A Bolt from the Blue

So caught up was I in such thoughts that, as we rounded the next curve, I took a moment to register what the appearance of a fallen pine tree across the road and a single man ahead meant.

Tito had no such moment of confusion. “Bandits!” he cried. “Bandits are awaiting us!”

More correctly, there appeared to be but a single lone bandit, stocky of build if stooped in posture. He stood a short distance before a thick tree trunk, which had been positioned most effectively to block the trail. But though he was alone, he was armed with an old-fashioned crossbow almost as large as he, which lethal-looking weapon he held aimed in our direction. He was helmed so that his face was mostly covered, and he wore a heavy brown jerkin over a black tunic and black trunk hose. Likely, he’d been a legitimate man in some noble’s private force before turning to a life of unsanctioned thievery and murder.

Rebecca had pulled the mare to a swift halt, so that there were a dozen or so wagon lengths between us and the brigand. Despite my quite reasonable terror, I had to concede that his choice of ambush was clever. Even if we did not have his weapon to fear, we still could not drive around his roadblock for the trees on either side of us. Neither was there room to turn the wagon and flee in the other direction. The choices were surrender… or confrontation.

“Let go the reins and climb down,” the man shouted, his guttural voice hinting at a Germanic accent.

I clutched at Rebecca’s arm, which felt like warm steel beneath my hand. All the tales I’d heard of bandits robbing their victims ended with the bandits murdering those poor unfortunates. I doubted this man would be more merciful than his fellows in his treatment of us. If we did not take some action to evade him and his crossbow, the three of us would be found lying by the roadside, stripped of pouches and tunics and anything else that could be of value.

Thus confronted, my mind had gone swiftly blank when it came to clever plans. Praying the others had better kept their wits, I frantically murmured, “What shall we do?”

“If we climb down from the wagon, we are dead,” Rebecca softly replied, echoing my unspoken fear. “But we have a small advantage in that he can kill but one of us with his crossbow. In the time it would take him to fletch it once more, the remaining two of us could be upon him. Tito must make ready his knife-yes, I know about it!-and I shall charge this brigand with our wagon.”

She flicked a look at Tito.

“You and Dino, both of you shield yourselves as best you can until he has fired his weapon,” she instructed in the same quiet voice. “With luck, we’ll take him by surprise, and his aim will be off. My plan is to run him into the earth. Otherwise, if you and Dino can wrestle him down, I will put your blade into his black heart.”

Though once I might have balked at so casual a plan of murder, I was no longer a sheltered girl with no knowledge of the cruel world. I had seen examples enough of man’s depravity these past months to know that righteous self-preservation was the logical response to such a crisis. And so I gave a swift nod, while Tito murmured his assent.

But even this brief delay appeared to have enraged our assailant. He was moving toward us at a quick pace, his blond mustachioed lips-all that we could see of his face-twisted into a sneer as he shouted, “Get down, now!”

“Pray, do not harm us!” Rebecca cried in a high voice unlike her usual hoarse tones. “I am but a poor washerwoman. My boys and I have nothing of value. By the saints, let us pass in peace!”

“You have horse and wagon,” he retorted, waving his crossbow in a threatening manner.

Then the man’s sneer softened into what I assumed he intended to be a magnanimous smile. Lowering the weapon so that it pointed to the ground, he grandly added, “Don’t be afraid, lady. You give me horse and wagon, I let you go.”

“Don’t believe him,” Tito hissed, clutching the seat back and peering between us at the bandit. “He’ll make us lie in the dirt, and keep the others at bay with his crossbow as he kills us one by one with his knife.”

“I know,” Rebecca murmured, and then called out, “May the saints bless you, sir. You may have our horse and cart, and welcome to it. Yah!”

With that harsh cry, she whipped up the brown mare. The horse gave an angry snort and leaped into motion, jerking the wagon forward. I made equal haste to slide down onto the boards at our feet, allowing Rebecca room to crouch low as she flailed the reins and drove straight toward the bandit.

In the instant before I shut my eyes and commenced praying, I saw his jaw drop in shock. Then, his lips twisting in outrage, he whipped his crossbow to his shoulder again and fired straight at us.

I heard the distinctive thwang as bolt left bow, and I flattened myself as best I could against the splintered boards. A heartbeat later, I simultaneously heard a sharp cry-Rebecca’s or Tito’s, I was not certain-and the crack of splintering wood as the bolt passed through the wagon.