It was also obviously moving in the grip of steadily mounting passion, kicking higher and higher.

Blade sighed. It was tempting to make his break now, while the two were approaching climax. Odds were they would neither notice nor bother him, not in that state of mind and body. But he decided to play it safe. Unless they were going to go to sleep and spend the night? Unlikely. He lowered himself off his elbows and tried to relax. The chorus of gasps and flesh surging against flesh was getting louder and faster.

Then something bit Blade sharply in the ear. He was so completely surprised that he snapped with a yell. His head crashed into the underside of the carriage with a jolt that dislodged the rat and nearly knocked him unconscious. For a moment blackness shot with sparks, and explosions swirled in front of his eyes.

The girl let out a scream like a steam whistle at Blade's yell, and jerked violently. With a thud the young lovers toppled off the hay bales, landing still entangled on the coachhouse floor.

Half stunned, Blade came out from under the carriage too slowly. By the time he had lurched to his feet, the young man had done the same. He had also grabbed up a pitchfork.

As Blade slowly stood up, the girl kept on screaming. In fact she was too busy screaming to make any effort to put her clothes on. The young man-he could hardly be more than seventeen-was wide-eyed and naked as a baby. The pitchfork shook in his hands. But he held his ground, meeting Blade's eyes with the determined stare of a man willing to die to defend his woman.

Normally Blade would have drawn his sword and dispatched an opponent like this in ten seconds flat. But damn it, he couldn't kill this boy and his girl! So he held out both hands in a peaceful gesture. «Be quiet, please. I'm not-«

But the boy apparently thought Blade was going to attack him bare-handed. The tines of the pitchfork darted forward like the head of a snake. Blade had to step aside in a hurry to avoid being pinned like a butterfly against the door of the carriage.

He drew his broadsword and raised it, intending to chop in a disarming stroke. He still didn't want to hurt or kill the young idiot!

But fatigue and loss of blood and the blow on the head had slowed Blade more than he had realized. As he closed in, the boy reversed his grip on the pitchfork and swung the handle in a roundhouse arc. Blade's sword rose, but not fast enough. Instead of being chopped in half, the pitchfork handle swung through its arc and smashed into the side of Blade's head.

Again he saw blackness shot through with fireworks. He reeled back against the carriage, trying desperately to hold onto his sword. But the boy stepped back and brought the pitchfork handle down full-strength on Blade's sword arm. His fingers opened numbly, and the sword clattered to the floor.

Blade was trying to stay on his feet and draw his other sword, when the door of the coachhouse flew open. Three men waving pikes dashed in and formed a circle around Blade. He bared his teeth in a defiant grin. Normally three men and a boy would have been easy meat for him. But this time he knew he would be too weak, too slow. But at least he was going out on his feet.

Blade had drawn the short-sword and was getting ready to fend off the pikeheads when light, fast-moving footsteps sounded outside the door. Then a slim, white-clad figure with dark hair was silhouetted against the darkness outside.

«Sister Brigeda!» exclaimed one of the pikemen. «This isn't-«

«Wait!» the woman said sharply. «Where did this one come from?»

«He was hiding under the carriage when-when-«the boy began. Then he stammered and blushed scarlet all over as he remembered how Blade had caught him and the girl.

A smile flickered across the courtesan's face as she looked at the naked boy and girl. «Go and get some clothes on, children,» she said calmly. «The rest of you, escort this man up to the Fourth Chamber.»

«Sister?» said one of the pikemen inquiringly. «I do not under-«

«You fool,» Brigeda said, not angrily, but as though she was stating a simple fact. «This must be the escaped slave of Durkas.»

«But if he is, then he is dan-''

«You do ill to argue with me, Fturn,» said Brigeda. «Do you think Durkas would ever tell the truth in such a matter?»

«No, but-«

«The man will go to the Fourth Chamber,» said Brigeda. «At once. Or you will go to the quarries tomorrow morning.»

There was a dangerous moment of tension before the man's shoulders slumped and he nodded and turned away. Blade had been wondering what he could do to help Sister Brigeda if her servants turned on her. But obviously she had the force of character to keep them all in obedience without his help. A formidable woman. If she was really interested in helping him- But if she was going to be an enemy, it would be like falling into the den of a she-tiger.

Chapter SIXTEEN

The three guards escorted Blade up to the Fourth Chamber as nervously as if they had been escorting a virgin princess to her wedding chamber. It took all the strength Blade could find not to fall on his face on the thick red carpet in the hallway.

Three maidservants took over from the pikemen when Blade reached the Fourth Chamber. Two were fresh-faced and smiling, but the third wore a veil that left only one brown eye visible out of her whole face. All three bustled about as eagerly as puppies, stripping off Blade's filthy clothing, sponging him with herb-scented hot water, and massaging the kinks and knots out of his muscles. He lay face down on the big feather bed, letting them work, until the tension and strain left his mind.

But he didn't relax too much. So far Sister Brigeda and her servants had done nothing that suggested he was in any danger. But he couldn't rule out some future plots, which he might be helpless to resist. He couldn't even use most of his unarmed combat skills, not wounded and exhausted as he was. However, he needed the treatment he was getting. That was for certain. And if there was going to be treachery afterward, Blade was sure he could at least take a number of Sister Brigeda's household with him.

However, the next person to come into the chamber was not an assassin. It was another maidservant, pushing a wheeled cart with several dishes on it. There was cold cheese and bread and meat and hot wine. Blade looked at the cart hungrily and heard his stomach rumble ominously. But he shook his head at the maid. Once again he would take no chances with drugged food or wine. He would have to speak to Sister Brigeda herself before he could be sure if it was safe for him to eat and drink in her house.

«You are not hungry,» said the maid with the veiled face.

«I am not,» said Blade. He hoped his stomach wouldn't rumble again, loudly enough to prove him a liar.

It didn't. But his words apparently weren't enough to convince them. All four sat down cross-legged on the rug and stared at him. Occasionally their eyes wandered from Blade to the food and back again. The silence in the room thickened like a fog. Blade wondered how long he could refuse the food and wine without giving offense.

The silence was broken by the arrival of Sister Brigeda herself. Her flashing dark eyes took in the whole scene-Blade lying in bed, the untouched food, the staring girls-in a single sweeping glance. Then she lowered her eyes to the maids and jerked her head toward the door. Almost with a single motion, they sprang to their feet and scurried out into the hall, pulling the door shut behind them.

Brigeda sat down on the blue velvet cushion in the far corner of the room and stared at Blade. He thought he detected amusement in those dark eyes. He stared back, taking in the woman. There were wrinkles around her eyes and a bit of sagging skin on her neck; she must be forty or well past it. But otherwise she showed no signs of a life spent at her ancient and demanding profession. Her skin was smooth and high colored, her swept-back hair glossy black, her figure still almost girlishly slender and quick in its movements. Only a large jutting beak of a nose marred her features. No, not marred. Gave them character-a character that made Blade think of a bird of prey ready to plunge on a victim. The look in the wide dark eyes matched that air.