hell.

  When she arrived back in the hall, she discovered Jakov already seated at a table laden with roast chicken, ham and bread. It was meager fare compared to that customarily offered to visitors to the Polani household, but her belly growled.

  William nervously invited her to sit.

  “He’
s worried how the king will react if he learns of these matters,” she whispered to Jakov as she took her place at table. “Ruggero has striven to maintain good relations with Venezia and my uncle, the Doge.”

  He nodded in agreement.

  Their host made tsking sounds, shaking his head as he sat. “Fine men, those young Saxons. Sons of a count. When the imperial army withdrew, one of them…er, Francesca…”

  Zara recognised the wistful look in his eyes. “Lute.”

  “Yes, yes. Do you know what happened to her? King Ruggero has often berated me for allowing his niece to leave. As if anyone was able to dissuade the hot-headed Sicilian woman from…”

  “According to Kon, they married,” she interrupted when he faltered.

  To her surprise, he looked relieved. Perhaps he wasn’t as resigned to Ruggero’s dominance as he seemed.

  “Good. She is happy and out of her uncle’s clutches. You say this pirate has transported young Wolfenberg to Bari?”

  Jakov nodded. “It’s more than likely.”

  “Naught I can do then. The king has failed to recapture the town.”

  She privately doubted William intended to take action. He seemed too lethargic. However, she answered in a conciliatory manner. “A message sent by land would take too long. We will begin pursuit as soon as the Nunziata is repaired.”

  Her words turned out to be prophetic. A footman entered, coughed politely and announced the arrival of one of her crew. “A man of few words,” the servant explained, “but I understand the repairs to your ship are complete.”

  They bade William a hasty farewell and, as expected, found Rospo waiting at the foot of the steps into the castle.

  “Is the Nunziata fit to sail?” she enquired as they walked briskly to the port.

  “She is.”

  “Has the tide come in?”

  “It has.”

  The corners of Jakov’s mouth curled in amusement. “Have my men been fed and clothed?”

  Rospo didn’t miss a stride. “They have.”

  “It will be a full crew,” Zara remarked.

  “It will.”

  “My men are not sailors,” Jakov explained. “But they are willing and able, especially if they believe this voyage might result in the capture of the Ragusa.”

  “Rospo will watch over them,” she assured him.

  “Sì,” the steersman confirmed with a rare smile.

  Lupomari waved them aboard when they arrived on the dock. Zara was elated to see the pitch had been mostly cleaned off the ship’s name. “No gold leaf to be had in Termoli,” her captain lamented.

  “Once we get home,” she reassured him.

  As she gained the forecastle it occurred to her that the notion of home offered a ray of hope. Mayhap it was a good omen. They would make it back to Venezia alive. She gripped the railing, determined to hold on to her optimism as they weighed anchor and rowed out of Termoli’s port.

  TOO LATE

  Wedged tight in his box, Kon had longed to be upright and free, but now, tied to the mast by his wrists with no opportunity to sit, he feared his legs might buckle.

  The sun scorched his bare shoulders and back. The nagging uncertainty churned his innards. He was almost relieved to hear Drosik’s nasally voice when the pirate captain returned to the ship. The reek of spirits only aggravated his anguish.

  “We’ve struck a bargain,” Drosik crowed as the rope binding Kon to the mast was cut.

  He turned on unsteady legs to face his tormentors. Drosik swayed drunkenly, the hat askew on his head. The Arab was alarmingly sober, but a smile tugging at one corner of his thick lips indicated his satisfaction with the transaction.

  Drosik clamped a hand on Kon’s sunburned shoulder. “I’ve done you a favor, priest.”

  His eyes widened as he pressed his hand to his mouth and swallowed a hiccup. “We must hope our fat friend here doesn’t understand the word,” he jested. “Nigh on ruined the deal.”

  Kon raised his eyes to heaven and prayed for forbearance.

  “Anyway,” Drosik drawled. “Be glad. You won’t be put on sale in the market. Nizar here is an envoy for the Caliph. We’ve agreed on a price. You’ll be taken straight into the army in Egypt.”

  Nizar said something in Arabic and held up both hands, fingers spread wide.

  “Yes,” Drosik explained. “We’ve set the term at ten years. Then you’ll be free. More than generous, don’t you think? Nizar wanted twenty.”

  Kon’s hands were still tied, but it wouldn’t take much effort to loop his arms around the pirate’s scrawny neck and snap it. He might be doing the Arab a favor if he killed Drosik. However, Nizar was armed with a lethal looking curved dagger sheathed at his corpulent middle, and Kon couldn’t win against both men.

  However, he wasn’t a killer, though it seemed he’d be spending the next ten years fighting in one battle or another. Who were the Fatimids at war with anyway?

  Ten years.

  He choked back regret. Zara would find someone worthier and marry according to her station. Her belly would never swell with Kon’s child, but she’d be free. He’d failed to rescue the girl, but he’d saved the woman he loved.

  Nizar pointed to a nearby cog.

  “His ship,” Drosik explained. “He’ll take you aboard shortly. Bon voyage.”

  Chuckling, he sauntered away and stumbled down the gangplank. No doubt off to spend his profit on more debauchery.

  Nizar’s friendly expression turned sour. He unsheathed his dagger and sliced through the bindings. Kon rubbed his rope-burned wrists, but his relief was short lived. Nizar beckoned to two Arabs on the dock. As they came aboard, Kon’s blood turned to ice when he espied the iron collar and manacles the men carried.

  Lupomari pushed the Nunziata and her crew hard, but there were no complaints. Indeed, a rousing cheer went up when Bari came in sight.

  They rowed into the port just before dusk. Zara scanned the forest of masts, her hopes rekindled when she picked out the Ragusa.

  At a signal from the captain, oars were raised. Everyone aboard the Nunziata kept silent while they floated past the pirate ship.

  “Looks deserted,” Jakov remarked after they docked a short distance away.

  Conflicting emotions swirled in Zara’s heart. “The absence of guards doesn’t bode well for Kon.”

  “Nor for the rest of our cargo,” Lupomari added.

  Zara clenched her jaw. “Salt and fabric are of no importance.”

  Lupomari looked sheepish.

  “Your captain understands what’s at stake here,” Jakov said softly.

  Regret for her outburst filled her heart. “I know, and I am sorry, faithful friend.”

  Without a word, Rospo and Lorenzo hurried off the ship as soon as the gangplank was in place and quickly disappeared into the town.

  “They’ll find out what’s going on,” Zara said.

  Jakov’s eyes widened as he cocked his head to one side. “In the meantime, the Ragusa sits, and it appears she is unguarded. Like a juicy plum ripe for the picking.”

  Zara had been brought up to abhor piracy, but Drosik was a thief with no regard for others. His ship could be put to good use to get Jakov’s men home. “I’ll turn a blind eye.”

  However, the small chance Kon might still be aboard forced her to watch as the Istrian and his soldiers stole silently towards the Ragusa. They swarmed over the side, apparently encountering no opposition. She peered into the gathering darkness, looking for a sign, hoping against hope to see Kon emerge from the cog.

  The signal came, easing her fears. Someone waved a lantern back and forth, male voices were raised in obvious jubilation—Jakov’s language—but there was no sign of the man she loved.

  They were one step closer to assuring the return home of the slaves who’d been aboard her ship and it was of some consolation that Kon would be elated. But it was a victory bought at a terrible price.

  She looked across at the market, empty and silent now, and closed her eye
s to ward off the image she conjured of Kon, his beautiful body put on display for greedy slavers. He’d already endured much because of the cursed place.

  Jakov returned to the Nunziata. “He’s not aboard.”

  She swallowed her disappointment. “No sign of Drosik?”

  He shook his head. “Deserted. And your cargo is gone. The pirate is probably celebrating his ill gotten gains.”

  She startled when Rospo appeared out of the darkness. It was uncanny. The ungainly man moved without the slightest sound. She hadn’t seen him on the dock and here he was on the gangplank.

  “Dead,” he croaked.

  A scream lodged in her dry throat. Surely she would have sensed if Kon had died.

  “Drosik,” Lorenzo explained as he too came aboard. “Throat slit. Folk say he got into an argument with an Arab.”

  She gripped the railing, swaying with relief, but still consumed with worry. “What of Konrad Wolf?”

  “Sold,” Rospo replied.

  Tears pricked as she looked again at the darkened market.

  Lorenzo must have sensed her desolation. “Drosik sold him directly to a Fatimid seeking slaves for the Caliph’s army. Some say the one who murdered him.”

  “But where is he now?” she wailed in a high-pitched voice she barely recognized.

  “Feloz.”

  Her endurance at an end, she glared at her steersman. “Can you not give more than one word responses?”

  Rospo averted his gaze, and she instantly regretted her harsh outburst. It was the second time in an hour she’d lost control of her emotions. “I’m sorry,” she admitted. “You are as concerned as I am.”