Race of Scorpions Read Online Free PDF

‘Ansaldo will. It’s the wagons they’re after.’ What was in the wagons, however, he could not be brought to disclose.
    They had meant to stop short of the farm and send scouts ahead, but on nearing heard the clatter of battle. Not the sporadic noise of a siege, but the insistent clamour of hand-to-hand fighting. The lieutenant laid a hand to his trumpet and gulped. It was Thomas who removed it from his fingers and blew the good, healthy fanfare that sent the whole motley force galloping forward.
    Considering the state of the Bentivoglio men, it was an excellent fight. The men assaulting the farmhouse were found to be fully armed, which was unusual. They not only fought more than competently, but had been on the verge, it was clear, of storming the gates and the building. They were, however, both surprised and outnumbered, and the Bentivoglio troop at least were properly armed. Nicholas dashed back and forth, wielding his sword and parrying with his shield until the fighting started to slacken. Bythen, the farm gates had opened and the Queen’s men had come out to help them.
    The extra numbers made all the difference. The marauding troop began to fall back. Some had fallen. Some had been forced to surrender. Quite a number had broken off and galloped away. The cavalry troop of the lord of Bentivoglio began to complete the rounding up of the rest. Nicholas noticed a woman.
    It was two months since he had noticed any woman, and he felt nothing for this one, except that he saw she was handsome. She stood at the gate, her hair soaked, her cloak clutched about her and said, ‘My lord Pardo! De Bon! They have gone after the wagons! Save them! Save Captain Ansaldo!’
    The man beside Nicholas appeared to be Pardo. Nicholas said, ‘The Queen’s wagons?’
    The dark-faced man said, ‘We drove them out from the back as a decoy. They were seen. Some of these brigands broke away and are chasing them.’ He said, panting, ‘I have to stay with the Queen.’
    ‘I don’t,’ said Nicholas happily. He swept a knot of Poles and traders and Bolognese with him and raced round to the back of the farmhouse. The tracks of the wagons were there, and the tracks of the pursuers. Far across the snowfields he could see the riders themselves in the distance. He hallooed, echoed by Thomas, and they hurled themselves into the hunt.
    To his own surprise, Nicholas felt some excitement. For the first time in weeks, he had nothing to think of but his sword and his seat on a horse. He lifted his blade and brandished it over his head, roaring wordlessly. The fair-haired Poles, clustering about him, raised their feathered caps and screamed in chorus. The group of armoured horsemen in front, racing across the white fields to the river, turned, floundered, and then redoubled their efforts. Ahead of them was their quarry; three Cypriot carts and a group of seven or eight men with a captain. It was hard to count, through the fleece of dashed snow. Nicholas said, ‘Have we an archer?’
    Two of the angelic Poles had short bows. One man had a sling. They shot from the saddle, and saw two men fall, far ahead, and thought they had injured another. They went on shooting, but the snow, the uneven ground, and the distance were all against them. Nicholas bellowed, talking in snatches. ‘We’re not going to catch them in time. First thing, let’s warn this Ansaldo. He’s got to abandon the wagons and run, or he’ll be killed before we can help him. If he sees us, he’ll do it. Come on. Spread out, and start shouting.’
    ‘But the wagons?’ panted one of the merchants.
    ‘We’ll get them anyway. Where can the thieves go with them? They’re slow; they can hardly escape us. They must know the Queen has been rescued. If they have any sense, they’ll abandon the effort and save themselves. Shout. Shout.’
    They spread out and shouted. Ahead, specks in the distance, they could see the wagons lumbering on. Faces turned, but the draught horses galloped.