Bowman smiled, gently shaking his head. He knew Caessa was making a meal of her entrance, but with a body like hers who would blame her? As tall as most men, willowy and graceful, her every movement combined to promise pleasure to any man watching. Physically, Bowman thought, she is the perfect woman. The ultimate female.
He watched her string her longbow. Jorak looked at him questioningly but he shook his head. The rest of the archers stood back. This was Caessa’s moment, and after an entrance like that she deserved a little applause.
Straw dummies had been set up one hundred paces from the wall. The heads were painted yellow, the torsos red. It was a standard distance for a fine archer, but shooting down from a battlement added several degrees to the difficulty.
Caessa reached over her shoulder to the doeskin quiver and drew a black feathered shaft. She checked it for line, then notched it to the string.
‘Head,’ she said.
With one flowing movement she drew back the string and as it touched her cheek, she loosed the shaft. It flashed through the morning air and hammered into the neck of the nearest dummy. The watching men burst into rapturous applause and Caessa glanced at Bowman. He raised an eyebrow.
Five more arrows lanced into the straw target before Bowman raised a hand to signal the other archers forward. Then he called Caessa to him and walked from the battlements.
‘You took your time getting here, lady,’ he said, smiling.
She linked her arm in his and blew him a kiss. As always he felt arousal stirring. As always he suppressed it.
‘Did you miss me?’ Her voice was deep and throaty, a sound as full of sexual promise as her body was a vision.
‘I always miss you,’ he said. ‘You raise my spirits.’
‘Only your spirits?’
‘Only my spirits.’
‘You lie. I can see it in your eyes,’ she said.
‘You see nothing that I do not want you to see – or anyone else. You are safe with me, Caessa. Have I not told you? But allow me to say that for a woman who does not seek the company of men, you make a very spectacular entrance. Where are your trousers?’
‘It was hot. The tunic is decorous enough,’ she said, absently tugging at the hem,
‘I wonder if you really know what you want,’ he said.
‘I want to be left alone.’
‘Then why do you seek my friendship?’
‘You know what I mean.’
‘Yes, I do,’ he told her, ‘but I’m not sure that you do.’
‘You are very serious today, O Lord of the Forest. I can’t think why. We are all being paid. We have our pardons and the quarters are a sight better than Skultik.’
‘Where have they placed you?’ he asked.
‘The young officer . . . Pinar? . . . insisted that I have a room in the main barracks. He wouldn’t hear of me sharing with the rest of the men. It was quite touching really. He even kissed my hand!’
‘He’s all right,’ said Bowman. ‘Let’s have a drink.’ He led her into the Eldibar mess hall and on through the officers’ section at the rear, ordering a bottle of white wine. Seated by the window, he drank in silence for a while, watching the men train.
‘Why did you agree to this?’ she asked him, suddenly. ‘And don’t give me any of that rubbish about pardons. You don’t give a damn about that, or about the money.’
‘Still trying to read me? It can’t be done,’ he said, sipping his wine. Then he turned and called out for bread and cheese. She waited until the serving soldier had left.
‘Come on, tell me!’
‘Sometimes, my dear, as you will no doubt find when you are a little older, there are no simple reasons for a man’s actions. Impulse. An act spurred by the moment. Who knows why I agreed to come here? I certainly do not!’
‘You’re lying again. You just won’t say. Is it that old man, Druss?’
‘Why are you so interested? In fact, why are you here?’
‘Why not? It should be exciting and not terribly dangerous. We are leaving, aren’t we, when the third wall goes?’