“It’s just an expression,” Tess countered. “People survive something terrible and they think, ‘God was watching over me.’ They don’t mean it literally.”
“Of course they do. Deep down, they really do. They believe it, your president believes it. You all believe that your God is the real thing and that by being Christ’s chosen people, He will protect you. You’re as backward as we are,” he chortled. “Which is why all this is important to me. And it’s why I won’t give up until we’ve finished what we started.”
Tess felt her temples throbbing. The man was never going to give up. And if he ever did, he wasn’t going to let her walk away.
The Iranian stared her down in silence, his eyes narrowing to feral slits. “This is a great start. You’ve done well. But it’s not the whole story. Now, we know Conrad came here. From the looks of it, he battled some Muslim fighters. Maybe he died here too. Maybe. What we do know for sure is that when he and his men left the monastery of Mount Argaeus, they had three large trunks with them. Three large trunks that must have had more than just two books in them.” He spread his hands out questioningly. “So where’s the rest of it?”
Chapter 41
CAPPADOCIA
MAY 1310
They caught up with them late the next day. Maysoon knew how to read the terrain well. It helped that she had grown up in the region. What didn’t help was that there were six men out there, five of them viciously fit and able, and they were escorting something Conrad was keen to get back without risking any damage to it.
Given their disadvantage, there was only one option. An ambush. It had worked for the Turks. It would have to work for Conrad and Maysoon, if they chose their spot well.
They had to choose it exceedingly well.
They stalked Qassem and his outfit for a few hours, then tracked around them shortly before sunset and rode ahead to size up the ground the Turks would be covering the next day. Maysoon told Conrad they would have to make their move that morning. Any later, and the convoy would reach the wide, open prairies that led to Konya. It would be virtually impossible to take them by surprise there. The landscape was too flat and exposed. They needed to hit them while they were still making their way out of the pockets of trees, the swell of rolling, sun-baked hills and valleys.
The problem was, even there, there weren’t any great spots to choose from. None at all. The landscape was still too open to present any promising ambush points. There weren’t any natural features that they could use. Furthermore, because the area didn’t have any narrow trails, bridges, or crossings that the Turks would have no choice but to take, Maysoon couldn’t even be absolutely certain of which route they would follow. Which meant that even the most cunning ambush could end up going to waste, with the intended victims not showing up.
They only had one choice. To hit the Turks during the night, where they were camped out. Which wasn’t a bad option, necessarily. They just needed to plan it right.
Exceedingly right.
One and a half versus six.
It took a while to find them. The Turks were camped out in a sloping thicket of trees, by the base of a winding valley. Conrad and Maysoon left their horses behind and crawled to within twenty yards of them, guided by the amber flicker of a small campfire the Turks had going and assisted by the glow of a bright gibbous moon. They tracked around their perimeter and noted the relative positions of what they saw: the horses, eight of them, tied to some trees off by the lower end of the slope; one man, seated cross-legged with his back to a tree trunk, watching over the animals; the wagon, its two horses still harnessed to it, the telltale silhouette of the trunks visible under a canvas cover; the men, asleep around the fire; another guard, on the opposite side of the small campsite, one they would have missed if it hadn’t been for a fortuitous change of position he made that triggered a small rustle.
Conrad nodded to Maysoon. He’d seen all he needed.
They crawled back to safety, and Conrad explained his plan to her. They had a lot of preparing to do, and there wasn’t much time to do it. Conrad wanted to hit the Turks just before first light, when the men would be most weary.
By the first hints of dawn, they were ready.
After hiding their horses well out of view from the campsite, Conrad and Maysoon made their way back through the trees and the bushes, carrying the bundles of dried branches and rope that they’d crafted, snaking their way to their staging point overlooking the Turks’ mounts. They crouched low and watched. The man guarding the horses was still where they’d left him. He was also still awake. Not ideal, but not a disaster. Conrad had plans for him anyway. Plans that involved sneaking up on him and stuffing his forearm against the man’s mouth while slitting his throat with Maysoon’s dagger.
Plans that went through without a hitch.
He gave Maysoon a low “all-clear” whistle, and she joined him by the horses.
They worked quickly and quietly, tying one bundle securely to each horse.
Conrad glanced in the direction of the wagon. It was about forty yards away, though Maysoon would have to take a longer, arced trajectory to reach it while steering clear of her father and his men.
Conrad nodded to her. She reached into a leather pouch she had strapped over her shoulder and pulled out the tools she now needed: a fire-steel, a C-shaped piece of hard steel with a straight, sharp midsection; a long, narrow striking stone that had a prominent groove down its center; a small, egg-sized ball of dry grass; and a patch of char cloth made of dried touchwood fungus that had been soaked and boiled in urine.
She crouched low, turning her back to the cluster of sleeping men at the center of the campsite, and spread her tunic wide to shield her hands from any wisp of wind. She then started beating the fire-steel against the flat piece of flint, using short, choppy strokes, holding the touchwood tightly cantilevered over the edge of the striking stone. It didn’t take long for a spark to fly up onto the char cloth, and a small patch of red ember lit up within it. With an expert touch, Maysoon then tilted the char into the nest of dry grass and started blowing on it, softly. A moment later, flames licked out of the tinder. She then slid it under a mound of kindling that, almost instantly, caught fire.
The dry grass and branches crackled in the night.
They now had to move fast.
“Go,” he whispered. “I’ll be close behind.”
“You’d better be,” she whispered back. She planted a quick, hard kiss on his lips, then slipped away.
He waited until she was about halfway to the wagon, then he eased across to the horses and untied them, quietly, one after another, all but the one that he and Maysoon hadn’t lumbered with a special treat. He waited until he saw Maysoon’s silhouette climb onto the wagon’s bench, then he pulled a cluster of branches out of the kindling and, darting from one horse to the next, he lit up the bundles he and Maysoon had tied to their saddles. One after another, they burst into flame, causing the horses to panic and rear up while whinnying fiercely, with Conrad slapping their rumps and yelling manically to set them off even more.