by David Penny
“And I suspect you are right. If it was up to him, there would be no skirmishes. Olaf believes a war is fought army to army. He has given orders, but Gharnatah is not the place it was. Men no longer obey orders, even his.”
“When was the last time you obeyed an order, Thomas?”
“I went to Abu Abdullah for you, didn’t I?”
“And you also went off in pursuit of your woman, the poisoner, without consulting me.”
“Am I meant to sit here waiting for your next order?”
“Do I not employ you?”
“Is it employment when I receive no wage?”
Isabel frowned. “Do you need money, Thomas? I assumed someone else would take care of all that. I will arrange it. How much do you want?”
“I need no money, Isabel. What I need is my independence. I am happy to serve you in any way you wish, but I have to know I can be my own man when I need to be. When do you want this meeting arranged? Abu Abdullah said soon.”
“Then let it be soon. Is there hunger among the people on the streets?”
“A little, but the walls of the city are porous and supplies filter through from the north and the Alpujarras.”
“I did not hear you say that, and if I did not hear it, I cannot pass the news on to my husband. He would find where these supplies come from and raze the fields to smoking stubble. If he can find time between bedding his new paramour.” If Isabel was bitter about her husband’s lover, it did not sound in her voice.
“Perhaps he is right to burn them.”
“He is wrong, but I do not tell him that. Neither do I tell him I know who he lies with. When Gharnatah falls, it will need a supply of food. This land is rich and well-irrigated. I pray it will recover from his ravages.”
“Will you live in the palace?” The air was warm, the atmosphere between them relaxed despite her mention of Fernando’s infidelity. Thomas knew that soon, someone would bring wine and small plates of food. He could grow used to such ease, aware he was not the man he had once been. The hunger to cure the world had leached from him, and he was still waiting to discover what might replace it. Perhaps to continue serving this woman.
“I would love to. You have been there today, tell me what it is like.”
“Again?”
“Yes, again. Or do you have something better to do?”
“I have to find a neutral place for your meeting. Somewhere safe. Somewhere that belongs to neither Castile nor al-Andalus, and I think I know of somewhere. I visited the great library in Gharnatah to search their records. Do you know they have over three million books held there?”
“I did not. Did you find what you were looking for?”
“I did.”
“Good, so you have no need to rush off again. Tell me about the inner chambers. Is it true there is water everywhere? Fountains?”
“No fountains, but there is water. It is a form of worship. The water is still, the better to reflect the glory of heaven.”
“And the writing on the walls? Are there truly no depictions of people or animals?”
“It is not the will of Allah.” Thomas laughed. “Though there are lions holding up a bowl of water in one courtyard.”
Isabel clapped her hands together in delight. “I would so love to see that.”
“Soon you will walk the corridors of the palace and see it all for yourself.”
“Will you walk with me and explain everything?”
“Do I not serve you?”
“I am trying to make my mind up whether you do.”
Thomas raised his eyes and looked into Isabel’s, the atmosphere between them precarious, teetering on the edge of something he could not define.
“You know I do. I am your man, Isabel, yours to my core. I would die for you.”
“I pray it never comes to that.” She took a breath, let it go. “I am tired of this talk of war. Tell me what I am to do about Columb.”
That again, Thomas thought, but he told her what she must do, and Isabel listened to his words, asking sharp questions that showed her understanding. Then wine arrived, together with plates of food, and shortly after, Theresa and Martin de Alarcón arrived, but Fernando was nowhere to be seen and Isabel made no mention of his name, or where he might be, or who he might be with … as if she no longer cared.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
On a warm morning when thunderclouds massed to the south, Thomas watched Martin de Alarcón ride up the slope towards his house and walked down to greet him. He knew the man had moved into Theresa’s quarters in the house she shared with Isabel and the other courtiers. He looked content as he dismounted, as well he should.
“We are going to get wet,” said Martin as he gripped Thomas’s arm.
“It is only rain, and I expect we have both been wet before.”
“More than once. Are you ready? Who rides with us, or is it only you and me?”
“Jorge and Usaden, if that is acceptable to you?”
“It is. I like Jorge. I like Usaden, too, even if I do not understand a word he says. He needs to learn to speak Castilian for when we win this war.”
“I suspect when that happens, Usaden will return to where he came from. Wherever that is.” Thomas glanced back at the house. Will stood on the terrace, his face showing nothing, but he was dressed for riding and carried weapons. “One other as well, if you agree. My son.”
Martin looked towards the terrace.
“He is tall now, isn’t he?”
“He is. And fast.”
“His face still carries the softness of youth. What age is he, thirteen, fourteen?”
“He has ten years,” Thomas said.
“Ten years?” Martin shook his head. “You have no idea who or what we might meet. A ten-year-old boy has no place riding with us.”
“Then I will tell him to stay well back, but I think you are wrong. I would wager Will against any grown man. Only recently he fought one of the Turks and defeated him.”
“Then the man must have let him.” Martin’s eyes returned to Will, a judgement in them.
“I might have said the same had I not witnessed it, and if so, why did he let Will break his arm?”
“He broke the arm of a Turk? They are outstanding fighters, I have seen them at the tilts.”
“He did. I fixed the arm, so in a month, he may be back at the tilts.”
Martin shrugged. “Don’t blame me if he gets killed. He is your responsibility to look after if we find trouble. Not that I expect any. But then I have no idea where you intend to take us.”
“North,” Thomas said. “We were there recently and it is good country for our purposes. It belongs to neither Castile nor Gharnatah, and I believe I know somewhere that suits our needs.”
“Then let us ride, but tell your son to keep up.”
Thomas thought briefly of his other son, who still lay in bed even at this time of the day. It should be an annoyance, but was not. He knew Yves needed time to recover, to come to terms with the loss of his mother. Thomas was happy to allow him all the time he needed, and a place of safety while he searched for his new role in the world. He doubted it would be as a member of Thomas’s family, but at least the opportunity lay there if he wanted it.
Noon had come and gone before they rode through a narrow pass and the town of al-Loraya appeared below, sitting in a wide valley. They were some distance east of where Eleanor had died, but the valley was the same one, Thomas was sure. It cut through a fold of mountains that protected it from the outside world. Thomas had visited the town once, many years before, and remembered it had a fort perched on a bluff of pale rock. He had not known it was owned by Faris al-Rashid at the time, a fact he had only discovered in the great library.
“Is that the place?” asked Martin de Alarcón.
“It’s a possibility, nothing more.”
Martin leaned forward to look left, then right.
“Is it Moorish?”
“Notionally, but this land belongs to neither side. I suspect that
’s why its current owner wants it.”
“Are you sure the place is suitable?”
“The people here are peaceable enough if left alone. I think they will find a sultan and a queen more of an amusement than a reason to attack.”
“I still do not know why Isabel is so set on this meeting.”
“She wants to take Gharnatah with as little loss of life and property as possible.”
They started down the slope on a twisting track, their horses’ hoofs dislodging rocks that clattered away down the steep hillside.
“The palace is an obsession for her. I could understand why if she had seen it, for it is a wonder of the world, but all she has are second-hand accounts and rumour. Has she questioned you about it?”
“She has. I assume she’s asked you as well?”
“Sometimes she talks of it more than the matters I discuss with Boabdil.” Martin gave a laugh. “Not that there is ever much news from him.”
“Do you still have a hold over him?” Thomas knew Martin had spent almost a year with the man after his capture eight years earlier during a foolish raid. Rumour had it Abu Abdullah was now Martin’s pawn.
“He appears to have found a little courage from somewhere of late.”
“He knows the end is inevitable. Perhaps he welcomes not having to fight anymore.”
“We can only hope that is true.”
It was an hour before they approached the town. The buildings cast valleys of deep shadow as the sun lowered.
“If what you say is true,” said Martin, “this could be the perfect place.” He lifted in his saddle and looked around before nodding at the ramparts that loomed above them. “From up there, a single man could see attackers approaching from leagues away. Is it as secure as it appears from this side?”
“There is a single roadway that climbs from within the town, but it has three gates protecting it, the last of which is almost impregnable if any attacker makes it that far.”
Men, women and children stopped what they were doing to watch the strangers pass, the sound of the horses’ hoofs loud in the narrow streets. Thomas led the way, trying to recall the twists and turns that would lead to the roadway and the castle. He made a few wrong turns, but found the right place, eventually.
“Do you know who owns this place?” asked Martin.
“How did your negotiations with Abu Abdullah go?” Thomas smiled. “Did you agree to an exchange of nobles?”
Martin frowned. “We did.”
“Was Faris al-Rashid among their number?”
“He was not. I put his name forward, thinking Boabdil would jump at the chance to free him, but he waved it away.”
“He fears Faris wants to oust him, and I suspect he isn’t wrong. Though the time for such is long past. When the man last visited this place, I don’t know, but the records show he bought it over ten years ago.”
Martin laughed. “That would be a fine justice, would it not, to hold the negotiations here?”
“Perhaps you can get the property signed over to you when Gharnatah falls.”
Martin looked at the ramparts. “It is a dour place. I am not sure Theresa would approve.”
“But your duchess might,” Thomas said, which only made Martin laugh even harder.
The lowest of the three gates was closed when they reached it, and Thomas took Martin back into the town to find someone who might offer them admittance. He expected at least a brief resistance, but one man sent them to a second who sent them to a third who was the holder of the keys to the fort. He was middle-aged and as thin as a stick, but when he walked alongside them, Thomas was sure he could keep up his steady pace all day long if need be.
“How long have you been the key-holder?” he asked the man.
“Since my father passed the duty on to me, and his father before him. Who lay before that, I do not know.”
“Have you ever met the owner?”
“Saw him once, from a distance. Sour-faced, he looked.”
“That would be Faris,” said Thomas, and the man nodded.
“I am content to grant you admittance, for there is little inside to steal. Even if there was, the entire town would see you carrying it away. What purpose do you have, sirs?”
“That we cannot say,” said Martin, “only that it is a matter of high politics.”
The man gave a rough laugh that came out as a cough. “We hold little with politics here, high or otherwise. When it comes to politics, I see little honour in it. How is the war going out in the world?”
“You do at least know of that?” said Martin.
“Strangers passing through, like yourselves.”
“Have there been any recently?” Thomas asked.
“Only the Turks.”
Thomas slowed and looked at the man, who went on at his steady pace so he had to catch him up. They were almost back to where they had left the others.
“What Turks?”
“They came…” the man looked off into space “…two months since. They, like you, wanted to see inside. People do, now and again, but other than yourselves and the Turks, there has been nobody for some time. They asked if it was for sale.”
“Is it?”
“It is not my place to know. I hold the keys. I let strangers look around because I see no harm in it. Other than that, sale or not is the business of better men than me.”
Thomas doubted those he referred to were his better. He liked the man. He was carved from this land, as stubborn and uncomplicated as it was.
The man used the largest key to turn a heavy lock, then handed the rest to Thomas.
“I will not accompany you. My wife will have a meal on the table going cold and want to know where I have been. Do you remember my house?”
Thomas gave a nod. “I will return these to you when we are done.” He glanced at the sky. “Would we be allowed to stay the night within its walls?”
“I expect so … for a price.”
Thomas glanced at Martin. “Did you bring coin?”
Martin shook his head.
“I can arrange for something to be sent,” Thomas said.
“I don’t want that kind of payment. High politics, you said?”
“Which we cannot discuss.”
“I would like to meet the Queen,” said the man. “Queen Isabel. I hear she is beautiful. And kind.”
“She is both,” Thomas said. “She can also be stern.”
“That is a good thing. If these high politics involve the Queen, then I would like her to acknowledge me the once. That would be enough. I ask for no more.”
Thomas looked at Martin, who shrugged. Neither could see any harm in the request, but whether Isabel would agree was another matter. At least they could ask.
“One condition,” said Martin, who waited for the man to acknowledge him. “No word can spread we have ever been here.”
“Nobody has been here,” said the man. “Not since the Turks. If anyone asks, that is what I will tell them.” He turned and walked away down the cobbled road at the same pace he had climbed it. Steady. Relentless.
“It’s perfect for your purpose,” Thomas said. He and Isabel sat once more on the terrace that looked across the army. He smiled. “It is owned by a Moor you hold captive. Large and easy to defend. And neither side lays claim to the surrounding land.”
“Why not?”
“Why not what?”
“I thought I laid claim to all lands south of Alcalá de Henares. Why not this land?”
“Do you lay claim to the mountain-tops, the beds of all lakes and rivers, the lands nobody else wants?”
“They must all belong to someone.”
“Then perhaps this land does belong to Castile, but it has never been fought over, and I doubt it ever will be. Do you want your meeting with Abu Abdullah to go ahead or not?”
“Go to him tomorrow and present our case,” said Isabel. “Does Martin agree with you about the suitability of this … what is it, a house, a fort, a castle?�
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“A fort, I suppose. It sits on a rock pinnacle with sheer cliffs on three sides and a heavily guarded roadway on the fourth. It is neither too big nor too small. Abu Abdullah will bring men of his own, as will you, but we can insist only the negotiating parties enter the fort. Martin and myself will be with you and I will ask for Olaf to be present for the other side, a man you can trust.”
“And Fernando will be with us, do not forget that.”
“Have you raised the matter with him?”
“When an agreement is reached. There is no need to concern him until then. He is not one to fuss over details.”
“If you say so.”
“I do.” She offered the shadow of a smile as if to soften her words. “I have another task for you in the morning.”
“Name it.”
“I want you to dress in your best fighting clothes. I intend to walk amongst my troops to raise their spirits. I also intend to talk to them to see if I can stop these stupid challenges. They will solve nothing, and both sides are losing valuable men. Will you do this?”
“You and I?” Thomas said. “What about Fernando?”
“He tells me he intends to burn more lands south of the city. I was not even aware there was anything left to burn, but he claims the Moors are stealing crops there.”
“I expect they consider the crops are theirs.”
“Then they are wrong.”
“In case you don’t know, I possess no fighting clothes, let alone a best set.”
Isabel gave a smile. “In that you are wrong, Sir Thomas. I have had several outfits made for you. Theresa has taken them to your house. She may still be there if you hurry.”
“Theresa is with Martin now.”
“I know.” Isabel rose and smoothed her dress, her body stiff within its constraints. “But she still talks of you with a longing, and Martin will marry someone else soon.”
“A duchess?” Thomas asked.
“I believe so, once I find one pretty enough, young enough, and willing enough. I will need to find a dukedom for Martin, but there are several free.”
“Martin is a man any woman would want,” Thomas said.