by David Penny
“For a while. Let’s see how it goes.”
“Thank you, Father. Why is it your ten-year-old son is more of an adult than me, who is over twenty years his senior?”
“Will has been forged through many fires. It makes a boy grow up fast. Too fast, I sometimes think, but there is nothing to be done for it. You are grieving now, but believe me when I say it will pass. You will always mourn your mother, but the pain will grow less.”
“Are there any days when you do not think of your dead wife?” asked Yves. “Jorge told me what happened.”
“Not a single one, but I also remember her laughter, her beauty, and her sense of mischief.”
“My mother had one of those.”
“A sense of mischief? Yes, I know. How do you think you came into being?”
Yves shook his head. “I still struggle to think of someone else being my father rather than that old man I rarely saw. But I am pleased it is so, for you are a far better man than he ever was.”
“Come and sit, Belia will bring food soon.”
“I have barely eaten since I saw you. I stole some eggs from a farm, but that was all. I tried to return before, but could not make myself come further than the nearest ridge.”
Belia came and laid plates of meat, fresh bread and sauces on the table. Another pot of coffee was brought and set down. Yves’ gaze followed her as she left the room.
“Will and I thought we saw you. Tell me what happened. I believed you had ridden to join those men.”
“I intended to hunt them down and kill them, but I am no tracker. I am fortunate I did not find them, because I am no fighter, either. Your man Usaden could have found them in an instant, could have killed them even faster. All I did was wander aimlessly through a land where I understood not a word spoken to me.”
“Your Castilian is good,” Thomas said. He watched Yves pile slices of lamb between two flatbreads and take an enormous bite. He waited while his son chewed and swallowed.
“I might have managed better if that is what they spoke, but you know it is not.”
“Had you never seen those men before? Or others dressed the same way? Did they ever visit your mother?”
Yves shook his head. “She kept much from me. Perhaps to shelter me, perhaps to hide her own guilt. She may have met them in the palace in Granada, for I was never invited there.” Yves looked up, met Thomas’s eyes. “Could the Sultan have sent them?”
“He has no love for Castile, but I doubt it. Why recruit your mother from France when there are a hundred assassins he could call on? No, it was not Abu Abdullah.”
“She was his lover, did you know that?”
“I did.”
“She has taken many lovers.” Yves spoke the words without emotion. “Including you.”
“Yes,” Thomas said. “Including me. So why are you here?”
“I considered riding north to Arreau, but was unsure of what manner of welcome I might receive.”
“You are the Count now.”
“I suppose I am, but it was always Mother everyone obeyed. She could be harsh when she wanted. I expect you never saw that side of her.”
“A little, in Qurtuba. She was a strong person.”
“Not strong enough at the end. I should have fought, but I’m no soldier.” Yves shook his head as he prepared a second round of food the same as the first. He sipped at the strong coffee and pulled a face.
“I can send for tea if you prefer, or water.”
“Have you no ale?”
“No ale, I’m afraid. How long before you turned back?”
“Five days.”
“So what have you been doing since?”
“Hiding, most of the time. Then I returned, as you know because you saw me, and I saw you. I meant to come to you then, but feared you would turn me away after what had happened. Feared you would believe I had worked alongside Mother.”
“Are you telling me you knew nothing of what she did?”
Yves stopped eating and met Thomas’s gaze. “I knew she did bad things for money, but I didn’t want to know what things. I don’t think she wanted me to know, either. It was a coward’s way to live, and I knew it.”
“And this commission she took? What did you know of that?”
“A man came to visit her, but I only know because she told me. She had sent me away on some pretext, to visit a young countess in a nearby town. She did that now and again. I think she wanted to find me a wife, but this one was certainly not suitable.”
“Not pretty enough?” Thomas asked.
“Not old enough. She had seven years, and her family were seeking an arrangement with money in mind. Mother always let it be known she had money, even if she lacked a husband.”
“I don’t understand—why did she never marry again?”
“Because of you.”
Thomas stared at Yves. “Me?”
“She never forgot the father of her child. She would talk to me constantly about you, though she never mentioned your name until we met you again in Córdoba.”
“She had a strange way of showing it in that case. Falling into bed with Fernando.”
“Mother had … strong desires. She took many lovers, but none of them lasted.”
A sense of dread settled through Thomas. “Did she kill them?”
Yves shook his head. “Of course she didn’t. Although … yes, some perhaps. I don’t know. I have already told you she sheltered me from much. I know now it is no way to raise a son, but it was all I ever knew.”
“When I met you both in Qurtuba, was that part of the plot to harm Isabel?”
“No, we went out of curiosity, nothing more. The commission to kill the Queen was agreed only half a year ago.”
“Did you always know what she did?”
“I cannot remember a time when I did not.”
“She killed to order, didn’t she?”
Yves gave a nod. “She was an assassin. When I first discovered it, I was afraid, then as time passed, I grew proud of her. She showed me her work, the herbs and roots and minerals she used. She tried to teach me each of their uses, but I do not believe you passed your intelligence down to me, Father.”
“Call me by my name, Yves. It is strange when you call me Father. I set a seed in Eleanor’s belly, that doesn’t make me your father. Call me Thomas.”
“I will try, but forgive me if I slip up.” Yves gave a shy smile.
“I need to know something.” Thomas waited, but Yves busied himself with his food. “Is the threat against Isabel over now with the death of your mother?”
“It is.” Yves spoke curtly, still arranging the food on his plate to his satisfaction, though what satisfaction there could be in it, Thomas failed to grasp.
“I need to be sure,” he said.
“And I will tell you everything I know, what little there is, but my head is swimming with fatigue and I am not sure I will make any sense. Can I sleep and we will talk again later?”
“I may be gone later. Tell me the important part now, and then you can tell me your entire story if I am still here. Do you know if Eleanor was the only assassin recruited?”
“As far as I know, yes.”
“To kill Isabel and Fernando?”
Yves frowned. “No, Queen Isabel and the Sultan Muhammed. Cut off the heads from both sides, Mother was told. They want them both dead. No doubt her employer would be happy if Fernando died, but he was not mentioned.”
“Is that what she was doing in Gharnatah, looking for a chance to poison Abu Abdullah?”
“It was, but Mother has always loved luxury and the company of powerful men.”
“She made no attempt on Isabel directly. Did she do the same with Abu Abdullah?”
“She gave him a tincture over several days and he drank it because they were lovers. She told him it would make a stallion of him, which I believe it did, even though it was slowly killing him. Then you came to talk with him and Mother stopped, because she knew you would see the signs. If you had not c
ome, the man would be dead by now.”
“So why did she send de Pamplona to poison Isabel rather than do it herself?”
“Because of what happened in Córdoba between you and her, between her and Fernando. She could not return to Isabel’s court, so she had to send someone else. I did not know she would kill de Pamplona and his wife.”
“Was it you and her seen talking with him the morning he disappeared?”
“Not me, but it was most likely Mother. She was gone from the house when I woke and did not return until later that night. Who the man was, I have no idea.” Yves stared into Thomas’s eyes. “I am homeless, Father.”
“No, you are not.”
After Yves had gone, Thomas stared into space, seeing nothing as Yves’ words ran through his mind. He didn’t know how much he believed. How much made sense. Could Yves truly be as ignorant of what Eleanor had done as he claimed? Or was he only trying to protect himself? What Thomas was sure of was Yves had not the heart to do what Eleanor had done. The man was weak. He was a disappointment to Thomas. Was it possible to change him, or was it too late for that? Yves had thirty-five years. His personality was fully formed. Men, particularly men of that age, did not change unless it was forced on them.
Perhaps he was not beyond saving. Losing his mother, losing his place in the world, might be enough to change him. The question was, would it be an improvement or not?
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Thomas and Martin de Alarcón reined in their horses as they approached Gharnatah and watched as two men fought to the death in front of the eastern gate. Two hundred paces away, Fernando sat on his horse beside his constant companion, Perez de Pulgar, watching the bout. Behind them, Koparsh Hadryendo and Salma sat astride their own mounts.
“I thought Isabel had put a stop to all this,” Thomas said.
“She issued an instruction, but Fernando countermanded it. He likes the tilts.”
“These are no tilts. These men fight with swords and knives, and they fight to the death.”
“There is some jousting, but he considers it all chivalrous. Man on man.” Martin glanced at Thomas. “Sometimes he takes part in the contests himself.”
“Then it’s a pity he survives, is all I can say.”
“He is not so bad,” said Martin. “Fernando is a good war general, and that is what Castile needs at the moment. Isabel is the heart and head of the country, but Fernando is its strong right arm. They are a good match, despite you wishing it otherwise.”
Thomas looked at Martin, ignoring the clash of blades ahead of them.
“How do you enjoy sharing Theresa’s bed?”
“Very much. She is highly skilled and adventurous. Sometimes I wonder if she is not too adventurous for me.” Martin gave a low laugh. “She confessed I was her second choice. You are a fool, Thomas Berrington.”
“Try not to break her heart when you leave her for a duchess. And try not to take as many mistresses as Fernando is doing. One of whom is sitting over there in full view.”
“You will not change him now, and I will not leave Theresa even if I marry a duchess. There is a glut of noble ladies at the moment who are only too willing to accept a man with a mistress. Their previous husbands had an unpleasant habit of getting themselves killed or captured. I am coming with you today to seek the freedom of two such. There will need to be an exchange, but we have plenty of their nobles locked up. I believe you know one of them, Faris al-Rashid?”
Thomas laughed. “He is captured by Castile? That is sweet news.”
“Two months since. I am surprised nobody mentioned it to you, for he constantly asks for you to be told in the belief you will have him freed. He claims a friendship between you.”
“Then he claims wrong. He tried to kill me only a few years ago. He is a snake. If it was up to me, he would rot in his cell until hell freezes over.”
“So, not friends then.” Martin smiled as he urged his horse into a slow walk. Ahead, men dragged a body across the ground. “I think your side won that contest. You Moors fight well, I give you that.”
“Do you consider me a Moor?”
“I am making my mind up on that. I know the Queen does not, so I expect the rest of us will have to follow her example.”
The victor mounted a horse lacking a saddle and rode hard for Gharnatah’s open gate. On the way, he showed his horsemanship by whipping his legs from side to side to bounce from the ground.
Thomas and Martin left their horses at an inn and walked up the steep slope to the palace. Before they reached the outer gate, Martin said his goodbyes and Thomas continued alone.
Abu Abdullah was expecting him and Thomas was brought directly to a courtyard half in shade where palms rose to sway their tops in sunlight. Birds nested among the fronds, dropping as many dates as they consumed. Thomas studied the Sultan as he walked towards him, recalling what Yves had told him the day before.
“I heard you had been unwell, Malik, but you appear to be in fine health now.”
Abu Abdullah spread his arms. “I had a little pain some time ago, it is true, but it has gone now. I have no need of your services today, surgeon.”
“I am pleased to hear it.” Thomas considered it unwise to make any mention of Eleanor’s death, or her attempt to poison the Sultan.
“Has that woman sent you?”
“She has, Malik. She also sent me with an offer, but the terms have changed.”
“Then you can scurry back and tell her I refuse.”
“You have not heard what they are yet. It is only one minor change. The King wishes to be included.”
Abu Abdullah looked off into the distance to where men were tending dark-leaved shrubs.
“I saw how he burned our crops.”
“I believe he considers them his crops now.”
“Then he is even more of a fool than I took him for. What does he think his army is going to eat?”
“They bring supplies from Qurtuba and Malaka constantly.”
“Some of which my troops destroy. There was food all around them and they destroyed it.”
“Are people growing hungry, Malik?”
Abu Abdullah waved a hand as if it was no concern of his what happened to the people. Thomas was sure there would be enough food in the palace. He thought he might even call on Bazzu before he left to confirm the fact. It would be useful for Isabel to know.
The Sultan rose from where he was sitting, a half-foot shorter than Thomas. He was no doubt used to everyone tall in the palace bending their knees to offer him the advantage. Thomas had done the same at one time, but no longer felt the need.
“Walk with me while we discuss your mistress’s demands. See if you can persuade me to agree to this meeting.”
Abu Abdullah led the way to a viewpoint where the armies of Castile stained the land as far as the eye could see. Cooking fires spiralled smoke into the air to hang in a grey layer. Abu Abdullah’s mouth tightened into a line of distaste.
“Look at them, they are not even civilised. How can I negotiate with such unbelievers?”
“I think Isabel is a believer, only in a different God.”
“They have no manners. They never wash. Their food is disgusting. They take only one wife at a time and allow them to argue with their husbands. And they are going to win this war?”
“Isabel is not unreasonable,” Thomas said. “She will strike a deal. Gharnatah will be spared, the palace too. She will allow you to leave with your life and a portion of your wealth. Perhaps the negotiations can decide what that portion should be. Agree to the talks, Malik. It is the only way the city can survive.” Thomas hesitated, then risked the truth. “Fernando has ordered the French cannon closer to your walls and is preparing their use. I saw what the siege of Malaka did to that city. You do not want to repeat the mistake of thinking you can win the fight that is coming.”
Abu Abdullah paced the dusty ground. To either side, guards stood at a discreet distance, unmoving, aware their Sultan could see the
m. Finally, he stopped and turned to Thomas.
“Arrange it, then.” He turned to leave, then stopped. “Whatever happened to that French Countess? When I lay with her, she revealed to me you and she were once lovers.”
“It is true, Malik, but it was long ago. I believe she returned to France. Her son too.” Thomas knew Abu Abdullah was trying to get a reaction, but refused to satisfy the man.
“Your son. She told me that as well.”
“It seems she told you a great deal, Malik.”
“Yes, she did. No matter, she was a pleasant diversion, and at least now she knows how it feels to lie with a real man. Go to your Queen and tell her I agree. Arrange it soon before my people grow ever more hungry and ungrateful. Arrange it before the traitors—and yes, I know who she talks with— sell my soul for a piece of silver.”
“Where is it you conduct your other negotiations?” Thomas asked Isabel. “The ones Abu Abdullah is meant to know nothing about? He does, by the way.”
They sat on a terrace that looked north, away from the devastation wrought by her husband. Jagged peaks thrust towards an almost clear sky, marred only by a single strange circular cloud that seemed always to hover above the ridge. Thomas had only ever seen such clouds here in the south of Spain.
“You are asking the wrong person,” said Isabel. “They are my husband’s idea, not mine. It is his people who negotiate, but they are getting nowhere. Has Boabdil agreed to meet with both of us?”
“In a neutral location. He doesn’t like Fernando’s involvement, but I think he can live with it. I promised him you would allow him to leave the city with at least enough wealth to let him live well. Not as well as he does in the palace, but well enough.”
Isabel suppressed a smile. “I am not sure it was in your power to make such an offer, but I will take it under consideration. If it was up to me, it would be agreed, but you know it is not. Fernando will have his say.”
“He was watching the fighting when Martin and I passed. I went to Olaf after visiting Abu Abdullah and asked if he could do anything to stop it.”
“I suspect I know what his answer was.”