Stolen Splendor (44 page)

Stefan's heart stopped. God in heaven, what was this
man saying? Kassandra was alive? He leaned closer to Frederick's ear, his voice
a desperate plea. "Where?"

Frederick's parched lips began to move rapidly,
whispered words spilling forth in rasping succession, punctuated by moans,
sighs, curses, as he spun the sordid tale of treachery, deceit, and murder.
Stefan listened silently, wracked by tumultuous emotions, one woman's name
searing into his mind. Sophia. You have done this to me, to Kassandra. Sophia .
. .

When Frederick could speak no more, his face twisted in
agony, tears spilling down his cheeks, trailing through blood and sweat, Stefan
laid his hand upon the tortured brow and stroked it gently, his hand shaking.

They remained so for a long time, until Stefan at last
rose to his feet, swaying ever so slightly.

"You . . . have sworn," Frederick gasped,
sensing his movement.

"I have sworn," Stefan murmured. "Your
death shall be swift, Count Frederick Althann.
"
 
He turned from the cot, the captain
rushing over to him at once.

"What did he say—
"

"Torture him no further," Stefan ordered as
he strode toward the entrance. "And cut that other man down."

"But, Commander, I have my orders," the
captain blurted. "Until they give me information—"

"The information has been given to me," Stefan
shouted, his gray eyes ablaze as he wheeled sharply. "You will receive
like orders from Prince Eugene within the quarter hour. Now, see that the
prisoners are bathed. Make their last hours as comfortable as possible. Give
them brandy to dull the pain, and warm broth. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Commander." The captain nodded,
shrinking back from this outburst.

Stefan did not stop until he passed through the guarded
entrance, drawing in great breaths of air as if he himself had just been
released from prison. He set off toward Prince Eugene's tent, Frederick's words
roiling in his mind.

Kassandra was alive! It was just as he had believed
since the day she disappeared, just as his instincts had told him! And she was
here, had been here, for weeks . . . so close, so close. Yet his incredible
happiness was tempered by abject despair, the two emotions crashing together,
leaving only the harsh light of cold reality.

Kassandra was in the hands of Halil Pasha, had been
given to him as a gift that very night. God help her! It was not so much that
she could be in the grand vizier's arms at that very moment, but that she faced
certain death in the morning if Prince Eugene won the battle, as he must!

A ragged sigh tore from Stefan's throat as he recalled
the previous summer's campaign, the decisive victory at Peterwardein, Hungary.
He and his soldiers had been among the first to enter the slain grand vizier's
tent after the battle.

They were greeted by a gruesome sight, a sight that
haunted him still. The women in the harem had been brutally murdered for fear
they would fall into the hands of the infidels. He had never seen such a
slaughter of innocents . . . They had been beheaded or strangled, their
silk-clad bodies lying where they had fallen in pools of blood.

Stefan broke into a run, his lungs burning with
exertion. Somehow, somehow, Prince Eugene must position the cavalry so that the
attack against the Ottoman lines would not only be swift and deadly, but also
so that he might make it to the grand vizier's tent in time to stop the
senseless massacre. It was Kassandra's only chance . . .

Chapter 42

Prince Eugene sat astride his white stallion, his dark
gaze piercing the swiftly receding fog. His army was spread out before him,
poised just to the south of the Ottoman
camp,
farther
than he could see in the murky predawn light.

But he knew they were there. The Imperial forces had
silently crossed the Danube in ordered precision to assemble on the immense
eastern plateau overlooking Belgrade. Row upon row they stood bravely, infantry
at the center, bayonets fixed and ready, flanked by the cavalry, colors flying
and drums silent, all hushed and waiting for the signal that would strike up
the cadence and sound the march.

Prince Eugene drew in a long, steady breath. He knew
that the moment he gave the command to advance, the Turks would hear their
drums. Suddenly alerted to their position and the imminent attack, they would
swing their heavy cannon to the south, and the bombardment would begin.

So be it, he thought grimly. The moment had come.

"Sound the advance!" Prince Eugene shouted
,
his words echoed by other voices as his commanders took up
the chorus, the drums beating fiercely in measured response, the great army
moving forward. "To the glory of the emperor, and the Holy Roman
Empire!"

"To the emperor!" Stefan cried, wheeling
Brand in front of the left flank of cavalry, his hands firm on the reins.
Prince Eugene's words of last night rang in his ears, burning like a firebrand
into his mind.

"Use your best judgment, Count Stefan. As soon as
you sense the enemy is routed and in retreat, take your men and make straight
for the grand vizier's tent. If you're in time to save your lady, only God may
determine."

Please, let it be so, Stefan prayed fervently, Brand
lunging forward beneath him. Let it be so . . .

***

Kassandra lay huddled on a soft mattress spread upon
the silk-carpeted floor, her hands tucked under her chin, her gaze fixed in
front of her. She took little notice of the oriental luxury of the small
antechamber, strewn with brocade pillows embroidered in gold thread, a carved
chest inlaid with ivory set near the tented wall, the fringed carpets three
deep beneath her mattress. It could have been a rat-infested prison, damp and
dark, for all she cared.

Her shimmering silk-gauze chemise and trousers of vivid
rose might as well have been cut from coarse woolen cloth. They seemed to chafe
at her skin, the transparent fabric clinging to her nakedness.

The Chief Eunuch had forced her to put them on the
night before in place of her torn garments,
then
had
allowed the ladies of the harem to peek in on her. They had laughed, pointed,
and tittered, babbling in many different languages, none of which she
understood. She had merely ignored them. Finally the Chief Eunuch had sent the
curious women scurrying away with a simple gesture, his amusement thwarted by
her silent indifference.

Kassandra sighed deeply, rolling onto her back. It
seemed that indifference had become her last defense against whatever her fate
might be.

For some reason, Halil Pasha had spared her life, and
she could well imagine why. Her attack had obviously not daunted him. More
likely, she thought, shuddering as she recalled his black gaze upon her when
she had been dragged away, it had encouraged him. If she was to survive, she
would have to seal off her inner self, her emotions, in a layer of feigned
passivity. He might ravage her body, but she would never allow him to break her
spirit. No matter what happened, she must sustain her will to escape.

Escape. A brave thought, yet how distant it seemed, she
thought dully. She had never felt so desolate, so devoid of hope.

Even the numbing comfort of sleep had evaded her
through much of the night. She had dozed fitfully, perhaps five minutes here,
or a quarter hour there, always waking whenever the Chief Eunuch silently
entered the antechamber to check on her. The artillery fire, which had suddenly
increased tenfold less than an hour ago, had not helped either. The ground was
shaking from the constant barrage. She could feel it through her mattress.

Kassandra dosed her eyes, her head drifting to one side
as sheer exhaustion overwhelmed her. Perhaps finally she could sleep, despite
the rumbling. She needed her strength, and sharpened wits, to endure what lay
ahead . . .

A thunderous explosion suddenly shattered her fleeting
slumber, its violent force rocking the ground. Then
came
another, and another, five explosions in rapid succession, each one closer than
the last.

"What?" Kassandra gasped, sitting bolt upright,
clutching a pillow to her breast. She had slept only a moment, but she was
completely dazed, as if she had been sleeping for hours. Another explosion
rocked the earth, and she jumped up with a startled cry, dropping the pillow
and clapping her hands over her ears.

What was happening? It sounded like the Turks had
turned their own cannon upon themselves!

Her eyes widened, her breath catching in her throat.
No, that was absurd. There could only be one explanation. The Ottoman camp was
under attack . . .
Yes, that
had to be it! The
Imperialists were attacking! Stefan!

Renewed hope flaring brightly within her, she drew
fresh courage at the thought that Stefan might be close by, perhaps even in the
camp. She ran over to the tented wall and pressed her ear against it. She knew
the antechamber was within a larger tent, but she could swear she heard the
muffled sounds of running feet, men shouting, muskets firing, the ring of sword
against sword—hand-to-hand combat!— and the screams . . . horrid, agonizing
screams of wounded and dying men.

Fully awake, Kassandra willed herself to be calm,
despite the excited thoughts that were skittering about in her mind. She had to
think clearly, carefully.

Perhaps in the confusion she could attempt an escape.
She would have to flee through the harem, but this might be her only chance.
There was no other way out, at least not that she knew. Sweet Lord, it was
worth a try!

She crept quietly toward the
entrance,
her hand trembling as she gently moved aside the swaying brocade curtains. She
was surprised that the eunuch guard who had been keeping a constant vigil in
the short corridor leading to the vast outer chamber was not there. She
couldn't believe her good fortune!

Kassandra stole into the corridor, her heart beating so
hard against her ribs that she thought for sure it would give her away. She was
almost to the outer set of curtains, reaching out to draw them apart, when she
heard a high, piercing scream of sheer terror, unlike anything she had ever
heard before. It was coming from the harem.

It raised the hair on her scalp, sent flickers of fear
streaking through her body. Her hand froze in midair.

What was happening?
she
wondered wildly, as a keening wail broke just beyond the curtains, a mourning
lament, followed by wild, terrified shrieks from a chorus of female voices.

Kassandra braced herself against the tented wall,
afraid to move, yet afraid to linger. The unnatural voices of eunuch guards
sounded above the terrible cacophony, like lunatic ravings. She heard the
unmistakable swoosh of scimitars slicing the air, dull thuds striking the
carpeted floor, pitiful pleas in a dizzying array of languages, punctuated by
tearful sobbing, rising to a fever pitch, then suddenly cut off . . . dead
silence, until another female voice screamed in hysterical supplication,
chilling desperation . . . silence.

Whatever is happening, you can't stay here,
Kassandra's
inner voice warned her. You can't stay here! She
moved once again toward the curtains, her hands shaking as she drew them aside,
her knees quaking in fear. She nearly fainted from the horror that greeted her,
her eyes wide, uncomprehending.

There was blood . . . pools of bright red blood
everywhere, splashed on the tented walls of the harem, streaming from beheaded
bodies lying where they fell on the silk carpets, staining the flashing
scimitars wielded by eunuch guards.

And there was motion . . . women running in desperate,
futile flight, screaming, crying, being cut down, one by one, while others
fought, and clawed at their own necks crumpling to the floor as silken cords
quickly strangled the life from their bodies. As will happen to you, Kassandra,
if you stand here. Run . . . run! She lurched forward as if shoved by an
invisible hand, one thought in her mind: flee, or die in this place.

She skipped over blood-soaked torsos, barely evading
eunuch guards who lunged for her, her eyes fixed upon the unguarded entrance to
the tent as she dashed across the vast chamber. Her breaths tore at her throat,
her lungs were on fire, but she ran as she had never run before, every fiber in
her body straining with the effort.

Heaven protect her, she was almost there! She could
almost reach out and touch the swaying curtains—

Suddenly a massive form stepped in her way, blocking
the entrance. She ran right into him, headlong, a silken cord whipping about
her neck as she fell heavily to her knees.

Kassandra gasped in disbelief, the breath wrung from
her body as the cord tightened cruelly across her throat. She looked up, tears
stinging her eyes, straight into the broad face of the Chief Eunuch. He bent
over her, smiling, a twisted smile,
a
grimace of death
. . .

She shook her head, her mouth gaping in a silent
scream, her fingers prying frantically at the cord. Wheezing and gasping for
air, she dropped her hands limply to her sides. Her eyes closed, blackness
swirled around her . . .

A deafening roar sounded in her ears, twice, three
times. An immense weight crumpled on top of her. But she felt nothing, only a
strange peace settling over her . . . It was so restful, so quiet. No more
struggle, no more heartrending pain . . . no thoughts. Only peace.

"You there, help me! We have to get him off
her!" Stefan shouted to several of the soldiers who had accompanied him to
the harem tent, while the others moved swiftly through the vast interior,
rounding up the eunuch guards at bayonet point and saving what women they
could.