The Harsh Mistress (The Outremer Chronicles Book 2) by Peter Tolladay

Author:Peter Tolladay
Language: eng
Format: azw3, mobi, epub
Tags: Historical, Action & Adventure, Historical Fiction, War & Military, Genre Fiction, Literature & Fiction
Publisher: Geg Digital Ink
Published: 2014-07-30T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 37

Safwana woke me by nuzzling my back and snorting in ill temper. For a few moments I was confused. A dappled light met my eyes and a bulbul chirruped close to me. Time seemed to have no meaning and I continued to stare at the bird, fascinated by its yellow under rump. There was another snort and an urgent thump on the back of my head. Safwana was hungry and needed attention. It seems that I had forgotten the basic tenets of a cavalryman: look after your mount before yourself.

Carefully, I threaded our way out of the prickly bower. Guiltily, I found that I had left the saddle on her overnight. In the saddlebag I found grain and poured some into the palm of my hand and let her feed. She pranced like a foal when I removed the saddle. It took some time to rub her down and then I let the mare graze and drink from a stream that had appeared as if by some miracle overnight. My chest was painful, but after a brief exploration with my fingers, I came to conclusion that I was just badly bruised.

I searched the saddle bag and found a bag of flour spoiled by the rain and some strips of goat meat. It tasted absolutely vile but I chewed on it as I made my way back to the dead ghulam. I needed a weapon if I was to venture into Toron. Less than a hundred paces away I found the evidence of the landslide. A scar of browned earth and rock spilled onto the valley floor and led far up the hill. Full grown cedar trees had been uprooted and now lay at odd angles, like the discoloured stumps of an old man’s broken teeth.

I found the stiff body of the Kurd but could find no sword. I dragged him out from the shallow grave with some difficulty and unbuckled the lamellar cuirass. It fell away easily but I discarded it. If I were to enter Toron it would not be disguised as an enemy. The fine linen qamis, however, was a different matter and I did not think twice about stripping it from his torso. Under this I found a small leather pouch and grunted in satisfaction at the few silver coins it contained. I attached it to the drawstring about the waist of my own breeches.

Is this what I had become, a scavenger, not a real man any longer but a parasite? Ballocks! Better to be a live hypocrite than a dead noble.

At the top of the fine leather riding boots I found a small jambiya. I tucked the curved dagger into my own sheepskin boot.

I turned my attention to the dead horse. Already her stomach had bloated. It would not be long before the stench would become unbearable. In the saddlebag I found more grain and a fur hat. At the front was a jade button. This was not a common ghulam, this was a man of worth.

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