A Tear for the Dead

by David Penny

  “Perhaps not all women.”

  Chapter Thirty

  “You look nice, Pa, where you going?” It was morning and Amal stood in the doorway, feet planted firmly. Yves stood beside her, also in bare feet, his hand holding his sister’s in his. The two had become inseparable in the short time he had been living in the house. Their closeness seemed to be doing him good.

  It took Thomas a moment to realise Amal had spoken Castilian. He glanced down at himself in the new clothes Theresa had brought for him and smiled. The only concession to the old Thomas was his dark tagelmust, which hung down on either side almost to his knees.

  “Isabel wants me.”

  Amal laughed. “Is’bel always wants you.”

  “Indeed she does. Where’s Will?”

  “Out with Kin. Can I come with you?”

  “Not today, my sweet, but soon.”

  Amal nodded and gave a smile. She was far too sweet-natured sometimes, and Thomas hoped he was not raising her wrong. Perhaps he was over-protective after losing Lubna. He knelt and kissed Amal’s face and gave her a hug, touched Yves’ shoulder.

  “See you later, Pa.” They went off to find Jahan so Amal could play mother with him. Perhaps Yves played father to them both.

  Thomas smiled at the thought as he walked through the gathered army until he stood outside the royal building, aware of a few people watching as he passed. His new clothes were comfortable, but of far finer cut than he was used to, and he wondered if this was how it would be in the future. Women choosing his clothes for him.

  He felt a tap on his shoulder and turned to find Theresa.

  “She wants you to go inside so you can come out together.”

  “Why?”

  “How am I supposed to know that?” She gave the end of his tagelmust a tug. “And what are you doing with this?”

  “I had to wear something that made me feel like myself.”

  Thomas followed her to a small chamber where three women were about to leave. Isabel stood in the middle of the room. Pale leggings clung to her slim legs, her feet encased in soft leather. A short skirt of silvered chain-mail fell to her knees. Her upper body was encased in mail, bright in a shaft of sunlight through the window. She wore an open helmet, her hair covered.

  “Well?” she asked. “Will I pass muster?” Her eyes tracked Thomas, something brittle in them as she examined him. “You look good.”

  “And you look magnificent.”

  Isabel giggled. “I believe I do. Give me your arm a moment until I am sure I can walk in all this iron.”

  He went to her side and allowed her to lean against him as they made for the doorway. She released her hold before they came to the outside door.

  “I think I can manage, but stay close.” She slowed, stopped and took a deep breath. The rings of her mail made a soft sound as they slid one against another.

  Outside, a man held the reins of a tall Arabian stallion, but Isabel waved a hand in dismissal.

  “I think we should walk, like my soldiers do, to show my humility.”

  Thomas stayed close as they descended the steps, but Isabel managed them without any problem. As they passed among the men, every face turned their way, but Thomas knew all eyes were on Isabel. At least his new clothes made him look as if he belonged at her side, and he straightened his back.

  Isabel stopped and turned to a young man.

  “Where are you from, young sir?”

  The youth stared at her with his mouth open, but Isabel was patient.

  “M-malaga, Your Grace.”

  “And before that?” She would know the men here from Malaga were recent incomers to that city since its fall four years before.

  “Ronda, Your Grace.” The youth controlled his voice this time.

  “Is your father with you?”

  “He is, Your Grace, over there.” He pointed to a short man dressed in the uniform of a pikeman.

  “Has he served me man and boy like you are doing?”

  The youth nodded over and over, having difficulty knowing when to stop.

  “I thank you for your service, both of you.” She touched the youth on his shoulder and moved on.

  Thomas looked back to see the youth’s father go to him and nod in approval at his actions. They watched Isabel as she moved away, and Thomas knew every man here would sacrifice himself in her service if it came to the need of it. As would I, he thought, surprised to discover how he felt, wondering when the change had come about. He recognised it as some kind of turning point.

  Isabel stopped to speak with another man, this one older, a grey beard covering half his face. Thomas held back a dozen paces, feeling himself relax. There was no danger here, only unquestioning loyalty and, yes, love. These men feared and respected Fernando, but they loved Isabel. She was aware of the fact, which is why she walked among them, sharing a word here, a touch there. She changed the lives of those she cast her gaze on, from grizzled warriors to the young boys and girls who carried water and food.

  The sun rose higher and Thomas began to sweat, but Isabel appeared untroubled despite her chain-mail weighing far more than his clothes. Noon came and went before they reached the edge of the camp and she stopped, staring across the narrow strip of land that separated Castile from what remained of al-Andalus. The white walls of Gharnatah glittered. The palace perched atop its red hill seemed to strain to reach the sky.

  “Soon the city will be mine,” said Isabel, her voice so soft only Thomas heard.

  He stood at her side, wondering what people made of the two of them together, of this interloper beside their Queen.

  “And the palace.”

  She glanced at him. “You know it well, do you not?”

  “Every chamber and passage. It will be my pleasure to introduce you to its wonders.”

  “My thanks. I like your new clothes. Are you always going to dress this way from now on if I ask it?”

  “Ask, or demand?”

  “Ask,” she said. “I will never demand anything of you, Thomas. Surely you know that. I have not demanded you remove that silly scarf you always wear, have I?”

  He considered silence the wisest option.

  Isabel took a deep breath and let it go. “Oh, to be an ordinary woman and be able to walk through those gates unrecognised. You could show me where you live, where you eat, the streets you inhabit.”

  “One day, perhaps,” Thomas said.

  She smiled. “Yes, one day soon, I pray.”

  “They would recognise you dressed as you are now, but dressed as a woman in ordinary clothes? Those within the walls of Gharnatah would have no idea who you are. Most would not even recognise Abu Abdullah if he walked past them.”

  “Could we do it, Thomas?”

  “I should not have spoken of it. You could, but there is one chance in a thousand someone might recognise you.”

  “Shall we return? Eat with me once I get out of these weapons of torture. Perhaps I can dress as an ordinary woman for you.”

  A clash of metal on metal made Thomas turn, and he felt a wash of fear run through him. A small band of Moors had seen Isabel and were fighting their way on horseback through the disorganised ranks on the edge of the Castilian army.

  “You have to leave, now.” He clutched her arm and dragged her away, but already the fighting was growing closer. Thomas looked around, a panic rising in him. He raised his voice at the men nearest him. “You, form a wall in front of your Queen. Do it now!”

  Men ran towards them. Pikemen, archers and swordsmen. Then a dozen men on horseback thundered their way in the direction of the band of Moors, who were now only a hundred paces away. Thomas watched one man hit by an arrow and go down, then four surrounded him and he fell to the ground and his horse fled its master. Thomas recognised the uniform of the horsemen. They were Koparsh’s Turks, riding to save Isabel.

  “Stay here. Don’t move an inch.”

  Thomas ran as hard as he could in pursuit of the masterless horse. It had stopped
and was tugging at a patch of grass spared Fernando’s burning. He took the reins and pulled himself into the saddle, then bullied the horse back to Isabel. As he reached her, he offered his arm and she grasped it. He pulled her up to sit in front of him, then slid down from behind her.

  “Ride!” He slapped the rump of the horse hard and it took off, Isabel clinging to its mane.

  When he turned, the Moors were retreating. Their prize had escaped, and they would not throw their lives away for nothing. Isabel’s men cheered as if they had won a glorious victory, but Thomas knew they had been lucky. All of them.

  Thomas found Isabel in a subdued mood. She had changed into a simple dress beneath a long robe open at the front. She sat on a plain chair and stared through the window at Gharnatah. She looked up as Thomas entered the room, but offered no smile. Thomas remained dressed in his fine new clothes, but now they were blood-stained.

  “You were away a long time. Did you not want to see me after what I caused to happen?” Isabel held up a hand as he started to speak. “I know, I was wrong. My vanity cost men their lives and others were injured.”

  “Which is where I have been. I did what I could for the injured men and believe they will recover to fight again.”

  “What happened? It was all so fast I could scarce tell.”

  “A Moorish raiding party saw you and fought their way through your soldiers.” Thomas held a hand up as Isabel opened her mouth to speak. “There is no blame on your men. If there is any blame, it is mine. I should not have allowed you to get so close to Gharnatah.”

  “It is not your fault, Thomas. I wanted to see the palace. It calls to me. Come, sit here.” She tapped the arm of a chair set beside hers. “Where did you find the horse? Was it one of theirs?”

  “The Turks came.” Thomas sat, aware that once again they were alone together. It was an increasingly common state of affairs between them. “They lost one of their men and his horse ran off. I managed to catch it.”

  “You put yourself in danger.”

  “I did what needed to be done to save you.”

  She reached out and touched his arm before withdrawing her hand.

  “I must thank the Turks. I will send a message to their leader.”

  “Koparsh. Koparsh Hadryendo. They have set up their camp to the west.”

  “How many are there? Can I trust them, do you think?”

  “They came to your rescue today, so I would say yes.”

  “He is exceedingly handsome, is he not?”

  “Is he?”

  Isabel gave a tiny laugh. “Are you jealous, Thomas? You know there is no need to be. Perhaps I can invite them to eat with us here. Offer them a meal they might enjoy. All except that woman, of course.”

  Thomas smiled. “As long as you choose your cook better than the last time.”

  “That was not my doing and you know it. The man…” Isabel stared off into space and Thomas waited for whatever thought had distracted her to come to fruition. “I asked for someone who knew Moorish food, but who selected him, I do not know.”

  “You are safe now, and Theresa is recovered. Once Gharnatah falls, I will look to set up more protection for you.”

  Isabel smiled. “My Thomas, always looking out for me. I want to talk to you about something else. What shall I do with you once Granada is mine?”

  “Do with me?”

  Isabel’s eyes captured his, but if some message lay behind them, it was not one he could read.

  “You know the city better than any man in my employ, and it makes sense to have you involved in its running when we take it.”

  “I was hoping to live a quiet life in my house on the Albayzin, to return to treating patients and turn my back on politics. I am not cut out for them.”

  “Which is why I want you to do it. Those who seek high position do so for their own advantage. You do not, which is why it must be you.” Her eyes tracked his face, perhaps looking for some sign he might agree to her request. “Five years, Thomas. Give me five years to create a system to run the city peaceably. I will allow those living there to remain, provided they swear allegiance to Castile.”

  “And their God?”

  “I need to think on that, but it may be possible to allow them to follow their false God, within limits.”

  “Spare the great mosque. Convert the others, knock them down, but leave one place of worship standing they can use. Can I recruit my own staff? Men I trust?”

  “Are you accepting my offer?”

  “I am thinking on it.”

  “Then think on it while you go into the city. I have decided to go ahead with this meeting with Boabdil. Go to him and tell him that. Tell him where it will be held—and yes, the place you suggested is acceptable. I asked Martin and he agrees with you it is safe. So make the arrangements.”

  “He will want to bring his own troops, which cannot be allowed, but I am not sure he will agree otherwise.”

  “Both of us must be allowed to take men. How many, Thomas?”

  “Sixty to a hundred makes sense. Enough to offer a threat, but not enough to put either side off. Will Fernando agree?”

  “I am minded to arrange the meeting when he is on one of his expeditions. He has some idea about attacking Almeria, or perhaps he wants to recruit Boabdil’s uncle to our cause.”

  Thomas watched Isabel. “You are treading on dangerous ground if you go ahead without Fernando.”

  “Not if I succeed, and I will. I will not allow Granada to be destroyed like Malaga and Ronda were. Too many lives have been lost already, on both sides. This is a chance to stop the killing and start rebuilding the whole of Spain as the leading power in the world. When Catherine marries King Henry’s son…” she waved a hand, “…oh, not for a decade yet, but when it happens, I will have built this land into a force to be reckoned with. And with England alongside us, we can rule the world.”

  “And when Catherine’s husband is King?” Thomas rose and left Isabel to consider the implications of that.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Thomas took Will and Amal to visit Olaf and Fatima, but after he left them, a reluctance made him pause at the foot of the Albayzin. He stopped to eat a meal at one of the inns set around Hattabin square. He ate slowly, sipping at a single cup of wine while the light around him grew soft with the setting sun. Eventually he rose, but instead of climbing the cobbled alleys to his house, he went to Aamir’s bathhouse and cleansed himself.

  Finally he could think of no further excuse other than to return to his accommodation among the Castilian forces, so he let his feet guide him while his thoughts lay elsewhere. When he pushed at the courtyard door, he found it locked and hammered on the dark wood. For a moment, he wondered if Helena had abandoned the house, grown tired of waiting for him to decide. The last time he saw her, he had told her the house was hers. Perhaps she had sold it and a new owner had not yet taken up residence.

  When he heard the bolt thrown, he pushed the tangle of thoughts from his mind.

  “I wondered when you might return.” Helena stood in the doorway, not blocking it, but neither offering a welcome. Her eyes scanned him from head to foot. “I see you are dressing better at last.”

  “Isabel’s doing,” Thomas said.

  Helena leaned to the side to look past him. “Is it only you?”

  “I took Will and Amal to stay with Olaf and Fatima. I can fetch them if you want.”

  “No, let my father enjoy them while he can. You are enough. I assume you want to come in?” She remained in the middle of the doorway. The light from the courtyard behind cast her face in shadow. Thomas recalled when she had always wanted to hide her face, but did not recall her doing it so much of late. “Do you want food? There is not much here, and I have already eaten.”

  “As have I.”

  “Why are you here, Thomas?”

  “Can I not come to my own house?”

  Helena stared at him, her face without expression. “As long as you do not expect me to leave
.”

  “I don’t.”

  Helena stepped aside and Thomas brushed past, her scent filling his senses, the warmth of her body touching his. He almost turned to her then, but a sudden doubt gave him pause. She was different tonight. Less teasing. He wondered if he had expected to arrive and have her throw herself at him. He knew he was being stupid, or desperate, or something. He should have spoken with Jorge before coming, but it was too late now.

  “I think there is still some wine in your workshop.”

  “Yes, please.”

  “You know where it is.” Helena turned away and went into the house, leaving Thomas alone. He raised a hand and pushed fingers through his hair.

  That could have gone better, he thought.

  He found several bottles of wine set on their sides and took one he recalled as being good. Some bottles were better than others, some only good enough for mixing with poppy or hashish to ease pain. When he returned to the courtyard, Helena had placed two fine glasses side by side on the table and taken a seat. She set a second chair beside hers and Thomas took it. He poured wine for them both and drained half his glass in one swallow.

  “Has Isabel grown tired of you and thrown you out?”

  “Not yet, strange as the idea might seem.”

  “You are a good man. She is fortunate to have you at her side.” Helena leaned closer.

  His eyes tracked her face. Not even the faintest blemish showed a scar had ever marred her beauty. Not that the scar had ever made a difference to him, but he knew the despair she had felt when her life had been savagely changed. Torn from the heart of the harem to live with a cold man who didn’t welcome her presence. Even when Thomas took her into his bed, it was not love that drew them together. He didn’t know if it was love that brought him here tonight. No, not love, he was sure, but something that might be deeper. Companionship. Knowledge of each other. So much had changed since Helena first came to live with him. She too had changed since he freed her from Abu Abdullah’s captivity. Thomas hoped the changes happening all around him might slow when Gharnatah fell, but feared they would not.