Chapter 7: On the Road

"Damn it's hot," grumbled Pintel. He was hurting all over. First the fight. Now these damned horses. What more could he endure? Joining up with Captain Jack Sparrow wasn't something he had planned on. Sparrow was a lunatic. Either the best pirate ever born or the worst depending on who told the tale. At least he'd gotten them out of that damned cell. Of course now here they were riding across what might as well have been a bleeding desert. Hot. That didn't really describe it. This was like an oven. Ever since the sun had come up he'd been sweating. The robe and head wrap thing he'd been given were soaked with sweat. At least his nephew was doing better. The boy hadn't asked for this. Hadn't asked to lose his poor eye either. Pintel blamed himself. If they'd left that damned bar in Liverpool when Ragetti had said they should get back to the ship they'd still be in Jolly Old England fishing and trading. Bloody press gang. Bloody British Naval discipline! Bloody Captain Hughes! One day maybe he'd see that sod on the end of his cutlass. No more floggings for Pintel. No more short rations or scurvy. Just this Bloody damned heat.

Just before dawn they'd come on a small encampment outside the city about a mile. The Arab Sparrow had brought with him had talked the men in the camp into allowing them to get closer to the fire and then they had traded some of the gold in their pouches for the robes Pintel and Ragetti wore. They'd also gotten a clean bandage and some kind of poultice for Ragetti's eye. The one called Barbossa had wrangled for a bit over the price for these horses. Just when Pintel had thought there would be another fight the old Arab in charge had broken into a laugh and the deal had been struck. Odd that. Of course Barbossa was a bit odd anyway. He'd been harsh last night in the cells but since the ride had started the man had checked on Ragetti to be sure the lad was doing all right. He'd even been a bit chatty with Pintel. Naturally Barbossa had wanted to know where they'd come from. He seemed to be pleased that the two were deserters from the British Navy. Perhaps that was a mark of good judgment in Barbossa's eyes. No matter. They had to see this through. Whatever this was.

"We are being followed, captain," the Arab said to Sparrow. Aaftab? Was that his name? Funny name.

"Aye," Sparrow said. It sounded like he'd noticed already. If so why'd he not told the rest of the party? "They've been back there for at least an hour, Mr. Aanetra," Sparrow went on.

"Don't pay any attention to them," Barbossa put in. "They'll be watching us to see what we do."

"What do we do if they come lookin' for trouble, cap'in?" Pintel wanted to know.

"Give 'em what they're looking for." Sparrow smiled over his shoulder at Pintel.

Sparrow didn't look all that comfortable on a horse. Apparently he could ride but it didn't seem as though he'd had all that much practice. A sea captain wouldn't. Would he? Barbossa was a different story. He rode like he was pretty well used to it. Wasn't exactly easy in the saddle, you might say. But it was clear that he'd learned at some point. The only one in the group that looked at all natural was the big fella with the lady. Aasim was his name. Funny how all these Arab fellas had names that started with A's. As big as he was Aasim dwarfed the horse he rode. That bloody big sword of his would have been too big for most men to swing properly but he had been handy with it last night. And that metal bar he'd bent. Pintel shook his head just thinking about it. Don't want them 'ands on me neck. He thought.

"What do you think they are going to do?" asked the woman. Pintel hadn't heard her name yet. Barbossa seemed to stay close to her. Always put himself between her and everyone else except for the big fella.

"If it was me and I were looking for easy prey I'd let us get around the curve of that hill and then come over the top of it." Sparrow made a small gesture with his hand toward a low rise.

"Aye," Barbossa agreed. "So what are we going to do, captain?"

"Get around that hill. Then see about going over the top of it."

Sir Walter watched as the pirates rounded the curve of the hill and disappeared. These were seamen and they clearly didn't know much about tactics on land. He smiled as he waved his troop into a canter heading for the slope of the hill. If they swept down onto the pirates from the flank the fight would be over before it got started. Their horses barely slowed as they went up the gentle slope. At the top just when Sir Walter thought everything was going as planned he felt a searing pain in his chest and only then did he hear the pistol shot. All around him his men were dropping from their saddles. The pirates had been waiting for them. Bloody pirates!

"Sir!" screamed Fox. "You're hit."

"Get the men back!" Sir Walter shouted. "Move! Before they close with us!"

There were more pistol shots but Sir Walter and his surviving men were able to get down the hill and out of the line of fire. They'd started with fifteen men and now they were down to nine with three of them wounded. Bloody hell! The knight would not be pleased.

"Yer a fair shot with that pistol, Master Pintel," Barbossa said eyeing him.

"'Ad some practice, sir." Pintel eyed him back as he helped gather up the pistols and valuables of the men they'd just killed. "Me an' the lad bof'."

"I s'pose his aim will be a little off for a time," Barbossa said laconically shoving a spare pistol through his sash as he turned back down the hill where their horses waited for the men.

They traveled until some time shortly after noon when the big man with the lady told Sparrow they'd come to the place they were looking for. Ahead in the distance was another low rise. They turned from the main track and headed for it. At the foot they dismounted. Pintel was never so glad to be on his feet as now. His knees and arse hurt like never before. The skin on the insides of his thighs was rubbed raw. Barbossa told Ragetti to stay with the lady and the horses while the rest of the party went to the crest of the rise. At the top they were able to see over a narrow plane to a walled compound with a couple of fair sized houses.

"That is it, sir," said Aasim.

"Doesn't look like much," Sparrow said pulling a spyglass from his robes. He wrapped a bit of leather around the big lens to shield it from the sun and extended the tubes to view the compound. "The olive grove off to the east there looks promising."

"Aye," agreed Barbossa. "Should give us enough cover to get close to the wall. If we follow that stream there we can get right to the far end of the grove. Might have sentries walking around at night. We'll need to be careful."

"Looks like there's a couple of guards in front of a door on the smaller building," Sparrow went on. "Could be what we're looking for."

"Could be." Barbossa scratched his chin. "I don't like this, Jack. Something feels wrong."

"I never like this kind of work," Sparrow drawled. "I like the sea. You can tell what's going on there. Only have to get on board the ship and search it. This is bad business."

"How many men do you think this merchant has, captain?" Aaftab asked.

"A place that big would need a number of field workers. I can see a couple dozen in the fields now. Several servants inside I'd bet. Way out here they'd want a dozen guards at least." Sparrow handed the spyglass to Barbossa. "What do you think, Hector?"

"Seems like you be right," Barbossa said after looking through the glass a moment. "Looks like they've got a stable in the yard. Any more buildings, Aasim?"

"He has several smaller houses for the families that work the fields but they are out farther," the big man replied. "I don't know where they are though. Alamgir only took me to this place when we traveled to meet with Tamir."

"You know this place?" Sparrow asked.

"Not well," answered Aasim. "But the door with the guards you saw is where Tamir keeps valuable things he will trade."

"What's this Tamir like?" Sparrow wanted to know. "Always been a merchant has he?"

"Yes. His father was a great man. He built this place. When he died Tamir became the master here," said Aasim.

"So he's never been a soldier or a sailor," Barbossa put in.

"No." Aasim smiled with big, white teeth. "He's fat. He wouldn't lower himself to working with his hands. Tamir thinks about money. Money all of the time I think."

"What about the men working for him?" Sparrow asked.

"Like those working for Alamgir. They know weapons," the big Arab rubbed his nose in thought. "I think maybe they aren't as good as Alamgir's men. They don't get as much practice. Out here the bandits would not try to attack the houses. Tamir always moves his goods in a caravan. Different guards for that. He hires them when he's ready to ship things out. Then when he has sold his goods he pays them off and returns here."

"Makes sense." Barbossa was still looking at the compound. "Doesn't waste money. These bastards will know the house better than us though."

"When was the last time this place was attacked do you think, Aasim?" Sparrow asked.

"Not since Tamir became the master."

"That's good." Sparrow smiled like a fox. "Oh, that's very good."