said the sailing master.
“His job is to make me laugh,” I said, shifting to Pisan dialect to drive the point home. “Laughing keeps me from flying into murderous rages at a moment’s notice. But right now I am talking to you, and I don’t find you the least bit amusing.”
Scarlet’s fake soldiers maintained a properly menacing mien behind me. I sat on the horse, drumming my fingers on my sword’s hilt. The sound drew his glance toward the sword, then he looked up at my face. I smiled. He turned and waved a yellow handkerchief at the boat. The crew scrambled to hoist the anchor, and the oars came out to bring the ship in closer.
They were a good crew and had the supplies unloaded in less than an hour, including two more wagons and a quartet of donkeys to draw them. The two extra boys on the warns took over the wagons, and we were soon ready to leave.
“What about my payment?” said the sailing master.
I whirled, sword in hand.
“Do you take me for a fool?” I shouted. “You were paid before you ever left Pisa. Now, get out of here before I add your swindling head to my trophies.”
The small boat took off so fast that it nearly rammed the merchantman, and the sails were raised in a trice.
“North, men,” I ordered, and our group trundled forward, the horsemen falling into place neatly beside the wagons. Soon, we were beyond the sight of the Pisans, and I couldn’t say which group was happier to see the back of the other.
“What made you so sure he had been paid in advance?” asked Scarlet.
“He was no gambler,” I said. “Some of these suppliers may bespeculating that there will be a market when they arrive, but this fellow wasn’t the sort to be taking any chances.”
“Unlike us,” said Scarlet. “Brother Theophilos, you and Blondel have exceeded my expectations. Although the blond one needs some practice lowering strongboxes from towers without hitting the sides.”
“The next time the situation comes up, I’m certain he’ll do better,” I said. “That was a most timely intervention on your part, by the way.”
“I heard the guard react after the box hit the tower going back up. I figured a distraction was in order. Well, Captain, since I am to amuse you during this journey, how about a little music while we ride?”
“It would be a pleasure,” I said. “Especially since I can’t play my lute with these gauntlets on.”
He pulled an instrument from a case shoved into his saddlebag. It was a guitar, one of those Arab instruments, only scaled down to a child’s size.
“I haven’t heard one of those in years,” I said as he tuned it. “Do you prefer it to the lute?”
“Definitely,” he said. “It has more character. It’s louder, and you can bend the tones more readily. Listen.”
His fingers danced along the strings, and some melody that might have come from a mullah’s throat sang out.
“It suits this world,” he said, looking out at the harsh landscape, the small patches of green fighting for existence in the sandy soil. “A lute is for artificial prettiness inside walls, but a guitar sounds a man’s soul in the wilderness.”
He leaned back in his saddle and played and sang. His singing voice was sweeter than his speaking voice, and at an unearthly high range. He sang in langue d’oc, Greek, Syrian, and Arabic, covering the range of nationalities among the apprentices behind him. But everyone knew some of the songs, and some of us knew all of them, so it was quite the talented armed choir traveling up the searoad.
It was a two-day journey. We broke for camp at a deserted stone chapel that was fairly defensible. Scarlet organized the watches and had a fire going in no time. I hauled water with one of the boys. I say boys, because with their helms off, it was clear that none of them was more than sixteen.
It was another clear night, and we sat outside as the fire died down, looking up at the stars. Scarlet and I talked about many things, and his
“His job is to make me laugh,” I said, shifting to Pisan dialect to drive the point home. “Laughing keeps me from flying into murderous rages at a moment’s notice. But right now I am talking to you, and I don’t find you the least bit amusing.”
Scarlet’s fake soldiers maintained a properly menacing mien behind me. I sat on the horse, drumming my fingers on my sword’s hilt. The sound drew his glance toward the sword, then he looked up at my face. I smiled. He turned and waved a yellow handkerchief at the boat. The crew scrambled to hoist the anchor, and the oars came out to bring the ship in closer.
They were a good crew and had the supplies unloaded in less than an hour, including two more wagons and a quartet of donkeys to draw them. The two extra boys on the warns took over the wagons, and we were soon ready to leave.
“What about my payment?” said the sailing master.
I whirled, sword in hand.
“Do you take me for a fool?” I shouted. “You were paid before you ever left Pisa. Now, get out of here before I add your swindling head to my trophies.”
The small boat took off so fast that it nearly rammed the merchantman, and the sails were raised in a trice.
“North, men,” I ordered, and our group trundled forward, the horsemen falling into place neatly beside the wagons. Soon, we were beyond the sight of the Pisans, and I couldn’t say which group was happier to see the back of the other.
“What made you so sure he had been paid in advance?” asked Scarlet.
“He was no gambler,” I said. “Some of these suppliers may bespeculating that there will be a market when they arrive, but this fellow wasn’t the sort to be taking any chances.”
“Unlike us,” said Scarlet. “Brother Theophilos, you and Blondel have exceeded my expectations. Although the blond one needs some practice lowering strongboxes from towers without hitting the sides.”
“The next time the situation comes up, I’m certain he’ll do better,” I said. “That was a most timely intervention on your part, by the way.”
“I heard the guard react after the box hit the tower going back up. I figured a distraction was in order. Well, Captain, since I am to amuse you during this journey, how about a little music while we ride?”
“It would be a pleasure,” I said. “Especially since I can’t play my lute with these gauntlets on.”
He pulled an instrument from a case shoved into his saddlebag. It was a guitar, one of those Arab instruments, only scaled down to a child’s size.
“I haven’t heard one of those in years,” I said as he tuned it. “Do you prefer it to the lute?”
“Definitely,” he said. “It has more character. It’s louder, and you can bend the tones more readily. Listen.”
His fingers danced along the strings, and some melody that might have come from a mullah’s throat sang out.
“It suits this world,” he said, looking out at the harsh landscape, the small patches of green fighting for existence in the sandy soil. “A lute is for artificial prettiness inside walls, but a guitar sounds a man’s soul in the wilderness.”
He leaned back in his saddle and played and sang. His singing voice was sweeter than his speaking voice, and at an unearthly high range. He sang in langue d’oc, Greek, Syrian, and Arabic, covering the range of nationalities among the apprentices behind him. But everyone knew some of the songs, and some of us knew all of them, so it was quite the talented armed choir traveling up the searoad.
It was a two-day journey. We broke for camp at a deserted stone chapel that was fairly defensible. Scarlet organized the watches and had a fire going in no time. I hauled water with one of the boys. I say boys, because with their helms off, it was clear that none of them was more than sixteen.
It was another clear night, and we sat outside as the fire died down, looking up at the stars. Scarlet and I talked about many things, and his
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