Chapter Forty
The team of horses made its way steadily up the road from Palermo to Villagrazia.
The hard boards on which she sat were uncomfortable, but that wasn’t the reason why Laura itched for the journey to end.
Ever since Palermo came into view from the deck of the Calliope, all she could think about was holding Benjamin in her arms, smelling the sweet scent of his freshly-washed hair.
She closed her eyes, giving up the futile search for a glimpse of Elias’ villa.
Would Benjamin be crawling now, would he be standing and trying to walk? Laura smiled to herself while, in her mind’s eye, she could see him toddling unsteadily toward her with his arms raised and a toothy grin.
She would sweep him into her arms and kiss his face over and over, promising she would never leave him again.
And there, in the villa’s entrance, would be Elias with a wide smile of his own.
She would tell him she was ready to make them a family, that she would be honored and proud to be his wife. His arms would embrace her and Benjamin both, welcoming them home.
The horses started to slow as the elevation increased. Kit snapped the reins to make sure they kept up their pace. Laura opened her eyes.
They were near the village. Another mile to go. Laura felt anticipation rise as they approached Villagrazia.
Sophia let out a gasp of surprise as two boys, aged about twelve or thirteen years, dashed suddenly across the path right in front of the horses.
“Whoa!” Kit firmed his grip on the reins to stop the animals from shying.
Laura watched the lads briefly glance back without breaking their stride as they ran into the woods on the other side of the track. A cloud crossed in front of the sun, plunging the glen into shadow and a shiver went through her.
Kit shook his head and yelled a curse after them.
“Idle hands are the devil’s play things,” Kit grumbled. “They shouldn’t be running about when there’s a day’s work to be done.”
“I know those two boys,” said Laura, more to herself than anyone else. “They were field hands helping Pasquale and Angelo in Elias’ olive grove. The boys helped them look after the horses.”
“Well, I’ll make sure Elias hears about it.”
Kit turned the cart down the lane that led to the villa and the brief sense of unease she felt outside the village returned.
The hedges that Matteo proudly kept trimmed were overgrown.
Laura smelled the charred wood and ash before they rounded the bend. The villa was nothing more than a blackened shell.
Before she could react, Kit had already jumped down from the cart, moving swiftly toward the ruins. He cupped his hands and called, “Elias!”
“Oh my God, Benjamin!”
“Come on,” Sophia said, climbing down from the cart. “Let’s go look. I’m sure everyone’s safe.”
Laura walked numbly for the first few steps before reminding herself to breathe.
On approaching, Laura could see the conflagration was not a recent one. Soot streaked the exposed walls, indicating there had been rain since the fire. Meanwhile, grass and wildflowers had already begun to encroach on the ruins, bright green against the blackened ground.
Laura accepted Sophia’s hand in hers as they walked around the perimeter. The worst of the damage was near the bedrooms where exterior walls had toppled.
From the kitchen, where heavy oak roof trusses, charred but intact, poked up at an angle to support a roof that was no longer there, she could see all the way through to the parlor and the terrace that overlooked the grounds.
Her studio was gone. Erased. All that remained was the shattered stone floor like a scar on the grass where it had stood.
Kit jogged back toward them, his uneven gait not slowing him down in the slightest.
“Some of the outbuildings have been torched, too,” he said. “The place is completely deserted.”
He offered Laura a comforting smile. “I’m sure everyone got out safely. We’ll go back to the village and make inquiries.”
Laura swallowed and then gave a nod. “Someone would have gotten word to Thomasso,” she said with more confidence than she felt.
“I’m sure you’re right.” Sophia agreed. “Jonathan will send someone up to let us know.”
The sound of hooves drew everyone’s attention.
“Matteo!”
The young man dismounted before the horse had come to a stop.
“Miss Laura! Mr. Kit! The boys said it was you!”
Laura would have rushed over to the young man, but Kit cut to the chase.
“What the hell happened here?”
“Assassins! They tried to take Benjamin!”
Laura’s stomach flipped – end over end over end. She shivered then felt hot and, for the very first time in her life, she fainted.
Salty dryness of tears long shed left Laura feeling as wrung out as the damp compress over her eyes. At the sound of a knock on the door, she dragged the cloth off her face. Sophia slipped in and came to her bed.
“Jonathan and Morwena are here,” she said.
Laura gasped back a sob. Her son was dead, Elias was dead.
“Shh, Elias and the baby survived the fire unharmed, but they are not here. Are you strong enough to hear what we know so far?”
Aided by Sophia, Laura lowered herself to the kitchen chair, mindful of the grim faces of her friends.
“Laura?” She found herself looking into Jonathan’s face. “Do you recognize this?”
Threaded through his long, dark fingers was a sinuous gold chain and, sitting in his palm, was an oval locket with a shield cartouche.
She frowned. Jonathan turned the locket over to show the wafer of ivory bearing a miniature painting of the Cappleman coat of arms.
Laura gasped at the warped and broken hinge. “The back half of the locket is gone.”
Jonathan nodded then looked to Kit. Before Laura could wonder about the silent communication between the two men, Morwena handed her another miniature painting. It was on a cheap piece of pine and looked hurriedly dashed off as though the artist was in great haste.
“This isn’t one of mine,” she said.
Morwena acknowledged her with a nod. “I know. But I was wondering if you recognized where this is?”
Laura shook her head.
“This is a tourist painting from Monreal, about fifteen miles from here. It has one of the most famous of all Palermo’s cathedrals. You have never been there?”
Again, Laura shook her head.
“It arrived while we were away. The locket, chain, and this painting wrapped in brown paper. It was addressed to Kit in Elias’ hand. Thomasso said it was delivered by a street urchin but he didn’t stay long enough to say who gave it to him.”
“Laura?” Kit spoke softly, his eyes kind. She knew she annoyed him sometimes but, right now, he was a friend. A true friend, a brother. “This is what we’ve been able to piece together. Someone sent assassins to take Benjamin. Elias believed the threat would continue while the boy was here, so they’ve gone into hiding. I’m hoping the broken locket and the painting are clues to their whereabouts.”
“When do we go?”
He reached out and squeezed her hand.
“Now, if you feel up to it.”
*
Elias didn’t bother to look behind him. If he were Kit, he would have performed an elaborate bow and made some witty remark. Instead, he raised his arms over his head and laced his fingers together.
He kept his eyes on Rabia’s, the only feature that he could see clearly, since the lower part of her face was covered by a veil of gold translucent enough that he could just see her mouth through it.
One of her guards tugged at the straps of his satchel. Elias lowered his arms and let the bag fall. The man picked it up and shook out the contents. Powder horns and shells dropped at his feet, only just missing his toes.
The guard growled and pulled back his arm. The scimitar was aimed at his neck. Elias shifted the weight on his feet and raised his chin. If the man was going to strike, he’d prefer it to be a clean blow to his neck. But still, he said nothing other than make a silent recitation of The Lord’s Prayer in his mind.
Rabia raised her hand and the guard lowered his.
“Clean him up, feed him, and have him prepared. Toufik will bring him to my quarters at midday. I wish to interrogate him personally.”
Rough hands grabbed Elias’ upper arms and pulled him through the pavilion. The looks on the other guards’ faces told him they weren’t happy with their mistress’ order but they either respected or feared her enough to do it. Nonetheless, he was certain he would be sporting more than a few new bruises when they delivered him at midday.
He wondered about the servant in brown who helped him yesterday. Did she betray him to her mistress? Was she found out and punished?
He walked with the guards unresistingly. Acquiescence at the moment would serve him better than fighting. It would give him time to think of another plan. He could think of only one.
He slowed his pace a little, watching the four other guards move further and further ahead.
Now!
Elias dropped his weight, causing the men holding his arms on either side to loosen their grip. He took a swing at the closest one, knocking him off his feet, then sprinted in the direction of the cliff. If he picked his jumping off point correctly, he would drop onto a ledge he’d seen ten feet below and clamber halfway down the cliff before the guards could begin a proper hunt. Of course, if he picked his jumping off point incorrectly, he would plunge the full height of the cliff onto the rocks far below…
His arms pumped in time with his legs. He ran for his life. Then the grass rose up to meet him as a diving pursuer grasped his ankle.
Several other bodies piled on top of his. He gritted his teeth, afraid the men might smother him to death. Elias took kicks to his kidneys and legs before being hauled to his feet once more. Two different guards, larger and stronger, frog marched him away from the walled garden and, this time, there were guards front and back.
If he thought the kicking he had sustained in the garden was to be all, he was disappointed.
Shoved head first into what appeared to be a barracks, he was set upon. Held down while two men stripped him of his shoes and clothes, he was dragged to a set of wooden slave stocks where the heavy wooden yoke was locked closed over his ankles. He heard the whip-like whistle of the cane a split second before it struck the still sensitive and healing instep of his bare feet. He was familiar with the falaka, it was a popular way of punishing prisoners. Done expertly, it left few visible marks but caused days, if not weeks of agony.
Elias cried out. The second strike sent another searing line of pain across his feet. He tried to breathe through the agony until the blows had become so numerous – thirty, forty maybe – that he lost count.
A moment later, he was dragged to his feet once more. Everything below his ankles was an excruciating fire. Apparently his torture was to continue. Just outside the barracks was a water trough. Elias managed a small mouthful of air before the guards threw him in head first in a parody of their mistress’ instructions to clean him up.
Now his lungs burned as much as his feet, and his attempts to struggle were thwarted by restraining hands. Fingers threaded through his hair at last and pulled him out of the water. Elias gulped in air open-mouthed as he was thrown to the ground.
“Get up, anta kalbee – you’re my dog,” spat one of the largest men, barrel-chested with a wild black beard. Someone else doused him with a bucket of water. “When the mistress is finished, you can be my bitch, khawal. What say you, eh?”
The man shoved Elias backwards into the arms of two more men.
“You heard the mistress, clean him up.”
He was pushed back inside and into a small cell before being shoved into a chair. The two men tied his hands behind him to the back of the chair, then one of them gagged him with a strip of filthy cloth while two others spread his legs apart and bound each knee to the front legs of the chair.
A straight razor glinted in a shaft of sunlight.
“Keep your legs apart unless you fancy joining the ranks of the eunuchs, dog.”
Sweet Jesus! Elias squeezed his eyes shut and fought the leaping of his heart trying to escape his chest. Did he want to see this? It might be worse if he didn’t, so he forced himself to open his eyes, holding as still as possible as first his chin was shaved, then all of his pubic hair.
Oh, dear God, it was bad enough having it done to him, but the thought of Laura repeatedly suffering a similar indignity in the harem speared him through.
Before long, everything itched and burned and hurt where the careless barber had cut him. He was helpless to do anything about it while still tied to the chair. At least his heart had stopped hammering in his chest and each breath was more than a wheeze.
Time passed in a haze of pain. He managed to find a trance-like state to submerge himself in. In his mind, he saw Arcadia. He dreamed of rebuilding his home stone by stone. He would start with the terrace that overlooked his lawns into the valley, down to the sea in the distance. Next would be Laura’s art studio where—
The door to his cell opened, and a small bowl of couscous was placed on a shelf by a man who held some clean clothing over his arm. The man was tall, equally as tall as Elias, if not more so by an inch. His grey hair was in marked contrast to his dark olive skin. Whoever this man was, he was not bearded and was too elaborately dressed to be a guard. A special advisor? A eunuch?
The man shouted and one of the guards, a young man who Elias hadn’t seen before, untied his arms and legs before resuming his duties outside the door. That made the count eight guards in all, Elias deduced.
“You have five minutes to eat and get dressed before you are presented to my Lady Rabia,” the tall man said. “One untoward movement toward the mistress and the guards will slay you where you stand.”
Elias stood, gritting his teeth. The pins and needles running through his released limbs were an additional torture over and above the ill use to his feet.
“Do you understand?”
“I understand.”
“Good. Eat.”