Race of Scorpions - Dorothy Dunnett [120]
‘Mine,’ said the man. ‘I have the brains. Lay down your sword and get me the last horse. Where is the third man?’
‘Behind you,’ said the calm voice of Nicholas. ‘You cut the throat of the bald man, and I’ll take your head off with my sword. We can do it at the same time, if you like. If you don’t like, drop your knife.’
He dropped it. He thrust Tobie sprawling in the same movement and, whirling round, drew sword on Nicholas as if he were not outnumbered three to one. For a moment, Astorre was too far away to help him, and Tobie immobilised. Nicholas said, ‘Don’t be a fool!’ and parried a wild sword-thrust, frowning. The blades clattered. Nicholas parried again, and again. Astorre said peacefully, ‘That’s enough,’ and stepped forward.
It distracted Nicholas for a moment. He turned his head, still frowning, and said, ‘No!’ The killer’s sword flashed towards his exposed body. Tobie exclaimed. And Astorre, with the speed of a veteran, sprang forward, sent the man spinning, and before he could be stopped, plunged his blade in his throat. Nicholas looked at him, gasping, and swore.
Astorre withdrew his sword, wrenched some grass up, and wiped it. ‘He would have killed you,’ he remarked. ‘What did you want him for? A long, nasty trial and a hanging?’
‘Yes,’ said Nicholas.
‘I could have saved the other fellow for you, then, if you’d reminded me,’ said the captain reproachfully. ‘I just got carried away.’
‘He didn’t want to remind you,’ said Tobie.
Nicholas was staring at him. Nicholas said, ‘I was tracking olive oil all over the yard, and had just found this fellow about to cut your God-damned wimple. How could I yell without giving away where I was?’
‘I don’t believe you,’ said Tobie. ‘I think you got what you wanted.’
‘Well, you know best,’ Nicholas said. ‘Three positive kills and two blunders: I missed Katelina and Diniz. Never mind. By now, Loppe will have finished them off.’ His voice was bitter.
Tobie stood motionless. Astorre gave a cackle, bending to pick up his helmet. ‘Lost your sense of humour, Master Tobie? The boy saved your life for you, there. Not but what you did a good job. Quite a good job. It did us a bit of good, having you with us.’
‘I suppose it did,’ said Nicholas, relenting suddenly. ‘Oh, come on, Tobie. Danger stirs everyone up, you know that. Let’s get back to the others, and you can prescribe something to sweeten our tempers.’
They brought the bowmen back on the last horse and met, on the way, a detachment of cavalry sent to help them. Remounted, they turned and rode back to the valley together. By then, the Knights had already found the ravine, and brought victims and bereaved to high ground. Laid on shields, the body of Tristão Vasquez was set to make its last journey on horseback. Beside him his son, his swollen foot bound, dumbly shared a horse with his uncle’s wife Katelina. Around them, torches blazing, the rest of the searchers were assembling for the journey back to their fort and the City. Primaflora watched Nicholas come, her eyes and her face speaking for her. Katelina, her face bleak, addressed him. ‘You didn’t find the men who murdered Tristão? Or you found them, and they were dead?’
‘We killed them,’ said Nicholas. ‘Before they could tell us who had paid them, or where the other two are.’
‘I thought you might,’ Katelina said. ‘Are you satisfied?’ The boy, sitting before her, turned his head.
Nicholas mounted. Without his dress, he had nothing to wear but hose and boots and a light sleeveless jerkin. He looked dirty and cold. He paused for a moment, his hands holding the reins and the pommel, before he lowered himself in the saddle. He turned his face to the boy. He said, ‘Diniz? None of us harmed your father, or tried to harm you. You will be told otherwise. You must take what precautions you wish, but that is the truth.’
The boy stared back at him. Was there