At that moment a man spoke harshly from behind her, in Latin. “Quisnam adveho in nox noctis? Quis est… raptor?”
“Forgive me, sir, I am no thief,” Maeve returned as best she could in Latin. “I can pay you well, but have need of a quick horse this night. Look here,” she gestured at the felt bag. “I leave you this horse, and can offer gold as well.”
“Not for this horse,” said the man, drawing closer and eyeing her suspiciously. “Not this night,” he said darkly. He peered at her, his hand on the haft of a short sword that was tied at his waist.
“Who are you? Show yourself!” He drew his sword, threatening.
Maeve drew back her hood, shaking the fall of long honey blonde curls free as she did so.
The man’s face registered real surprise. “A woman? Alone in the night on the road? Or are there others at hand?” He looked about, squinting at the hedges and trees.
Maeve’s pulse quickened. She had to keep her wits about her, and then a sudden thought came to her. “Not alone, kind sir. My master and his retainers are on the road, close at hand. I am but a serving maid, sent hither to seek lodging and told to see what might be found in the way of livestock, for we are in need of a horse, a fresh mount. This gold and more we will pay in return.”
“Your master comes?”
Maeve decide to push the last of her chips out onto the table. “Dodo of Heristal, of the House of Pippin, not far from this place. He rides now on an urgent errand, and must suffer no delay.”
This was the horse, she reasoned. It had to be. There would be no other like it found on this road tonight. Of that she was certain. If Paul’s warning that their adversaries may also be closely involved here were true, this man could be one of them, and not the simple farmer he made himself to be. The blade in his hand had an odd curve to it, unlike typical weapons of 8th century Europe. He spoke Latin, but she had the feeling the language was not native to him, and his aspect was also not European. He had a dusky look, dark eyes over a thin, prominent nose and thick black beard. In any case, by claiming association with Dodo, she gained some small leverage. Any local would know that name and, if this man was an Assassin, he would also be expecting Dodo’s arrival. But she had to be very careful here.
The man gave her a sidelong glance, his eyes still searching the landscape around them. “I was told to expect four men,” he said quickly. “Nothing was said of a serving wench.” He pointed at her with the sword, taking a more relaxed stance, apparently satisfied that the area was secure.
“You were told?” Maeve pressed her advantage with a question of her own. “No one was to know of my lord’s travel this night. How is it you were told of this?”
“Never mind, woman,” the man said scornfully, dismissing her inquiry with obvious irritation. “You speak strangely,” he said, with an edge of accusation in his voice.
“I am not born of this land,” said Maeve. “The common tongue spoken here is not my own. I hail from the land of the Angles and Saxons. I was given to the house of Dodo as a young girl when my family perished.”
“No matter.” The man seemed uninterested, and was still somewhat restless. His dark eyes seemed to register some inner conclusion, however, and he forced a wan smile. “You seek food and rest on the road? Then the hospitality of my home is yours.” He nodded graciously, his hand gesturing to the farmhouse behind him. “But you are bold to have come here this way, and to have put your hands upon this one.” He pointed to the Arabian. “Your master is in need of a horse? This is one of the finest steeds in all the land, to be sure. It will serve him well.”
“Then you will sell it?” Maeve was quick to take advantage of this sudden shift in the man’s attitude, but an inner sense warned her to be on her guard now. The man was all too eager to let his prize steed go, when a moment ago he had clearly been very reluctant.
“For that?” He pointed his sword at the gray mare. “You say you offer gold as well? How much?”
“This I was given to offer,” she said, taking the felt bag and holding it out to the man.
He snatched it quickly, still somewhat suspicious, and hefted the bag in the palm of his hand. “How do I know this is not base stone?” he said.
“See for yourself,” Maeve gestured.
“I can see nothing here in the dark. Come into my home and we will sit by the fire to await your master. Then I will chew upon your gold and judge its worth, eh?”
Maeve’s pulse quickened. She did not want to be trapped inside close quarters with this man, on unfamiliar ground and with the possibility that Dodo and his men were indeed on the road this night, close at hand. She had to find some way to remain at large, and she had to be certain the Arabian was not here should Dodo arrive. But what to do?
“Forgive me,” she said quickly. “But I was told only to seek quarters and livestock, and to return with all speed should anything be found. My master is in some haste, and is like to ride on by, heedless of this place should I not return. But if you will offer the hospitality of your home, and this steed in trade, then I can gladly bring him these tidings, and he will surely come here at my urging.”
The man eyed her, uncertain for a time, and obviously thinking over the ramifications of her offer. Before he could speak Maeve sweetened her argument.
“That pouch you may keep until my master comes,” she moved as she spoke, taking up the rein of her gray mare. Now she was between the two horses, one hand resting on the back of the stallion, the other holding the rein of the mare. “But do not be greedy,” she put in a warning, “We have counted it well.” She maneuvered the mare between herself and the man, making as if she was preparing to mount.
The man was holding the bag, his fingers squeezing the soft felt to feel the stones within. The look of suspicion and distrust was obvious in his eyes again, but he seemed to hesitate, trying to decide.
Maeve knew it was now or never and, in a quick, steady movement, she leapt atop the horse—not the mare, but the Arabian stallion! The horse made as if it might buck, and the man shouted at her.
“Come down off that horse!” He tried to get around the mare to seize the reins, but Maeve kicked hard, forcing the mare to step forward and block the man. At the same time she pulled at the reins and gave the stallion a firm heel. The horse reared up, hooves scoring the cold air, then bolted, leaping away, out into the green field. She leaned down, taking a firm hold on the horses mane, her legs tight on his broad back. The man was shouting, in another language now, and very angry as he pushed himself free of the mare and ran after her. But the Arabian was too fast. Maeve leaned in and whispered close by his ear, feeling the power of the animal, yet confident that she could now control the horse. “Ride with me, Kuhaylan,” she said softly.
She let the stallion go now, clucking softly to urge him on as she steered the horse east toward the river, away from the road. If she could believe her own story, and Dodo was nigh at hand on the road this night as they hoped, then she would make certain they would not meet. The river would provide her an unerring guide north again, and she could skirt the bank until she came near to the city, then look for the place where they had shifted in to make Kelly’s retraction easier to manage.