In the Tudor Court Collection. Amanda McCabe

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      Lorenzo had been walking for some half an hour or more when he was alerted by the sound of hoofbeats coming fast up the lonely road. He realised at once that it could only be the men who had visited Salome’s village earlier, and looked about for somewhere to hide.

      The rocky hillside offered no protection. Perhaps he could simply bluff it out by pleading ignorance. He must remember to keep his head bent, and to act in a humble manner befitting his lowly status.

      As the riders came nearer, Lorenzo moved to the side of the road. Perhaps they would simply ride by and ignore him.

      His hopes were short lived as the leading horseman reined in and shouted to him. ‘You there—dog! Have you seen anyone passing this way? A man not of our people?’

      ‘No one has passed this way, sir,’ Lorenzo kept his head bent humbly, thankful for the shabby robe that covered his hair. With luck they would ride on by thinking him merely a poor fisherman.

      ‘How long have you been on this road?’

      ‘All day, sir.’

      The man looked back at his companions, who had brought their mounts to a halt, and an argument began between them. Some were for returning to the village, others for going on.

      ‘The old woman lied,’ one of the horsemen said. ‘We should return and persuade her to tell us the truth. Perhaps if we split her lying tongue the fisherman will speak. The beating you gave him did not break him—but it may be different if you turn your attention to her.’

      Lorenzo listened in horror. He could not condemn Salome and her husband to the kind of torture these beasts might inflict. His sense of honour would not permit him to escape while others suffered in his place. Throwing back his hood, he looked up at the leader.

      ‘I am Lorenzo Santorini,’ he said. ‘I am the one you seek.’

      For a moment the man stared at him in stunned disbelief, then a gleam of greed came to his rascally face.

      ‘We have searched for you many weeks,’ he said and grinned. ‘Rachid has promised much gold to he who finds you.’

      ‘Then you are a rich man,’ Lorenzo said, his face cold with pride. ‘Do not waste time with the old ones. I have friends searching for me. They are only a few leagues distant from us.’

      An expression of consternation came into the man’s eyes. He turned to his companions, some of whom had already dismounted and were eyeing Lorenzo warily. They clearly expected him to put up a fight, but he stood unresisting, letting them take him. Their greed for Rachid’s gold would save Salome and her husband from further suffering.

      Lorenzo offered his wrists for binding. He expected to be led behind the horses as in a Roman triumph, and was surprised when a mount was provided. Their leader took the reins of his horse, but he was neither abused nor insulted.

      ‘Rachid wants you alive,’ his captor told him. ‘You do well not to struggle, for I have no wish to harm you.’

      Lorenzo inclined his head but said no more. His pride would keep him strong. Most men broke under torture. All he could hope for was a quick death.

      ‘Goodbye, Kathryn,’ he murmured softly. ‘Forgive me, my love. I would have come to you, but the price was too high.’