Within the boat the occupants heaved a collective sigh of relief. Another stage of their journey was over, and thus far it had been unbelievably simple. From the moment they had cast off from the Island of a Thousand Flowers, the skies had remained benevolent and the seas cooperative. They had sped down the Sea of Marmara past the island of the same name where imperial Ottoman slaves quarried marble for the sultan's export trade. Onward through the Dardanelles, and across the Aegean, Cat could not remember them seeing more than two other boats. They had stopped only once, at the island of Lemnos, to take on fresh water.

After all the blue and gold of the sea, the river was a startling change. Cat was stunned by the rugged beauty surrounding her. Seated in the bow of the boat, her dark cloak wrapped about her, she did not know which way to look next. To her right, the precipices descended like the gods themselves from Mount Olympus and fell steeply to the river. Mount Ossa rose the highest on her left, rising fifteen hundred feet straight up from the floor of the valley.

The valley was lush, and there were beautiful horses grazing in the grassy meadows.

"Are they wild?" asked Cat, for she saw neither houses nor people.

"Nay," Bothwell answered her. "They are specially raised, and have been since earliest times. Now the Turks own the ranches, but we're not apt to see any people until we reach Larissa. The Turks are on the ranches, and in the cities, and this river passes through only two towns."

The river began to narrow into a gorge. "The Vale of Tempe," he said, as their boat slipped into a close, greenlit world. "Legend says that Poseidon, the Greek god of the sea, created it so he might have a beautiful bower in which to woo a daughter of the river god."

Cat looked up at him, her green eyes reflecting the light of the vale. "How beautiful! Did he win her love?"

"I dinna know, but 'tis a most romantic place for lovers. The vale is also connected to the sun god, Apollo. A maiden named Daphne fled here to escape his lecherous advances. Daphne was dedicated to Apollo's twin sister, the virgin moon goddess, Diana. Apollo was determined to have Daphne, and he cornered her here. She cried out to Diana to save her from shame, and the goddess obliged her handmaiden by turning the girl into a flowering laurel bush. Since then the Vale of Tempe is sacred to Apollo, and in ancient times the laurel for the victor's wreaths at the Pythian Games was gathered here."

"Had you been Apollo and I Daphne, I would never have fled ye, Francis."

He smiled at her, and she smiled back. The trip across the sea had turned her creamy skin a rich golden color, and her eyes appeared even greener than usual. Her rich honey-colored hair had been, in the Aegean, free of its bandanna and turban; and the sun had bleached it a pale gold. She was very lovely, and it had been months now since they had last made love. Unfortunately this was not the time, though the place would have been perfect. Ahead were the ruins of the Temple of Apollo, set high above the river within a grove of tall, ancient oaks. He would have enjoyed making love to her in that romantic setting.

Francis sighed, and catching her looking at him, grinned guiltily. She laughed softly. "I regret it also, Bothwell," she said, reading his thoughts.

"Yer a witch," he chuckled.

"Nay. Just yer other half, Francis," and she caught his big hand and pressed it to her lips.

"Will we get home safely, Bothwell?" she pleaded.

"We will get home safely, Cat. I promise you."

The Vale of Tempe behind them, the plain of Thessaly spread itself out again in the glory of early summer, and before the sun had reached its zenith, the walls of ancient Larissa came into view. Cat bound up her beautiful hair again, and Susan hid her pretty face behind the voluminous folds of a black feridji, leaving only her eyes visible.

After paying the dockage fee to the Turkish portmaster they were directed to a pier near the waterfront market. They tied up without incident.

"Saul Kira's house is near enough to walk," said Asher. "He is a widower, his children grown and gone. Only his widowed sister is in the house to care for him. We should be safe for the moment." And he led them across the crowded market, alive with mooing, baaing, clucking, and quacking livestock. The noise made by the animals and haggling merchants was ferocious, and Cat sighed gratefully when they had crossed the market square.

They entered the small courtyard to a yellow brick house. Saul Kira greeted them warmly, putting Cat and Susan into the custody of his sister, Abigail. Abigail bas Kira looked at Cat suspiciously, wondering whether this really was a young man. Cat drew off her headgear so that her long hair tumbled down her back. The old woman nodded, satisfied. "What can I get you?" she asked them.

"A bath," breathed Cat and Susan together, and then they laughed at their singlemindedness.

An hour later they were bathed, their hair washed free of sea salt. Abigail bas Kira had given them each clean clothing, and Cat's bandanna and turban were washed and dried. The Jews never wore them, so there were none in the house.

While Susan helped to lay the table, Cat joined the men. Bothwell put an arm about his wife. "Good news… and some bad," he said.

"The good?" she asked.

"We are not pursued. They felt they could not pick up the trail, and so they decided to tell your 'lord and master' that you had died miscarrying. We will have to continue to move cautiously, however, as I do not want us to run into any Ottoman officials asking embarrassing questions, or slavers with sharp eyes."

She sighed. "Thank God they dinna pursue us. But what is the bad news, my love."

"Esther Kira is dead."

"Oh, Francis! But then, she was a very old lady- well over a hundred. Well, God assoil her soul. I know she had a great one."

"Aye," he nodded. He was grateful that she assumed age was the cause of Esther's death. It had not been. There had been a sudden fluctuation in the valuation of the Turkish currency. Rumors flew through the city, and the people had deliberately been aroused against the bankers. Old Esther Kira, returning from the palace, where she had been visiting with the sultan's mother, was dragged from her litter and stoned. The following day the value of currency had miraculously returned to normal. By that time, Esther Kira was dead.

The sultan and his mother were lavish in their grief, but no one was ever brought before the kadi for this obvious murder.

The Kiras, however, plainly understood the nature of the warning visited upon them by the death of their matriarch. Asher Kira was told to go on to Italy with his charges, and settle in Rome with his uncle. The main branch of the Kira bank then returned to business as usual, but less conspicuously now, and without royal favor.

There was no need for Cat to know these things. Lord Bothwell did not want to burden his wife with guilt or grief. The worst of their journey lay ahead of them, and she would need all her courage and strength for that. There was no time for weeping. He did ask her if she wanted to communicate with Lateefa Sultan, but Cat decided to wait until they were safely in Italy. Then she would send her Ottoman cousin a special gift-a replica of Cyra Hafise's pendant-along with a letter.

There was no need to tarry in Larissa. The following day they bid farewell to Saul and Abigail and headed upstream to Tricca. As they left, Saul Kira released a pigeon who would fly to Istanbul as a signal that Eli Kira's oldest son had gotten as far as Larissa in safety.

They reached Tricca in two days. Still keeping to the guise of coastal traders they sold their small cargo of Brusa silks to a delighted broker who rarely saw such fine quality. They then loaded their boat with just a small quantity of trade goods for barter. It was unlikely that anyone would inspect the boat and discover that most of its cargo was stones.

They departed Tricca the day after their arrival and slowly began to make their way upstream. As they left the town behind, the river grew wilder and rockier, with little patches of Whitewater rapids. Bothwell and Asher took turns at the helm of the little boat while, from the bow, Cat and Susan alternated in keeping watch of the river ahead. Conall clung to his precarious perch high up on the mast, peering ahead for dangerous waters.

They could not travel at night now. For safety's sake they remained in the middle of the stream, using their sea anchor, and there was always a watch posted. As the countryside became wilder, less inhabited by farmers and herdsmen, it grew thick with bandits.

Finally they could go no further on the Peneus. They were near the source of its headwaters, and the stream became narrow, shallow, and very rocky. They would now have a two-day trek through the forest in order to reach the Aous River in Illyria, and then a short march to reach the spot where Bothwell and Conall had hidden their boat.

The little boat that had carried them in safety from the heart of the Ottomon Empire was sunk without a trace. Bothwell continued to take no chances.

They were in a vast forest, and it amazed Cat that Francis and Conall were able to find their way. The Earl of Bothwell enlightened his wife by explaining that when they had come through the forest on their way to Istanbul, he had cut small, deep notches into various trees along their route. After nearly a year, the marks were still there.

The woodland with its oak, elm, pine, and birch trees was similar to those found in Scotland. So was the wildlife. They saw deer, bear, wolves, and wild boar as well as fowl and birds of all kinds, most familiar.

They each carried only a small amount of food. There was a pouch of finely ground grain which, when mixed with water, could be boiled and eaten as a cereal, or boiled and then roasted on hot stones to make a cake. A second pouch contained dried figs, raisins, and peaches. Asher had a small brick wrapped in red and silver foil made up of dark, dried leaves which he called "te." Added to boiling water, it made a refreshing amber drink which they found sustaining.

They were all armed. Susan had a dagger. Cat and Asher had both dagger and scimitar. Conall and Both-well carried, in addition to those weapons, English longbows and arrows.

The first day they walked many miles before making camp. Conall managed to shoot two ducks. Susan and Cat plucked and cleaned them, and stuffed them with dandelion greens and some dried fruit. Bothwell, never able to resist fishing a good mountain brook, managed to catch three trout. It was a satisfying meal.

The following morning they carefully watered the fire down and buried it. They began to walk again. They reached the headwaters of the Aous River by midday, and another hour's march along the waterside brought them to an overgrown but still serviceable road. Stopping for a time to eat some fruit and drink some water, Cat asked about the road.

"Roman," answered Bothwell. "Illyria was a favorite province of the empire. There are two legends regarding its name. The Romans say the name is derived from Illyricus, the son of the Cyclops Polythemus and the sea nymph Galatea. The Greeks, however, claim that Illyricus was the son of Cadmus and Harmonia."

"Why was the province favored, Francis?"

"Because the Illyrians are born fighters-tough, hardy, natural soldiers. The Romans recruited heavily among them. In the third century after Christ the first wave of barbarians hit the empire, and Illyria became the last bulwark of the Roman and Western cultures. Most of the outstanding emperors of that period were Illyrian, elected right on the field of battle by their soldiers. Now, of course, 'tis just a part of the sultan's vast empire, but there are fewer Turks here because the population of this country turned Muslim when first conquered rather than lose control of their lands. The sultan has firm control of the cities and the lowlands, but here in the mountains the tribes are left to enjoy their ancient autonomy. They pay a high tribute for it… We'll have to move with caution here. I dinna want to attract any attention."

She looked levelly at him. "Are we in danger?"

"Let us just say I dinna want to run into any bandits. I would say we're safe as long as we keep moving, and as long as it's dark. Fearing pagan taboos, they do not attack at night."

It was midafternoon of the following day when they reached the cave where Bothwell and Conall had hidden their boat. It was still there, the cave entrance well covered and quite undisturbed. They might have dragged the boat to the river then, but Bothwell thought the women looked weary.