A Tear for the Dead

by David Penny

  Olaf leaned across the table. “I would ask if you are sure she is guilty of this crime, but I know if you make the accusation, it must be true. What will you do when you catch her?”

  “Take her to Isabel. What happens then is up to her.”

  “Did you love her once?”

  For a moment, Thomas wondered who Olaf was referring to. Perhaps he was right, and Thomas did have too many women in his life if he couldn’t work out which was which.

  “I thought I did. Enough to set seed in her belly.”

  Olaf laughed. “We both know love has little to do with that act. There is no time now, but one day, when we are both old men, you can tell me the story.”

  “If either of us get to be old men.”

  Olaf smiled. “Yes, there is that.”

  Olaf had given Thomas the names of a dozen traders who might have the manner of steed Eleanor would require. He had discarded half because he knew them and also knew their horses would not meet her high standards. The first two he visited were no help, and Thomas wondered if Eleanor might not have used some other means of transport. As he walked to the next stables, he glanced at the sky, aware of the passage of time. Da’ud would be fully prepared by now. Soon people would begin gathering, and Thomas knew they expected him to be there. Four more stables to visit, that was all. He promised if he met with no success, he would leave the alternatives to the following day, even if it allowed Eleanor more time to make good her escape.

  “A handsome woman, maybe ten years younger than me?” said the third stable owner. Thomas had used the man in the past and knew his horses were of the highest quality, even if he was a rogue himself. He claimed many of his stock were those destined for the palace, but excess to requirements.

  Thomas looked the man up and down and judged his calculation of Eleanor’s age at least fifteen years adrift, but accepted she looked younger than her age. The man continued brushing the grey coat of a young mare. Other steeds filled half the stalls, the smell of their sweat and droppings rich in the air.

  “Did she give a name?”

  “She did, but I have no recollection of it. There was a title in there somewhere, as I recall.”

  “Countess?”

  “Possibly. Like I say, I have too many customers to remember them all.”

  Thomas didn’t believe the man. He remembered how Eleanor looked, and Thomas expected he remembered everything she had said.

  “Do you not keep records?”

  The man tapped his skull. “All the records I need are in here. Why pay a scribe when you have a memory like mine?”

  “But not for names.”

  “Countess sounds right, now you mention it. And the name she gave was Isabel.”

  So Eleanor had used a false name.

  “What if she fails to return your horse? You will need both a name and address then, won’t you?”

  “If she had hired it, I would, and in that instance my memory would no doubt serve me better, but she bought the stallion outright.”

  “Only the one horse?” Thomas asked.

  “That’s what I said, isn’t it? Though she could have afforded every horse you see here.”

  “She carried gold on her person?”

  “In a saddle bag, as if she knew she would need it. Which she did.”

  “When was this?”

  “Yesterday, half way between Zhuhr and Asr.”

  “Did you see which way she went?”

  “I followed her. She left through the Jaen gate and continued north.”

  Thomas stared at the man. “You followed her?”

  “I was curious. She was a handsome woman, and spirited.” The man smiled. “The horse I sold her was spirited, too. I thought she might have trouble controlling him, but she was an expert rider.”

  “Did you decide you wanted more money for the horse? Or did you want all the gold she carried in that saddle-bag?”

  When the man refused to meet his stare, Thomas knew the answer.

  “Why did you stop? You did stop following her, didn’t you?”

  “I followed only long enough to satisfy myself she was content with her purchase. When she met a group of other riders, I watched for a while, thinking they might be brigands about to steal her gold, but it was clear she knew them. They greeted each other like friends and rode away together.”

  “How many men?”

  “Half a dozen. All mounted.”

  “Describe them to me.”

  “They were hard-looking. Used to riding, I could tell. They were dressed all the same, though whether it was some kind of uniform, I cannot say for sure. Black, it was.”

  “Were they Moors or from Castile?”

  “Neither.”

  “Could they be of France?”

  “They were men, that is all I can tell you. I was too far away to hear what was said, but unless they spoke Arabic or Castilian, I doubt I would have recognised their speech.”

  “Which direction did they ride?”

  “The same way, north. I turned back to the city then and saw no more.”

  “My thanks for your time.” Thomas considered offering the man a coin. He saw one was expected, but made no move to do so. No doubt he had charged Eleanor more for the horse than it was worth.

  Thomas walked fast through the city, not seeing the bustling life that continued all around him. He needed to return to his house. He would take Usaden and Kin and head after Eleanor. She had a good start, but two riders could travel faster than seven. Much faster when one of them was Usaden. Thomas would give him and the dog their head and let them ride fast. With luck, Eleanor would not be expecting any pursuit, so her progress would be slower still.

  As Thomas climbed the twisting alleys towards his house, a sense of hope filled him.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Where have you been? We were about to leave without you!” Belia’s dark eyes sparked with anger. “How would it look if Thomas Berrington did not set the light for Da’ud al-Baitar’s pyre?”

  “I had things to do.”

  “And now you have a duty to perform. Da’ud is prepared and lies in your workshop. Usaden has already tied him to the pallet, and Olaf is with Helena and that man you brought here yesterday.”

  “Yves?”

  “I believe that is his name.”

  “Yves is here?”

  “I just told you that, didn’t I? He’ll have to stay here or come with us, we don’t have time for anything else. It will be dark in two hours and the fire must be lit before the setting of the sun. You owe Da’ud that. You owe him more than that, Thomas, but this is the least you can do for him. He was your friend. Perhaps your only friend other than Jorge.”

  It was clear Belia did not include herself in that list. Thomas knew he had no choice, and nodded.

  He went into the workshop crowded with people. Olaf stood beside the pallet. He glanced up as Thomas entered.

  “When I die, I want to be burned. Set me on a boat and send it out to sea with the flames crackling high. It is the northern way. Will you do it for me, Thomas?”

  “I hope I never have to.”

  “But if I should die, I want you to give me a fitting journey to Valhalla.”

  Thomas shook his head. “Let’s get this burning over with first, shall we?”

  The four of them carried the pallet up through narrow alleys until they widened into a square, Thomas and Will at the head, Olaf and Jorge at the rear. People lined the streets as they passed before falling in behind. By the time they reached the burning grounds of Valparaíso, a line of men, women and children snaked backwards for half a league. Thomas doubted even half a dozen would turn out for his own funeral. Other pyres stood in stark relief against a lowering sun, and Belia had found an Imam who recited the prayers for the passing of a soul.

  Jorge pushed something into Thomas’s hand, and he looked down to find a burning torch.

  “It has to be you, Thomas,” said Jorge, echoing Belia’s words.

&
nbsp; “I know. I loved him.”

  “Everyone loved him. He loved you too, though why I cannot tell. Do it. Do it now before that man of God finishes his words.”

  Thomas didn’t want to set the torch to the pyre. It felt too final. But he knew he must. This is what Da’ud had asked him to do, and he could not turn his back on the man now at the last.

  He stepped forward and thrust the torch into the pile of dry wood beneath Da’ud’s pallet. He held it there as the pyre began to smoke and crackle, held it there until the ferocity of the heat forced him back. He bumped into someone, expecting it to be Jorge, but when he turned, it was to find Helena standing beside him. She reached out and took his hand. He grasped it within his own as tears filled his eyes. Later, he would pretend it was the smoke that caused them, but everyone would know the truth.

  It was dark by the time they returned to the house. Thomas wanted to bathe the stink of smoke from himself, but when he went into the small bathing chamber, he discovered it was already in use. Helena turned to him, unashamed to display the perfection of her body.

  “Do you want to join me?”

  “I smell too much.”

  Helena laughed. “If that is the only reason, I can probably put up with it while I wash the smell from you.”

  “There are a thousand people in the courtyard.” Thomas wondered why he was talking to her instead of leaving.

  Helena began to soap herself again. “I suspect you exaggerate.”

  “Only a little. There must be a hundred. Belia has sent to the neighbours for more food, but most of them are already here. There will be no wine left by the time they’ve finished.”

  Helena tugged at the lever set into the wall and allowed warm water to cascade over her. When it stopped, she came towards Thomas, but he moved aside and handed her a linen towel to dry herself.

  “Belia and Jorge washed when they came in, so the water will be cold before you finish.”

  “I have worse problems than cold water.” Thomas waited for Helena to leave. The damp linen cloth wrapped around her hid nothing. Once he was satisfied she had no intention of returning, he removed his smoke-tainted clothes and stepped under the water. Helena was right. It was cold.

  It was close to midnight before they managed to get everyone to leave, but one intruder remained. Yves sat beside Helena on the low wall that ran around the sides of the courtyard.

  “He’s besotted,” said Jorge. “Perhaps you should let him sleep with her tonight and get it over with.” He had found a flagon of wine from somewhere and poured it into their cups. Thomas suspected he had hidden the prize before everyone arrived.

  “It’s not my decision. If she wants him to, she can ask him herself.”

  “It is your decision, you know it is.”

  “I thought…”

  Jorge smiled. “Thought what?”

  “It’s too late tonight to start the pursuit of Eleanor, but we need to organise it so we can leave at dawn.”

  “Dawn again?”

  “I know it’s a hardship for you. Stay here if you wish. Me and Usaden should be enough.”

  “You should ask Yves. I heard you talking with him earlier. You told him his mother had fled. You accused her of being the poisoner to his face.”

  “I wanted to see his reaction.”

  “He already knew,” said Jorge. “Tonight he acted like a young man besotted with his first girl. He was uncertain, shy, and sweet. But I sensed something else beneath the act. A hardness. A coldness. A strength of will.”

  “So do you think I’m right, and he knows what his mother is involved in?”

  “I’m not saying that, only there is something else there, something he is hiding. It might be nothing more than lust for Helena, but he made that fairly clear, didn’t he?”

  “Oh yes, I think he did. So what should I do?”

  “Take him with you and see how he acts.”

  “In that case, I need to wake you at dawn. I need another pair of eyes and your skill to see the truth within him.”

  “Then I will come. Have you asked Usaden?”

  Thomas did not need to say whether the man had agreed. Any chance to escape the city in pursuit of someone was always acceptable to Usaden.

  “I think he went to sleep in the workshop.”

  “And you?”

  “I have more planning to do.”

  “And then?”

  “I will try to get a little sleep.”

  “And Helena?”

  “What about Helena?”

  “Don’t make me say it, Thomas. She has changed. You have changed. I don’t know why you fight it when you are going to submit in the end.”

  “Because I don’t believe she has changed. Think back on everything she has done. She betrayed us to Abu Abdullah. She lived with a woman who had a blacker heart than the devil himself. Some part, however small, of that darkness must remain within her.” Thomas glanced at Jorge. “Yes, she tempts me, I admit. She has barely aged these last ten years. The scar that once ruined her face is healed, and I vividly recall how skilled she is with the body she so openly flaunts before me.”

  “You think too much,” said Jorge. “Take her to your bed. Enjoy yourselves. It doesn’t have to mean anything other than pleasure.”

  “I don’t think about things in the same way as you do.”

  “Neither do I anymore, but perhaps you think too much the other way. With you it is always duty and doing what is right. Sometimes a man has to fail, has to submit to his desires. The world won’t end if you do.”

  Thomas might have argued, but at that moment, Helena came towards him, leaving Yves sitting alone, his expression that of an abandoned child. She trailed her fingers across his cheek.

  “I am going to bed. Should it be mine or yours?”

  Thomas looked up at her. “Mine, if that is what you want.”

  “It is what I have wanted for a long time now, you know it is.” She leaned down and kissed his mouth, a long kiss rich with the promise of more. “Try not to be too long.”

  When she had gone, Thomas found Yves staring at him.

  “I think I’ll go to bed,” said Jorge, “as you’re getting me up again in a few hours.”

  “At least try to spend some of the time asleep.”

  “I’ll see what Belia thinks of that when I get there.”

  After Jorge had gone, Thomas rose and walked across to Yves.

  “You know what I have to do tomorrow, don’t you?” He stood over the man, who remained sitting on the low wall.

  “You ride in pursuit of Mother.”

  “You can stay here or you can come with us.”

  “Which do you want me to do?”

  “It’s not my decision. You don’t have to make it now, you can let me know in the morning. I’m sure we can find another horse for you from somewhere.”

  “Are you and Helena lovers?”

  “We have been, but not at the moment.” Well, Thomas thought, that situation is about to change, isn’t it?

  “She is exquisite.”

  “Indeed she is.”

  “But she is not interested in me. She talked about you all the time. You are a fortunate man.”

  “Some might argue that is not the case, but I have had a blessed life and a cursed one in equal measure. Sometimes both are needed to make a man what he is.”

  “My life has never been cursed. Perhaps that is why I have this feeling of…” Yves stood and waved a hand, searching for the right words “… Failure. Discontent. Of having my potential stifled. I have been too much in the shadow of my mother.” Yves stood, a hardness in his eyes. “I wish I had known you sooner.”

  “I wish it too. Both our lives might have been different.”

  “Pa, Ami is crying and woke me up.”

  Thomas turned to see Will standing in the doorway.

  “Where is she?”

  “I’m here, Pa. I felt sad, but I’m not anymore.” Amal came around Will. She had lost the pudgines
s of infancy and looked more like her mother with every passing day. Her dark hair shone, hanging loose almost to her waist.

  Thomas beckoned them both to him. “I want you to meet someone very special.” He offered his hand and Amal took it. Her eyes looked up at Yves, but Thomas read a doubt in them. She was wondering what was so special about this man.

  “Do you know who this is?” Thomas asked, but it was Will who answered.

  “His name is Yves, and he’s French.”

  “That is his name, yes, but he is also something else.”

  Will glanced at Yves. “Lots of people have lots of names. Morfar is called Olaf here, but his northern name is Hvirfla.”

  “I know it is, though what it means, he would not tell me.”

  “It means whirling. Northern names describe the man or woman. Morfar has his because of the way he whirls his axe into battle.”

  “Then it describes him well.” Thomas was aware of Yves watching the conversation without understanding a word of it, for they spoke in Arabic. Thomas switched to Castilian. “This man is Yves, but he is also your brother.”

  Will gave Yves a second look. He scanned him up and down, looked back at Thomas.

  “He’s tall, I suppose.”

  “Do I have two brothers?” asked Amal, her small hand tightening inside Thomas’s.

  “You do.”

  She looked up at Yves. “Am I meant to like him?”

  “It would help.”

  “Can you fight?” Will asked Yves.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Then I don’t expect you can. I can fight. Morfar says I fight almost as well as him and Pa. I can teach you if you want.”

  “Teach me?”

  “How to fight.” Will looked at Yves again. “You’re too old to learn the axe, but a sword would suit you. And a knife. Every man needs to know how to use a knife as well as his hands and feet. In fact, anything at all. Usaden says a man must fight with every part of his body if he wants to survive, and I do.”

  “Want to survive, or fight?” asked Yves. Thomas could see he was amused.

  “Both. You can’t do one if you can’t do the other. I will ask Usaden to teach you if you think I’m too young.”