by David Penny
Thomas saw Fernando’s eyes on the sword, which was a thing of great beauty.
“Martin,” said Isabel, and he bent to pick up the weapon. He turned and handed it to Fernando, who raised it to examine the fine script that decorated the hilt and blade.
“What do these scratchings mean?” asked Fernando. “I trust they are not heathen words in praise of your false God.”
“They say the blade is a gift from Sultan Bayezid to King Fernando of Castile and Aragon.”
Fernando scowled at Koparsh. “You still don’t get your hands on Naples.”
Koparsh tried not to smile. “It is not a bribe, Your Grace. It is a gift, freely given, with no expectation of anything in return. The Ottoman Empire wishes only to be a friend to Castile. Perhaps we should move on to the other Sultan who sits not three leagues from here. I would plead mercy for Muhammed when the time comes for him to step down. Also for the people of his city and its lands.”
Koparsh Hadryendo approached Thomas and Jorge as they climbed the slope to the house Isabel had assigned them. Thomas glanced at the man, but said nothing, waiting for the Turk to speak first. If it was a conversation he sought and not just his company. There had been little point to the discussion, and Thomas wondered what their purpose had been.
“I would speak with you if allowed to do so without your mistress present.”
“That depends on what matters you have in mind.” Thomas indicated the sky, a bank of gathering cloud to the south. “If it is the weather, or the growth of crops, then perhaps I can be of assistance. If it is anything to do with where we have just come from, then perhaps not.”
“It is the latter, of course, but you have my permission to tell the Queen everything I say. It is only that it is easier said away from the cauldron of her advisers. And her husband.” Koparsh peered around Thomas at Jorge. “I would speak with Thomas alone if you have no objection.”
“So you can attack him out here without my protection?” said Jorge.
“I believe Thomas can well defend himself, even from someone like myself. I want our conversation to be honest, that is all, and honesty will come easier if there is nobody else present.”
The house was three hundred paces ahead, and Thomas could see Will and Usaden on the terrace. They were doing their daily practice with the sword, the clash of metal on metal drifting down to greet them. Hand to hand combat would follow later in the afternoon. Belia and Amal sat to one side, watching.
“Perhaps I can return the favour and offer you coffee? There may even be some sweet cakes. Not as delicious as those baked by Salma, but passable.”
“Belia is as good a cook as her,” said Jorge.
“Perhaps I can be the judge between them,” said Koparsh. “I accept your offer. I would like to meet your family, Thomas. Is your woman with you?”
“I have no woman.”
Koparsh smiled. “Perhaps I can assist you in that matter as well. I may have brought more than I seem to need with me.”
Thomas made no reply. He assumed Koparsh was making a joke, poor though the effort was. He led the man to the terrace after introducing him. They sat on comfortable chairs set apart.
“How long have you worked alongside the Queen?” Koparsh surprised Thomas when he spoke in Spanish. Bad Spanish, but enough to tell him the man may have understood the whispered conversations between Isabel, Fernando and their advisors. The conversations that had not been translated.
“I prefer we use Arabic,” Thomas said. “It is easier for me these days, and how long I have been in Isabel’s service is a question I will not answer.”
Koparsh raised a hand in dismissal. “It does not matter. A little under two years, I have been told. That is good enough. Do you bed her? That is also what I was told.”
He looked up as Belia approached carrying a tray with a steaming pot of coffee, two silvered cups and a plate of small cakes. She placed them on the table and walked away without saying a word.
“She is Jorge’s woman?”
Thomas nodded as he poured the coffee.
“She is exquisite.”
“As is your woman, Salma.”
“She is not mine. Salma belongs to no one but herself. But yes, she is beautiful. She likes Jorge, if he is interested. Though I understand if he prefers not to take up any offer she might make. I believe she might also be interested in King Fernando. She has always been attracted to men of power. Belia and Salma might be cut from the same cloth.”
“Except Belia does not lust after power and is loyal to her man.”
“I told you, Salma has no man.”
“Have you come to make small-talk or do you have something meaningful to say?”
Koparsh sipped his coffee, reached for one of the sugar-dusted pastries.
“Very well. I know you must be a busy man, so I will get to the point. It is to do with the Sultan.”
“Yours or mine?”
“Yours, of course. You are aware I have had talks with Muhammed. Unsatisfactory talks, but my master sent me to sound him out, and I always do as instructed. As I am sure you do. We are men of similar minds, I believe. These small cakes are delicious, by the way. Perhaps Salma and Belia should meet to trade recipes. They can talk about Jorge at the same time. Perhaps an arrangement can be made.”
“What conclusion have you come to regarding Abu Abdullah?”
“You use his given name, I see. Is that a matter of friendship or a lack of respect?”
“We were friends once, of a kind, but no longer. I am still waiting for your answer. Though as we are apparently so similar, I suspect I already know what it will be.”
Koparsh laughed and took another cake.
“Tell me, then.”
“Abu Abdullah is a weak fool. You know that because you are a clever man. How much flexibility did your master give you?”
“He trusts me completely. He would not have sent me otherwise. We are many months’ travel from Constantinople, so he has to trust me. And, like you, I am exceptionally good at my job. And because we are being honest with each other, I can tell you my decision is to offer no succour to the man. It would be a waste of gold, a waste of men’s lives, and a waste of my time.”
Thomas ate one of the cakes. He couldn’t decide which were the better, these or the ones Salma had baked.
“Which brings us to the question of what you want from Isabel, or can offer her. Do you have an army with you?”
“You have seen who is with me. A score of men.”
“A score here, but elsewhere?”
Koparsh’s eyes showed amusement. “Oh, I like you. Of course there are more men, but they are not here.”
“Nearby?”
“A few days’ ride. Too far away, and too small a force, to offer any threat.”
“How many?”
“Two hundred, possibly a little more.”
“Not enough to make a difference to Gharnatah, not enough to make a difference to Castile. I assume they are your protection, your guarantee of safety.”
“I met someone else in Gharnatah while I was there who also told me you are a clever man.”
Thomas thought for a moment, but knew it could only be one person.
“Helena has made some odd decision to like me of late.”
Koparsh frowned. “Did you say Helena, or did I mishear you?”
“Helena.” As he repeated the word, Thomas realised his mistake. The two names, said softly, could sound much alike. “Can I assume you met Eleanor, the Countess d’Arreau? Did she tell you her title?”
“She did. The Countess told me you and she were once lovers, but that it was a long time ago.” Koparsh’s eyes were on Thomas, measuring him. “I also met your son. He intrigued Salma.”
“Did Eleanor invite you into her bed?”
“She did, and I turned her down, despite her beauty and the sin I saw in her eyes. She took it in good grace, despite my obvious charms. Am I not a handsome man?”
“You are asking
the wrong person, you should try Jorge. Have you decided what action you intend to take regarding Castile? Two or three hundred men mean nothing. Castile has at least ten thousand under arms. Gunners from France and Italia. Bowmen of England. Seven thousand men of Castile, Aragon, and the other kingdoms of Spain. So no, two hundred, even five hundred men would disappear like a pebble tossed into the great ocean. But the importance of you standing beside Isabel and Fernando would mean far more than almost any other man. You are the emissary of the Ottoman Emperor, an Islamic state. For you to stand with Castile would send a powerful message. It would weaken Abu Abdullah more than any other action you could take.”
Thomas watched Koparsh. Watched his benign expression. Looked into dark eyes that hid his thoughts. Yes, he was handsome. Not as handsome as Jorge, but who was?
“You have made your decision, I see.”
“I have.” Koparsh rose and walked to the edge of the terrace. He looked across the wide plain to where the palace of al-Hamra sat, towering over the city below. He turned and looked at Thomas’s children. Will had ended his practice, and Usaden had gone off with Kin to hunt. Amal knelt beside Jahan, playing with wooden blocks. She was trying to show him how to build a tower, both of them laughing each time it fell down. Finally, he turned back.
“You are a fortunate man, Thomas Berrington. You are loved, and you love. Almost everyone who mentions you does so with either respect or love. Even the Sultan Muhammed.”
“But without the love, I expect,” Thomas said.
“Indeed. Tell Isabel she can count on the Ottomans. My men will stand in the ranks so the entire world can see them.”
Thomas watched Koparsh descend the slope towards Santa Fe. He glanced at the sky, judging how many hours of daylight remained, and made a decision. He would go to Isabel and give her Koparsh’s message. Then he would ask for a week to continue his investigation into Theresa’s poisoning. Baldomero’s absence still rankled.
Thomas went into the house.
“Who wants to come to Gharnatah in the morning? Provided the gate remains open, that is.”
Everyone raised their hands.
Chapter Thirteen
There were six men and a dog who walked through the wide eastern gate into the city of Gharnatah. The approaches had been busy, within the walls it was busier still. Traders continued to buy and sell their goods. Men and women wandered in groups while children and animals ran between them. Only if someone stood beneath the gate and looked towards the smoke of the Castilian fires would they know a war was being fought over ownership of this last bastion of al-Andalus.
Between them, Thomas and Usaden pushed the cart Belia had used to transport the bottles and boxes from Baldomero de Pamplona’s house. Now it contained their clothes and Amal, who sat with Kin draped across her legs and the infant Jahan cradled beneath her arm. Will walked to one side of the cart, only a little shorter than Thomas. Come the end of the year, he might exceed him in height. The boy was changing too fast for Thomas to keep up with, and he wanted to spend more time with both his children. Wanted to tease out his thoughts about the future and what he wanted to do when that future arrived. Thomas had only been a few years older than Will when his own life had changed forever, but he had not sought those experiences. He did not want the same to happen to Will. Sometimes life threw events at you and you had to cope with them or succumb. Watching Will, who was unaware of his gaze, Thomas doubted there was much that could make his son succumb. Unless it was Catherine. That was another conversation still to be had.
Thomas wondered if Helena would still be at the house, and if she was, what he might do about it. But that was a decision for later, and as they walked towards al-Hattabin square, he felt a tension leave his body he had not even been aware was present. It felt like coming home. It was coming home, but for how long, he knew none of them could say.
“Do you have a plan?” asked Jorge as he caught up with Thomas. He handed him an orange and bit into his own, opening the peel so he could suck the juice.
“I have things I want to do, but no plan. What about you?”
“I intend to sleep in my own bed tonight and make love to Belia for at least two hours.”
Thomas smiled. “I assume you have told her of this coming debauchery so she can prepare herself?”
“It was her idea. That place we are staying in is all right, but it is too small. Both the house, the rooms, and the beds. I am a man who needs space. Tell me about the things you want to do. Is bedding Helena one of them?”
Thomas glanced at Jorge, who laughed.
“It is, isn’t it? Good. She has changed, and you need a woman in your life again.”
“I still need to know what happened to de Pamplona.”
“Then I will help once we have taken everyone safe to your house and broken our fast. Could we not have come after noon instead of this unholy hour of the day?”
“And waste time? But agreed, my house first, and then … I have a reply from Isabel for Abu Abdullah.”
“A reply? About what?”
“I will tell you later. And I need your advice on a certain matter.”
Jorge stopped walking, and it took a moment for Thomas to realise.
He turned back.
“What’s wrong?”
“You need my advice?”
“Isn’t that what I said?”
Jorge shook his head. He reached out and touched Thomas’s brow.
“Are you unwell? Do you need a physician?”
“It’s about Will.”
“Then you would be better consulting Usaden or Olaf rather than me. Will is turning into a fine young man, but he is not someone I claim to understand. We are too different. I like him well enough, and beneath all that strength, he possesses a sweet soul. What about Will?”
Jorge waited for Thomas to say something, his gaze on him. When nothing came, he laughed.
“Ah, I see. That.”
“Yes. That.” Thomas glanced away to where the others had travelled a hundred paces further on. They knew the way to his house and could find it without him and Jorge, but he would like them all to arrive together. “Perhaps we can talk while we walk, if you are capable of such dexterity.”
“It may prove difficult, but I will do my best. If it is a matter of men and women, or boys and girls, how long do we have? Because, as you know, I am a master of such information. Is it Catherine you worry about? If so, she is barely of an age to be interested in Will in the way you fear.”
“Catherine worships Will, but I agree, her love is innocent so far. I also hear he attracts the older girls, and they may be more of a problem. Juanna in particular. She is a wild thing.” Thomas shook his head. “Why is it I need explain nothing to you?”
“Because you are an open book to me.”
“If I was, you could not read me.”
“Then you are an entertainment, a song I already know the tune of. Or a dance. Yes, you are a dance, and what you want to talk about is also a dance. Are you worried Will grows too close to Isabel’s daughters?”
“I am. He needs to realise the consequences of his actions and the difference in their positions.”
“He may be a little young for me to talk to him about positions.”
“I believe I already possess a book from the east that contains all of those. I should show it to you.”
“As you have already pointed out, I cannot read.”
“It has illustrations,” Thomas said.
“In that case, please do. What are you going to tell him? Keep it in his britches?”
“I was hoping to be less crude than that, but yes.”
Jorge walked on for a while, the sun on his face.
“When did you first lie with a girl, Thomas?”
“Is that relevant?”
“It is, and I am curious. When?”
“I was older than Will is now.”
“But you have already said Will is advanced for his age. Were you as tall as him when t
his wondrous event occurred?”
“I was not. I had thirteen years.”
“What was her name?”
“Arabella Brickenden. Everybody called her Bel.”
“Was she pretty?”
“She was beautiful, and clever, and sweet-natured. You would have liked her.”
“How old would she be now?”
“She was two years older than me, so she would be fifty-three or four. She probably has half a dozen children by now, even more grandchildren. I often wonder if she followed her mother into the same profession.”
“Which was?”
“Jane Brickenden was the best whore in Lemster. It was a respected profession there.”
“As it is here. I know you have availed yourself of the charms of Aamir’s girls in the past, but not for some time, I admit. So you lost your virginity to the daughter of the town whore? At least it would have been an excellent education. What happened? Why are you here and not back in England married to this Bel Brickenden?”
“Disease and war.” Thomas realised Jorge had distracted them both from what he wanted to discuss. “What should I tell Will? How hard should I be on him?”
“Not hard at all. Will is as clever as you, I believe. Tell him the truth. Tell him he can never marry Catherine or any of the others, but he can be as close as he wishes as long as he does not take that step we both know cannot be taken back. We don’t want any awkward accidents, do we?”
“I can’t tell him that. I need him, as you say, to keep it in his britches.”
“No, you don’t. That way leads only to disaster. Will is a little young yet, but to look at him, he is to all intents a man. I lay with women when I was younger than Will, so it is not beyond the bounds of possibility.”
“But then you are not like most men,” Thomas said.
“For which I am eternally grateful. Tell Will what I have said, and then tell him to come to me and I will explain the details. It’s no good you doing it for I expect you don’t know them, or will only confuse the boy. I will take him under my wing.”