by David Penny
Da’ud smiled and leaned back into the cushions.
“No wonder people like you, Thomas,” he said, his voice so soft it barely carried.
Thomas laughed, as did Belia.
“How much of that tincture did you give him?” she asked.
“Clearly too much.”
“You attract people,” said Da’ud, his eyes closed. “A woman came to me not long since and told me she knew you. She gave me the impression she was in love with you.”
“A handsome woman with deep red hair?”
“And a fine figure, yes.”
“Did she tell you her name?”
“Ellen … something.”
“Eleanor.”
“That might be it. She told me she was once your lover, many years ago when you were both barely older than children, but I did not believe her.”
Thomas tided away his bottles and tried to get comfortable. He knew they would be there several hours yet.
“What did she want?”
The corner of Da’ud’s mouth lifted in the hint of a smile.
“She wanted to know about you and where you lived. She came on some pretext of feeling unwell, and wished to purchase certain herbs from me, but I knew it was nothing more than an excuse. It was you that interested her.” The speech exhausted the man and left him breathless.
Thomas reached out and felt his neck, relieved to find the soft beat of his pulse.
“I am not dead yet,” said Da’ud. “How much more of your ambrosia am I allowed? The pain is growing fierce now. It knows I intend to expel it and wants to remind me of everything that lies in store for me if you are not here.” Da’ud opened his mouth and Belia tipped a little of the mixture into it. She used a linen cloth to wipe the spill from his beard.
“We are going nowhere, old friend.” Thomas watched the man who had been more a father to him than his own. As he did, the thought came to him that he had ended the life of his real father, and now he was about to do the same for this one. He waited for some sense of shame or guilt to come, but none did. None was required. Thomas knew his own father had been in excruciating pain before he put an end to it. He knew Da’ud would suffer the same fate, but at least he could end his pain with more compassion. He would end it with science instead of a knife.
Belia’s touch on his arm drew him back to the present.
“He is sleeping.” She leaned across and kissed Thomas’s cheek.
“What was that for?”
“You know what. You love him, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“He knows you do. It will make his end better.” She glanced at the dark sky. “I judge another two hours until dawn. You should go inside and try to sleep. You must confront that woman in the morning. You and Jorge.” She smiled. “You make a good team.”
“Do we?”
“Do not seek compliments, Thomas.” She removed her hand and rose, towering over him for a moment. “Do you think he truly means Jorge and I can have this house?”
“He does. You know Da’ud, he is generous. He has nobody else to pass it on to, and it is too fine a house to leave empty.”
“In that case, I will explore a little. Are you staying here or do you want to come with me?”
Thomas wished he was more like Jorge and had some idea of what Belia had in mind. Perhaps better he did not.
“I will stay in case he wakes alone and is afraid. If you find another blanket, bring it back, it will get colder before dawn.”
Belia touched his cheek and walked away. He watched her go.
“You do not have to stay on my account.”
Thomas turned away from Belia’s retreating back.
“I thought you had gone to sleep, old man.”
“I wish I could, but I want to experience every last moment remaining to me.”
“This does not have to end at dawn.”
“You know it does. I cannot bear another day. Dawn will be long enough for me.” His gaze moved away, returned. “You can go with her if you wish.”
“She is Jorge’s woman, not mine.”
“But you are Jahan’s father.”
“It could hardly be Jorge, could it? As you are awake, tell me what Eleanor came in search of.”
“Those items that can help a man breathe more easily in small doses, but might steal the breath from him when too much is used. Those that cause a man to die in writhing agony if mixed too strong. Is it true you and she were once lovers?”
“Long ago and far away.”
“I believe she still has feelings for you. I do not understand how you attract beautiful women, Thomas, but you do. Make the most of the opportunity before you are too old to enjoy their attentions.”
“Did you mean it when you said Jorge and Belia can have your house?”
“Who else is there? I heard you say the same words when you thought me asleep.” Da’ud winced, but when Thomas unstoppered the phial, he shook his head. “Any more and I will not see the sun rise. I can bear this much. What are you going to do about her?”
“Who?” For a moment, Thomas was unsure whether Da’ud meant Eleanor or Belia, or even Helena, who he would know now lived in Thomas’s house.
What would that be like, he thought, if Jorge and Belia lived here? What if Usaden and Kin went with them? Then there would only be Thomas and Helena and the children beneath his roof. Was that what he wanted? He imagined the end of the war, when Gharnatah became a city of Castile. Isabel might allow him to stay in his house. Might allow him to marry if he asked, for he knew he would need her permission. Would she grant it? He didn’t know.
“Eleanor,” said Da’ud, who at that moment appeared to be the more rational of them. “Your lover. And not so long ago is what she hinted to me.”
“There was a moment in Qurtuba,” Thomas said. “An old passion reignited, but it was not what either of us wanted.”
“For you, perhaps.”
“She tried to kill Isabel.”
“Ah.”
Thomas waited. When Da’ud kept his silence, he said, “Is that all you are going to say? Ah?”
“Do not forget, I die in a few hours. I no longer need to care.”
“Tomorrow I will confront her,” Thomas said.
“See, you do not need my advice. Will you punish her?”
“If she has done what I believe, then others will do the punishing. All I will do is expose and capture her.”
“But you have inflicted justice in the past, I know you have. What if she flees, will you pursue her?”
“You have said it already—it is what I do.”
Da’ud lowered his eyes. “I may sleep for a while after all. Wake me when the sky turns grey.”
Thomas sat up, rose.
“Ask Belia if she will prepare my body. I would prefer a pyre if that can be arranged.”
“We will do it. Me and Jorge. Perhaps even Will. It is time he learned about death.”
“I like Will,” said Da’ud. “He comes to visit sometimes. More so of late. He tells me tales of his exploits and what lies in his heart.”
“Will doesn’t have exploits.”
“Fathers are always the last to know.” Da’ud shooed Thomas away as Belia returned with a blanket. Between them, they wrapped it around his frail body.
Thomas followed her back into the house, dazzled by the candlelight.
“I like this house,” said Belia. “It is compact, but sensible, and Da’ud has a large garden already stocked with many of the herbs and spices I need. I will nurture them and plant more.”
“So you intend to live here?”
“If Jorge agrees, and I am sure he will.” She touched his arm. “Do you mind, Thomas?”
“Of course I don’t mind. It’s a sound idea. You and Jorge must make a life for yourselves with Jahan.”
“But you will visit, won’t you? You are part of our lives now, you know you are.”
“Of course I will visit, Will and Amal, too.”
&nbs
p; “You can even bring your dog. I did not think I would ever like a dog, but Kin is different to any I have ever known.”
“He is surely that.”
“And Usaden,” said Belia.
“Yes, Usaden too.” Thomas laughed. “Perhaps we should all move down here. Da’ud did point out I live too high on the hill.”
“And it would make it all the easier for me to have the daughter Jorge so wants.”
“Ah,” Thomas said.
“But it is no great distance, is it?”
“Do I have any choice in the matter?”
“I recall you rather enjoyed the process the last time.”
“I did, but … it was strange, and remains so.”
“Do you not love Jorge?”
“You know I do.”
“And me?”
“I love you both. Just not … in that way.”
“We are family. You and Jorge and me. Your children, Usaden, even your dog. And yes, Helena too, once you stop being so thick-headed and realise what is staring you in the face. She loves you, and she is changed.”
“Da’ud wants you to prepare him.”
“Can you help, or do you have to rush off on some important business?”
“No, I will help. I have important business, as always, but today it can wait.”
They sat in the candlelight and talked of all they had experienced together over the years, the three of them, and talked more of what might come to pass. Da’ud had confirmed Thomas’s suspicions of Eleanor, but he knew confronting her could wait. His dying friend took precedence over everything else.
When the sky lightened, they went outside to rouse Da’ud as the sound of the muezzin called the faithful to prayer. As the last notes echoed across the city, Thomas unstoppered the bottle of clear liquor. He kissed Da’ud, then Belia did the same. Thomas poured the liquor onto a cloth and stared into Da’ud’s eyes, waiting.
“I am ready,” said Da’ud.
Thomas held the cloth over his friend’s nose and mouth until his body went slack. He reached out and felt his neck, continued to hold the cloth against him as Da’ud’s heart slowed … then stopped.
When Thomas looked at Belia, he saw tears on her face that reflected those on his own.
Chapter Seventeen
As Thomas climbed the hill to the Alkazaba, it was with a sense he had abandoned his responsibilities. Thomas and Belia had stripped Da’ud and washed him twice, then he had left her to wrap his shroud. He wanted to stay, but was conscious of time passing. He did not want Eleanor to escape his wrath. And wrath it was. All the turmoil of the night, of the last weeks, his own frustration and hopes, grew tangled and sharp. It was as if he had fallen into a bramble bush, each thorn an agony against his skin.
The same slim maid opened the door of Eleanor’s house and offered a nod of recognition.
“My mistress is not home, if that is who you want.”
Thomas was disappointed, but not particularly surprised.
“Do you know where she is?”
“She left the house yesterday a little after noon, but did not tell me where she was going. She is often away overnight.”
“Is Yves here?”
The maid gave a shake of her head. She continued to stand in the doorway, offering no invitation for him to enter.
“Did they leave together?” Thomas wondered if they had left the city, though Yves had not departed his house the day before until well after dark.
Thomas was annoyed. He had started to like his son, to trust him a little. He wanted to believe some good lay within the man, but was wondering if he had been working with his mother all the time. Da’ud’s news that she had visited him, and of what she sought, only confirmed his suspicions of her. He wondered how much knowledge she might have passed on to Yves, and whether he was involved in her work.
“The master returned after dark, but his mother had already left. He went out again early today and has not returned.”
Thomas took a step closer, hoping the woman would stand aside. Instead, she crossed her arms and glared at him. He knew he could lift her up, but didn’t want to do so.
“You know me, don’t you?”
A nod. “Everyone knows Thomas Berrington.”
“Do you also know I am Yves’ father?”
A frown formed on her smooth brow, and he knew she was wondering exactly how such a claim could be true.
“I need to search the house.”
“I cannot let you in without the mistress’s permission.”
“Do you want me to go to the Sultan and ask him? This is his house, is it not?”
“You know all these houses belong to him, but he never uses them.”
“I have no argument with your loyalty,” Thomas said, “but I believe Eleanor is escaping justice. She may also be in danger. I need to find out if there is any clue here to where she might be.” The claim was false, but the woman would not know that.
The frown returned to trouble her brow and she uncrossed her arms.
“Were you and she married once?”
“I believe marriage is not essential for a child to be set, is it? Will you let me enter?”
“I will not.” Thomas was about to change his mind and force his way in when she said, “My mistress and master may return before long, and they will expect food on the table. I need to visit the market, and will lock the door when I do so.”
Thomas listened to her words and heard a different message beneath the surface. He turned away, but walked only a few paces to lean against the corner of a wall when the woman went inside. She came out a few moments later carrying a reed basket and a heavy key. She pulled the door shut and locked it, then knelt and placed the key beneath a pot holding a small olive tree. She glanced at Thomas, nodded and walked away. In deference to her help, Thomas waited until she went from sight before retrieving the key and letting himself in.
Already there was an abandoned air to the house. Thomas walked through rooms touched here and there by Eleanor’s scent. He began in the kitchen on the assumption that any poisons might be stored there, but the shelves held barely anything. A few pots of spices and herbs, each of which he opened and sniffed to make sure they were what they seemed.
Yves’ bedroom was obvious from the male scent that clung to it. Thomas expected to find nothing here either, but searched diligently, rewarded only with what he expected.
Eleanor’s room was more subtly scented, raising a strange sense of loss in him. He searched more thoroughly, but with the same result. He looked around one last time, a sense of being too late at every turn settling through him. He knew that confronting Eleanor might have triggered her flight.
Thomas went outside. He locked the door and placed the key beneath the olive pot. For a moment, he stood on the step, trying to formulate a plan. Any plan. Slowly, something came to him. It wasn’t a brilliant plan, but at least it was something. It would do for now.
Thomas didn’t expect Olaf to be home, so was surprised when he found him sitting at the table breaking his fast. The big general nodded to indicate the chair across from him. As Thomas moved to take it, Fatima emerged from the kitchen. She gave a cry and embraced him, holding his face in her hands so she could kiss him before holding him at arms’ length.
“Aii! You are too thin. Sit, I will bring you food. It will do Olaf good not to finish every scrap like he usually does.”
Thomas sat. He cocked his head in question at Olaf.
“She forgets my job is fighting, and a fighting man needs energy.”
Thomas let his eyes scan Olaf for a moment, but all he saw was strength and health, any sign of the serious injury he had received a few years before now gone. He still had no idea what age Olaf was. He had always considered him beyond age, though he knew from his exquisite daughters he had to be almost a decade older than Thomas himself. How he could still fight the way he did was a miracle.
“What brings you to the hill?” Olaf asked.
“Da�
��ud died.”
Olaf stopped eating and put his knife down. “I heard he was unwell. When? Did he suffer?”
“At dawn this morning, and no, there was no pain at the end.”
Olaf met Thomas’s gaze and smiled. “You are a good friend to him. If you came to give me the news, I thank you. When is he to be interred? Both myself and Fatima want to be there.”
“He has asked for a pyre, so we take him to Valparaíso before sunset.” As he spoke the words, Thomas knew it was one more duty he had to discharge before he could begin his pursuit of Eleanor. He could almost hear the drip-drip of a water-clock marking out the seconds, each one allowing her to escape his justice.
“Then I will help carry him. I assume you and Jorge will also do so. Who else?”
Thomas had given no thought to the matter, but now he knew there was only one other person who could make up the four.
“Will,” he said, pleased when Olaf nodded in agreement. “But you might have to bend your knees a little if we are not to tumble Da’ud from the pallet.”
“Put me opposite Jorge, he is the tallest of you, though Will is catching him up fast.”
“He is. Come to the house later, both of you, but Da’ud is not the only reason I came. I need your knowledge.”
Olaf laughed. “You know I have no knowledge, Thomas, only brawn.”
“If someone wanted to flee the city, and they needed a fast horse, where would they go?”
“You know where the stables are in the city as well as I do.”
“I know some, but I never need a fast horse. Advise me, Olaf.”
“I will give you some names, but who are you pursuing now?”
“Eleanor. She tried to murder Isabel.”
“Is she the woman who came here asking questions about you? The one living in a house on the Alkazaba with her son? If so, I liked her. She is a handsome woman.”
“She is. And Yves is my son as well as hers.”
For a moment, Olaf frowned as he worked out what Thomas had just said, then shook his head.
“You have too many women. She looked to me like someone who would take a carriage rather than a horse.”
“She will want to travel fast, so a stallion suits her purpose better, but I will make enquiries about carriages.”