Cait nodded to show that she understood, whereupon the jailer pushed open the door and stepped through into the cavernous chamber. Cait followed, with Abu Sharma close behind. Haemur and Otti came next – in attendance not because they were any real use in this matter, but for propriety's sake: Cait had quickly learned that the Saracens respected only those women who appeared to possess the support and protection of men.

The lower prison was little more than a dark noisome hole; the only illumination came from the grates of the open sluice drains in the floor above. Despite the stink, the cell was cool and dry-an acceptable trade, Cait thought, for if one could not have the light, at least one did not have to endure the heat. In the surrounding gloom, the captives lay: eighteen or twenty men, all knights, all of whom had been captured in one battle or another.

As Cait moved into the high-vaulted room, the captives stared up with hopeful faces, and began clamouring for attention. The jailer waded in, roaring at the prisoners and clouting them with his ring of keys until rough order was restored. He then stepped back, and beckoned Cait forward to examine the goods on offer and make her choice.

Cait had already had plenty of time to decide what she wanted. She stepped forward, and raising her voice to the hopeful men addressed them in slow, distinct Latin. 'Believe me when I tell you that I am sorry for your plight,' she said. 'My own father sat in this same cell awaiting ransom and release. It came for him eventually, and I pray that it will come soon for each and every one of you.'

She paused to allow her words to be relayed by Abu to the jailer. 'Today, however, liberation has come to a fortunate few,' she told the prisoners. Then changing smoothly to a simple, but serviceable Norse, she asked, 'Are there any Norsemen among you?'

Several voices answered eagerly: 'Here!' said two; and 'Over here!' said another.

'Stand, please,' commanded Cait. Three men rose eagerly to their feet. Pointing to the nearest of them, she turned to the jailer, who motioned the prisoner to step forward.

Hobbling, his hands and feet shackled and chained, the man edged into the light. Tall and gaunt, his fair hair and beard hanging in dirty tangles, his face grey with despair and lack of light, he regarded the young woman with an expectancy almost painful to behold.

'What is your name?' Cait asked in the northern tongue.

'I am Yngvar,' replied the man, his voice cracking dry. He held himself gingerly, favouring one side, as if to protect an injury.

She looked him up and down. 'Are you well enough to fight, Yngvar?'

'I am that,' he replied without hesitation.

'These others,' she said, indicating the knights waiting their turn. 'Do you know them?'

He nodded his head once. 'They are my swordbrothers.' Pointing with both hands to the thick-shouldered, heavy-browed man behind him, he said, 'That is Svein Gristle-Bone.' Nodding to the young, dark-haired man a short distance away, he said, 'That is Dag Stone-Breaker.'

She summoned them by name. 'Svein, Dag, come here.' As they shuffled painfully forth, she asked, 'Where is your lord, Yngvar? Was he killed in battle?'

'By no means,' replied the knight. 'He is here with us even now.' He turned and pointed to a man squatting on the floor a few paces away.

Cait moved to him and he looked up at her impassively. His face

what she could see of it beneath the foul mat of his hair and beard

was broad, his chin and cheekbones strong. 'This man here says

you are his lord.'

'He speaks the truth.'

'Then why do you refuse to stand with the others?'

'You did not say how many would be chosen,' he replied evenly. 'If any are to gain freedom today, I want my men to have first chance.'

Cait nodded thoughtfully. 'If I pay ransom for your men, will you join them?'

'Of course,' he said. 'I am their lord.'

'Tell me, how did you come to be here?'

'There was a battle,' answered the knight. 'We lost.'

'Is that all? Nothing more?'

'That was enough.'

'I mean,' said Cait with exaggerated patience, 'is there nothing more you care to tell me about how you came to be here?' 'We are warriors, not criminals. There is nothing more to tell.' 'Then let us strike a bargain, you and I,' replied Cait, satisfied at last.

The knight climbed slowly to his feet. Even in chains, his clothes little more than filth-crusted rags, he held himself straight and tall. 'I am Rognvald of Haukeland,' he declared. 'Tell me your bargain.'

'It is this,' said Cait. Before she could continue, the jailer, who had been talking idly to the katib, suddenly thrust himself between them, shouting and swinging his keys again. Instantly, the knight raised his shackled hands, caught hold of the iron ring, and held it firm so that Cait would not be struck. The jailer roared with frustration.

'Peace! Sala'am!' cried Abu, rushing forward. He beseeched and cajoled, and by degrees calmed the outraged jailer. 'He says you must not go among them,' Abu informed Cait, 'or you will certainly be hurt.'

'Tell the jailer I thank him for his vigilance and concern,' Cait replied, stepping back to show she understood. To the knight, she said, 'Here is my bargain: I require the aid and protection of several men-at-arms for a pilgrimage I intend to make. In exchange for your vow of fealty, I will pay your ransom. Serve me well, and once I have reached my destination and achieved my purpose, you will be paid for your services and released to go your way.'

Lord Rognvald regarded her with the same indifferent expression with which he had greeted her.

'What say you?' she asked. 'Do you wish to discuss the matter with your men?'

When he still did not reply, she demanded, 'Well? What is your answer?'

'I am thinking.'

The other prisoners began shouting just then, imploring to be recognized, giving Cait to understand that if these Norwegians were reluctant, many another would happily take their place. Putting out her hand to the clamouring captives, Cait said, 'You see? There are plenty of others ready and willing to volunteer.'

'This is what I am thinking,' replied the knight, stroking his beard with a grimy hand.

It was at that moment that Cait knew she had made the right choice. 'Lord Rognvald, I chose you because while I know nothing about fighting men, I do know something about Norsemen. And I know that if a Norseman accepts my bargain I can trust him to keep it, and I will sleep secure in my bed at night.'

'That is true,' replied the knight. 'How do you know so much about Norsemen?'

'My great-grandfather was born in Norway, and my grandfather came from Orkney) ar-he served King Magnus on the Great Pilgrimage.'

Lord Rognvald's men stood looking on, their faces pinched with desperate hope.

'Come, let us agree,' said Caitriona. 'I think you will find service in my employ far less onerous than your present occupation.'

A ghost of a smile touched his dry lips. 'My lady, I accept.'

Cait turned at once to the katib. 'These four men,' she said. 'How much is the ransom?'

Abu translated her words, and the wazir's secretary cast his eyes over the standing men. He made a mental calculation, and announced the price.

'Ten thousand dirhams,' Abu said, relaying the katib's words. 'Each.'

'Very well,' said Cait. 'Tell him I agree.'

'With all respect, sharifah, that I will not do,' Abu replied. 'It is impious to accept the first price-it shows disrespect for the bounty Allah has given you. Also it is an insult to the intelligence and an affront to the spirit of commerce.'

'I see. Then tell him it is too much,' said Cait. 'I will give five thousand.'

Abu and the katib held a short, spirited discussion, whereupon Abu turned to Cait and announced, 'Katib says you are not to offend his master the prince with such a ridiculous offer. These are Christian knights, not camels. Ten thousand is the price for which noble fighting men are redeemed. He will not accept less than eight thousand dirhams.'