Читать книгу In the Tudor Court Collection - Amanda McCabe - Страница 17

Kathryn was walking in the garden when Michael arrived later that day. She saw him talking with her father and Lord Mountfitchet and went quickly into the house to ask if there was any news.

‘Have you found him?’

‘No, Kathryn,’ Michael said. His eyes begged for pardon for he knew that his words must bring her grief. ‘Forgive me, I have no news at all. I made contact with one of Rachid’s men, but he claimed to have no knowledge of an attack on Lorenzo’s galley or of any captive.’

‘But it was six weeks ago,’ Kathryn said. ‘Surely there must be some word by now? If he was taken back to Algiers—’

‘My men and I visited the slave markets,’ Michael told her. ‘There was no news of him—they all denied having seen him.’

‘Someone must have seen him…if he is alive…’ Kathryn caught back a sob of grief. She was trying so hard to hold on to her hope to believe that he lived, but it was very hard.

‘Do not give up hope yet,’ Michael said. ‘I have sent an envoy to Rachid, and if there is to be an answer it will come here to his father—but I shall go now to Granada to speak with Lorenzo’s friend Ali Khayr. It is possible that he may have heard something—or that he may have contacts who could discover the truth of this.’

‘But we have only one man’s word that he was captured by Rachid’s galleys,’ Kathryn said. ‘Supposing it was another pirate or…’ She shook her head. ‘No, I shall not believe he is dead. I am sure that he lives.’

‘You always gave me hope when I had none,’ Charles Mountfitchet said, a gleam in his eyes. ‘And now I shall tell you that I believe he is alive, Kathryn. Lorenzo is not a green youth. He is a strong, resourceful man who has known suffering and survived, and I believe he will find a way to survive this time—no matter who his captors were.’

‘I do hope you are right, sir,’ she said, smothering a sob. Inside her head she was praying, begging for his life. ‘I pray that he is alive and that we shall have him back with us soon.’

Sir John watched her anxiously, feeling her pain as if it were his own. He had experienced more pain in his chest of late and he knew that his time here was short. He must return home, for there were things he needed to do, yet he could not leave while Kathryn was so distressed.

Lorenzo opened his eyes. The woman bending over him had soft hands and a kind voice. She had been tending him for a long time now, though he did not know how long he had lain here in his fever.

‘Are you awake at last?’ the woman asked in her native tongue and smiled at him. ‘Allah be praised. We all thought that you would die. You were as good as dead when my husband fished you out of the sea.’

‘Where am I?’ Lorenzo understood her, for it was a language he had learned of necessity long ago. He wrinkled his brow and tried to remember what had happened to him, but for the moment his mind was confused. He felt too weak to think, but he swallowed obediently when the woman put a cup to his lips.

‘My name is Salome,’ the woman told him. ‘My husband is a fisherman—we are but poor folk, sir. When my husband found you, you had been wounded and he thought you dead. He knew that someone was looking for you and he thought to claim a ransom for your body, but when he discovered that you were alive, he brought you to our home. Khalid would have given you to the Feared One had you been dead, but he would not give any living man to that monster.’

‘I am very grateful,’ Lorenzo whispered, his voice hoarse. ‘You shall be rewarded. I have friends who will pay for my safe return.’

‘I told my husband it would be so,’ Salome said and smiled encouragingly. ‘I have tended you for many days and nights, sir. Even when your wound began to heal your mind did not. You have been wandering in the past I think, for you spoke of being a child…of your father…’

‘My father.’ Lorenzo’s face creased with grief as the memories flooded into his mind and it all slotted into place. ‘He will be so distressed, and Kathryn…’ Kathryn would think him dead. He tried to sit up, but the pain struck him and he fell back against the cushions.

‘You are not yet ready to get up,’ Salome said. ‘Rest and wait, impatient one. When you are better we shall send a message to your friends and then you shall go to them. We are not greedy people, sir, but we are poor. A small sum for our trouble is all that we ask.’

Lorenzo smiled at her as his eyelids fluttered. ‘I shall make you rich,’ he murmured and then he slept.

‘I must return home soon,’ Sir John said as he found his daughter walking in the garden. His heart ached as he saw her so pale, her eyes dark with unhappiness. She was even more distressed now than she had been when Dickon was taken from her. ‘I want you to come with me, daughter.’

‘I cannot leave Rome,’ Kathryn cried in sudden alarm. ‘I must stay here in case…he is found.’

‘Two months have passed now since Lorenzo was lost,’ her father told her, his expression grave. ‘I know you loved him, Kathryn, and if what Charles says is true—if he is Richard—then this is the second time you have lost the one you love most in the world. You will grieve for him, it is natural that you should—but I cannot stay here much longer. I must return home almost immediately. And I would have you safe at home with me.’

‘No, I must stay here. I must wait for my husband.’

‘I think that you should do as your father suggests.’

Kathryn turned as she heard Charles’s voice. He had come into the garden and overheard them talking. ‘I must be here if Lorenzo returns.’ Her eyes filled with tears. ‘Please do not make me leave him—please, I beg you. I must be here when he comes back…’

‘I shall remain in Rome,’ Charles told her. ‘When I have news I shall write to you. Lorenzo will know that you did not wish to leave. I shall tell him, Kathryn—but you would be safer at home with your father. Mary chose to stay in Sicily. She has kept poor William with her and has recently met a gentleman she likes and may marry. Had she been here, it might have been different—but I do not wish to leave you alone and I may have to travel elsewhere.’

‘Then give me another week,’ Kathryn begged. Her throat was tight with grief and she could hardly bear the pain. ‘If there is no news of him by then, I must do as my father says…’

She turned away from them, controlling her tears with difficulty. Perhaps they were right and it might be better if she left Rome. It was for her sake that Lorenzo had travelled alone, because he had been impatient to be with her. He had feared that loving her might cause him to become soft—and it was that which had led to his capture or even his death.

Lorenzo had married her because she was distressed at losing her good name. She believed that he had loved her, but perhaps she was an evil omen to him. Had she not prompted Dickon to go down to the beach when they were children, pirates would not have taken him. Had she not made Lorenzo fall in love with her, he might even now be safe. The thought was like a dagger striking deep into her heart and made her stagger as she realised what love of her had done to Lorenzo not once, but twice.

‘Forgive me, my love,’ she whispered. ‘But perhaps it is best.’

She raised her head, fighting her grief and the longing deep inside her. ‘Very well, Father,’ she said. ‘If there is no news within a week, I shall go back home with you.’

Lorenzo was resting when Salome came hurrying into the room. The pain in his shoulder was much easier now, but he was still too weak to do much more than walk about the house. He could not go out into the gardens for fear that someone might see him. He had already stayed too long and his presence in this house might mean danger for the good people who had nursed him back to health.

‘Is something wrong?’ he asked as he saw Salome’s anguished look.

‘They are looking for you,’ she said, a frightened expression in her eyes. ‘Men came to the village earlier asking for a man of your description. My husband fears that someone will betray us. They are offering money for news of your whereabouts, signor.’

‘Then I must leave your house,’ Lorenzo said, ‘for I would not bring harm to you. I fear I have nothing to give you for your kindness, lady, but you shall be rewarded as soon as I return to my home.’ He thought of a small gold ring on his finger and slipped it off. ‘Take this as a token of my good will. I owe you much more and, God willing, I shall live to repay you.’

‘My husband had no thought of repayment when he took you from the sea, but he grows old and soon will be able to work no more.’

‘You shall be rewarded,’ Lorenzo promised, ‘and now I must leave before they come looking for me here.’

‘You must wear my husband’s clothes,’ Salome said. ‘I have brought you something to darken your skin, else you will be noticed at once for your skin has the pallor of ill health. If I do not offend you, lord, you should keep your head down lest your eyes betray you.’

Lorenzo thanked her again for her advice, slipping on the long, shabby robe she offered over the remnants of his own clothing. The sea had taken most of his garments, leaving only his breeches.

He left Salome’s house through a small gate at the back of the garden, avoiding the main street of the fishing village. It was late in the afternoon, the sun dipping over the sea in a blaze of gold, and he knew that dusk would soon cloak him in darkness.

He had not been idle these past weeks and he believed that his best chance of escape was to reach Algiers, where he might mingle with the crowds frequenting the waterfront. It was a busy port and there might be merchant ships from Portugal or Holland. With luck he could find work. If he could reach Spain, he had friends who would help him.

Lorenzo had been walking for some half an hour or more when he was alerted by the sound of hoofbeats coming fast up the lonely road. He realised at once that it could only be the men who had visited Salome’s village earlier, and looked about for somewhere to hide.

The rocky hillside offered no protection. Perhaps he could simply bluff it out by pleading ignorance. He must remember to keep his head bent, and to act in a humble manner befitting his lowly status.

As the riders came nearer, Lorenzo moved to the side of the road. Perhaps they would simply ride by and ignore him.

His hopes were short lived as the leading horseman reined in and shouted to him. ‘You there—dog! Have you seen anyone passing this way? A man not of our people?’

‘No one has passed this way, sir,’ Lorenzo kept his head bent humbly, thankful for the shabby robe that covered his hair. With luck they would ride on by thinking him merely a poor fisherman.

‘How long have you been on this road?’

‘All day, sir.’

The man looked back at his companions, who had brought their mounts to a halt, and an argument began between them. Some were for returning to the village, others for going on.

‘The old woman lied,’ one of the horsemen said. ‘We should return and persuade her to tell us the truth. Perhaps if we split her lying tongue the fisherman will speak. The beating you gave him did not break him—but it may be different if you turn your attention to her.’

Lorenzo listened in horror. He could not condemn Salome and her husband to the kind of torture these beasts might inflict. His sense of honour would not permit him to escape while others suffered in his place. Throwing back his hood, he looked up at the leader.

‘I am Lorenzo Santorini,’ he said. ‘I am the one you seek.’

For a moment the man stared at him in stunned disbelief, then a gleam of greed came to his rascally face.

‘We have searched for you many weeks,’ he said and grinned. ‘Rachid has promised much gold to he who finds you.’

‘Then you are a rich man,’ Lorenzo said, his face cold with pride. ‘Do not waste time with the old ones. I have friends searching for me. They are only a few leagues distant from us.’

An expression of consternation came into the man’s eyes. He turned to his companions, some of whom had already dismounted and were eyeing Lorenzo warily. They clearly expected him to put up a fight, but he stood unresisting, letting them take him. Their greed for Rachid’s gold would save Salome and her husband from further suffering.

Lorenzo offered his wrists for binding. He expected to be led behind the horses as in a Roman triumph, and was surprised when a mount was provided. Their leader took the reins of his horse, but he was neither abused nor insulted.

‘Rachid wants you alive,’ his captor told him. ‘You do well not to struggle, for I have no wish to harm you.’

Lorenzo inclined his head but said no more. His pride would keep him strong. Most men broke under torture. All he could hope for was a quick death.

‘Goodbye, Kathryn,’ he murmured softly. ‘Forgive me, my love. I would have come to you, but the price was too high.’

Kathryn watched as the cliffs of her homeland came into view. Soon they would be home and her heart was breaking. She had been forced to admit that Lorenzo was dead, for if not he would have found a way to contact his friends these past weeks.

Charles was remaining in Rome. He had refused to give up hope and Michael had promised to continue the search, but she knew that neither of them truly believed that he would be found. There had been no trace of him since his capture.

‘Lorenzo, my love…’ Kathryn blinked back her tears as her father came to join her on the deck, looking towards the shore and the foaming water as it rushed against a coastline that could be treacherous and had sent many a sailor to a watery grave.

‘We shall soon be home, my dear,’ he said, noting her pale face and sad eyes, purpled by shadows that robbed her of the carefree beauty which had been hers. ‘Perhaps then you may feel better.’

‘I do not believe that I shall ever feel better. I loved him, Father. I loved him so much that…’ She left the words unfinished. In truth, she wished that she might die, but she did not want to hurt her father.

‘I understand your grief, Kathryn. When your mother died I thought that my world was at an end, but I learned to live without her. I took solace in my children.’

‘I have no children.’

‘But you are young enough to marry again. Lorenzo left you a fortune, so the lawyers tell us, though as yet we have no details. You will have no trouble in finding another husband, Kathryn.’

She did not want another husband, and talk of the fortune Lorenzo had left her was anathema to her. No money could ever heal the hurt inside her!

‘Please do not speak of it,’ she begged. ‘Money means nothing. I shall never marry again.’

‘I pray you will not speak so foolishly,’ her father said, a note of anger or distress in his voice. ‘Your grief is natural, daughter, but it will pass in time. Believe me, you will be happy again.’

Kathryn turned away. Her father did not understand. She had given her whole self to Lorenzo. Without him she was only half a woman. She could never love again and she did not wish to marry without love.

Sir John saw the grief in her face and wished that he had never allowed her to travel with Charles Mountfitchet. He cursed the ill luck that had caused her to marry a man he thought unsuitable. Charles was a fool to believe in Santorini’s tale. No doubt it was a ploy to inherit the estate and the title. Santorini had money, but to be an English lord was something many men might aspire to, he imagined. And the man had lost many ships during the war. He had probably thought that it was a way to restore his losses.

Having never met Kathryn’s husband—something that rankled in his mind—he had no way of knowing whether Santorini was wealthy enough to bear those losses. He had taken a dislike to the man he considered had stolen his daughter. In his opinion, it was for the best that Kathryn should be left a widow. He did not like to see her grieving, but she would get over it in time. And he did not have much time left to him. Before he died, and he knew that it was coming slowly, he must see his daughter safe—even if it meant forcing her to obey him.

Kathryn could not read her father’s thoughts, but she sensed that he did not sympathise with her love for Lorenzo. At the moment she felt too distressed to argue with her father. As time passed he would surely accept her decision, for she could never remarry.

Her heart had died with Lorenzo, for she felt that he must be dead. Only death would have kept him from returning to Rome.

Lorenzo could not believe that he was still alive. Two weeks had passed since he was captured and as yet he had not been ill treated, nor had he been summoned to Rachid’s presence. He had expected it would happen immediately and that he would first be humiliated and then tortured, but thus far his jailers had given him food, water and a grudging respect.

He was confined to a room that had bars at the windows and the door was kept locked at all times, other than when his jailer brought him food. Yet it was not the filthy dungeon he had expected to be cast into and he wore no chains about his wrists or ankles. Indeed, he had been given all he needed for his comfort, including water to wash, clean clothes and a soft divan on which to sleep. He had everything he needed other than his freedom.

What was in Rachid’s mind? Lorenzo wondered. Was his enemy being fiendishly clever, lulling him into a state of acceptance before inflicting some terrible torture?

He paced the room restlessly. Thoughts of escape were constantly in his mind and yet he hesitated. Rachid was planning something. Perhaps he was like a cat toying with a mouse, daring Lorenzo to try and escape.

He tensed as the door opened. His guards were always regular with his meals, but this was the middle of the afternoon. Something was about to happen.

Lorenzo was fully alert. This might be his only chance to escape. He resolved to try if there was any slip on the part of his guards. Salome and her husband were no longer involved. It was merely his own life at stake now and he would prefer a quick death.

A man entered the room, surprising Lorenzo as his body tensed. It was not the guard who had been bringing him food and water, but a much older man, richly dressed with a bright gold turban.

‘My master requests the pleasure of your company, lord.’

Lorenzo smiled grimly. So the summons had come at last.

‘Requests?’ he asked, a wry twist to his mouth. ‘And supposing I choose to decline your master’s invitation—what then?’ A gleam of defiance was in his eyes, for if he must die he would prefer that it came swiftly.

‘That would be a cause of much regret to my master, sir.’ The old man smiled oddly. ‘I believe you will find this meeting to your advantage. You have nothing to fear.’

‘Do you expect me to believe that?’

‘You have my word. I am Mustafa Kasim and I am guaranteeing your life—and your safety.’

Looking into his eyes, Lorenzo was puzzled. This was not what he had expected from Rachid. However, life had taught him to be a fair judge of character and somehow he believed this man, believed in his honesty.

‘Very well, I shall accept your word, sir.’

‘Thank you,’ Mustafa Kasim said. ‘Please follow me if you will. My master is waiting.’

Lorenzo followed in his wake, walking through what seemed the endless rooms and passages of Rachid’s palace. The walls were built of thick grey stone, the floors tiled with a dull grey marble. Even on the warmest summer day this place would strike cold into the bones, but Lorenzo held himself erect, refusing to shiver.

He could not know what would happen when he finally came face to face with his enemy, but clearly he was not to be tortured or executed just yet. Perhaps Rachid had decided to hold him for ransom.

Until this moment Lorenzo had expected his enemy to be ruthless in exacting payment for all the ships sunk, the slaves rescued and given their freedom. He had believed that Rachid must hate him, for he had waged a merciless war on his enemy and could expect no less.

Mustafa had stopped outside an impressive door, which was fashioned of heavy carved wood studded with iron. He rapped on it once with a metal wand he carried and the heavy panels swung back, manipulated by two huge black slaves dressed in rich clothes. The room they were about to enter was very different from the rest of the fortress. The walls were hung with an array of dazzling silks in vibrant colours and the floor was covered with thick silk rugs. Several divans stood about the room, but there were also tables made of alabaster and silver, statues of marble and of gold, a veritable fortune of small items that were of immense value everywhere, almost as if a magpie had gathered them together. Clearly Rachid was very rich.

‘My lord,’ Mustafa said and bowed respectfully. ‘He you have commanded is here.’

Lorenzo glanced towards what appeared to be a kind of throne. Rachid lived, as a king might, in his own little empire. The throne was made of solid silver and decorated with precious jewels. He knew a desire to laugh at such ridiculous opulence, but controlled it as the man, dressed in the robes of a caliph, rose and came towards him. Looking into his face, he was surprised. This man was not the enemy he had fought for so many years but his son: the young man he had exchanged for the Spanish girl.

‘So we meet again.’ The younger man smiled oddly, pleased by Lorenzo’s confusion. ‘You look surprised, Signor Santorini. You did not expect to see me?’

‘I expected your father.’

‘My father?’ Hassan laughed. ‘I am sorry to disappoint you, signor. My father cannot greet you. He died two weeks ago, on the day of your arrival here.’

‘Rachid is dead?’

‘Have I not said so? You must forgive me for keeping you waiting so long, signor. My father’s death was unexpected and caused me a few problems.’ He waved his hand to indicate the wealth in the room. ‘There were others who wished to share in these things, which are rightfully mine. They have been dealt with, but it took a little time.’

Lorenzo repressed a shudder. For a moment he saw something in the younger man’s eyes that made him go cold. At that moment there was no doubting he was Rachid’s son.

‘However, you wish to know why you are here?’

‘I believed I was brought here at Rachid’s command?’

‘He intended to have you killed…very slowly I believe. You forced him to exchange a woman he wanted for me—a poor exchange, in his opinion, but one he was obliged to make.’ Hassan’s eyes glinted with anger, and he seemed to be waiting for Lorenzo’s reply, but when none came he went on. ‘However, I am not my father. I like beautiful things, as you see. Women, jewels, silks—all these things please me. I do not like blood. My father forced me to command one of his galleys, but now he is dead.’ Something in Hassan’s eyes told Lorenzo that he was pleased rather than distressed at the fact of his father’s death. ‘You could have killed me when you took our ships. Will you tell me why you spared me?’

‘I thought that you did not deserve to die. You are not your father, his sins are not yours.’

‘No, I carry my own sins, not his.’ Again Hassan’s eyes glittered. ‘You were merciful when your men would have killed me. Now I shall be merciful. You gave me my life, I give you yours. You may leave my house when you choose. One of my galleys will take you wherever you wish to go in safety, that is my promise to you.’

‘If you mean that, I would go to Rome.’

‘Ah, yes. You have taken a wife.’ Hassan nodded. ‘I too am about to take my first wife. We have much in common, Signor Santorini. You will do me the honour of dining with me this evening. Tomorrow you may leave.’ He indicated one of the divans. ‘Please sit, signor. Tell me about your wife.’

Lorenzo sat, thinking furiously. He did not yet quite believe in his good fortune. This might be some deceit that was intended to lull him into a false sense of security so for the moment he must be very careful. Hassan was Rachid’s son and might be capable of the same cruelty as his father. It seemed that he was sincere, but Lorenzo would remain alert until he was safely back in Rome. Rome meant Kathryn. He smiled and looked at the younger man.

‘It is because of my wife that I sent you back to your father…’

‘Do we really have to have such a large gathering?’ Kathryn asked. She had no desire to sit down to a banquet with thirty or more guests, nor did she wish to dance and make merry.

‘We are celebrating your brother’s betrothal,’ Sir John said, giving her a severe look. ‘You would not wish to appear lacking in your good wishes towards Philip and Mary Jane?’

‘No, Father, of course not. Mary Jane is a sweet girl and I have told Philip how happy I am for him, but—’

‘I shall hear no excuses, Kathryn. I have forgiven you for your earlier neglect of duty towards me, but I insist you oblige me in this matter.’

Kathryn turned away, feeling his harshness like the sting of a whip. She had never known her father to be so stern and it hurt her deeply. He did not seem to understand that she was suffering terribly. She loved Lorenzo so much that sometimes her grief was almost impossible to bear.

Leaving her father, she fetched her cloak and went out walking. It was bitterly cold, the wind whipping about her slight body, tugging at her clothes as if it wished to tear them away. Kathryn shivered, her face pinched and white. It was so much colder here on this Cornish coast than in Rome; there the winds had been warm, the air perfumed by sweet flowers, and she longed to be back there. She shuddered as she felt the icy wind touch her face, glancing up as the storm clouds gathered overhead.

Such grey skies! How could she bear to go on living in this cold grey world without Lorenzo? It would be so much easier to die, for if there was an afterlife, as the priests promised, she might be with her lover.

Her footsteps took her beyond her father’s estate, to the cliffs above the cove where her beloved Dickon had been stolen from her so many years ago.

Was it possible that Lorenzo and Dickon were the same person? Charles Mountfitchet certainly believed it was so and Kathryn recalled the way her heart had recognised him the first time she gazed into his eyes—eyes so blue that no others compared. Yet she had rejected the thought, believing him a highborn Venetian, the true son of Antonio Santorini. She had not been willing to accept that such a man could be her lost love, and yet now…

It seemed that she had lost her love for the second time. But why should she go on alone? Why should she bear this pain another moment? She had only to take two steps forward and she would go crashing down into that swirling venomous sea, where she would be instantly crushed against the jutting rocks.

‘Kathryn? Kathryn! No, you must not!’

She turned as she heard the voice, her face suddenly alight with hope. For a moment she thought the man hurrying towards her was Lorenzo, but then she saw that it was Michael and she went to meet him, her heart racing. Perhaps he had news!

‘Kathryn!’ Michael said, his face anguished by concern. He had thought she meant to jump. ‘I thought for a moment that you meant to…’

‘Have you news?’ she asked, her hand reaching out to him in supplication. ‘Have you heard from him?’

‘I am sorry.’ He looked at her sadly, devastated that he must tell her what would hurt her. ‘I have been told that he was shot while trying to escape and fell into the sea. I believe our search is at an end.’

‘No…’ Kathryn moaned and swayed as the despair swept over her, engulfing her senses. ‘Lorenzo, no!’ She had known it must be so, but to hear the details was unbearable. ‘My love…’

Michael caught her to him lest she fall. He held her as she sobbed out her grief against his chest, his lips murmuring words of comfort against the perfume of her hair.

‘My sweet love,’ he said softly. ‘Forgive me. I know it is Lorenzo you love, but I am here. I would love and protect you, heal your hurts.’

‘I cannot…’ She looked up at him, her eyes dark with grief. ‘I shall never love another. Never marry again.’

‘Hush, Kathryn. I do not ask it. I ask only to be your friend and perhaps one day you will look on me kindly. When your grief has healed.’

Kathryn could not answer him. Her heart felt as if it had been cleaved in two. Everyone spoke of her grief healing one day, but they did not understand. No one knew how she felt. Michael was being kind, and she loved him as a friend, but he could never take Lorenzo’s place in her heart. It was impossible.

‘Come,’ she said, lifting her head, pride battling with the urge to give way to this pain inside her. She must try to put off this heavy grief. She must make an effort for the sake of her friends and family. ‘We must go back to the house, sir. My father will wish to speak with you.’

Charles was at dinner when he heard a flurry outside the door. The sound of voices raised in excitement and disbelief alerted him and he was on his feet, expectant as Lorenzo walked into the room.

‘Praise be to God!’ he cried, his voice husky with emotion. Tears stung his eyes and spilled unchecked as he went to embrace his son. ‘I feared I might never see you again, my son. They told us you had been shot while trying to escape in the port of Algiers.’

‘And so I was,’ Lorenzo told him, his eyes bright with devilish laughter. ‘But it seems that God must have been looking after me, for I was plucked from the sea more dead than alive by a poor fisherman and nursed back to health by that man’s good wife.’

‘We shall reward them,’ Charles said. ‘They shall never know poverty again.’

‘It is as good as done,’ Lorenzo said. He looked long and deep into his father’s face. ‘You have suffered for my sake, Father, but I shall try to cause you no more worry. Rachid is dead and I have no quarrel with his son. Hassan and I have made our peace. We shall make war on each other’s ships no more.’

‘Come, share the meal I was about to eat and tell me the whole story.’

‘Yes, of course.’ Lorenzo glanced about the room and frowned. ‘You are alone. Where is Kathryn?’

‘Her father came to Rome, looking for her. He had not received her letter telling him that you were married and was angry, I think. When the news came that you had been lost he was convinced that you were dead and insisted that she return home to England with him. Kathryn did not wish to go, Lorenzo, but she felt she must obey her father.’

Lorenzo’s eyes glinted with anger and frustration. ‘She should not have gone with him,’ he said harshly. ‘Her place was with you at this time.’

‘Do not be angry with her, my son,’ Charles pleaded. ‘I know that she grieved for you terribly. It broke her heart when she learned what had happened to you.’

‘And yet she did not wait to see if I would return.’

Lorenzo had been on fire to see Kathryn and his frustration made him harsh.

‘I told you, her father made her go.’

‘I might have expected more loyalty from my wife. She might have defied him if she had wished.’

‘I swear to you that she did not leave willingly.’

Lorenzo nodded. ‘At least you stayed, Father.’

‘I had nowhere else to go. My one hope was that you would come back to me. I prayed for it, planned for it—and it seems that my prayers have been answered. You are alive and I shall thank God for it the rest of my days.’

‘Yes, I truly believe that we have been blessed.’ Lorenzo smiled. The bitterness from the past had disappeared with his doubts about his identity. He knew himself this man’s son, remembered much of his lost youth. ‘Do you recall when we used to go hawking in the woods at Mountfitchet? Sometimes I would follow the hawks for miles and you waited for me to return. I always did in the end, though you had thought me lost.’

‘Yes, you always came back,’ Charles replied and smiled at him. ‘But you spoke confidently, as though you had remembered all?’

‘I think it may have been the blow to my head when I was captured, or perhaps that the abduction brought back memories, forcing me to face the past. Perhaps I had forgotten because I did not want to remember.’ His father nodded, understanding. ‘Memories had been coming to me in drifts for a while, but always vague, seeming like dreams. I did not know I was Richard Mountfitchet before I was captured. I suspected it might be so, but now I know for certain.’

‘I was certain in Sicily,’ Charles said and looked at him steadily. ‘I think when you were a boy I did not always show my faith and love for you, Lorenzo, but in future I intend that it shall be different. God has granted me a second chance and I shall make the most of it.’

‘We have both been lucky. I see now that I might have fared far worse than I did. Something kept me alive and perhaps that was God’s love.’

Charles nodded, but said no more—Lorenzo must find his own way back to the faith he had lost. ‘So what will you do now, my son?’

‘It was in my mind to return to England with Kathryn. I thought we should visit her father before settling in Venice. That is still my intention. My life is here now, sir. England does not have much to offer me—though it might be different if you were there. What are your own plans?’

‘As we discussed them in Sicily. I believe I shall stay here in Rome until you return, Lorenzo. I have travelled enough of late and I like it here.’

‘I shall leave my business affairs to you until I return, Father,’ Lorenzo said. ‘But before I leave I must speak to Michael about the future. If I am to make changes, I would have him with me.’

Charles hesitated, looking awkward. ‘Michael is not here. He went to England. I believe it was his intention to see Kathryn. We heard that you were shot trying to escape and I think he means to tell her that there is no hope of finding you alive.’

What he left unsaid was his conviction that Michael was in love with Kathryn and would have her for himself if he could. It could not help matters, for Lorenzo was already angry enough. He just hoped that he would not arrive too late.

‘Then I must not delay,’ Lorenzo said, a brooding expression in his eyes. He needed no telling that Michael cared for Kathryn—he had observed it himself. ‘I shall spend this evening with you and then I must sail for England.’