Race of Scorpions Read Online Free PDF Page B

Thomas swore. Nicholas said, ‘We’ve no banner. The captain doesn’t know we are friends. He thinks the rest of the thieves have come after him.’ Then paused, and wished he knew as many swear words as Thomas.
    Far ahead, the little convoy was slowing. Outmatched as he thought, Ansaldo had done the brave thing. Instead of hopelessly running, he and his men had turned to confront their pursuers. Through the snow came the wink of their swords. They had set out to draw the attack from the Queen, and they were prepared to die, to help her to freedom. Nicholas whipped his horse, setting his teeth, but it had borne him from the inn, and through a fight, and was not going to turn into a bird for him. He saw the brigands arrive, and dismount, and fall upon the small group by the carts, and, distant as he was, could do nothing to help them.
    The fighting was over in moments. The shouting stopped, the flash of blades suddenly ceased, and all that was to be seen was a mark on the snow far ahead, and three wagons being driven at speed, with outriders spurring beside them.
    The young Poles beside Nicholas were silent. They reined in when they came to the spot, and looked down at the thick Turkish carpet of red and white snow, and the slashed bodies lying upon it. Nicholas wondered which of them was Ansaldo. Then they sprang off, in the wake of the wagons.
    These were easy to follow, if not to catch sight of. The ruts, not yet filled, led through uneven country that denied a clear view, and human hands as well as snow had muffled untoward sounds. The brigands were riding in silence. Nicholas said, ‘We’re getting close. The ruts are clearer. I don’t like it.’
    ‘An ambush?’ Thomas said.
    ‘Wait,’ said Nicholas. They stopped. Ahead were the wagons. They were motionless. Beside them were snow-covered bushes; a copse; a ridge behind which men could be hiding. It took a long and cautious approach to discover that there was no ambush here. The copse and bushes were empty of men. And the wagons, when they reached them, contained nothing.
    There were footprints everywhere. One of the Poles said, ‘Sir?’ and pointed to a trail of them, deep as a trough. It led round a thicketed mound.
    Nicholas said, ‘What’s over there?’
    ‘The Reno. The river,’ said one of the merchants.
    Thomas swore. ‘And a boat, or a barge.’ He swung into the saddle. ‘We’ll get them.’
    The river was there, round the ridge. And there were the brigands, their horses beside them. The contents of the carts stoodthere also, or those very few chests that were left. One by one, they were being heaved down to the water. As Nicholas and his troop came in sight the last chest was released, the last pair of men swung themselves into their saddles and the small, well-armoured force set off along the bank, wheeled, and thundered over the bridge which lay beyond it. The air they presented was one of extraordinary efficiency.
    There was no time, then, to examine the fate of the Queen’s possessions. But dashing over the bridge, Nicholas caught sight of the clutter of boxes below him, and conceived the impression that the barge or boat had foundered beneath them. He had the further impression that what he heard, far ahead, was the sound of men cheering. He was interested enough to be quite intent on catching them, but after fifteen minutes his horse started to founder, and two others had to drop out. After twenty minutes Thomas said, ‘They’ve got away. Their horses were fresher. They were mercenaries.’
    ‘Did you know them?’ Nicholas said.
    ‘No. But I know the second-hand shop their gear came from. Who paid them?’
    ‘Let’s ask the Queen,’ Nicholas said. ‘But first, let’s go back to the bridge.’
    At the bridge, they had company: a dozen of the Cypriot household had come from the farm to assist them. They stood on the bank, looking downwards. Nicholas tied his horse to the bridge and looked over it. Below lay the contents of the