The clatter of four horses' hooves over the broken paving stones of the
Appian Way rang in Daoud's ears. He heard shouts behind him as the men
from the Ox's Head organized a pursuit. And beside him the old man, held
erect by Celino's powerful arm, groaned again and again as the wild ride
jolted his stomach wound. His legs dangled lifelessly on either side of
the horse.
Daoud looked over his shoulder and saw that the boy was keeping up,
riding next to Celino. His robes were hiked up and his skinny, bare legs
gleamed in the faint moonlight. Daoud could hear him sobbing loudly, in
time with his father's groans, as the horses pounded onward.
Glancing over at Sophia, on his right, he saw that she was stiff in the
saddle, like one not used to riding, and the moonlight showed her lips
tight and her jaw clenched. But she rode hard and made no complaint. She
sat astride, wearing trousers under a divided skirt. Daoud felt himself
admiring her. So far the woman had proved no burden. Celino had caused
trouble, but not she.
Glancing quickly again at her profile, outlined by moonlight, he
realized with a start that she reminded him of a face he had not seen in
many years. Nicetas. She had the same high forehead and long, straight
nose. Her mouth was fuller, but her lips had the chiseled shape of
Nicetas's lips. Nicetas. Even amid this moment's perils sorrow gripped
his heart for the one who was lost and could never be recovered.
As if she sensed him looking at her, Sophia turned her face toward him,
but this put her face in shadow, and he could not make out her
expression. He shrugged and looked away.
He rode with one hand holding the arbalest across the saddle in front of
him, the other on the reins, guiding his mount. The horses Manfred had
given them ran well, aided a little by the high crescent moon. Daoud
tried to maneuver his small party to skirt dark patches in the road
where there might be holes in the pavement that could trip them.
The cries of the pursuers were louder, and Daoud heard hoofbeats behind
them. He looked back and saw a dark cluster of horsemen rushing down the
road. Five or six men, he guessed. There could not have been many more
horses than that stabled at the inn.
He felt no fear for himself. The country might be strange to him, but
riding and fighting in darkness were not. But his stomach tensed with
worry about the four people with him. One of them was already badly
hurt. Could he get them away safely? They were in his care now, and it
was a duty.
Celino was the only one of his charges who could look out for himself.
And he, thought Daoud angrily, was the one who had least deserved to
survive.
_But he is carrying half the accursed jewels._
_If we survive this, it might be best for me to kill Celino._
As they rode on, Daoud kept glancing over his shoulder. Their pursuers
were gaining on them. Celino's horse, carrying two riders, was holding
Daoud's party back. But that meant the men from the inn would soon be
within the arbalest's short range. He had only three bolts left in the
box under the stock. He wished he had a heavy Turkish bow, the kind he
had used at the battle of the Well of Goliath. Almost as powerful as a
crossbow, it was easier to handle on horseback and would shoot much
farther.
_Now they will see how Mamelukes fight._
His eyes were now completely adjusted to the faint moonlight. The road
took them into a deep pine wood. They splashed through a puddle in a low
place, then clambered up a slope.
Down the other side. At the bottom of the next slope, Daoud twisted
around in the saddle. Letting go of the reins and guiding the horse with
his knees, he aimed the crossbow at the top of the hill. When the first
rider came over the crest, clearly visible in the moonlight, Daoud
pressed the catch with his thumb and released the bolt. An instant later
the man fell without a sound.
He told himself a warrior of God should not rejoice at the death of an
enemy, but he could not help a small surge of satisfaction at his good
shooting.
Daoud cranked the string back and another bolt snapped into place. He
hit the next man on the downslope. It was a harder shot, and this man
did not die instantly but toppled screaming out of the saddle.
After glancing forward to make sure of the road ahead, Daoud turned
again and saw that the three remaining men had stopped, their horses
milling around the fallen men. They would give up pursuit now, Daoud was
sure of it. Doubtless none of them had any real weapons, and they could
not contend with a crossbow.
He felt his lips stretch in a grin, and he sighed deeply with relief. He
had been more worried than he realized.
He and his companions topped another hill, and when he looked back again
their pursuers had disappeared below its crest.
Daoud raised his hand and called out, "Slow down to a trot. No one seems
to be following us. We can be easier on the old man and the horses."
"And on Scipio," Celino said, pointing down to a great shadow racing
with them along the side of the road. Daoud could hear the hound panting
and his claws drumming on the paving stones. He wondered how long Scipio
could keep up with galloping horses, then reminded himself that this was
a hunting dog. Scipio could probably outrun horses.
"Soon the Appian Way will take us to the old walls of Rome," said
Celino. "The watchmen there would question us. But we can go off to the
left toward the Tiber and skirt the city."
_And because Celino knows such things, I cannot kill him. But I must see
to it that he never again does anything like this to endanger us._
As they rode on, Daoud realized that the old man had stopped moaning. He
heard Celino whispering something that sounded like a prayer.
"How fares the old man?"