‘And the next,’ Hector called out. ‘Move slowly. No tricks.’
A second dark figure detached itself from the shadows and began to make its way across the ditch. When the man climbed up level with him, Hector saw what he had expected: it was the tall stranger, the man with the speckled cheek, whom he had twice seen in Piecourt’s company. ‘Stand still, just where you are,’ he commanded again. Then, speaking over his shoulder to Diaz who had joined them, he added, ‘Keep your eye on this one and don’t hesitate to shoot.’
He was certain that the third man in the shadow was Piecourt himself. There was a note of triumph in his voice as he called out, ‘Now, comite, it’s your turn,’ and he watched as the third of the escapees made his way across the ditch and stood obediently in front of his captors. Hector felt the tension ebbing. His ambush had succeeded just as he had planned.
Piecourt was peering into his face and speaking. ‘So my dogs have betrayed me,’ he said. He must have recognised Dan and Bourdon as well, for he murmured, ‘Bench three. I always suspected that you were trouble. What will you do with us now?’
‘Hand you over to the guards,’ said Hector.
‘And then?’
‘Tomorrow someone will decide your punishment for attempting to escape.’ The words were hardly out of his mouth when he was roughly brushed aside. Someone had run up behind him and shoved him out of the way. His foot slipped on the edge of the ditch and for a moment he was off balance, sliding sideways. He half-turned and saw Karp. The expression on Karp’s face in the half-light was frightening. His mouth was a dark hole from which emerged a yowling scream. For a ghastly moment Hector was reminded of a stray dog howling at the moon, though the sound that Karp made was more piteous. The Bulgar was moving with shocking speed. His hands reached out. A moment later he had seized the tall stranger by the throat. The force of the lunge knocked the man off his feet and he fell backward, Karp on top of him. In appalled astonishment Hector, Dan and the others stood gaping as the two men writhed on the ground while Karp tried to throttle his victim. Piecourt was the first to recover his senses. He lashed out at Hector, who was still off balance so that Hector fell back on one knee. Whirling round, Piecourt swung an arm at Dan standing guard with his pistol, and forced the Miskito to duck. Then Piecourt took to his heels, running directly away from the wall and heading towards the distant village. Dan straightened up, coolly raised his pistol and called out. ‘Stop or I shoot!’ When Piecourt failed to respond, Dan pulled the trigger. There was a bright flash, a spurt of red and yellow sparks, followed by the flat explosion of the shot. Thirty yards away the fleeing shadow tumbled forward.
Neither the pistol shot nor Bourdon’s whoop of delight had any effect on Karp. He had succeeded in pinning his victim on his back, and was kneeling on his victim’s chest with his hands still around the stranger’s throat. His frenzied yelling had given way to low, fierce growls as he tried to kill his opponent with his bare hands. ‘Karp! Karp! Leave him alone! Let him be!’ Hector bellowed in Karp’s ear. But the Bulgar was oblivious to Hector’s shouts. He bore down with his full weight and was shaking his victim’s head from side to side. Hector seized Karp by the shoulder and tried to restrain him. ‘No, Karp! No!’ he yelled. But it was useless. Karp was in a red mist of rage. In desperation Hector threw an arm round Karp and tried to drag him back, using all his strength. But Karp was berserk. ‘Help me, Dan. Help me get Karp under control,’ Hector gasped, and with Dan’s assistance he wrestled the Bulgar away from his opponent who now lay choking and groaning on the ground.
‘Control yourself Karp,’ Hector begged. The Bulgar was sobbing in distress. He was sucking in great gasps of air through his mangled mouth. Tears of rage were streaming down his cheeks, and he was still trembling. ‘Everything’s under control, Karp,’ Hector reassured him. ‘You will have your revenge.’ Karp gave a gurgling choking sound, and turned his face away. To Hector’s utter amazement, the Bulgar dropped to his knees and began to pray. He was weeping uncontrollably.
Hector helped the stranger up. The man was still in a state of shock, appalled by the naked ferocity of the assault. He was unsteady on his feet, coughing and wheezing as he massaged his bruised throat. ‘Remember what you did to Karp, Chevalier. You could not have expected less,’ Hector said. The stranger did not answer at once, but waited until he had regained his self-control. Then he raised his head and, looking straight at Hector, snapped, ‘I should have strung up the villain when I had the chance. But such a death was too gentle for him.’
Dimly Hector became aware of Diaz’s voice. The Spaniard was cursing steadily and fluently. ‘He got clean away, the bastard,’ Diaz was lamenting. He was rubbing his elbow. The rowing master was nowhere to be seen. ‘We thought the pair of us had him under control, but the man has the strength of a bull. He took advantage of the commotion and jumped up off the ground and knocked both pistols out of my hands. When I tried to grab him, he twisted out of my grip as if I was a child. Then he dealt Roberto such a clout on the head that he was dizzy for minutes. By the time I recovered my guns, the brute had bolted. It was too late to take a shot at him and, besides, you had your hands full over here with Karp and his friend. I thought it better to come and help you secure the one bird that we had in the hand. There was no need to worry about that fellow Dan picked off. From the way he fell, I’d say he won’t get up again.’
‘Let’s get away from here,’ said Hector, suddenly feeling very weary. ‘We’ve got the prisoner we were looking for, and the guard will arrive any minute. They must have heard Dan’s shot and all the commotion. We can leave them to find Piecourt whether he’s dead or only wounded. He never lifted a hand to help us, so now we’ll repay him the compliment. Tomorrow I’ll find out just what our captive is worth.’
‘TEN THOUSAND louis d’or, that’s the ransom that I will be demanding for the Chevalier. I congratulate you,’ said Maimaran. The Jew had sent word for Hector to meet him in the imperial treasury, and Hector was astounded by the contrast with the Jew’s humble home. Maimaran was waiting for him in a reception chamber whose barbaric opulence was hidden deep in the palace compound. Sunlight poured in through the fine fretwork of arched windows and threw patterns across a tessellated floor of white, blue and red. The walls were hung with arrays of sabres, shields and muskets inlaid with gold and mother of pearl. Several iron chests, bolted and padlocked, stood against one wall. ‘His true identity is Adrien Chabrillan, Knight Commander of the Order of St Stephen of Tuscany. He also holds various lesser titles of nobility and rank including the honorary rank of captain in the Galley Corps of France. As you rightly surmised, he is also known as the Lion of La Religion. The Emperor is away for a few days so I have not yet informed him of his captive’s identity, but I know that he will be very pleased. It will enhance his reputation as a champion of Islam as well as make a very significant contribution to his treasury.’ Maimaran nodded towards the iron-bound chests. ‘The Emperor always needs money. His expenses are voracious, and his revenues unpredictable. The ransom of Chevalier Chabrillan will ensure a steady stream of income for quite some time.’