A Tear for the Dead

by David Penny

  Thomas followed her from the room. He could hear Jorge and Yves talking, but as he and Eleanor walked the length of the long corridor, their voices faded. The strange smell grew stronger as they approached a door set at the end. A heavy key was set in the lock and Eleanor turned it.

  “Say hello, Thomas, I am sure they will be pleased to see you.”

  Eleanor swung the door open and Thomas stepped through before he was fully aware of the billowing smoke filling the room. As he turned back, the door slammed shut and the key turned.

  Thomas turned to the source of the smoke. A fire of logs burned in a wide grate, but the chimney was blocked so smoke billowed into the room. Baldomero de Pamplona and his wife sat in comfortable chairs set on either side of the fireplace. Both were dead, their faces almost black.

  Thomas coughed, the smoke already affecting him. He went on hands and knees, trying to get beneath the densest layer, but knew at once it was not enough. He crawled to where sunlight streamed in to show where a window lay. He tried to kick the glass out, but an iron grill was bolted to the inside. He moved back to the fireplace, intending to tip de Pamplona’s wife from her chair and use that, but the world spun away from him. His vision shrank to a small circle, and he knew he wouldn’t make it.

  Eleanor had confessed her sins, and now she had killed him.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  When Thomas opened his eyes, he found a figure leaning over him, hand flat against his chest. Jorge sat back and let his breath go.

  “Gods, but I thought we’d lost you.”

  “You know I’m a hard man to kill.” Thomas rolled his head to one side to discover he was lying on pale soil in front of the house.

  “Usaden says if Kin hadn’t barked, you’d be dead.”

  Thomas tried to sit up and failed. His head ached and his stomach roiled. Saliva filled his mouth and he leaned to one side and vomited. Jorge rubbed his back like he was a child.

  “Did she poison you?”

  “She didn’t have to. Usaden is right, another few moments and I would never have opened my eyes again.”

  “He did something I’ve never seen before,” said Jorge. “He punched you hard on your chest, two or three times.”

  “Sometimes it works, most times not.” Thomas let Jorge help him to his feet. “Where is she?”

  “Usaden has them both locked in the room with the bodies. He doesn’t trust Yves. Neither do I.”

  “I hope the fire is out.”

  “It is. He unblocked the chimney and smashed the glass. There is still a taint to the air, but they won’t die, more’s the pity.”

  “How did Kin know?”

  “Eleanor came and told us you were talking with de Pamplona and his wife. I wanted to join you, but she told me you had asked to be alone with them. Kin had come in from outside. He went up to her and sniffed at her dress. She tried to kick him, but he was too fast. I think he smelled the smoke. How he knew it was killing you is another matter.”

  “She locked the door. How did you get in?” Thomas’s head spun, but the ground had stopped moving under his feet. The remnant of smoke clinging to his clothes brought a fresh wave of nausea.

  “Eleanor was foolish enough to leave the key in the lock. We dragged you out and brought you here to the fresh air.”

  “What is to stop them climbing through the window Usaden broke? Where is he—guarding them?”

  “Usaden left the metal grill in place. Kin is watching over them for now.” Jorge laughed. “He’s lying on the floor and every time either of them moves towards the window, he gives that growl of his and they back off. Usaden’s gone up into the tower. He thinks the men who accompanied Eleanor may still be close. No doubt they are out there waiting for a signal to come and finish us.”

  “Then they’ll be waiting a long time. I want to see the bodies of Baldomero and his wife. Call Usaden down and take Eleanor and Yves to the room you were eating in, I’m sure you and Kin can guard them just as well there. And don’t tell her I’m alive yet.”

  “She saw us drag you out,” said Jorge.

  “Did I look alive?”

  “No, you didn’t. I’ll go fetch Usaden if you can stand on your own, but I’m not sure your dog will do what I tell him. Stay this side of the house if you don’t want to be seen yet.”

  When Jorge had gone, Thomas walked to where the oleander stood and drew the branches aside. Deep within, out of sight, he found where several branches had been sawn through. He leaned closer to see the cuts had been made some time ago. Which meant someone had planned their use before Eleanor came here. Which raised the question whether that someone was Eleanor herself or not. Thomas wondered if she had come to this place deliberately, or had she been brought? Were the men who accompanied her compatriots or only here to ensure she kept her side of whatever bargain had been made? Was the confession she offered the truth, or nothing more than another set of lies? He intended to ask her once he had examined de Pamplona and his wife. Thomas knew there was little point, but a sense of duty meant he could make no assumptions about how they had died.

  When he saw Usaden descend from the tower and disappear inside, Thomas made his way to the side of the house and into the room. Water pooled in front of the fireplace where it had be used to extinguish the smouldering wood.

  Thomas started with de Pamplona’s wife. When he turned her head from side to side, it moved easily, which told him she had not been dead long. A quick examination showed no wounds, which told him the smoke had been the cause of her death. If he had come here as soon as they arrived at the house, perhaps both would still be alive, but he felt no guilt. How could he have known Eleanor would do this? Though he should have known she would do something. It was who she was. A killer. An assassin in a fine dress. Was Yves also involved? Thomas didn’t want to believe it, but knew he could well be.

  Baldomero de Pamplona was as recently dead as his wife, his lips as blue as hers. Thomas suspected their deaths had been relatively peaceful. They had been brought here and someone had closed the shutter in the chimney. Would they have fallen asleep, unaware they would never wake? He hoped so.

  Thomas rose, ignoring a moment of dizziness. He would question Eleanor again, and this time she would tell him the truth. As he came from the room, Usaden appeared at the far end of the hallway. He saw Thomas and ran towards him.

  “Men are coming. A dozen at least.”

  “The same ones we saw before?”

  “They wear dark uniforms, so more than likely. What do you want to do with the woman and her son?”

  “Bring them back in here. Lock the door and leave Kin to guard them again.”

  “You realise it will be you and me holding them off, don’t you?”

  “We’ve fought worse odds before. Besides, Jorge fights well these days.”

  “He does, but not enough for this. Perhaps he should guard the woman and her son and Kin come with us, he will be of more use. I found three bows inside, which might be useful if we have to retreat.”

  It was a good plan, and Thomas agreed with a nod. When it was arranged, he walked outside with Usaden. Both held a sword in one hand and a knife in the other. Kin paced ahead of them, his black and grey head turning from side to side as he sniffed at the air.

  The party of men rode with no hurry along the roadway. Thomas narrowed his eyes. Yes, the same men, he was sure. Their uniform could mean they were no other. Each wore a soft cap tilted to one side, and each had a sword strapped to their saddle. Were they men of France or mercenaries from some other region? Thomas didn’t know and didn’t care. If he could keep one of them alive, he might get an answer to the question.

  “Do we confront them here?” asked Usaden.

  A dozen men against the two of them. It was possible, but not without danger.

  “Did you say you found bows?”

  “Three. I took them to the tower. I thought the extra height would help.”

  “Then that’s where we go. We can hold them off be
tween us.”

  “I prefer to fight a man a little closer, but it is the wiser option.”

  Usaden disappeared and Thomas followed, climbing a twisting staircase. They came out on a small platform surrounded on four sides by crenellated walls, against which three bows leaned. Two were short in the Moorish style. Usaden chose one and a quiver of arrows. The third was more than twice as long as the others, fashioned like those Thomas had trained with as a boy. He remembered he had been good, but that was long ago. He didn’t even know if he could still draw such a bow, but chose it anyway.

  When he looked through a narrow opening in the wall, he saw the band of men had turned off the roadway and were riding towards the house. Thomas considered shouting a warning, to at least offer them a chance to turn back. Usaden had no such intention. His first arrow missed its mark and buried itself in the pommel of the lead rider’s saddle.

  Thomas strung his bow, notched an arrow and drew. The pull of the bow fought him, but he knew more than strength was required. There was an art to using the power it held. He drew back further, stared at the man he wanted to hit rather than the arrow, and loosed. The arrow flew true to embed itself in the man’s chest. He rode on for a moment, then tipped sideways and crashed to the ground. By then, Usaden had found his aim and took a second man in the throat.

  The remaining men rode hard towards the house, but Thomas took another, as did Usaden, and then the last eight veered aside to crash through the edges of the oleander.

  “We follow,” Thomas said, knowing the bows were no use with the bulk of the house between them and the fleeing men, but Usaden was already gone and Thomas had to run to catch up with him.

  Usaden had slung the bow over his shoulder and withdrawn his sword and dagger. When Thomas rounded the bushes, he was confronted by only five men. He glanced around, but couldn’t see any others. He wondered if the show of force had come as a surprise and caused them to flee. He grinned. Whatever the reason, now it was only five against two and he liked those odds much better.

  “Try to keep at least one alive,” he said to Usaden. “I need to know who sent them and who they work for.”

  “I will try, but you know holding back does not come easily to me.”

  “Then take the three on the right and I’ll keep one of mine alive.”

  Usaden gave a nod and ran at his first target. The man had only just started to unsheathe his sword when Usaden’s took him in the chest. Usaden spun fast and opened the throat of another.

  All at once, the rest ran. Thomas sprinted, threw himself at the slowest and brought him down. He cracked the hilt of his knife against the man’s skull, then did it again when he remained conscious. The second time was the charm. Thomas rose to his feet and looked around. Usaden was nowhere in sight. No doubt he had gone in pursuit of the others. Except the others were not all the men who had come to the house. Eight survived their arrows, but only five had confronted them. None looked like the kind to run from a fight.

  Thomas ran hard back to the house. When he entered the room Eleanor and Yves were being held in, he was confronted by two men, an injured woman, and Yves who cowered in a corner.

  Thomas ran the first man through before he even had time to turn. The second took a little longer to deal with, but not by much. Thomas went to Eleanor, who lay on her side. Blood pooled beneath her. Too much blood.

  When Thomas rolled her onto her back and lifted her up, her eyes fluttered open and she tried to smile.

  “I didn’t think he would do it.”

  “Tell me who you are working for.”

  “I was betrayed. Men are all alike, even those closest to you.” Her voice was a soft whisper. “All apart from you, Thomas. You were always different. You still are. I never…” She winced, and the breath left her lungs in a long sigh. Thomas stared into her eyes, waiting for them to lose their spark, but she rallied her strength from somewhere. “…never stopped loving you. Never. Goodnight.” This time when her chest fell, it didn’t rise again. Thomas lay her on the soiled boards and closed her eyes. As he rose, Yves pushed past him and went to his knees beside his mother. He lifted her, shook her, but to Thomas it looked like an act.

  “She’s gone. You need to dig a hole and bury her. Was she religious?”

  “Of course she was. We attended church three times a week.”

  “It’s not always the same thing. Where’s Jorge?”

  “He went after the third man.”

  Thomas had forgotten there was another man. He went to the door and listened, but heard nothing. He walked the length of the corridor, afraid of what he might find, but when he entered the large room at the far end, he found Jorge sitting in a chair, drinking a glass of wine. Kin was on the table helping himself to whatever he liked. There was more than enough even for a dog as large as him.

  “Did you lose him?” Thomas asked. He picked up a small tart and bit into it to discover the contents sweet, a mix of apple and dates dotted with raisins. With the end of the fighting, his hunger was a ravening beast.

  “I caught up with him outside.”

  “And?”

  “He’s dead—go check if you want to be sure, but I fear Usaden has done too good a job on me. I’m not sure I like it. I took no pleasure in killing the man, but he wouldn’t yield.”

  “Sometimes there is no choice.”

  “Not around you, there isn’t. The wine is very good, you should try some.”

  “We need to leave before any others come. Eleanor’s dead, there’s nothing to keep us here.”

  “I didn’t see her struck, I was too busy chasing the other man.”

  “She was still alive when I reached her.”

  “Did she tell you anything useful, like who sent them?” Jorge refilled his glass, filled another for Thomas. Kin jumped from the table, having eaten his fill.

  “Nothing important. I told Yves to dig a hole and bury her.”

  “He fought well, got a knife off one man and stuck him. It gave me the chance to come out here to finish it. Eleanor was different to how she was in Qurtuba, but I expect you have changed as well.” Jorge drained his glass and refilled it once more.

  Thomas wondered how drunk he was. Too drunk to ride?

  Thomas thought for a moment. “Perhaps you’re right. I don’t believe I ever really knew her. She was wild, we both were, but her wildness always carried an edge of madness to it. I didn’t see it, not then, because I was led by my cock instead of my head.”

  Jorge shrugged as if to say that was not always such a terrible thing.

  Thomas took the glass of wine away from him and threw it on the floor.

  “I’m going to find Usaden and see how many more he’s killed. I knocked one of them out and want to question him. Then I’ll help Yves dig his mother’s grave. If you pass out, I’ll leave you here.”

  Jorge said nothing.

  When Thomas returned to the room, Eleanor’s body lay where he had left it, but there was no sign of Yves. Thomas went outside to see if he was already digging her grave. Even after he had circled the house twice, he found no sign of him, only the bodies of the men he and Usaden had killed. Something would have to be done about them.

  On the third pass, he noticed one of the horses was missing. He assumed the man he had knocked out had come round and taken it, but as he took one last look around, he found him half-hidden by the oleander. He was dead, his throat cut.

  Thomas climbed the tower and shaded his eyes. He saw a single figure already half a league distant. It rode fast towards the hills, and Thomas cursed. He had underestimated his son. He was going in the same direction as the men they had followed for a day and a half.

  Thomas glanced at Usaden. He had not heard him approach, but then he never did. The man was uncanny.

  “Did you kill the man I knocked down?”

  Usaden stared at him, shook his head. “You said you wanted him alive.” Usaden followed Thomas’s gaze. “Do you want me to follow him?”

  “Let hi
m go.”

  “I wouldn’t kill him,” said Usaden. “Not if you asked me not to.”

  “He won’t come back now, he’ll be scurrying for home if he knows what’s good for him. We have other things to do.” Thomas watched the diminishing figure. As it grew smaller, so did his attachment to both the man and his mother. There would be no grave dug for Eleanor. Any lingering feelings he might have had for her, she had destroyed by her actions.

  Thomas turned back to Usaden. “See if Jorge is sober enough to help, we have bodies to drag inside and a house to burn.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The smoke began as little more than a faint haze beyond the hills, but as they rode closer, the sky turned almost black and roiling clouds rose into the air. Thomas sat astride the white stallion Eleanor had used because it was a better steed than the one he had arrived on, which was tethered behind.

  “I see Fernando is trying to burn the world into submission again,” said Jorge.

  “Burning crops his own soldiers will need soon.” Thomas looked to where Usaden rode point, Kin as ever running even further ahead. How the dog could cover so much ground and not exhaust himself was a mystery he had given up trying to solve.

  “Are you heartbroken?” asked Jorge.

  Thomas frowned. “I would rather he didn’t ravage the land, but you can’t expect anything else from the man.”

  “Not Fernando. Eleanor. You were with her when she took her last breath. What did you feel?”

  “You talk too much about feelings.”

  “It is what I do. Were you relieved? Angry? I don’t suppose you have even thought about how you felt.”

  “Will it change anything if I spend days lost in memory and grief? I don’t have the time to indulge myself. Isabel will want me as soon as we return.”

  “What if she asks you the same question?”

  Thomas glanced at Jorge. “Why ever would she do that?”

  “Because she cares about you.”

  “I hadn’t planned on telling her. Do you think I should?”