When he reached the dray driven by the innocently cloaked and hooded Gonji, the vigilant trooper peered more closely and registered alarm at the Orientals presence. He kicked his steed up close to the smiling samurai, who greeted him calmly, while averting his face.
But Corsini, who had joined the band out of his debt to Gonji as well as an idealistic sense of Gonjis divine mission, pulled his pistol and blasted a hole in the nearby patrol commanders forehead. Horses screamed and reared, and a short, frantic engagement ensued. The three soldiers with the commander were felled in close-quarter combat, one taken down by a springing Simon and the other two overwhelmed by the mercenary escort.
The soldier at Gonjis dray drew his rapier. Gonji pulled the Sagami from its concealment beside him and beat the slim blade aside. Just as the samurai engaged his opponent, another pistol shot dropped the lancer from the saddle.
Before the excitement died down, Buey pounded up to Corsini and leaped to belt him off his mount with a savage backhand blow.
"Neapolitan b.a.s.t.a.r.d!" the Ox growled. "We could have gone by without bloodshed."
Some of Corsinis companions began to move to his aid, and a violent argument broke out, finally mediated by Gonji.
"No more pistols," the samurai warned, "and no more fighting unless I give the order or initiate it myself. I, or Captain Salguero. Children are with us, and those shots were probably heard for miles."
"Are we or are we not on a holy mission?" Corsini grumbled as he wiped the blood from his mouth. His friends grunted supportively.
"What kind of crusade are you on, Napoli?" another renegade under Salguero challenged.
"We kill no more soldiers unless it is absolutely necessary," Captain Salguero ordered. "It is my responsibility to decide when any of my former compadres must die. Simon has said that no messengers made it this far to the east."
"And what did he do in order to prevent them?" Corsini accused, pointing at the lycanthrope. But when he saw the look in Simons eye, Corsini swallowed and dropped the matter, remounting and swinging off with his band of free companions to cross the bridge.
The Spaniards watched them, still muttering with hostility. It would remain a sore point between the Spanish and Italian contingents, and in the subsequent days, refugees began to segregate themselves into hostile factions, along ethnic lines.
Gonji took note of this divisiveness with a sense of ill omen.
Simon took a meal with Gonji early that evening, watching the sun press near the horizon, his mood plummeting with it.
"What would you have done with that patrol?" Simon asked him, out of earshot of the others. "Sooner or later the tension will get to someone again. Too many families in danger here. Cardenas over there-" Simon pointed at the solicitor from Barbaso, seated against a wagon wheel fifty feet away, reading from a small tattered book.
Gonji inhaled sonorously. "I dont think Cardenas would start trouble. Hes an intelligent man. He wants to return to his family. Ive promised to let him go when we reach the sea, and that seems satisfactory to him. I dont know what to do about trouble. We must fight, I suppose. We cant haul prisoners with us. By the way," he continued, smiling, "nice of you to drop by for my execution. I was afraid youd miss it."
Simon dismissed the droll remark with a curled lip.
"It seems were linked again," Gonji said, "by a third party."
"How so?"
"This Balaerik, this...manipulative priest, or sorcerer, who used the Inquisitions mad fanaticism to try to trap you-I was the bait, you see. Hes taken a special interest in destroying both of us. Or me, anyway. I dont know why. Your devotion to the Church may be compromised a bit when I tell you this: Are you aware that whatever secret faction is conspiring to kill us, for whatever reason, actually went so far as to place an evil Pope in Roma for a short time?"
Simons reply surprised Gonji. "I suppose it can happen. Evil is powerful. But now theyll be on their guard against such blasphemy ever occurring again. Dont look so pleased with yourself. The Church is still the guardian of the Word of G.o.d."
Gonji shrugged in half-agreement. "Do you know, Balaerik said he bore you a message from your father."
"He is not my father."
Simons outburst caused heads to turn in their direction. He reddened and lowered his voice at once. "Dont ever call that monster my father."
"So sorry, mon ami, the possessing spirits father, then."
"The possessed spirits father. I am not an energumen. I host one."
Gonjis brow knit in confusion. "Wait-there is a third spirit within you? Wakarimasen-I dont understand. Sprechen Sie Deutsch, bitte."
They changed from French to High German, a language with which Gonji was far more conversant.
"Its something like that," Simon explained. "The shape-shifting sorcerer Grimmolech used his foul sorcery to somehow place his sons possessed spirit into the body of the Killing Beast. Its possessed by something evil, to be sure, as is its father. Perhaps their entire family line..."
"But Grimmolech is essentially human? Not a demon, as youve claimed before?"
"One and the same nonetheless," Simon responded, br.i.m.m.i.n.g with hatred. "Some sort of...high priest of evil power. Magic. Sorcery."
"Its getting bad, Simon," Gonji said gravely. "Something must be done. And youve got to stop avoiding me. Somehow we are linked in this. Spiritually, cosmically. Too many wise men claim so. We must form an alliance against this...conspiracy that gives us no peace. Learn its intentions. Destroy it. I saw things in your native France since we last met. Whole towns are being swayed to supernatural evil. A visionary woman I met-she reminded me a bit of Tralayn-she told me of a...conjoining of evil forces that seek to control our world by using strange gateways into others. Other worlds...concurrent with our own. Ive seen examples of the truth of her words."
Simon was shaking his head. "It would be a mistake for us to be trapped together."
"Stop playing the tortured loner! I want to know whats behind all this," Gonji argued. "What threat we pose to them. Do you know that a dead man returned from the Dark Lands to testify against me in Toledo? He spewed foul lies that connected me with a horrid cult I battled against-vampires who preyed on children, in Pont-Rouge."
"I said it would be a mistake," Simon repeated, "but it may be necessary to do as you say. For a time, perhaps. I, too, have seen evidence of what you say. And I came looking for you-to solicit your help."
Gonji thought he detected a surprising note of fear in the mans pearl-l.u.s.tered eyes, for the first time ever in their a.s.sociation. But then he decided it must be the sun, now resting on the western horizon, which inspired it.
"Ill explain when theres time," Simon added. "Ill help you get these people to the ships, then Ill explain. Dont speak more of me, if they ask." He rose to leave, compelled by the first stirrings of painful transformation. For because he had killed on the night of the full moon, he was doomed to the painful nightly reversions into the werewolf, until that moon had been supplanted by the next. Yet he still pathetically insisted that no companions take undue note of his tragic life, as if none of it were real.
"Theres one other thing about this," Simon noted, watching the murky red orb of the sun sag lower. "Ive learned that knights of the Order of the Golden Fleece have been set after you. Its an order of impeccable honor and spiritual devotion. Ill not harm any of them. They actually remind me of you, in their exalted sense of duty." He cast the samurai a nervous, feral grin, as close to a gesture of humor as Simon could ever muster.
Gonji c.o.c.ked an eyebrow. "Wait-the sea-what about when we reach the sea? How will we-"
Simon shook it off, backing away into the gathering twilight. "Youll take to ship; Ill go overland. What else can we do?"
"Iye-that wont do. You see... Im not going to Austria. I must sail to the Barbary States."
"To Africa? What in G.o.ds name for?"
"Later. Ill explain later."
Simon was trembling now. "Ill never board a ship. You know its madness to expect-adieu!"
"Simon," Gonji rasped after him in a whisper, "what will you be about this night?"
"Ill prowl."
Then he was bounding astride a skittish horse and kicking it hard across the savannahs, dwindling into the distance. The horse, Gonji knew, would soon abandon him in terror.
The samurai morosely ambled over to Cardenas, who had been watching the two of them.
"What are you reading?" Gonji inquired, not sure why, since he cared little.
"Bacon... Francis Bacon," Cardenas replied airily, and thumbing to a particular page, he quoted without looking: ""I do not believe that any man fears to be dead, but only the stroke of death."
Gonji stiffened, chilled by the sudden quiet touch at his elbow. It was Valentina, proffering him a cup of rum. He accepted it with thanks and tipped it at Cardenas, who tentatively held up his own goblet in reply.
"To the stroke of death," Gonji toasted.
The three of them exchanged small talk awhile, Gonji wary of the brightness of the starry autumn night. Cognizant of the brooding posture of the former Spanish troopers, who drank in lament of the countrymen theyd been forced to fight.
To Gonji, it seemed they could not depart Spain soon enough.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO.
So stealthy was the night attack on the dozing sentries outposted to the north of the camp that only one of them was able to squeeze off a warning shot before they were overcome.
The shot galvanized the camp. Strangled cries were hushed, and women and children were herded into and under wagons for safety as the first musket enfilade raked their left flank. One man was. .h.i.t, and before the dazed fighting men could a.s.semble, another volley spattered the encampment, felling another mercenary and a dray horse.
Gonji belted his swords and leapt astride the black mare, encountering Salguero as he clung low and checked the priming pan of a pistol.
"Patrol?" Gonji advanced.
"Musket company," the captain corrected. "Probably down from Cuenca."
"Weve got to hit them, Hernando," the samurai said. "Too many innocent people in danger."
Salguero moistened his lips and nodded resignedly in agreement. "They can outrange our pistols."
"Not our bows," the samurai reminded, leaping down off the horse again and calling the fighting men to a.s.semble on foot. He caught up a longbow and quiver of shafts as another volley ripped into the camp. Someone shrieked inside a wagon, struck by the fire.
"See the flashes?" Salguero called out. "Two hundred yards."
"I make it a hundred seventy-five," Gonji judged.
They split the archers and crossbowmen into three squads and set out, firing in rotating volleys, each squad scrambling ahead after their fusillade, running low in the darkness as they reloaded. The arbalesters trailed the archers because of the longer reloading time. Arrows and bolts whickering across the starlit sky, they advanced like the beak and wings of a swooping hawk.
Now the musketeers, seeing their tactic, stood to fire in concentration on one wing at a time. The left flank of bowmen took note too late, firing simultaneously with the Spanish troopers. Two men of the six renegades dropped, one of them crying out repeatedly in anguish, his screams terrible to hear in the darkness.
But Gonjis squad at the center of the counterattack leapt up as if to fire, dropped to the ground when they saw the muskets come to bead, and scrabbled back up after the discharge to fire at will, as they dispersed to form two smaller wings. The outcries of the skewered musketeers testified to their success.
Now the freedom fighters came on at the dead run, sweat glistening on anxious visages, as they dared the deadly gunfire. They were near enough to see the frantic reloading of the muskets by moonlight. The next gun volley felled two more free companions and one of Salgueros rebel lancers, but a like number of musketeers spun down from the impact of quarrels and war arrows.
Loaded pistols came out in the hands of the charging defenders, trained on the musketeer position, their distance from the attackers down to a hundred yards. Still the musket company held its ground, their commander spreading their line to minimize the effect of the counter-fire.
A blast of sizzling pellets whistled past. Gonji exhaled a sharp breath, standing firm and relaxing himself, as he arced through a powerful draw and sighted on the commander. His shot hissed away, the samurai following its sleek trajectory.
Too high, he decided. Then- The commanders head looked as though it was suddenly snapped off his shoulders, and he was knocked off his feet. Shouts of victory broke from the bowmen when they saw. The musketeers began to fall back now, and the refugee band descended on them with a vengeance, pistols igniting like fireflies over the plain.
Gonji nodded with satisfaction. It had been his third try at the commander. The dungeon sojourn had cost him dearly. Raking out the Sagami, he tossed away the bow and hurtled forward with the others.
There was another brief exchange of mostly erratic gunfire, then an engagement of clashing steel, some of the Spanish company fleeing in panic.
"Buey," Gonji shouted to the sword-wielding giant, "cant let any of them escape."
The Ox nodded and took two men with him in pursuit of the retreating troopers, who tried to take to horse.
And then Gonji was in the midst of the fray. Two swordsmen came at him as one. He sprinted into the pincering charge, then stamped to a halt, his feint drawing them off balance. His lightning, scythe-like strokes batted both blades aside, the return blows ripping through both mens midsections before the singing parries had left their ears.
He continued on at the run, coming to engagement with the lunging figure-eight whirl of a sizzling rapier point. The Spanish swordsman clenched his teeth, his face contorting with exertion as he strove to use his blades length advantage to hold the samurai at bay. They clashed twice, both feinting a disengagement to open a line of attack. Again-sparks showering the frigid darkness.
The Spaniard lunged deep- Gonji dropped to one knee and released his left hand to rake overhead with his right. He unhinged the others sword arm at the wrist, the clenched rapier tossing through the air in the severed hand as the man howled. Blood spurted onto Gonjis jerkin, across his cheek, as his pa.s.sing two-handed plunge finished the opponent.
Then someone in a Spanish jack was bounding up from the rear, hefting two pistols. Gonjis breath hissed as he spun and came to middle guard.
"G.o.d-d.a.m.n it, dont you swing that thing at me!"
It was Sergeant Orozco, running with an ungainly limp, snarling at him. Gonji breathed a sigh of relief and waved him on.
"Youre gonna kill me yet before you have to pay me back my silver, eh?" Orozco was bellowing. He fired at an onrushing trooper, downing him. Then he kept on hobbling after Bueys band.
A pikeman withdrew his gory spike point from a dead mercenary and brought it up at Gonji. The samurai stumbled back, raising his blade into engagement. He tripped over the body of a musketeer, seeing the deadly pike descend at his face as he fell.
He heard shouts and a shot in the expanded moment as he tried to roll out of range of the razor-edged pike. The plunging blade tore through the top of his right shoulder, and he emitted a sharp outcry of pain, swinging his katana wildly behind him, clacking against the wooden haft.
Then he was scrabbling on his knees, slapping at the blood seeping from his rent jerkin, pushing up onto his feet. Backing, swatting at the oncoming pike again, wiping a b.l.o.o.d.y hand on his breeches.
The pikeman sensed a kill. Lunging-stabbing-weaving his angry weapon through s.p.a.ce warmed by Gonjis retreating form.
The samurai recovered his senses, his ko-dachi-the short blade used in seppuku, the ritual suicide-snicking out of its sheath. Teeth gritted in defiance, he brought his twin blades into counterattack, knowing the ferocious potential of the well-trained pikeman.
He caught a lunge in an X-block, driving the pikes spear point into the ground. Slipped the next lunge, his shoulder wound burning painfully. Caught another thrust and drove the pike-point down harder, leaping back as the weapon tore up from the ground in a frenzied slice aimed at his groin. The pikeman lost his pot helmet in the hard, jerking motion.
Another darting lunge. Gonji caught it and turned it aside this time, a quick, circular lick of his short sword notching the haft of the pike. A swift horizontal slash across eye level caused the pikeman to jerk backward. Gonji slid the katana along the pike and plunged it into the warriors belly. His following slash of the ko-dachi ripped through the mans throat.
The katana had penetrated so deeply that Gonji was pulled along as the Spaniard fell onto his back. A hard tug freed the gleaming blade. Gonji glanced around him.
It was over, for the most part. His comrades stood about, catching their breaths, nodding to Gonji as they leaned on bows and dropped to their knees.
Shots split the darkness, tiny firelicks spitting in the northern distance. Gonji waved for them to follow.
When they had gone about fifty yards, they encountered Bueys pursuing party-all intact, including the grimacing Sergeant Orozco, who clearly had returned to combat too soon on his wounded leg.
A rumbling of approaching horses- Salguero shouted for them to a.s.semble, but Buey motioned that the threat was over, pointing: It was the musket companys scattered horses. Two mounted figures were herding them toward the encampment. Strangers, clutching still smoking pistols.
"Who-?" Salguero was asking, but Buey shrugged him off.