“Poke ’em first ere ye cut their purses.”
“Aye, I’m doing it, ain’t I?”
“Well, poke ’em harder than that, ye dolt. The first one playing as he’s dead will put a dagger in yer throat.”
‘Then you do it!“
“Nay, get on with ye and stop dawdling. We’ve not got much time.”
“Look at this one. Not a mark on him. He must have looked up to call on God for mercy and drowned himself in last eve’s storm.”
“Blasphemous dolt! Hold tongue or it’ll be cut from ye.”
“All right, all right. It was only a joke.”
“A poor joke, and at God’s expense. If yer not careful, Thaddeus, ye’ll end up with a worm eatin‘ out yer soft parts.”
“Don’t say to me about worms, not and you half-poxed.”
“I’ll pox ye-”
The arguing voices buzzed in Noel’s head like angry bees. His comprehension came and faded, along with his hearing. A dim sense of curiosity enticed him to open his eyes, but they were glued shut and too heavy to bother.
“Ooh, look at this one. A fine ring on his finger, with a diamond even.”
“Let me see.”
“ ’Tis mine. I saw it first!”
“Let go, ye dolt. All we find today be goin’ to the treasury.”
“No fair, I say,” said Thaddeus, his voice a whine. “You don’t have to say all we found. It’s pretty. I want to keep it.”
“And how will ye wear it if all yer fingers be cut off yer hand, eh?”
Noel managed to drag open his eyes. He found himself staring into a man’s dead face, covered with blood dried black from the side of it that had been hewn away. A single brown eye stared sightlessly back at him.
Shock and nausea rose through Noel. With difficulty he held both down and closed his eyes again. Maybe, with luck, he was dead too.
A rustle told him the scavengers were coming closer.
“What’s this then? A pilgrim, do ye think?”
“Aye, George, by the look of him. But pilgrims have slim purses. Go on to the next one.”
“Nay,” said George. “Let’s steal his cloak. It be a fine blue color, and we can sell it for a good price at market. Poke him sharp now.”
“I’m not poking him. You do it.”
“Ye found him.”
“So and I did? You poke him.”
There came an oath and a rustle. Something pointed jabbed Noel hard in the ribs. In spite of his intention to play dead, his eyes jerked open.
Two dwarfs stood peering down at him, their heads looking too large for their ill-proportioned bodies. When he opened his eyes, they cried out and stumbled back. One slipped on the mud and sat down hard on his rump.
“Alive!”
“I warned ye!”
“Get away from him. He’ll go for us.”
“Be quiet, Thaddeus.” With a thump to his companion’s head, the dwarf in a green hood and homespun tunic turned back to Noel and knelt beside him. “No harm to ye, sir. No harm to ye.”
Sense returned to Noel. He was lying on his stomach, with one hand beneath him. His fingers groped stealthily and closed on the hilt of his dagger. All he had to do was draw it quick.
The dwarf in the green hood reached out his hand.
“Be careful, George!”
“Quiet,” said George over his shoulder. “Ye’ll spook him.”
“Even horses bite,” muttered Thaddeus, keeping his distance.
George reached out again, and Noel pushed himself to his hands and knees, bringing out his dagger before he keeled over again. He was as weak as a wet kitten.
He tried to lift his head. It felt incredibly heavy. “Byzantium,” he mumbled.
“What’d he say?” asked Thaddeus, creeping closer.
George pushed back his hood, revealing a shaggy mop of gray-grizzled hair so knotted and tangled it probably hadn’t been combed all year. “I made no sense of it.”
Noel raised his head higher and spat mud from his mouth. It tasted metallic and cold. He spat again. “Byzantium,” he said.
“What?”
“Byzantium,” said George. “Yer a stranger travelin’ far then, good sir, if ye mean yer from Constantinople.”
Noel frowned. “No,” he said. “ Going there. I am going there.”
“Not from here you won’t,” muttered Thaddeus. “He’s right addled, George. I’ll bet he don’t even know his name. Where does he think he is and who was he with, eh? Damned Byzantines all around us, ain’t there?”
Noel rolled himself onto one elbow and sat up. The world spun around him for a moment, then his vision cleared. He found himself looking down a slanted mountainside. Far, far below him spread a wide, flat valley plain that looked green and fertile along a narrow river. Across it to the east, the sun was only a short distance above the horizon, still fiery orange. The sky blazed with pink and silver, and the crisp cool air he sucked into his lungs might have been champagne, so invigorating was it. He felt strength seeping back into his limbs. Twisting his head, he gazed up the rest of the mountain through the blooming branches of a tiny almond tree growing nearby. The peak towered above him, as remote as Olympus. Snow could be seen up there, although from the green tint of the coarse grass and the blooming plant life, he guessed it was spring.
Beautiful, no, breathtaking… if you didn’t look at the twisted, bloody corpses littering the hillside between where he sat and the road above him.
Noel averted his eyes, although his instinct for survival urged him to look quick and closely, study clothing, determine when he was.
Ravens, or possibly buzzards, circled above him in the sky.
He swallowed, making no assessments yet, and looked to the north. Another, lesser hill shaped like a cone shouldered against the flank of the mountain range, with a narrow road scaling its terraced sides to a fortress built of stone. He could see tiled rooftops among the trees and the walls of a town perched precariously upon every available bit of ground on the hill’s slopes.
Noel frowned at the narrow archways and pointed windows. He recognized the architecture as distinctly medieval. The man lying next to him wore a long surcoat split between the legs for riding, and mail armor beneath it.
He turned on the dwarfs. “Where am I?” he demanded. “Quickly. Tell me where I am.”
The dwarfs exchanged troubled glances. Thaddeus, his long face twisted into a grimace, tapped his temple. “Woodly,” he whispered. “Plumb queer in his reason. Let’s kill him and be gone. She’ll be wondering why we’re not back.”
George said to Noel, “This be Mt. Taygetus-”
‘Taygetus!“ Noel rubbed his aching head. ”Impossible. I can’t be that far off the mark.“
Mt. Taygetus was located in Greece, above the plain of Sparta. Constantinople-his intended destination-was probably a good five hundred miles to the east by land, and not much closer by sea. It might as well be a million, for he definitely had landed in the wrong century.
Glancing down at himself, he took a swift inventory. His clothes were torn and muddy, still half-damp. He’d lost one of his sandals, but the rest of his belongings seemed intact. On his left wrist, his LOC had taken on the appearance of a hammered copper bracelet, very broad and heavy. His left arm still ached, with a faint, dull throbbing, reminding him of his nightmarish journey through the time stream.
He shivered. Travel wasn’t supposed to be like that. Even now, just thinking about it made a cold sweat break out across him. He was grateful to be anywhere right now, anywhere but still trapped.
He hesitated, considering the dwarfs, but it had to be asked. “What year?”
Thaddeus stepped back. “Aye, see? He’s mad! Come away, George, and leave him to the wolves.”
George, however, stood his ground. His weathered face turned sly and calculating. “Ye’ve got a heavy purse at yer belt, good sir,” he said. Holding his pointed stick like a spear, he said, “Hand it over with no trouble, and we’ll let ye go. We don’t like Latins here, but we’ve no quarrel with a pilgrim either.”
“George!” growled Thaddeus.
George frowned, but his gaze never left Noel, who turned cold with the realization of danger, real and immediate, right here in his lap.
“Hand it over now,” George said. ‘
The purse hanging at Noel’s belt was the salt Trojan had given him. His money was concealed within his clothing. Noel’s gaze watched both dwarfs while he considered his chances. Although he had his dagger in his hand, to throw it at one of them was to disarm himself and still leave him with a remaining opponent. These men were small and grotesque, but they had the cold, watchful eyes of fighters. Thaddeus held his own dagger in his small hand, and George had the crude spear as well as a knife. Only twenty feet away, a mace lay upon the ground, its sharp steel spikes clotted with dried blood and brain bits. Noel swallowed. If he could create a diversion and break around the dwarfs, he could easily outrun them and reach the weapon. They’d leave him alone then.
Slowly, being careful to make no move that might be misconstrued, Noel unknotted the pouch strings and pulled the salt from his belt. He hefted it a moment in his hand, aware that as soon as he handed it over they would guess the trick. Salt was heavy enough, but it didn’t sit in the hand like money.
“Now, no tricks from ye,” warned George. “Hand it over easy.”
With a quick motion, Noel tossed the salt between them. Both swung involuntarily toward it, and he took advantage of the moment to scramble to his feet and run for the mace, his dagger held ready just in case.
Just as he reached it and crouched down to grasp the handle, an arrow whizzed from nowhere and struck deep into the ground between his hand and the mace. George and Thaddeus howled like jackals behind him, shouting something too fast to comprehend. Noel whirled around with his heart pounding, aware that his knife was no defense against a bowman.
A figure stood on a rocky outcropping some distance away, silhouetted against the sun. Its bow was drawn in readiness, a second arrow nocked and aimed. Noel had the feeling the first shot had been a warning, not a miss. He swallowed, his mouth very dry, and stepped reluctantly away from the mace.
“Don’t stand there gawping, you two dunderheads,” shouted an angry voice in French. A woman’s voice. “Come away!”
Thaddeus ducked his big head and ran obediently. George hesitated, glancing at Noel, then followed. The archer lowered her weapon and slung it across slim shoulders. Jumping down from the outcropping, she met the dwarfs halfway. Her scolding voice carried upon the thin air.
“Out all night like a pair of tomcats. And with what to show for it? A half-dozen money bags, and how many of them full? Demetrius said you were to be back by dawn. Wasn’t it made clear to you?”
“Yes, Elena,” said the dwarfs meekly.
“It were the dark,” said Thaddeus, rolling his eyes soulfully and putting a whine into his voice. “What if their souls had still been lurking about? It be poor luck to rob dead men in the dark, Elena. What if they’d took our spirits with them to hell?”
“Hell is where you belong, all right,” said Elena without softening her tone. “I might have known you would sit about and scare yourselves without someone to watch you. And what about this one? Did I not tell you to make sure they were dead before you searched-”
“We poked him!” said Thaddeus indignantly.
George wasn’t making excuses. His gaze remained on Noel, who was keeping a wary distance and wondering how he could edge away without being noticed.
“He be slippin‘ off,” said George.
Elena’s head came up alertly. She stepped toward Noel with the grace of a gazelle and jumped atop a small boulder to give herself an advantage over him. Pointing an arrow at Noel, she said, “Hold your place, you shivering Byzantine dog, until we give you leave otherwise.”
At least his translator implant was working perfectly. It deciphered every word of her medieval French, despite the Greek accent with which she spoke.
Automatically he rubbed his ringer across a small depression on his bracelet to make sure it was recording everything.
His strongest impression of her was… legs. Slender, firm, curvaceous legs encased in dark green hose went up and up. She stood with them braced apart, boylike, her hands upon her hips. Her shoes were made of cloth, also green, and the tops flared from her slim ankles in a decidedly sexy style. A wide-sleeved shirt of linen belted at the waist and coming down to midthigh covered the rest of her. The drape of it over her breasts, which were as round and firm as apples, left him in no doubt that she wore nothing beneath it. Her low-slung belt supported a knife and a quiver full of arrows. She had hair that was a rich, lustrous auburn, curly and wild, flowing down her back in an uncombed, unbound mane to her waist. Her face looked like something from an old Byzantine portrait, oval with flat cheekbones and a narrow nose. Her lips were full, voluptuous, ripe with promise. Her eyes had a faint slant, like a cat’s. At this distance he could not tell their color, but her skin had the delicate ivory tint of an old cameo.
Gazing at her, Noel almost forgot to breathe. She was gorgeous, feline, untamed. Confused, he cast his mind through dim, preconceived ideas of medieval women: cloistered, draped in narrow gowns to their ankles, locked away in towers.
Elena, however, made him think of Diana, goddess of the hunt. In his mind he reclothed her according to the style of the ancients: a softly draped chiton in purest white, bow arm and right breast bare, standing in a chariot drawn by prancing stallions…
Only right now, she was hunting him. He’d better keep his mind on saving himself.
“Look,” he said, spreading out his hands to indicate peaceful intent. “I’m a-a pilgrim, a traveler. I’m on my way to Constantinople, and I-”
She spat at him. “Liar! I know your Byzantine tricks. You will say anything, do anything to save your pathetic skin. Last night we showed you that we want none of you here!”
“I had no part in the battle-”
“Why not? Did you scuttle for cover at the first charge?” she asked with scorn that was like the rake of fingernails. “Are you a pilgrim, or perhaps a scribe following at Lord Theodore’s heels like a trained dog to write his letters for him?”
Thaddeus barked and howled, throwing himself upon the ground and rolling about.
Hot-cheeked, Noel made no answer. She was dangerous in this mood. The wrong word from him could send an arrow flying to his chest. If he was going to get out of this situation, he’d better make them understand that he was no part of what happened last night.
“This… Theodore you mention,” he said carefully, “is a stranger to me. I am a traveler alone. I-”
“No one is stupid enough to come through our mountains alone,” she said with a harsh laugh. “Have you not heard of the Milengi? Do you not fear us?”
He didn’t answer. He’d never heard of the Milengi. Right now his fingers were itching to access the memory store of his LOC and get some answers, but he had to wait.
“The whole Peloponnese fears our tribe!” she boasted. “And Taygetus is ours. You cannot travel here without our permission.”
“Then I beg your pardon,” said Noel, although it was hard to force the apology from his mouth. Own the whole mountain range indeed. “How do I get permission? It’s important that I reach the city of-”
“Silence! We are not stupid. We cannot be fooled by such an obvious lie.”
“I’m not lying!” he shouted back. “George tells me I’m a good month’s journey off my destination. So I’m lost. That’s all. I got caught in last night’s mess by accident. I am alone.”
She studied him a moment, and the contempt deepened in her gaze. “You are not only a liar, but a coward as well. And this is the kind of man that is sent to rule over us. Hah! You are as pathetic as your master. If you think you can mew about being lost and have us believe that, you must think again, Byzantine. You will be taken to our camp, where you will join your wretched companions. What will they think about your attempt to desert them, eh?”
Snapping her fingers, she said, “George, Thaddeus, quickly!”
Alarmed, Noel spun around to face the dwarfs who came at his back. Thaddeus swung at him with his dagger. Noel feinted, engaging with a swiftness that struck sparks between the two blades, and sent the dwarf’s weapon spinning through the air. It was a trick Noel had learned from a seasoned Roman centurion on one of his past travels. He swung to deal with George, but from behind him Elena snatched a cloak off the nearest corpse and flung it over Noel’s head. Blinded by the garment, Noel struggled to yank it off, but before he could succeed, she pinned his arms in a bear hug. She was stronger than she looked. Cursing himself for letting her get behind him, Noel thrust his foot behind Elena’s and nearly succeeded in tripping the girl, who was shouting for the dwarfs to help her.
Noel whipped around, throwing Elena off balance. He broke her grip and freed one arm. Twisting sharply, he shoved her away from him and was pulling the cloak off his head when she kicked him hard in the groin.
The resultant pain was like an explosion. Choking, he doubled over and they swarmed him. While he wheezed, struggling to regain his strength, his three opponents succeeded in binding a cord about his arms and chest, leaving him semi-helpless and completely blind in the suffocating folds of his cloak.
“Now,” said Elena breathlessly, her voice hard with determination. “We take him to camp and put him with the rest of the Byzantine dogs.”
“No,” said Noel furiously, his voice muffled within the cloak. The smell of old sweat and blood nearly choked him. “Please, you must listen to me. My uncle is a cloth merchant, a dyer. He sent me here in search of alum.”
“Get him moving,” said Elena, not listening. “We have a long walk ahead of us.”
“Look, you don’t understand,” said Noel in rising desperation. “I don’t belong-”
Something narrow and hard walloped him across the ribs, and he yelped. Once the agony stopped pulsing through him, and he could catch his breath again, he suspected she had hit him with her bow. His temper burned, but even as*he spun clumsily around, blinded and disoriented beneath the cloak, he had no way to express it, no way to reach her. And a cautious corner of his brain warned him that she might kick him again if he tried anything. The lady played dirty.
Jeering, the dwarfs spun him around and around until he staggered with dizziness.
“You will be quiet,” said Elena, “and you will give us no trouble. One quick push and you break your neck falling down the mountain. Understand?”
He was an observer, not a participant. He had no part in the events happening here. He could not afford to tamper with history, not in the slightest way. But he vowed that as soon as his hands were free he was going to put them around this little amazon’s pretty neck.
“Do you understand?” she repeated.
“Go to hell.”
“He understands,” said George.
The dwarfs laughed merrily, and Elena laughed with them.
“Move him along,” she said. “When Sir Magnin comes, we can tell him that not one whoreson got away.”
She sounded far too pleased with herself. Caught by a woman and two dwarfs as easily as a greenhorn, thought Noel. Not only was his pride and body bruised, but he’d already flunked his training in how to avoid capture, arrest, and seizure.
Training class, he thought in exasperation, didn’t cover female Greek bandits.