Pawn in Frankincense - Dorothy Dunnett [313]
‘Stay still, Kuzúm,’ said Philippa. To Jerott, frozen on his horse she said, her voice steady, ‘Tell him we shall pay him for the child, and he may go free.’
Jerott translated. Behind him, all fighting had stopped. He could hear footsteps running towards him which slowed and then, as the delly gestured, stopped altogether. Lymond’s, he guessed. The delly said, broken teeth shining, ‘No. You kill: you take money back. You give me the pony.’
Lymond’s voice said, still half-winded, ‘Get off and give him the pony.’ He was closer than Jerott had thought. ‘Tell him once he is on the pony, we shall pay for the child, alive. He can throw the boy down.’
‘How much?’ said the delly.
Jerott risked a quick glance behind. The building still burned. Before it, Archie stood sword in hand beside the spreadeagled bodies of the two other dellies, Marthe a little behind him. A few yards away Lymond was standing, still breathing quickly, the sweat shining bright on his cheekbones and inside the open neck of his shirt. As Jerott watched, he put his hand within the torn lawn and brought out the flat deerskin purse of Venetian zecchini, the last of their money. He shook it, so that the delly could gauge the weight from the sound, and poured a few coins into his palm, and then back. ‘All of that. Get off, Jerott.’ He added in English, ‘Get the boy when he mounts.’
It was touch and go, but greed won. Jerott dismounted and the delly, stretching an arm, caught the reins and drew the pony towards him. Then eyeing them all, he set the child in the saddle and began to swing up behind him, knife in hand just as Lymond flung him the purse. It fell short, rolling jingling on the rough ground, the gold jumping and sparkling and the delly, aghast, stopped for a flickering second.
In the same second, Jerott threw himself at the horse. The delly’s knife flashed and a line of red sprang across Jerott’s right hand. Then he had Kuzúm’s solid flesh in his hands, and ducking back, had rolled with him out of reach. For one wistful moment the man hesitated, his eyes on the gold on the ground. Then, seizing the pony again, he mounted and threw it into a gallop.
Lymond, running flat out, flung himself at him. Trying to tear Kuzum’s sobbing stranglehold on his neck, Jerott knew only too well why. One man escaped would bring the whole pack down on them. And they were now two horses short. Jerott tore free and, side by side with Archie, raced after the delly.
Lymond’s jump, a little misjudged, had been short. He had done what he could to redeem it, clinging with one hand to the back of the saddle, dragging the horse with his weight while, knife in hand, he tried to dislodge the rider. Steering with his knees, the delly had turned and with both arms was trying to hammer him off. At Zuara, Lymond had jumped like this and mastered his balance in a matter of moments but now, watching them fight, Jerott saw that, clinging one-handed, Lymond was not succeeding in bettering it and, indeed, would be forced to drop unless he used his knife soon. Then he saw a spark of silver jerk through the air, and knew that the delly had kicked the knife from Lymond’s free hand.
There was only one thing left for Lymond to do, and he did it. Closing both arms like a vice round the rider’s thick body, he dragged him with him out of the saddle, and between the horse’s hooves to the ground.
Far behind, Archie and Jerott saw them roll over and over, and then Lymond on top stumble to his feet and, bending, seize the half-conscious delly by the hair. He had no weapons, but there was no shortage of rocks. By the time Jerott came up, with Archie racing behind, there was very little to see of the landscape, rock, grass, earth or straggling weed, which was not crimson with blood.
His brow stiff with difficult lines, Jerott looked up at Lymond. Unhurt, so far as he could judge, but splashed, shirt, doublet and forearms,