Blaze of Silver (12 page)

He had just reached Hal when the chattering of the Hartslove men was eclipsed by Elric's high voice. One of the German sergeants had deliberately tripped him and laughed as the boy sprawled in the mud. Livid, Elric scrambled to his feet and squared up, daring the sergeant to fight him. Ellie tried to intervene. The sergeant leered at her and said something in guttural French at which Ellie colored. That was enough. Bleating with fury, Elric launched himself at the German, fists and
elbows flailing. It should have been a joke, with tiny Elric against a man who could have swatted him aside like an insect, but the response Elric got was a sword drawn and leveled at his throat. Nothing daunted, Elric drew his own short sword and began to fence, now shouting all the rude words he knew. “Nobody insults Mistress Eleanor in my hearing and gets away with it. Apologize, frog-face! Apologize!” The Hartslove men laughed to start with. Little Elric! What a lion! But when the German did not put his sword down, the farrier spoke up. “Hey, stop that,” he said, “he's just a boy, a cheeky boy, maybe, but you shouldn't have insulted Mistress Ellie.” The German spat and insulted Ellie again, provoking Elric to yet more foolhardy heroics. Uncertain what to do, the farrier watched until the German suddenly lunged forward and drew blood from Elric's cheek. Then he drew his own sword. “You'll stop that right now,” he ordered, pulling Elric away although the boy was still slicing and thrusting. To his horror, this did not pacify the German at all. Instead, he stamped his foot and immediately more than a dozen of his compatriots were in battle mode. Astounded, the Hartslove men grabbed their own arms, and seconds later a vicious scrap had broken out.

Will ran forward. “NO!” he cried. “What are you doing? This is no time to fight! Put away your swords! For the sake of God and King Richard, don't be so stupid.” He gestured sharply for the German commander to control his men but the knight did nothing.

In less than a minute, the scrap had escalated into a full-scale riot. The Hartslove men were hesitant at first but the Germans were not. Swiftly, they spread out and
with their infinitely superior numbers, surrounded the whole Hartslove contingent, including the ransom wagons. Yet still Will had not drawn his own weapon. Instead, increasingly frantic, he appealed to one imperial knight after another, pulling their surcoats. This was madness. It
could not
be the emperor's wish. But they brushed him off until Will found himself almost trampled underfoot, his voice completely drowned out. Now everybody was fighting, some with swords, some with fists. He could not see either the farrier or Elric. Knocked sideways and having lost all control, all Will could think of now was getting, as fast as he could, to Ellie.

Though the Hartslove men did their best, they had no chance. Many archers did not even have time to set more than one arrow before being cut down with axe and mace. Now it was kill or be killed, and Will found his sword in his hand, hardly aware that he had drawn it. Barging through, he caught a glimpse of Ellie avoiding the German captain by swinging herself onto Hosanna. Though he knew she could not hear him, he bellowed at her to flee. Where was Kamil? Surely he was nearer and could get to her?

There was no time for chivalry. Will fought as best he could, slashing, slicing, tripping people up and knocking them over whenever he saw an opportunity. He hardly realized that he was still shouting “stop” as the twin howls of those fighting and those dying engulfed him. He lunged and parried automatically, wielding his sword like a battering ram, but even now, when he could see the blood, feel the heat, and smell the fear, he could not believe it. He took on every comer who came near yet hesitated before plunging in the deathblow to
men he could not consider enemies. There would be hell to pay for this. As one man fell at his feet, instead of finishing him off, Will broke his sword. It was only when the man came for Will again that Will impaled him. The feel of the man's flesh was hideous, quite different from the enemies Will had killed on crusade. This felt like killing his own kith and kin. Will felt sick.

It was only as he increasingly heard the cry “Allah Akbar,” and, at last, found Kamil, that Will, with a shock more violent than the blow of a lance, began to understand. Kamil was not fighting. He was being restrained by two men and he was arguing not with the German commander, but with Amal. Amid all the physical tumult, it looked extraordinary. Had Kamil gone mad? But suddenly the word
traitor
rang around Will's head like a bell.
Traitor
, Kamil. Kamil,
traitor
!
I can't believe it. I won't believe it!
He kicked a German's feet from under him. But amid the heat, the chill he had felt when Kamil had taken the stone out of Shihab's foot and when Amal and Kamil had been conversing alone almost paralyzed him. This was no haphazard quarrel. It had been carefully provoked and Kamil had something to do with it. These German troops were not as they seemed.

Will's paralysis did not last. Instead, an anger grew within him such as he had never felt before. The hurt would come later. He let himself go completely. Now he roared as he fought, every muscle and every sinew filled with rage so pure that his sword, which only moments before he had wielded unwillingly, could hardly keep up with his ferocity. Nobody in his path survived. He wanted to reach Kamil but that would have to wait.
He still had to get to Ellie. At the edge of his vision, he saw Hal forced to abandon a panicking Shihab, and a bemused-looking Elric climbing onto Dargent. The boy had lost his sword but used the horse as a battering ram. Though Will could hardly bear to think of Elric in the midst of this, he could not help him. Dear, brave, impetuous Elric! If only he had not rushed in. But how could Will blame him? Nobody who insulted Ellie should get away with it. He just saw Elric reach down for Hal's arm and Hal's head rising up through a sea of bloody weapons before both disappeared. At least Hal and Elric were together. It was small comfort but the only one on offer.

He could see that Ellie was still on Hosanna and that despite the horse's best efforts as he reared, kicked, and struck out on all sides, he was losing. Each time he shook off one enemy, another took his place. An endless supply of devilish hands were grasping at him. Snarling, Will climbed onto a wagon, then leaped from his perch using bodies and heads as a jagged human carpet in his efforts to reach them. It could never have worked but even as Will sank, he carried on clawing his way through, calling out Ellie's name and urging Hosanna to stand his ground. Then he heard shouting and as if by a miracle the crowd parted before him. He had just a second to look up before something heavy hit the back of his head and everything was black.

It was pain that dragged Will back into consciousness. He was sure there was somebody felling a tree in his skull. When, eventually, he opened his eyes, he could see nothing and, for a terrifying minute, thought he had
gone blind. But he had not. Pressure on his forehead told him that he had been thrown onto his front into a cart and it was not only pain that prevented him from moving. He had been stripped of his armor and his arms and legs were shackled together. The cart was not moving fast but every jolt seemed to find new places to bruise for Will's only cushion was the pool of blood in which he was lying. For several minutes he had no coherent thoughts at all until, inside his battered head, the world took shape again. Ellie! Oh dear God! What had they done to Ellie? At once he began to struggle though his throat was burning and he began to choke. Then, as if from very far away, he heard Ellie speak.

“Will, Will,” she was repeating, her voice a tiny croak. “Oh, thank God. I thought you were dead, too.” She strained toward him. “I can't reach you, Will, I can't reach you,” she cried, her voice stronger as she beat her own shackled hands against the side of the cart, “and I haven't anything to help you. They're all dead, Will. Dead. There were just piles of bodies. Piles and piles of bodies. I've never seen bodies like that. How can people do it? They wanted to kill us all.” She shook so hard that her chains rattled. “Why did they do that, Will? We brought the ransom. We did everything right. Why did they do that?”

Will scraped his cheeks on the planks as he tried to turn his head to see her. At first his voice wouldn't work at all. He could feel his own blood on his tongue. But he was desperate to speak. “Kamil,” he tried to say it clearly. “Kamil.”

Ellie heard what he was saying but misunderstood him. “I didn't see Kamil's body,” she told him, leaning
forward as far as she could. “He must have escaped. He'll come and help us, Will. I know he will.” Her voice rose with her certainty.

Will tried to shake his head. “Not help—with them.”

“With whom?”

“Soldiers. Not emperor's troops. Trick. Must be Saracen men.”

Ellie almost wanted to laugh. The bang on his head had made Will mad. If Kamil was with anybody, he was with them. He loved them in his way. Ellie knew that as well as she knew anything. The idea that Kamil could be behind such a massacre was as ludicrous as believing that Will had engineered it himself. “Not Kamil, Will,” she said gently. “Not Kamil.”

In the gloom, Will could see Ellie's face shining white but she could not see his, for it was stained dark. His silence was more frightening to Ellie than any words. “No, no, Will. What's wrong with you? What's happened to you? It's wicked to accuse Kamil. He's a man of honor. How many times have you told me that? How can you accuse him, of all people, of treachery?”

For a few moments Will wanted to believe that he deserved Ellie's scorn. Anything would be better than the truth. But the vision he still had of Kamil arguing was too vivid. He knew it was real, as real as the agony in his legs. He made a huge effort to speak clearly. “It's true, Ellie. I saw him just before the attack. Him and Amal.”

“Amal? But Amal's just a servant.” Ellie's voice grew louder as her nerves began to jump like firecrackers. “I know we didn't like him to start with but he's just a servant, Will. Just a servant.” Her eyes seemed to take over the whole of her face as her voice petered out. She
was desperately searching her memory for something to show that Will was wrong. But in all the terrible images of the past hour that she could conjure up, she realized that none contained Kamil. He had not come to rescue her. He had not gone to rescue anybody.

“They must have arranged the thing between them.” Will knew that she was listening now. “Kamil knew exactly where we would be and how many of us there were.” Will was glad of the anger beginning to burn through him again and he fed it. “I wonder when he first began to plan this. I reckon he must have sent for Amal as soon as he knew that part of the ransom was to be delivered by me. They must have organized it together. All for some poxy silver.” Will wanted to spit. “I thought Kamil was a better man than that.”

Still Ellie would not accept it. “But Hosanna loves Kamil,” she said as if that settled the matter.

“Hosanna can be wrong.”

Ellie had never heard Will's voice sound so bleak. Everything he had ever believed in seemed to be disintegrating.

“No, Will. No.” She so wished she could get to him, to shake some sense back into him. “I can believe bad things of Amal. But Kamil? I just can't.”

Will gave a sudden thrust of his boots. It was the only gesture he could make. “Can't or won't, Ellie?”

There was a world of despair in his question. Ellie hunched up. “Can't,” she whispered.

“Well, you'd better,” Will said. “Maybe I know why Hosanna has been friendly to Kamil. Hosanna has a scar on his neck.”

“What does that prove?”

Will spoke slowly. “The little triangular scar between Marissa's ribs is exactly the same. They were both made by Kamil's knife. I think Kamil has been drugging Hosanna.”

Ellie had to repeat this to herself before her brain would allow her to understand it. “But if Kamil hates Hosanna enough to do that, he must hate us, too. So why are we here, in this wagon?” she burst out, clinging to her certainties even as they cracked like eggs. “Why are we not dead, like everybody else?”

“He has other plans for us,” Will said flatly. “Ransom for you, probably. I don't know what for me. Maybe the same. Or maybe I am to be a slave to Kamil, the new Sultan of All the Saracens.” He made the title sound ridiculous.

“I won't believe it,” Ellie whispered. “I won't believe it until Kamil tells me himself.”

Will shut his eyes.

Ellie did not have long to wait. In the early afternoon, the wagon halted in a clearing and the back was thrown open. As the prisoners blinked in the glitter of a heatless sun, their chains were undone and they were hustled out to find themselves no longer by the Rhine but by a smaller river with the ransom wagons once again being loaded onto barges. Now, although their captors were still wearing imperial uniforms, they could hear more languages than just German and Arabic. It seemed to Will that Kamil had drawn supporters from all corners of the world. This must have taken more than just a few weeks to organize. Maybe Kamil had begun sending messages from Hartslove immediately after his arrival all those months ago. Maybe, all the time
he had been under Will's roof, he had been plotting. Maybe, maybe. Will looked back on everything they had done together, every gesture, every friendly glance, and saw it all through the distorting prism of the moment.

He turned to Ellie only to find her transfixed by a vision neither of them would ever forget. Blowing steam into chilled air was Hosanna, and in his saddle Kamil sat giving orders to the bargemen. As if sleepwalking Ellie began to move toward him. Surely now Kamil would explain why this was all a mistake or a terrible misunderstanding. Unable to help herself she cried out to him. “Kamil! Kamil!” Her cry contained everything she had ever believed about friendship, faith, honor, and love and it struck Kamil, already reeling from the events of the morning though he dared not show it, like a hammer blow. It told him at once that Ellie would never understand, that he had stabbed her not in the back but in the eyes and had stabbed her so hard that the wound would never truly heal. Yet even now he knew she was still hoping. Even now, she would still listen if he ran to her. He could see her holding her breath, still believing in him. But he was in too deep and instead, with a groan he thought the whole world must hear, he turned away.