'What is it?' asked Cait, alert to even the slightest nuance of deception. 'Tell me.'

'Well,' he said, 'I do not expect we shall learn anything, for if Ali Waqqar had heard the terms of my offer, the rogue would have been here already.' He smiled suddenly. 'But you must not worry. No doubt the storm has prevented word from reaching him.'

'Yes,' Cait agreed absently, 'I suppose it would be wrong to expect too much just yet.'

Hasan's smile broadened; he held out his hand for hers. 'Precisely, my love. Give it another day or so, and no doubt the brigand will be beating on these very doors, demanding payment.'

'And then what will you do?' asked Cait sweetly.

Hasan appeared distracted by the question. 'Please?'

'What will you do with Ali when you catch him?'

'Why, I shall throw him in chains and, before the sun has set, his ugly head shall adorn a pike above the gate.' He pulled her to him. 'But come, Ketmia, it is not seemly for a woman to discuss such unpleasant subjects. Let us talk of finer things. I have written a poem for you. Sit here, my lovely, and I shall read it out.'

Nothing more was said that night, and the next morning, true to his word, the prince had horses saddled and ready for their ride. They left before the sun quartered the sky, and rode out into a bright, crisp winter day. The storm had scoured every cloud, leaving the vault of Heaven clean and polished to a brilliant crystalline clarity.

Wrapped in her fine new cloak, Cait enjoyed the stinging fresh air and the stunning views from the ridgeway high above the valley floor. The trail was steep and winding, and so they rode in single file to the valley. The prince led, followed by Halhuli; Cait came next, and then four mounted guards with banners attached to their spears.

As they neared the lower slopes, they passed through a snow-dusted forest where Hasan pointed out the delicate hoofprints of red deer, and the less dainty tracks of wild pigs in the unbroken snow. Upon reaching the valley floor, the snow vanished entirely, and the track became a road. The nearest settlement was some distance away and it was after midday by the time they reached the place: a small upland village of squat white-washed houses, forlorn amidst bare muddy fields.

At their approach, the villagers came out to watch and greet them. A gaggle of ragged children, wide-eyed and stiff-legged, pointed at the brightly coloured banners and exchanged whispered observations behind their hands. While Halhuli and his men looked on, the prince dismounted and spoke to the villagers in Arabic; he passed along the line, handing out silver coins to one and all. The children danced with excitement.

Presently, a stout man with a rough beard and dirty yellow turban appeared and, with a gesture of welcome, loudly hailed the prince. Hasan turned to Cait and called, 'Here is Abdullah, the head man. We will learn something now.'

The two walked a little apart from the clutch of villagers. Cait watched them closely, but saw nothing to arouse her suspicion one way or another. After their conversation, the prince placed his hand on the man's shoulder, and then embraced him. They parted then, and the prince returned to his horse and climbed into the saddle.

'Abdullah says that the bandits were seen skirting the village four nights ago – before the storm.'

Cait's heart leapt at this sudden revelation. 'And Alethea, was she with them? Did they see her?' She looked at the man, who was now standing beside the prince's horse. 'Oh, please, ask him. I must know.'

'I am sorry, Ketmia. It was growing dark and they were far away.' The prince spoke to the head man, who pointed across the fields to a line of trees in the distance. 'He says they were riding east towards the hills. One of the boys saw them, and Abdullah went to look but could not tell how many there were-eight, ten, maybe more.'

The prince thanked the villagers and moved his party on, escorted from the village by the children who ran along behind, ululating in a weird chorus of acclaim. They proceeded to the next settlement-a short ride away on the other side of the river which divided the valley in half. Here, as before, the same custom of greeting was observed, and the same discussion alone with the head man of the village -a toothless, hump-backed old man this time-who told them that two of the bandits had come to the village to buy ground meal and cured bacon.

It was almost dark when the men appeared, the chieftain reported, and the villagers were afraid of what the brigands would do if they were turned away empty-handed. So they sold the bandits meal and bacon, and some wine-and the men rode away.

On further questioning, the old chief said that although he did not see any more riders, he knew there were more waiting nearby. Was it Ali Waqqar? asked the prince. Who else? replied the toothless chieftain. It is always Ali Waqqar.

'Then you were right,' said Cait, much relieved by what they had learned. 'It is Ali Waqqar.' Her relief was short-lived however, for in the very next breath she asked, 'But now that he has provisions, what if he has moved on? What if he is riding south even now?'

'Peace, dearest Ketmia. A little faith can move great mountains -so it is written, is it not? You must trust me.' He remounted his horse, cast a quick look at the sky, and said, 'I think we should begin the journey home.'

'So soon?' asked Cait.

'Alas, my love, even a prince cannot prevent the sun from setting.' He smiled sympathetically. 'Still, it has been a good day. We have learned much, and I have repeated my offer of ransom. It will not be long now, I think, before we obtain your sister's release.'

Thus, they started back, reaching the steep trail to the high al-qazr as the sun dropped below the ridge to the west casting the valley in shadow. They were just beginning the long climb up the winding mountain track when they were hailed by riders from the south. Halhuli spoke a word of command and the prince's guards lowered their spears and took up a protective position between the oncoming riders and the prince.

'It is Lord Rognvald!' shouted Cait when the newcomers were near enough to recognize.

Hasan shouted a command to his guards, who raised their weapons and rode out to meet the knights. 'Greetings, my lord knight,' called the prince as the Norsemen, escorted by his guards, reined up. 'Good hunting?'

'No,' said Rognvald, his voice cracking with fatigue, 'not as good as we had hoped.'

'We saw smoke from a campfire once,' offered Svein.

'But we lost it before we could find the place,' concluded Dag.

'We never saw it again,' added Yngvar. Too tired to speak, the two Spanish knights shook their heads in agreement.

'Most unfortunate,' answered the prince. 'Still, there is cause for joy. We have learned that Ali Waqqar is nearby.'

'Indeed?' Rognvald looked from the prince to Cait, who confirmed Hasan's assertion with a nod.

'The bandits have been seen,' she told him. 'They came into the valley for provisions three or four nights ago.'

'That is good news,' agreed Rognvald. He rubbed his face wearily. 'They are still in the region at least.'

'Yes,' said Hasan. 'I think it will not be long now before our efforts are rewarded. As the poet says: "A silken net to catch a bird; a silver net to catch a thief." Ali Waqqar will come to us very soon.'

'I pray that it is so, lord prince,' replied Rognvald.

Hasan signalled to Halhuli, who began leading the way back to the palace. The prince took his place beside Caitriona and rode with her for the rest of the journey. Twilight was full about them by the time they entered the outer courtyard, the stars shone as bright needles of light in the thin cold mountain air.

They dismounted, and as the grooms came running from the stables, the knights began moving slowly and stiffly towards the palace entrance. The doors were open, and rosy light from the braziers burning in the anteroom spilled out on to the steps and into the courtyard.