Race of Scorpions - Dorothy Dunnett [117]
‘No!’ said Primaflora. Already mounted, Nicholas looked at her and she said, ‘If something goes wrong, you will be blamed.’
‘Astorre will be with me,’ Nicholas said. He looked amazed.
‘And me,’ said Tobie. He rose from beside Katelina, who was stirring, and made at a run for his horse. ‘Why is nobody blowing a horn?’ He got into the saddle at the same time as Astorre and they both followed Nicholas, already setting his horse towards the quickest way out of the ravine. Behind them all, the soldier’s horn blared. That would bring help. And now, away from the water, Tobie’s ears picked up the sound of horses not far away, galloping. Only two of them. The sound was receding. He set himself to catch up with Nicholas, who was following it.
It was now almost dark. They carried their torches unlit: the danger of unknown ground was less than the risk of a bowshot. The men ahead, invisible against rising ground, had the advantage of knowing the territory. It was odd that Nicholas had left behind the only man familiar with the whole island. It was not odd, if Nicholas didn’t want Primaflora’s soldier to meet the murderers of Tristão Vasquez and learn who had paid them.
But in that case, why not let the killers escape? Why ride like this, crazily crashing through vineyards, between dimly-seen olives, into streams and through trenched plantations? Once, Nicholas hadn’t even known how to ride, until Astorre taught him. Astorre, galloping now at his side, would raise no objection no matter what Nicholas did: his fool boy, his villainous boy; his successful boy. On the other hand, the same boy had let Tobie come, and Loppe stay. Loppe, now stationed behind with Katelina and Diniz. But then, the soldier was there also, with Primaflora. Nothing could happen, surely.
A tree loomed, and Tobie swerved. He could hear Astorre cursing, with an undernote in it of pleasure. They seemed to be gaining. And there were only two horses ahead, and three of themselves. Nicholas was still in front. Tobie had no idea what the man was going to do. Just now, Nicholas had seen Tristão dead, and Katelina supposedly dead, and had given away nothing, unless you counted a certain coarsening of his voice. In the cave, calling to Loppe, he had betrayed something real. It had sounded like fear. Was it fear? Was it fear that was driving him on, not some knightly compulsion to punish? For of course, one must not forget that Nicholas was now a member of an order of chivalry, sworn to uphold Christianity, honour, and the Queen of Cyprus. Nicholas was a Knight and, dressed as Guinevere, was riding across the island of Rhodes preparing to kill somebody.
They were getting very close now, and their quarry’s cover was patchy. Occasionally, against a patch of pale rock or stubble, Tobie could see the two horses flying ahead, and the dull glint of helmets. They must know, now, that they couldn’t escape. Black on indigo, a stand of pines loomed ahead, and beyond that, the broken outline of what might have been primitive buildings. The killers’ horses disappeared into the trees, and the beat of their hooves became muffled and irregular. Then, sharp and clear, the beat resumed again on the far side. Bursting through the trees after, they glimpsed the horses ahead. Astorre said sharply, ‘Slow!’
Nicholas had already reined in. Clear and light, they all heard the patter of receding hooves. Clear and very light. Astorre said, ‘That’s an old trick. They used the trees to dismount, and let the horses lead us on without them. They’re here somewhere. We’ll catch them. They can’t get far without horses.’
‘They could always seize ours,’ Nicholas said. ‘They have bows. So what do you think we should do?’ With Astorre, Nicholas was always meticulous.
‘Right,’ said the captain. ‘They need cover, and they want us out in the open. They’re either still in the wood, or over there in those buildings. I need a volunteer.’
‘I knew you would,’ Nicholas said. ‘Stay with Tobie, then. If I don’t report back, you can keep my dress.’ He had dismounted.