Race of Scorpions - Dorothy Dunnett [118]
The rain had stopped. The trees rustled. Where Nicholas had gone, he could see nothing but flat ground interrupted by indeterminate objects and, in the distance, a huddle of shapes which seemed to include a low oblong edifice like a shed. Astorre, a stout pine trunk at his back, had his sword in one hand and his shield and reins in the other. Outside the grove, the wind whirred through the heath and thornbushes and whined among the buildings before them.
The whine was fast and high, and ended in a thud. It was not the wind, but an arrow arriving. A flock of them followed. They came from the rectangular shadow, and sprayed the ground between the watchers and the buildings. No one called out, and there was no sign of Nicholas. Tobie said, ‘Are the bowmen inside the shed?’
‘If they’re stupid enough. Fools!’ said Astorre. ‘They might as well surrender.’
Tobie said, ‘They’ve spotted Nicholas, then.’
Astorre’s head swivelled round. ‘Heh? That’s why he’s there, to be spotted. Tie the horses, and let’s go and find him.’
Nicholas found them first, reappearing to crouch bare-armed and bare-headed in the dark beside Astorre. He was breathing quickly but, like Astorre, merely critical. ‘They’re in the byre. Mud bricks, reed thatch, double doors and one window they’re using to shoot through. It’s the only intact building. The farmhouse is a ruin. There’s a well, a broken waterwheel, and a crushing trough. Someone’s still using the place for the olive harvest. Captain?’
Astorre said, ‘Exhaust their arrows. They’ll have to surrender.’
Tobie said, ‘Why don’t we wait for the Knights?’
No one appeared to hear him. ‘All right,’ Nicholas said to Astorre. ‘But even then, they won’t want to come out.’
‘There are ways of dealing with that,’ Astorre said.
‘So there are,’ said Nicholas. They both sounded happy. Nicholas said, ‘Tobie? Do you want to stay, or do you want to ride back for the Knights?’
Tobie said, ‘I should prefer to stay.’ His wimple, rising, interfered with his chin. He saw Nicholas was looking at him, but couldn’t decipher his expression. Nicholas said, ‘All right. All the better. We are three to their two: seeing that, they won’t be likely to rush out until they’ve had a shot at picking off at least one of us. We’ll draw their fire. All you have to do is show yourself now and then so that they know you’re still there. But be careful. These bows have a long range, and you’re bound to be within it.’
‘I’ll be careful,’ said Tobie.
He saw a brief gleam from Astorre’s decayed teeth. ‘That’s my boy,’ said Astorre. It annoyed Tobie to be Astorre’s boy as well.
Nicholas said, ‘And, Captain?’
They were moving away. ‘Yes?’ said Astorre.
Nicholas said, ‘I want them alive. Alive. Alive. Do you hear me?’
‘Of course,’ said Astorre’s voice. Its tone was professionally reassuring.
Tobie was now alone. Wherever Nicholas and Astorre had gone, he couldn’t see them. From the byre and its surroundings no sound emerged: the arrows had stopped. It became again very quiet. Somewhere in the muddy darkness, a channel of water was trickling, and even further off, a donkey brayed and went on mournfully hooting. A gust of wind shook the trees, and Tobie shivered. The Loathly Damsel’s tunic hampered his movements. He tied it up and, picking up his shield and his sword, moved from bush to bush, his shield-arm protective. He almost missed the hiss of the arrow when it came. It tipped his shield and bounced harmlessly off. Before it reached the ground he was running, throwing himself into the shelter of something solid and cold, that gave off a strong reek of olives. The crusher. He lay there, getting his breath back, and immediately heard the whicker and thud of arrows beginning again. He stiffened. This time, it came from some distance away. Astorre, or Nicholas, had diverted