Chapter 58

Chapter 58

T HE coast of Thessaly stood dark in the early morning. Purple mountains speared the sunrise sky, snowcapped Olympus and Ossa towering above all. Between these two giants of the Pindus range spread the fertile plain of Thessaly, split by the Peneus River, which flowed into the Aegean Sea.

In that short time between the ebb and the flood tides, when the dark-green waters of the river mixed lazily with the turquoise waters of the sea, a small boat moved from the Aegean into the Peneus.

They had been anchored off this particular piece of coast all night waiting for the calm to get them safely into the river and the floodtide that followed to sweep them up it. To the passing casual shoreline observer the boat contained four men and a woman. Obviously it was a family boat, a coastal trading vessel, heading upstream to Larissa to sell its cargo.

Within the boat the occupants heaved a collective sigh of relief. Another stage of their journey was over, and thus far it had been unbelievably simple. From the moment they had cast off from the Island of a Thousand Flowers, the skies had remained benevolent and the seas cooperative. They had sped down the Sea of Marmara past the island of the same name where imperial Ottoman slaves quarried marble for the sultan's export trade. Onward through the Dardanelles, and across the Aegean, Cat could not remember them seeing more than two other boats. They had stopped only once, at the island of Lemnos, to take on fresh water.

After all the blue and gold of the sea, the river was a startling change. Cat was stunned by the rugged beauty surrounding her. Seated in the bow of the boat, her dark cloak wrapped about her, she did not know which way to look next. To her right, the precipices descended like the gods themselves from Mount Olympus and fell steeply to the river. Mount Ossa rose the highest on her left, rising fifteen hundred feet straight up from the floor of the valley.

The valley was lush, and there were beautiful horses grazing in the grassy meadows.

"Are they wild?" asked Cat, for she saw neither houses nor people.

"Nay," Bothwell answered her. "They are specially raised, and have been since earliest times. Now the Turks own the ranches, but we're not apt to see any people until we reach Larissa. The Turks are on the ranches, and in the cities, and this river passes through only two towns."

The river began to narrow into a gorge. "The Vale of Tempe," he said, as their boat slipped into a close, greenlit world. "Legend says that Poseidon, the Greek god of the sea, created it so he might have a beautiful bower in which to woo a daughter of the river god."

Cat looked up at him, her green eyes reflecting the light of the vale. "How beautiful! Did he win her love?"

"I dinna know, but ‘tis a most romantic place for lovers. The vale is also connected to the sun god, Apollo. A maiden named Daphne fled here to escape his lecherous advances. Daphne was dedicated to Apollo's twin sister, the virgin moon goddess, Diana. Apollo was determined to have Daphne, and he cornered her here. She cried out to Diana to save her from shame, and the goddess obliged her handmaiden by turning the girl into a flowering laurel bush. Since then the Vale of Tempe is sacred to Apollo, and in ancient times the laurel for the victor's wreaths at the Pythian Games was gathered here."

"Had you been Apollo and I Daphne, I would never have fled ye, Francis."

He smiled at her, and she smiled back. The trip across the sea had turned her creamy skin a rich golden color, and her eyes appeared even greener than usual. Her rich honey-colored hair had been, in the Aegean, free of its bandanna and turban; and the sun had bleached it a pale gold. She was very lovely, and it had been months now since they had last made love. Unfortunately this was not the time, though the place would have been perfect. Ahead were the ruins of the Temple of Apollo, set high above the river within a grove of tall, ancient oaks. He would have enjoyed making love to her in that romantic setting.

Francis sighed, and catching her looking at him, grinned guiltily. She laughed softly. "I regret it also, Bothwell," she said, reading his thoughts.

"Yer a witch," he chuckled.

"Nay. Just yer other half, Francis," and she caught his big hand and pressed it to her hps.

"Will we get home safely, Bothwell?" she pleaded.

"We will get home safely, Cat. I promise you."

The Vale of Tempe behind them, the plain of Thessaly spread itself out again in the glory of early summer, and before the sun had reached its zenith, the walls of ancient Larissa came into view. Cat bound up her beautiful hair again, and Susan hid her pretty face behind the voluminous folds of a black feridji, leaving only her eyes visible.

After paying the dockage fee to the Turkish port-master they were directed to a pier near the waterfront market. They tied up without incident.

"Saul Kira's house is near enough to walk," said Asher. "He is a widower, his children grown and gone. Only his widowed sister is in the house to care for him. We should be safe for the moment." And he led them across the crowded market, alive with mooing, baaing, clucking, and quacking livestock. The noise made by the animals and haggling merchants was ferocious, and Cat sighed gratefully when they had crossed the market square.

They entered the small courtyard to a yellow brick house. Saul Kira greeted them warmly, putting Cat and Susan into the custody of his sister, Abigail. Abigail bas Kira looked at Cat suspiciously, wondering whether this really was a young man. Cat drew off her headgear so that her long hair tumbled down her back. The old woman nodded, satisfied. "What can I get you?" she asked them.

"A bath," breathed Cat and Susan together, and then they laughed at their singlemindedness.

An hour later they were bathed, their hair washed free of sea salt. Abigail bas Kira had given them each clean clothing, and Cat's bandanna and turban were washed and dried. The Jews never wore them, so there were none in the house.

While Susan helped to lay the table, Cat joined the men. Bothwell put an arm about his wife. "Good news … and some bad," he said.

"The good?" she asked.

"We are not pursued. They felt they could not pick up the trail, and so they decided to tell your ‘lord and master' that you had died miscarrying. We will have to continue to move cautiously, however, as I do not want us to run into any Ottoman officials asking embarrassing questions, or slavers with sharp eyes."

She sighed. "Thank God they dinna pursue us. But what is the bad news, my love." "Esther Kira is dead."

"Oh, Francis! But then, she was a very old lady—well over a hundred. Well, God assoil her soul. I know she had a great one."

"Aye," he nodded. He was grateful that she assumed age was the cause of Esther's death. It had not been. There had been a sudden fluctuation in the valuation of the Turkish currency. Rumors flew through the city, and the people had deliberately been aroused against the bankers. Old Esther Kira, returning from the palace, where she had been visiting with the sultan's mother, was dragged from her litter and stoned. The following day the value of currency had miraculously returned to normal. By that time, Esther Kira was dead.

The sultan and his mother were lavish in their grief, but no one was ever brought before the kadi for this obvious murder.

The Kiras, however, plainly understood the nature of the warning visited upon them by the death of their matriarch. Asher Kira was told to go on to Italy with his charges, and settle in Rome with his uncle. The main branch of the Kira bank then returned to business as usual, but less conspicuously now, and without royal favor.

There was no need for Cat to know these things. Lord Bothwell did not want to burden his wife with guilt or grief. The worst of their journey lay ahead of them, and she would need all her courage and strength for that. There was no time for weeping. He did ask her if she wanted to communicate with Lateefa Sultan, but Cat decided to wait until they were safely in Italy. Then she would send her Ottoman cousin a special gift—a replica of Cyra Hafise's pendant—along with a letter.

There was no need to tarry in Larissa. The following day they bid farewell to Saul and Abigail and headed upstream to Tricca. As they left, Saul Kira released a pigeon who would fly to Istanbul as a signal that Eli Kira's oldest son had gotten as far as Larissa in safety.

They reached Tricca in two days. Still keeping to the guise of coastal traders they sold their small cargo of Brasa silks to a delighted broker who rarely saw such fine quality. They then loaded their boat with just a small quantity of trade goods for barter. It was unlikely that anyone would inspect the boat and discover that most of its cargo was stones.

They departed Tricca the day after their arrival and slowly began to make their way upstream. As they left the town behind, the river grew wilder and rockier, with little patches of Whitewater rapids. Bothwell and Asher took turns at the helm of the little boat while, from the bow, Cat and Susan alternated in keeping watch of the river ahead. Conall clung to his precarious perch high up on the mast, peering ahead for dangerous waters.

They could not travel at night now. For safety's sake they remained in the middle of the stream, using their sea anchor, and there was always a watch posted. As the countryside became wilder, less inhabited by fanners and herdsmen, it grew thick with bandits.

Finally they could go no further on the Peneus. They were near the source of its headwaters, and the stream became narrow, shallow, and very rocky. They would now have a two-day trek through the forest in order to reach the Aous River in Illyria, and then a short march to reach the spot where Bothwell and Conall had hidden their boat.

The little boat that had carried them in safety from the heart of the Ottomon Empire was sunk without a trace. Bothwell continued to take no chances.

They were in a vast forest, and it amazed Cat that Francis and Conall were able to find their way. The Earl of Bothwell enlightened his wife by explaining that when they had come through the forest on their way to Istanbul, he had cut small, deep notches into various trees along their route. After nearly a year, the marks were still there.

The woodland with its oak, elm, pine, and birch trees was similar to those found in Scotland. So was the wildlife. They saw deer, bear, wolves, and wild boar as well as fowl and birds of all kinds, most familiar.

They each carried only a small amount of food. There was a pouch of finely ground grain which, when mixed with water, could be boiled and eaten as a cereal, or boiled and then roasted on hot stones to make a cake. A second pouch contained dried figs, raisins, and peaches. Asher had a small brick wrapped in red and silver foil made up of dark, dried leaves which he called "te." Added to boiling water, it made a refreshing amber drink which they found sustaining.

They were all armed. Susan had a dagger. Cat and Asher had both dagger and scimitar. Conall and Bothwell carried, in addition to those weapons, English longbows and arrows.

The first day they walked many miles before making camp. Conall managed to shoot two ducks. Susan and Cat plucked and cleaned them, and stuffed them with dandelion greens and some dried fruit. Bothwell, never able to resist fishing a good mountain brook, managed to catch three trout. It was a satisfying meal.

The following morning they carefully watered the fire down and buried it. They began to walk again. They reached the headwaters of the Aous River by midday, and another hour's march along the waterside brought them to an overgrown but still serviceable road. Stopping for a time to eat some fruit and drink some water, Cat asked about the road.

"Roman," answered Bothwell. "Illyria was a favorite province of the empire. There are two legends regarding its name. The Romans say the name is derived from Illyricus, the son of the Cyclops Polythemus and the sea nymph Galatea. The Greeks, however, claim that Illyricus was the son of Cadmus and Harmonia."

"Why was the province favored, Francis?"

"Because the Illyrians are born fighters—tough, hardy, natural soldiers. The Romans recruited heavily among them. In the third century after Christ the first wave of barbarians hit the empire, and Illyria became the last bulwark of the Roman and Western cultures. Most of the outstanding emperors of that period were Illyrian, elected right on the field of battle by their soldiers. Now, of course, ‘tis just a part of the sultan's vast empire, but there are fewer Turks here because the population of this country turned Muslim when first conquered rather than lose control of their lands. The sultan has firm control of the cities and the lowlands, but here in the mountains the tribes are left to enjoy their ancient autonomy. They pay a high tribute for it…. We'll have to move with caution here. I dinna want to attract any attention."

She looked levelly at him. "Are we in danger?"

"Let us just say I dinna want to run into any bandits. I would say we're safe as long as we keep moving, and as long as it's dark. Fearing pagan taboos, they do not attack at night."

It was midafternoon of the following day when they reached the cave where Bothwell and Conall had hidden their boat. It was still there, the cave entrance well covered and quite undisturbed. They might have dragged the boat to the river then, but Bothwell thought the women looked weary.

"We'll stop and camp here the night," he ordered. "Come morning we'll be fresh, and on our way at first light. Asher, help the women set up camp while Conall and I go hunting for our meal."

They decided to camp within the cave. There would be less chance of their fire being spotted, of wild animals, or of being caught in a sudden rain. Susan cut reeds from the riverbank and bound them to make torches for the cave. With Asher Kira's help she gathered firewood. Asher then left them to try his hand at fishing, and Cat gave her young tiring woman leave to bathe while she finished up within the cave. The lessons she had learned riding the Scots borders with Bothwell served her well now. She built a fire, lay out the cooking gear, and took a jug to the river.

Directly below the cave lay a small crescent-shaped sandy beach which bordered a shallow pool within the river made by an almost circular formation of rocks. Susan bathed in the pool and Cat promised to join her shortly.

Returning to the cave, she placed the jug on a rock ledge so that no one would trip over it, then looked about to see if she had forgotten anything. The fire burned hot in a carefully dug pit. On opposite sides of the fire the iron spit holders were imbedded firmly in the ground, the spit, a wooden spoon, and an iron pot nearby. When the men returned, the women would be ready for them.

Satisfied that she had done her part, Cat was ready to go swimming. Suddenly she heard a high scream of terror from Susan. Without thinking, she ran out of the cave and leaped down the small incline to the beach below. Too late, she realized her mistake. She was weaponless except for a dagger, having left her scimitar in the cave. There was a man on the beach and two more in the water, chasing after Susan, who swam frantically this way and that, trying to escape. The man on the beach turned to face Cat Drawing her dagger, she crouched to meet him.

"The mermaid has a boy companion with her," he called in Turkish to his companions. Cat realized now that they were Ottoman soldiers, and not Illyrian bandits as she had first assumed.

Deepening her voice, Cat shouted, "Leave my sister be! We are loyal citizens of the sultan—may Allah grant him long life! Is this how the sultan's soldiers behave? Attacking helpless travelers?" Her voice rang with scorn.

They looked surprised, and for a moment Cat thought they might leave them in peace. Then one of the men waded from the water and made straight for her. Cat gasped, for the man stood close to seven feet tall. It took all her courage not to break and run. When he was quite close she called out, "Stop! Come no further or I'll slit your belly wide open!"

The giant stopped, eyeing her with some amusement. "I think, my young fighting cock, that you are really in no position to give orders. But my curiosity is aroused. You're not Illyrian, so why are you here?"

"We're from Tricca," answered Cat, "on our way to visit our grandmother, whose second husband is Illyrian. We came up the Peneus with a friend, a river trader. We have been walking for two days now, and our grandmother's house is but a few hours from here. My sister wanted to bathe before going on."

The giant smiled slowly, and a knowing fear clutched Cat. "I am Omar," he said. "A captain with the Illyrian regulars. We have been here in the mountains collecting the sultan's tribute from the local tribes. With Illyrians we must maintain good manners, lest we cause the sultan difficulties. Their women are forbidden contact with us, and we do not molest them. It has been weeks now since my men have enjoyed female companionship. Your sister is very pretty." He turned to his men. "Get the river nymph," he commanded sharply. Then he turned to Cat. "Pretty young men also make good sport," he laughed, jumping forward.

Cat's knife bit into his arm. Omar cursed roundly but kept coming. Several more times she bloodied him, but he kept forcing her backward until she found herself against the embankment below the cave. For a moment they stood still, facing each other. Her heart was beating wildly, and she was panting with fright and exhaustion. She could hear Susan screaming, and she trembled.

She leaped at him but he turned quickly, grunting with surprise as the knife buried itself deep in the muscle of his shoulder. With his good arm he hit her a fierce blow on the side of the head, and she fell to the ground. Her turban and bandanna fell away onto the ground.

There was a moment of silence while the captain removed the knife from his shoulder and dabbed the wound. Then he glanced back at the half-conscious woman at his feet. He shouted his delight. "By Allah! Another woman! A fighting wildcat, but a female!"

Reaching down, he pulled Cat up by the arm and, catching her face between his thumb and forefinger, looked hard at her. "By Allah!" he muttered almost to himself. "You're a beauty! A real little prize."

Numb, she stood quietly as he quickly and expertly stripped her naked. "Allah bless me! My fortune is made," the captain chortled as he ran his hands over her shrinking body. She shivered as feeling began to come back to her. "Easy, my beauty," he said quietly. "You need have no fear of me, and I'll protect you from my men. You're worth more to me as you are than bloodied by them. They'll sate their lust on the other."

She saw with horror that Susan had been dragged from the water and now lay on her back, held by one man while the other prepared to rape her. Her servant's plight roused pity in Cat, pity for the girl who had known only rape and depravity from men, never any tenderness or love. At least I have had that, thought Cat.

"Come!" The voice startled her from her reflections. The giant pulled her a little way down the beach and, sitting, drew her down into his lap. She braced herself for the struggle to come. His laughter rumbled as he saw her face contort with fear. "Don't be frightened, my beauty. I'm not going to force you, though Allah knows you would tempt a holy man. Alas, I have not functioned as a man since a fever took me several months back. Still," and he chuckled again, "I know other ways to make a girl happy. When my men sleep tonight perhaps we'll try some, eh?"

Cat shuddered. "What are you going to do with me?" she asked.

"Why—sell you, woman! Allah! Have you never looked in a mirror? You will bring me a fortune, though whether I can get a better price for you in the open market or from Fatima the procuress I will not know until we reach Apollonia."

Helplessness swept over Cat. Oh, God, she wailed silently! Not again. Then she caught herself. The captain and his two men were not aware that the helpless women they had captured travelled with three men. If she could only keep them here until the others returned, she and Susan had a chance. But once the two soldiers finished amusing themselves with Susan, their captain would want to be on his way. There was only one way to keep him here, and though she shrank from it, she knew she must detain them.

The captain was fondling her breasts. He might be temporarily impotent, but the thought was strong. So much the better. Saying a prayer for the men's quick arrival, Cat made her voice softly innocent and said hesitantly, "I have been a widow two years now, captain, and my husband was a very simple man. What… what …" She stopped. Lowering her eyes as if in confused embarrassment, she giggled nervously. "What did you mean when you said there are ‘other ways' to make a girl happy?" she finished in a breathless rush.

Captain Omar's piglike little eyes narrowed and then began to glitter with anticipatory delight. "A widow for two years? A pretty girl like yourself, and no suitors to play with?"

"I was in mourning, and then my father became ill and my sister and I nursed him until he died. There was no time for suitors," she finished modestly.

"Surely your husband was a lusty man, and showed you many a fine bed trick?"

"Oh, no, captain! My husband was many years my senior. He was a wealthy man when I married him, and father got a very good bride price for me. When my poor husband died, however, he had lost his wealth through poor investments. Had my dear father not taken me back, I should have been destitute."

"You're no virgin still, are you?"

Cat knew she dare not lie. "Oh, no, captain! My husband did his duty by me once weekly."

"Once weekly? Once weekly!" roared the giant. "Allah, woman! If you had been my wife I'd have fucked you three times nightly and double on the sabbath!" He chuckled. "So you were wed to a graybeard who could barely do it, and here you are a lusty, hot young widow, innocent of all the nice things a man can do for a woman to make her feel good. Tell me, my pretty one—would you like me to do some of those things to you now?"

Cat hid her face in the giant's shoulder. Taking coyness for assent, the captain chuckled again, the deep rumbling sound of a pleased tomcat, and ran a thick finger along the line of her tightly closed legs. Cat closed her eyes and concentrated on not screaming.

In the woods, downstream of the river, Asher Kira had heard Susan shrieking. Quickly, but cautiously, he had hurried to investigate. Shocked by the scene before him, the gentle young banker soiled himself. In his youthful fantasies he had imagined the taking of a reluctant woman, but the unpleasant reality of rape terrified him. Gasping for breath, he fought to control his anger and disgust. Reason prevailed. He could scarcely fight off three men alone. Melting back into the thick cover of the undergrowth, Asher Kira set off for Lord Bothwell.

It took him over half an hour, for he moved carefully, marking his trail so he might find his way back easily. He found Conall first, and poured out his story. The Scots captain paled. Grasping the younger man by the arm, Conall pulled him along to the earl. Bothwell's face darkened with rage, and he might have gone crashing back through the underbrush had it not been for the restraining influence of his companions.

"Ye'll nae stop the deviltry now, my lord," said Conall grimly. "What we want is to get them back alive."

Francis did not think that he could bear it. His beautiful, brave Cat was being hurt again! Could the fates not leave them in peace? And he knew in a fury that nearly overcame him, he was going to kill her tormenter himself.

It was almost night as they grimly made their way back to the campsite. Silently observing the beach from the little bluff above it, they saw that the three soldiers had made a fire and were seated about it. Susan was not to be seen, but Cat—still naked—was clasped in the captain's big lap. As they crept closer they could hear the men arguing.

"I don't see why you won't let us have her, captain," said one of the soldiers. "Because you can't do it yourself any more, you deny Mustafa and me."

"You have the other girl, Issa."

"She's unconscious now, captain," whined the soldier. "It's no fun fucking a woman who doesn't move. Let us have a go on Goldenhair. Come on, now. You've never been one to hoard the goods all to yourself."

"You're a pair of fools! This woman is a real beauty! If I don't let you two damage her we'll get a fine price for her in Apollonia. Then you can buy all the women you want. This one you leave alone!"

"We saw what you were doing to her before, captain," said Issa. "Let us do at least that. Aw, hell! She's got such wonderful big tits. I want a feel. Come on, captain! Let us have a little feel."

Captain Omar stood up, dumping Cat, and roared, "No! No! And again, no! You'll bruise the devil out of her. I know you two. You're animals! Fuck the other, and think about how much money this one will bring us when we sell her." Then he plumped himself down again, yanking Cat back into the comparative safety of his massive lap.

Watching from his hidden vantage, Bothwell thanked God she hadn't been raped. Susan, poor lass, had taken the brunt of the brutality. The earl vowed he would do his best to care for her. If they got out of this alive, Susan would never again lack for anything.

Slipping back into the forest, he signaled silently to Conall and Asher to follow him. They reached a small clearing, and Bothwell said quietly, "I think we're well advised to wait until they sleep. We'll each take one of them, but the captain is mine." The two nodded. The earl asked Asher, "Do ye think ye can kill a man, lad?"

Asher Kira nodded. "Yes, my lord, I can. After what I saw them doing to Susan, I can kill one of the men who did it."

The earl smiled grimly, and the three men settled down to wait.

The moonless night grew darker, and gradually the noise from the soldiers died until only snoring broke the stillness. Carefully now they crept up again to the perimeter of the camp. The fire burned low. The three men were all there. The man who should have been on guard slept as noisily as his companions. Bothwell shook his head in wonder. These Turks—alleged to be the world's finest military—were poor soldiers. Instead of sleeping in close formation about the fire, they were scattered—easy prey for man or animal.

The earl nodded to Conall and Asher. Shadowlike the three men stepped from the darkness into the faint glow of the firelight. Methodically they went about their task. A hard hand was clasped quickly about a mouth to stifle the cry while the throat was cut from ear to ear. The two soldiers died swiftly. Captain Omar was left.

A bloodcurdling Scots war cry ripped through the night. The Turkish captain scrambled to his feet, terrified. A quick glance about him told him his companions were dead. Slowly, he turned to face his adversaries. There were three of them—a beardless youth not worth bothering with, and two hardened veterans. Omar was no coward, but he did not like the odds.

"I am Captain Omar of the sultan's Illyrian regulars," he said. "Who are you?"

The tallest of the men stepped forward. "My name matters not, spawn of pig's offal! You will not live long enough to repeat it!"

The insult was enormous, yet the captain was puzzled. "Do I know you, my lord? What is your quarrel with me?" He shifted his weight slightly.

"Do not move, captain," said the tall man. "My young friend has a pistol pointed directly at you. It is primed and ready. If his finger should slip …" He paused and smiled. "Have you ever seen a man die of a bullet wound, captain? A large hole blown clean through his middle? The guts oozing out onto the ground like a string of sausages? Move one step, and you will experience that most exquisite agony."

The giant Turk swallowed hard and glanced over at the boy he had regarded so lightly. Asher Kira glared coldly back. His slender hand was wrapped lightly about a large, evil-looking weapon. He seemed quite familiar with it, even comfortable. Captain Omar stood very still.

Bothwell turned to Conall. "Susan?"

"Alive, my lord," came the choked reply. The weatherworn face, wet with tears, implored him.

"Christ, mon, what sort of human does this to a young girl?" And he tenderly cradled the battered body of his niece in his arms.

"Cat!" The earl's voice called.

She came slowly from behind the captain, still naked. Removing his heavy cloak, Bothwell wrapped her in it. "Asher will take you and Susan to the boat as soon as he and Conall have launched it."

"And you?"

"The captain and I have unfinished business."

"I will stay till it is finished," she stated.

A slow smile crinkled the corners of his eyes. "You were never one to run from danger, were you, my love? Very well then. It would be easier if you had some clothes on, madame. Are there any extra among us?"

Nodding, she said, "I will not be long, Francis," and climbed back up to the cave. Taking Susan's extra undergarments, pants from Asher, and a shirt from Conall, she was able to put together a decent wardrobe. Her own sash and boots were salvageable.

While she dressed, the others pressed Captain Omar's strength into service. They dragged the boat from its biding place and anchored it in the river, just off the beach. Asher Kira waited in it with the injured Susan. Having regained consciousness, she alternated between relief and tears. Conall built up the fire to light the area while the two combatants stripped off shirts and boots.

"Understand me, Turk," said Bothwell. "If I do not kill you, which I intend doing, my captain will do it But because I believe every condemned man has the right to know why he dies I will tell you now that the lady you intended selling into bondage is my wife. The girl your men brutalized is my captain's niece."

Captain Omar let the words slide over him, looking his challenger over. Bothwell was almost as tall as he, but weighed a good deal less. Omar felt confidence swelling through him. He would quickly crush the infidel dog. As for his bandy-legged companion, he presented no threat at all. But it would be wise to dispose of him quickly. Whirling, he turned on the surprised Conall and felled him with a great blow to the head. The Scotsman slid silently to the sand as Cat screamed his name.

Now Captain Omar turned to Bothwell. The two men circled each other, each assessing the other's strength. Their knives flashed in the firelight. Suddenly terrified, Cat knelt by the unconscious Conall, watching and praying.

There was a sudden glint of steel and a reddening wound. Then there was another, and another. The two men fought on, past taunts now, an occasional grunt punctuating the silence. Neither seemed to weary, and the firelight dappled their sweat-soaked bodies. Suddenly the Turk flung aside his knife and leaped at Bothwell, enveloping him in a great bear hug. Bothwell was caught as surely as a rabbit in a snare. He could not struggle, and his knife dropped from his hand. The giant seemed to be squeezing the very life from him.

"Cat!" He managed to gasp. "To the boat, lass! Run!"

He felt a rib crack and struggled harder against both his massive enemy and fast-rising unconsciousness. He knew that if the blackness claimed him he was a dead man. The ignominy of the situation struck at his native pride.

That he, Francis Stewart-Hepburn, should die at the hands of a mindless Turk! Through the roaring in his ears he thought he heard his wife's voice, and it gave him courage. If he died, she was doomed to a living hell.

Scrambling across the sand, Cat picked up first the Turk's knife and then Bothwell's. Legs shaking, she plunged both knives repeatedly into the mountain of flesh that was the Turk, but she could not seem to find a vital spot. Her blows were no more effective than a gnat's bite. But, like the insect, she became a great irritant. Dropping his half-conscious victim, Omar turned on her.

"Woman!" he shouted, and she jumped backwards. He reached for the knives and, disarming her, slapped her several light blows. Terrified for Bothwell, and feeling more helpless than she had ever felt, Cat dropped to her knees. The Turk turned back to the earl. Suddenly a roar tore the stillness. Spinning about, Captain Omar clutched at his middle, a look of pure surprise on his face. He removed his hands slowly to look, then clamped them quickly back over the hole in his belly as a length of pink gut rolled out. But he was not able to contain the blood that poured forth.

Sickened, Cat scrambled away from him, but he kept coming towards her, his hps moving, mouthing words she could not hear. The pink intestines were uncontainable now, spilling between his clutching fingers, blood spurting over her. Beyond him stood Asher Kira, the smoking pistol in his hands. Nearby both Bothwell and Conall lay unmoving on the damp sand.

Horrified, she slowly scanned the scene of carnage in which she had played a leading role. Suddenly Captain Omar crumbled dead at her feet. Terror filling her eyes, she screamed, "Oh, God! No more! No more! No more!"