Читать книгу In the Tudor Court Collection - Amanda McCabe - Страница 16

Their ships were sailing in precise formation. After weeks of talking and delay, Don John of Austria had given his orders and a mood of elation had spread throughout the fleet.

‘At last we shall have some action,’ Michael said to Lorenzo, when he came on board for a meeting. I had begun to think we should spend the autumn in wasted argument again.’

‘This venture has been blessed by the Pope and we have a very capable commander in Don John. I believe that this time something good will happen.’

‘I pray you are right,’ Michael answered, looking thoughtful.

‘There will be no more talk of turning back. If our information is correct, the Turks are settled for the winter at Lepanto.’

‘Unless they retreat to Constantinople.’

It was a question their spies had been unable to answer for certain as yet, but if luck was with them they would catch their quarry at Lepanto.

‘I must return to my own galley,’ Michael said when their meeting had finished. He looked at his commander, noticing the shadows beneath his eyes. It seemed to him that Lorenzo had suffered some sleepless nights and he wondered what had caused them, for he knew that Lorenzo did not fear battle. However, he was wise enough not to mention it. ‘God be with you, my friend.

‘And with you,’ Lorenzo replied. ‘God protect us all if it comes to a battle.’

It was the first time he had ever replied in that way. There was a difference in Lorenzo. Michael had noticed it more often of late, though as yet he was uncertain as to what it meant.

Lorenzo woke from the dream with the images still fresh in his mind. At first he had been in a house—in a room. It was a room he knew well and filled with things he admired, in particular a banner of gold and a suit of black armour.

He had not dreamed of the house before. Always his dream was of a beach and a youth struggling against the men who finally succeeded in capturing him. Yet perhaps that particular dream was real. Perhaps it was a memory of the day he had been taken. If that were so, then all the other things he half-remembered might also be true.

Shaking his head to clear away the lingering thoughts, he left his cabin to join the men. It was a calm clear night and the news had come earlier that day. Their information had proved true. The enemy was at Lepanto, and it was said that they were in some difficulty. There were stories of plague aboard their ships and large numbers of dead, which had left them short of slaves at the oars. If this too was true, it would give the League the advantage they needed against the superior numbers of the Turks.

Lorenzo was eager for the battle to begin. Like all those who lived and sailed under the banner of Venice, he was angry at the way the enemy had attacked and pillaged Cyprus, but more than this was his desire to have an end to this conflict. Only then would he be free to return to Kathryn.

Kathryn awoke, got up and went over to look out of the window of her bedchamber. It was a beautiful sunny day, the sky a perfect cloudless blue. She had promised to spend it with her friends, and she knew it would be a pleasant day. The only cloud on her horizon was the lack of news from Lorenzo.

He had warned her not expect any messages from him. ‘We shall be moving constantly,’ he had told her, ‘and there will be no way of sending you letters, my love—but you will know that you are always in my heart.’

Kathryn wondered if he was thinking of her now. She had dreamed of him, but the dream had been the old one, where she was swept away from him by an unstoppable tide of water, and she did not want to remember it.

If only she knew what he was doing, and if he was safe! If anything should happen to him now…but she would not let herself dwell on such things. Lorenzo had promised to come back to her and she would hold fast to that thought.

Lorenzo was in command of his own fleet. It was his condition for joining the League and it gave him the freedom to manoeuvre as he would. He had decided to stay close to Don John’s personal ships, for he believed the overall commander to be not only a man of sense, but also a brilliant strategist.

On most of the galleys the men were chained to their oars, lashed by the bosun’s whip to make them work. Lorenzo’s men were free to choose. They had been trained to obey his orders to the letter, and though they could be punished for disobedience, they were more likely to be rewarded for bravery. Any prizes they took would be sold and divided amongst them.

A mass had been held throughout the fleet and everyone accepted that the battle was near. The Turkish fleet had been sighted and the nearest guess they had was that there were some three hundred vessels, the majority of them fighting galleys.

‘They are spread out across the gulf,’ Lorenzo said to Michael just before he returned to his own galley that morning. ‘It will be a hard-won fight, my friend.’

‘But we shall prevail!’

‘If we have faith in our own ability.’

‘Listen to that!’ Michael said as the sound of strange music floated across the sea from the enemy ships.

By contrast, the combined fleet of the League was silent. The atmosphere was intense, dedicated, as if every man was prepared to die for the cause.

‘Go to your men,’ Lorenzo said his expression set. ‘This day shall be remembered for all time.’

They were closing on the enemy now. The decks of the Turkish galleys were packed with men in rich clothes and wearing jewels; they were Janissaries and served the Sultan. Amongst them crouched the archers, their deadly weapons poised and ready to inflict the maximum harm.

The League was heavily outnumbered and no one knew better than Lorenzo what fierce fighters the Turks were. Amongst them, he did not doubt, were the ships of his enemy Rachid.

On board the Turkish ships the Janissaries were shouting and screaming, crashing cymbals and firing as the two fleets converged, hoping to confuse and scatter the League’s ships. But the League held firm, waiting for the signal from their commander, which came in the end along with a change in the wind.

Suddenly the odds had altered. Now they were in favour of the League. It seemed that God was with them.

Kathryn could not rest. She had heard no news of Lorenzo for weeks and the waiting was at times unbearable. She had always known that it might be months before he returned to her, but she had hoped that there might be some news before this.

‘It is the uncertainty I find so distressing,’ Kathryn said to Elizabeta as they sat together at their sewing. ‘Every day I expect that we may hear something, but there has been no word.’

Elizabeta nodded, stretching to ease her back. She was in the early stages of childbearing, though as yet it was hardly noticeable.

‘My husband has contributed to the League’s funds, as all men of conscience must,’ she said. ‘But I must tell you, Kathryn, that I am relieved he takes no part in this war. I know it must be very worrying for you.’

‘I try not to be anxious,’ Kathryn told her. ‘Lorenzo promised that he would return to me and I must believe that.’

‘Yes, of course,’ Elizabeta said and smiled. She showed Kathryn the exquisite embroidery she was doing for her baby’s shawl. ‘I am sure he will return to you in time. After all, this is not the first time your husband has fought his enemies.’

‘No, that is true.’ Kathryn laid her sewing aside as she heard voices in the hall and then Veronique came into the salon with their visitor. ‘Paolo,’ she said and stood up to greet him. ‘It is good to see you.’

‘I knew you would be anxious for news,’ he said. ‘I came as soon as I heard—it seems that the League has won a great victory over the Turks.’

‘A victory!’ Kathryn could not keep the delight from her voice, her eyes lighting up from inside. ‘I am so very pleased. But what else have you heard?’

‘There have been casualties on both sides,’ Paolo said carefully. He had heard that they were heavy, but did not wish to frighten her. ‘They say that Don John’s strategy was brilliant, but there was hard fighting. It was not won easily, surging this way and that, but the Turkish commander was killed and that helped to carry the day. Also, it is said that, on board the Turkish ships, the galley slaves broke free of their chains and joined in the fighting against their cruel masters.’

‘You have no other news…for me?’ She looked at him eagerly.

‘I cannot tell you that Lorenzo is safe, Kathryn, for I do not know. But some of our ships may return soon and then we may learn more.’

‘Yes, I understand,’ Kathryn said. She was on fire with impatience to discover more, but knew she must control her feelings. ‘It was good of you to come and tell me.’

‘I knew you would be anxious,’ he said. ‘As soon as there is more news I shall tell you.’

Kathryn thanked him. She invited him to stay and take some wine with them, but he said that he had other calls to make.

‘Well,’ Elizabeta said after he had gone. ‘Paolo brought good news, Kathryn. If the Turks are defeated, it means that the war is over, and that means Lorenzo should soon be on his way home to you.’

‘Yes.’ Kathryn smiled, her heart racing with excitement. ‘I do hope so, Elizabeta. I cannot wait to have him home again.’

The battle against the Turks was won for the moment. Lorenzo did not doubt that they would grow strong again in time, but it had been a fierce fight and for the moment the enemy could do nothing but slink away to lick its wounds, which meant that these seas would be that much safer.

Lorenzo had lost three of his galleys in the battle of Lepanto. Crews from other ships had rescued some of the men, though inevitably some had been lost. At least his crew had chosen to fight of their own free will, which was not the case for all. However, they had captured several rich prizes, and that meant the men would be well rewarded for their work.

‘What will you do next?’ Michael asked as he came on board Lorenzo’s personal galley. ‘Are you returning to Rome at once?’

‘Those galleys that have sustained damage should head for Sicily and make what repairs they can before returning home,’ Lorenzo said. ‘It is my intention to escort them there and to visit with Lord Mountfitchet for a few days before I return to Rome.’

Michael inclined his head. ‘And what would you have me do?’

‘Take the rest of the fleet back to Rome. Stay there until I return if you will, Michael. I shall be a week or so behind you. When I come, we shall discuss the future.’

‘Is it in your mind to change things?’

‘I am not yet certain of my plans. I will know more when I have spoken to Lord Mountfitchet. I may return to England, at least for a while.’

‘Return to England?’ Michael looked puzzled. ‘Was that country once your home?’

‘Did I say that?’ Lorenzo frowned. ‘I meant that I might take Kathryn to her home for a visit.’

He spoke with Michael for a little longer, and then they parted company. He was thoughtful as he gave the order to the stricken galleys. It would be safer if they travelled as a group, for they were vulnerable. However, his own galley was not damaged and he would be their escort to Sicily. And then…

What did he expect to learn from Lord Mountfitchet? Lorenzo was uncertain, but his dream had haunted him for a while now. In it he saw two young people on a beach. The youth told the girl to run and fetch help while he fought the men who sought to capture them…and there was also a picture of a house and a man the youth had called father. There were other things coming to him now, things that seemed so real that he could not think them dreams, and yet he was afraid to call them memories.

Was it possible that Charles Mountfitchet was his father? Or had Lorenzo simply taken things that Kathryn had told him and made something from them? Were these flashes that came into his mind at times true memories or merely imagination? It seemed unlikely that he could be Richard Mountfitchet, and yet of late something had been telling him that he must speak of his thoughts.

Kathryn would be waiting for him in Rome, but it would mean a delay of no more than a week or so, and he had a feeling that it was important for both of them that he should speak to Charles.

Kathryn was in the garden, picking flowers to take into the house, when she heard the ring of booted steps behind her and turned eagerly. Her heart took a flying leap as she saw her visitor.

‘Michael!’ she cried joyfully. ‘I am so glad to see you back. Are you well? Is Lorenzo with you?’

‘I am well,’ he told her. ‘I thank you for you inquiry, Kathryn—and I am happy to tell you that Lorenzo was well when I last saw him. He escorted some of our wounded galleys to Sicily, for they needed urgent repairs and were vulnerable. I believe that he intended to speak to Lord Mountfitchet before returning to Rome.’

‘I had a letter from Lady Mary only yesterday,’ Kathryn said. ‘They have found land and a house in Sicily that suits them and they think they may stay there. It was Lord Mountfitchet’s intention to speak with Lorenzo and ask for his advice, so it may suit him if Lorenzo calls there to see him.’

‘Lorenzo has asked me to remain in Rome until his return.’ Michael frowned. ‘I think it is in his mind to take a trip to England, though he said his plans were not yet formed.’

‘Yes, he did speak of making changes,’ Kathryn said. ‘I think he believes that it will no longer be necessary to have so many galleys to protect his ships in future, but we must wait and see what he decides.’

‘Yes, of course. If you will excuse me now, I have other calls to make.’

‘Will you dine with me this evening?’ Kathryn asked. ‘I have invited Elizabeta, her husband, Paolo, Isabella and her father and a few others. We should be pleased to have you join us. Perhaps you could tell us more of the battle, for we hear so many conflicting stories. It would be good to hear from someone who was there.’

‘I should be delighted to do so,’ Michael said, hesitated, and then added, ‘It is in my mind that I might ask Isabella Rinaldi to marry me.’ His cheeks became slightly pink. ‘My father is most insistent that I take a wife. I have resisted it, for it would mean that I should have to change the way I lead my life. Perhaps, if Lorenzo intends to make changes, it is time I did so also.’ He looked at her oddly. ‘Do you think there is a chance that Isabella would look kindly on an offer from me?’

‘I do not know,’ Kathryn said. ‘But I think she likes you.’

He nodded and smiled. ‘Then I shall think seriously about making the offer. I shall see you this evening, Kathryn.’

‘We shall look forward to having you with us.’

Kathryn stood for a while after he had gone, a rosebud in her hand. She would be pleased if Lorenzo was serious about taking her home, for she would be glad to see her father. But she was not sure that she would wish to make her home there for she was happy here in Rome.

She had written to her father many months ago to tell him of her marriage and assure him that she was well, but there had been no reply. At first she had thought that he must be too busy to write to her or that he was perhaps angry she had married without consulting him, but now she had begun to wonder if he had received her letter. It was strange that there had been no reply of any kind.

‘It is good to see you again,’ Charles said, offering his hand to Lorenzo. ‘My sister wrote to Kathryn some weeks back, telling her that we were thinking of staying here in Sicily. We have found land we like, and a house—but I wanted your advice before I made the purchase.’

‘It is one choice,’ Lorenzo agreed. ‘I believe it might be a good idea to buy land here, and establish vineyards of your own, but I thought you might consider living in Rome or Venice. I have plans to expand my wine-growing business, and perhaps to concentrate the shipping to England, Germany and France, where I have contacts. It was in my mind to ask whether you might consider being my partner? My business is expanding and I have plans to ship wines to more countries than before—but I shall need someone I can trust to help me in this venture.’

‘Your partner?’ Charles was surprised, but enormously pleased with the idea. ‘I think I might, sir. Yes, I think I might. Had my son lived, I should have been content to sit back and let him take over my interests, but…’ He sighed and shrugged his shoulders. ‘I have reluctantly accepted that I may never see him again. And I am not sure that I would ever wish to return to England. I find the climate here suits me better. My only wish is that I might find some trace of my son.’

‘He may be nearer than you think,’ Lorenzo said, a sudden croak in his voice. ‘Would you mind answering a few questions concerning Richard?’

Charles looked at him eagerly. ‘Have you discovered something?’

‘I am not sure. It may be nothing—but did you give your son a sword on his seventh birthday and tell him that it was time he learned to be a man?’

Charles looked shocked. ‘I cannot remember if he was seven or eight—but it is true that I gave my son a sword on his birthday and I may have told him some such thing.’

‘Tell me about the house you lived in then—has it a tower and a moat? Is there a room filled with armour from past times, and did Richard like to spend hours there?’

‘Yes, all that you say is true,’ Charles said and looked at him intently. ‘Richard liked one suit of armour particularly. My father wore it at the battle of—’

‘When Henry VIII met Francis I on the Field of Cloth of Gold, and your father rode with Henry that day.’ Lorenzo’s eyes narrowed. ‘And did your son have an unusual pet—one that you did not approve of?’

‘A pet…’ Charles wrinkled his brow in thought for a moment and then laughed. ‘Good Lord, yes! I had almost forgot. He brought home a wretched fox cub and…’ His voice died away as he saw the look in Lorenzo’s eyes. ‘What happened then?’

‘He took it up to his room and fed it with food he had stolen from the kitchens, and you found out and beat him for it…’

‘I made him take it back to the woods where he found it.’

‘But he did not,’ Lorenzo said and smiled. ‘He kept it in a part of the stables and saved food from his own plate to feed it until it was old enough to be released.’

‘I never knew that.’ Charles looked at him oddly. ‘Only Richard could know all this…’

‘I have wondered if it was a dream or imagination,’ Lorenzo said. ‘But when you spoke of the special suit of armour I knew that it was true.’ His voice was hoarse with emotion. ‘Forgive me, I do not know how to say this to you. When we first met I felt an affinity that I have seldom known with another man, but I would not believe in what my heart was telling me. I thrust it from me, but the dreams started to haunt me. I cannot tell you that I am your son, for I have no proof—but I believe that it may be so.’

‘God help me!’ Charles staggered back, falling into a chair. For a moment he sat with his head in his hands, and when he looked up at last the tears were running down his cheeks. ‘I felt it too, but I did not believe it could be true.’

‘Then you believe…you would own me as your son?’ Lorenzo felt humbled, closer to tears than he had ever been in his life. ‘I can give you no proof…’

‘I think you have given me enough,’ Charles said and stood up, moving forward to embrace his son, his body shaking with the sobs of emotion he at least could not hold back. ‘Since we met it has been in my mind that if I had a son I should want him to be much like you. Indeed, though I had not made a conscious decision, I had come to think of you as my son.’

‘Then I shall do my best to make you proud of me, Father,’ Lorenzo said. ‘It does not mean that I shall honour Antonio Santorini the less, for without his love and care of me I should have died many years ago. But in my heart I do believe that you are my true father, and I hope that if we return for a visit to England with Kathryn I may recover many more memories.’

‘Then it is settled,’ Charles said. ‘We shall look at the land I thought to buy here and make our decision, and then we shall return to Rome and from thence to England.’

‘We shall make our decision about the land, but I may go on ahead while you settle things here, Father. Kathryn will be anxious. Besides, my stricken galleys will be a few days making repairs, and they will escort you. The seas are much safer for the time being, but I doubt that we have rid them of all the Corsairs who have plagued us. I would have you make the journey in safety.’

Charles smiled at him. His heart was overflowing with love for this son new found, and he would have agreed to anything that Lorenzo asked of him.

‘Kathryn…’ Veronique came into the salon, looking flustered. ‘You have a visitor…’

‘A visitor?’ Kathryn’s heart raced. What could her companion mean? Was it Lorenzo? A man had followed close on the heels of Veronique and as she saw him she got to her feet with a glad cry. ‘Father! Oh, I am so glad to see you. How came you here? I had no word…’

There was anger in his face as he looked at her. ‘You have had no word from me? I have waited months for a letter from you, Kathryn. I travelled to Venice, to the home of Signor Santorini, and learned there that you have married. What is this? Why have you behaved so ill towards me? I do not think I have deserved this from you, daughter.’

‘Forgive me, Father,’ Kathryn said. ‘I would not have hurt you for the world. It is a long story and I must ask you to sit down while I tell it.’ She looked at her companion. ‘This gentleman is my father—Sir John Rowlands. Would you please order some refreshments for us, Veronique?’

‘It is a pleasure to meet you, madame,’ Sir John said. ‘Forgive me if I was short with you earlier, but I was angry and anxious for Kathryn.’

‘There is no need to be angry,’ Kathryn told him as her companion smiled and left the room. ‘I am sorry that you did not get my letter, for it would have explained all. Lorenzo married me because there was some question of my good name having been besmirched.’ She shook her head as he fired up. ‘No, no, listen to my story, I pray you, before you judge. Lorenzo has done nothing that should make you angry.’

‘Tell me it all, then,’ Sir John said. His anger had been caused by months of frustration and anxiety, but now that he was here and could see she was well, his feelings were a mixture of relief and pique.

As Kathryn’s story unfolded his emotions ran the gamut between fury and distress. That his child should have been kidnapped! He was grateful to Lorenzo Santorini for rescuing her, but blamed him for having brought it on her in the first place. But when he heard that his old friend had been thought lost and Kathryn had been alone, he began to understand that she had been lucky. Had Santorini been another kind of man, her fate might have been very different.

‘I see,’ he said as she finished her story. ‘And where is your husband, Kathryn? I should wish to meet him before I give you my blessing.’

‘He has been fighting, Father. You must have heard tell of the terrible battle that took place more than two weeks ago?’

‘Yes, I heard of it in Venice. I was delayed because of it, but surely he should be home by now?’

‘One of his captains came to see me,’ Kathryn said. ‘Lorenzo went to see Lord Mountfitchet in Sicily. Michael said he would not be long. I am expecting him any day now.’

‘Then I must wait in patience I suppose,’ her father said. He smiled at her. ‘Well, come, kiss me, daughter. I was angry, but now that you have told me all, I am prepared to forgive you.’

‘Two galleys to the leeward, sir,’ Lorenzo’s second-in-command came to inform him as he was looking at some papers in his cabin. ‘I’m not sure—but I think they are Corsairs.’

‘Damn it!’ Lorenzo buckled on his sword as he prepared to go outside and investigate for himself. The galleys were closing on them fast, and as he looked he saw that they were flying Rachid’s flag.

Cursing himself for being caught off guard, Lorenzo gave the order for battle. It was two to one and it was his own fault, for he had been impatient to return to Kathryn. Had he waited another few days they might all have sailed together.

He had imagined that the Corsair’s galleys would have gone back to Algiers to rest up for the winter and lick their wounds, but it looked as if they were hungry for a fight. Well, they would get one. He was outnumbered, but his men were loyal and, if need be, they would fight to the death.

Kathryn and her father were sitting in the salon drinking wine and eating biscuits when they heard the sound of voices in the hall. Kathryn jumped to her feet as Michael walked in, followed closely by Lord Mountfitchet.

‘Kathryn.’ Lord Mountfitchet’s expression made her heart catch with fright. ‘Forgive me, but I fear I have terrible news.’

‘Lorenzo?’ Her face was white and she might have fallen if her father had not been by her side. ‘Something has happened to him…’

He put out his hand to steady her. ‘Damn it, Charles! What is it?’

‘John—I did not know you were here,’ Charles said. He looked grey in the face, clearly much distressed. ‘The news is the worst imaginable. Lorenzo insisted on setting out alone, for he was impatient to see Kathryn. He imagined the seas would be safe enough after the recent battle but…’ He put a shaking hand to his face. ‘I can scarce believe it. To have found him and then to lose him…’

‘What are you talking about?’ Sir John barked. Veronique had helped Kathryn to sit down and was giving her a drink of restorative wine. ‘What has happened to Kathryn’s husband?’

‘We found the wreckage of his galley,’ Charles said. ‘It had been severely damaged and abandoned, though there was a man clinging to wreckage in the water. Somehow the poor devil had survived for two days. He was half out of his mind and is still in a fever, but he told us that the Corsair had taken prisoners—and that Lorenzo was either dead or a prisoner of his enemy.’

‘No!’ Kathryn cried, terror sweeping through her. ‘No, not Rachid. He will surely kill him.’ Tears trickled down her cheeks. ‘There is such hatred between them….’

‘Do not despair, Kathryn.’ Michael spoke for the first time. ‘I have already sent out ships to make contact with Rachid. We shall offer a ransom for him. I shall go myself to Algiers. I promise that we shall leave no stone unturned in the effort to find him.’

‘Lorenzo…’ Kathryn bowed her head as the pain of her grief almost overwhelmed her. ‘This is my fault. I made him love me and…’ It was what he had feared. Because of his love for her, he had thrown his natural caution to the winds. He had been impatient to see her. ‘Oh, my love, forgive me!’

‘What nonsense is this, Kathryn?’ Her father looked bewildered. He rubbed at a spot in his chest as if it bothered him. ‘How can it be your fault?’

‘Excuse me,’ she said, tears blinding her eyes. ‘I would be alone.’

The men stared after her as she fled, but Veronique followed.

‘What was all that about?’ Sir John asked. He rubbed at his chest again. Sometimes he hardly felt the pain, but at others it became severe. He needed to take one of the powders that his physician had given him, but for the moment it must wait.

‘Lorenzo told me his story recently,’ Charles said. ‘Please allow me to tell you what he related to me—and then perhaps you may begin to understand what this means.’

‘I must go,’ Michael said. ‘There is no time to waste if we are to find Lorenzo alive. Please tell Kathryn that I will do everything I can.’

‘Any ransom,’ Charles said. ‘I will give every penny I possess for his safe return.’

‘I shall do what I can,’ Michael promised and left them.

Kathryn stood at the window, staring out at the night sky. She was in too much distress to think clearly, but her heart felt as if it were being torn in two. She could almost wish that Lorenzo had died in battle; at least that would have been swift. To think of him at the mercy of his enemy was unbearable. She knew what it had cost him to put the past behind him, the agony of mind he had endured—and now he was once more a prisoner of the evil Corsair who had nearly killed him once before.

‘Lorenzo…’ she whispered. ‘My love, my love—what have I done to you?’

It was her fault, for Rachid would not have caught him off guard before he fell in love with her. She had given him her love, but it was a poisoned chalice—it had led to his death.

Tears trickled down her cheeks. She let them fall. Her grief was so sharp that it was almost unbearable. If Lorenzo was gone from her for ever…

What must he be suffering? To find himself a prisoner of his enemy once more would be humiliating and soul-destroying. He knew what it was like to serve at the oar for three years, and, unless Michael was successful in his attempts to ransom him, he might die this time.

No, no, he must not die, for she could not bear to live without him. She was his woman, his wife, and her heart belonged to him alone. He must live—she did not know what she would do without him.

Lorenzo explored the tender spot at the back of his head carefully. He had been unconscious for some hours after he was captured, for he had been taken from behind and received a heavy blow to the back of the head, but he knew immediately that he was in the cabin of the Corsair galley. Why had he not been cast down into the pit with the other captives?

Did the pirate who had captured him know who he was? It was almost certain that he did—so was he being held for a ransom? Or had Rachid reserved a special fate for him? Yes, of course, that must be so. It was the only reason he had not been chained up with the other prisoners.

They had been enemies for a long time now and Rachid had not earned his name for nothing. He was called the Feared One because of his barbarity. It was unusual for his men to take prisoners unless they needed more galley slaves or captured someone they could ransom for a large sum of money. As a rule they killed ruthlessly, plundering the captured ships and often sinking them afterwards unless they considered them worth selling.

Lorenzo’s head was throbbing as he lay considering his likely fate. He could either be sold as a slave, put to the oars, or held for ransom. But Rachid had good cause to hate him and it was probable that he was being kept alive so that he could suffer some form of torture before his death.

He had been a youth when he had been taken the first time, powerless to fight the ruthless men who had captured him. Finding himself chained to an oar with no memory of his life prior to his captivity, he had survived by instinct—an instinct that had served him well these past years. It would be different this time, for he knew exactly who he was and what had happened to him.

He knew that he must remain alert, while allowing his captors to think him still suffering from the blow to his head. Only if they believed he was ill and incapable of escaping would they give him the chance to make his break.

But he would do so when the chance came. He would rather die in the attempt than be a slave—or allow his enemy to humiliate him. The strongest man could break under torture, and he would rather die quickly and cleanly.

For a moment he thought of Kathryn. If he waited, perhaps Rachid would ransom him and he might be returned to Rome. He might see her again. A part of him wanted to take that chance, to put his faith in God and those he knew would even now be trying to arrange his freedom—but there was another part of him that refused to be sold.

Somehow he would fight free. If he died in the attempt, then Kathryn would be a widow. She was beautiful and she would be rich, for he had left much of his wealth to her in a will he had made before the war—and she would find someone else to love in time.

‘Kathryn, Kathryn, my love…’

His heart cried out to her as he whispered her name, but even for the sake of his love for her, he could not simply wait for rescue or death. He must try to save himself if he died for it.

‘You. Infidel dog!’ A rough voice spoke from the doorway. ‘Do you want food and water?’

Lorenzo moaned, but made no answer. He sensed the man coming nearer and forced himself to lie still. To attack one man would do no good. He needed to wait for the right time.

The Corsair muttered something and slopped some water into Lorenzo’s face. He had been waiting for it, because he had seen it done often enough. He muttered and jerked, but did not open his eyes. The man grunted and moved away, closing the cabin door after him.

Lorenzo ran his fingers over his face, sucking the few drops of moisture he managed to acquire by this method. He was thirsty and hungry too, but he needed to keep up the pretence for as long as he could manage.

Kathryn woke with tears on her face. She had dreamed of Lorenzo, dreamed that he was ill and in pain, and that he had called her name.

‘Oh, Lorenzo,’ she whispered as she got out of bed and went over to the window, gazing out at the night. ‘Lorenzo, do not die and leave me. Come back to me, my love. I need you so…’

He was not dead. She would not let herself believe it, for if she did there would be an end to all hope. No, she knew that he was alive. He was out there somewhere and thinking of her—and somehow he would come to her. Surely he would find a way to come back to her? He must because she loved him.

It was no use, she would never sleep. She dressed and went out to the courtyard, welcoming the cool night air. Her heart ached for the man she loved, but there was no comfort to be had.

‘Lorenzo…’ she whispered. ‘Please do not leave me, my love.’

Lorenzo knew that they had reached a port. The ship was no longer moving and he could hear shouting from the deck, the ragged cheer that comes from the throats of weary oarsmen who knew that they would at last be allowed some rest.

He was tempted to get up and look out of the porthole, but wary lest someone come and find him clearly recovered from the blow that had rendered him unconscious. He must wait for the right moment before attempting his escape.

It was a few minutes before someone came into the cabin and stood looking down at him. Then he felt someone kick him in the side.

‘Get up, infidel dog,’ the voice said. ‘Rachid requests your presence.’ Coarse laughter and then the sound of other men entering the cabin followed this command. ‘We shall have to carry the dog,’ the man said. ‘Rachid will have our heads if he dies.’

Lorenzo let his body flop loosely as he was lifted bodily and carried out on to the deck. It was good to feel the fresh air on his face. He was very thirsty and it took all his strength of purpose to lie still as he was dumped unceremoniously on to the deck.

He sensed that the men had moved away from him and cautiously opened one eye. To his amazement, they had all walked to the prow of the galley and were staring at something happening on shore. This was his chance!

Lorenzo moved cautiously, crawling on all fours to the stern. He glanced over his shoulder but the Corsairs were all intent on watching whatever was happening on shore.

He thought that they were getting ready for someone to come on board—possibly Rachid. The thought of coming face to face with his enemy lent Lorenzo wings. He stood up swiftly, putting a leg over the side and finding a foothold, his other leg following just as the alarm was roused. Someone had seen him and shouted a warning. It was now or never.

He paused for a brief second before diving into the sea, but even as he hesitated he heard something just behind him and then a shot rang out. The ball embedded itself in his shoulder and he pitched face down into the sea.