by David Penny
“There is pain, but less than there was, and it will be less again in a week, even less in a month. I need to fight by then. Can you make me that thing you said you would?”
“I have already told Britto what I need and he says he will bring it later today. Once we fit it, we can attach the ironwork. That will not be so pretty. When I return to Qurtuba next, I will get Daniel to create something more elegant.”
Olaf laughed. “Elegant? For me? Whatever you have will suit.”
“Daniel’s work will let you fight better.”
“Then that is what you must do.” Olaf turned his head as Amal came into the courtyard. She came to him and leaned close to look at the raw flesh that was still healing.
She raised her eyes and met her morfar’s, and he nodded. Amal reached out and touched the red skin. Olaf allowed her to prod him until she was satisfied. Thomas watched her with pride. Yes, exactly like her mother. As she grew, Thomas had feared that closeness, both in looks and nature, would only bring him grief. Instead, it did the opposite. She would never be Lubna, but she would always carry her mother within her.
“Martin de Alarcón called last night,” Thomas said.
“Has he been talking with Abu Abdullah again?”
“I don’t believe so. He came with a message from Isabel. She asks if you are healed yet, and if so, she wants me back at her side.”
“Is that wise? You saw how Fernando was. He hates you even more than he did before, and I did not think such was even possible.”
“Martin told me he and Isabel barely see each other these days. They have not done so for close to a year. He likes to ride out and destroy things, attack small towns that can put up no resistance, and seduce women like Salma. Though he also told me she is no longer his lover. I believe I will be safe enough at Isabel’s side.”
Olaf glanced at Amal, then met Thomas’s eyes.
“Only at her side?”
“Despite what everyone believes about us, yes. I am with Helena now, you know I am.”
“I know you have shared her bed these last weeks while you fixed me, but is that the same thing? Do you love her?”
“People overvalue love. There is friendship between us now.”
“I believe she loves you,” said Olaf.
“And I believe she believes it, but it is only because I freed her from Abu Abdullah. I am content with that, and so is she. We will see what happens as time passes. Perhaps it will turn into love.” He reached out and picked Amal up and set her on his lap. “What do you think, Ami? Would you like Helena to be your new Ma?”
“She is very pretty,” said Amal, as if that was reason enough.
Thomas smiled. “She is. Is that good?”
“I want to be pretty one day. Can she show me how, Pa?”
Thomas kissed the top of her head. “You are already more than pretty. You are beautiful.”
Amal made a dismissive sound, and both Thomas and Olaf laughed.
Thomas and Jorge, together with Belia, the three children, Usaden and Kin, left Gharnatah the following morning. Thomas had asked Helena if she wanted to accompany him. He had grown used to lying beside her at night and knew he would miss her companionship even more than the sex, but she said she would stay to care for her father. She would move to the hill until he was fully recovered.
“And after that?” Thomas asked.
“Let us see when the time comes.”
Thomas left the others to return to their house when they reached Santa Fe and went directly to the building Isabel had made her headquarters. He felt a nervousness when he thought of meeting Fernando, wondered what manner of reception he might receive. As he passed through the gathered troops, he stopped to ask questions, relieved to discover the King had ridden out only that morning. There were rumours of a band of Moors harassing a small town to the south which Castile now considered theirs. Thomas walked faster after receiving the news, eager to see Isabel. He was aware he had missed her presence. Missed their conversations.
Approaching the building, he saw a familiar figure and ran across to Theresa, who turned to him.
“What did you do with those fine clothes Isabel bought you?”
For a moment, Thomas didn’t understand what she was talking about, then it came to him. He had worn the second outfit barely a day before he got Olaf’s blood all over it. They were hanging somewhere in his house in Gharnatah, unless Belia had considered them too soiled to save and burned them. Perhaps she had done so in the same fire they used to burn Olaf’s hand. Thomas had been busy saving the man’s life, but Will told him he had done it.
“I got Olaf’s blood all over them.”
She looked him up and down, a spark of amusement in her eyes.
“So you come to the Queen of Castile dressed as a desert nomad?”
“I have told you before, these are comfortable and practical.” It pleased Thomas when Theresa smiled. Some unrequited spark remained between them, though he knew Martin de Alarcón was the better man for her. “They are also easier to remove in a hurry if need be.”
Theresa laughed. “You only say that now because I am spoken for. One day, perhaps I will not be, and then we will see.”
“I am also spoken for,” Thomas said, barely knowing where the words came from. “Is Isabel in residence?”
“She is, and she will be pleased to see you. How is the big general?”
“Recovering.”
“Fernando found it hard to let you take him away, but I heard him telling de Pulgar that to do anything else would set the men against him.”
“I thought he might have tried, even so.”
They entered the building, the air immediately cooling. It was a little after noon and the heat was growing. The year was passing, but had not yet fully let go of summer.
“Who is she?” asked Theresa. “Your new conquest.”
“Hardly new.”
Theresa slowed and turned to him. “I have to leave you here, but you will find Isabel in her offices. She will eat soon and I expect she will ask you to share her meal. When you say not new, do you mean that concubine you used to live with? What is her name?”
“Helena.”
“I thought you hated her.”
“I did.”
Theresa shook her head. “I thought I almost understood you, Thomas Berrington, but I see I was wrong.”
“She has changed.”
“So have you. I may see you later, you need to hear all the news of what has happened while you were away.”
“Come to the house and eat with us.”
“Is that a ploy? Will you want to show me all the rooms when I arrive?”
“The children will be pleased to see you. Is there a great deal of news?”
“Perhaps I will come. And yes, much news, but we do not have enough time now. Later.” She rose on tiptoe and kissed his cheek.
After she left, Thomas stayed where he was for a moment, wondering why he had acted as he had. Was Theresa an itch he still needed to scratch? He did not believe so. If not, why had he flirted with her? Perhaps it was only a habit he found hard to break.
When he entered Isabel’s office, she was leaning over papers on her desk, the fingers of her right hand stained with ink. She looked up, then rose at once. She came rapidly on small steps to stand in front of him.
“You are back, Sir Thomas. Good. There is much to talk of and much to arrange. You will eat with me?”
“I hear Fernando has ridden out.”
“He has. Which means we will not be disturbed. How is Olaf?”
“His hand will never grow back, but he is half-mended already and will soon be as formidable as he was before.”
“With only one hand?”
“Olaf claims he fights just as well with the other, and arrangements are being made.”
“Good. I assumed you would return today after I sent Martin with the message, so I have arranged a treat for us both. Moorish cuisine.”
Thomas smiled as the
y walked along the corridor to the terrace.
“Are you sure that is wise after the last time?”
“I have eaten spiced food since and look, I am still here, still breathing.”
They reached the terrace where a table was set. It afforded a view of al-Hamra, and Thomas knew Isabel ate here most days so she could gaze on its splendour. The pale walls rose sheer from the rock face. The battlements spread across the hillside and beyond, the magnificent dome of the palace mosque showed where Abu Abdullah prayed every morning, noon and night.
“I am glad to hear it. You look well, Isabel.”
“No ‘Your Grace’ today, Thomas?”
“I will if you wish it.”
“You know my wish on the matter.” Isabel touched his arm, leaving her fingers there a moment. “Come, sit and tell me what you have been doing.”
“Theresa tells me there is a great deal of news I have missed.”
“The principal item is the meeting with the Sultan. Martin has been hard at work, and I believe it is going to happen soon. We have decided on the location you suggested.” Isabel smiled. “I can always rely on my Thomas, can I not?”
“You know you can.”
Four servants emerged with covered trays which they set on the table. Isabel took a seat on one side. The only other chair was set opposite her. One servant leaned close to Isabel and pointed out what all the dishes were before leaving. It was becoming a common occurrence, the two of them alone together. One Thomas still found a little shocking. What the servants thought, he dared not even consider. Perhaps Isabel’s and his actions, their obvious friendship, sparked the rumours that caused half the army to believe they were lovers.
I have too many lovers, both requited and unrequited, Thomas thought.
“Apparently this is the star of the dishes,” said Isabel, pushing a plate of rice mixed with vegetables and some pale meat. The scent of the spices were strong and Thomas felt his stomach grumble. They had left his house on the Albayzin without breaking their fast. “Pour wine and I will put a little out for us both.”
Thomas poured pale, cold wine into two glasses as Isabel spooned the mixture onto their plates. He raised his glass.
“To a successful conclusion.”
Isabel raised her own and they drank.
“What would you consider a success, Thomas?” Isabel took a small mouthful of the food and closed her eyes. “Oh my goodness, this is exquisite. Try some.”
“What I consider a success and what you might will no doubt differ.”
“An end to this war I believed might never end?” Isabel took another bite of the spiced dish, washed it down with more wine. A flush coloured her cheeks.
“Yes, that. But it could end with you acknowledging al-Andalus and allowing it to continue in peace. Abu Abdullah would agree, and it would show you in a magnanimous light.”
“That I cannot do. You know I cannot.”
“I was afraid you would say that.” Thomas looked down at his plate before trying the dish Isabel sang the praises of. She was right. He could not remember when he had ever tasted anything so fine. The spicing was layered, shifting from one level to another as he chewed, remaining long after he swallowed. “So if not peace, then an end with dignity. Do you know what Abu Abdullah will demand yet?”
“That is the purpose of our meeting. I will not attempt to humiliate him. Do you know what he might accept?” She fanned her face with a hand. “I believe I might melt.”
“It is delicious. Who prepared it? Did you send to Gharnatah again? If so, I hope you chose better this time.”
Isabel giggled. Thomas tried to recall if it was the first time he had ever heard her do so.
“No doubt you are aware of my husband’s lover. Or should I say ex-lover?”
Thomas frowned, wondering at both the admission and the reason for it.
“I think the whole of Castile does,” he said.
“When their affair ended, she went to Theresa and said she wanted to talk to me. She came to apologise for hurting me.”
“That doesn’t sound like Salma.”
“She was sweet. She told me her master forced her to seduce Fernando. Not that it would have taken much effort, for she is exquisite.”
“She is.”
“She likes you, she told me, but not as much as she likes your son.”
“She likes Will?”
“Your other son, the Count. You may not know it, but she has been living with him in your house for the last two weeks. She claims to be smitten.”
“With Yves?” Thomas thought back to what Belia had told him and knew he should have taken more notice. Not that it was any of his business who Yves slept with. He was a grown man.
“Do not sound so surprised. He is your son, and I know several women who are smitten with you.”
Thomas said nothing. He loaded his spoon with more of the delicious dish, but did not raise it. He was confused as he thought back over their conversation.
“Are you saying Salma cooked this meal?”
“I am. Salma and your son. Is it not exquisite?”
Thomas looked at the food he was about to put into his mouth and set it down.
“Salma was there when Olaf was injured,” Thomas said. “It was she who handed the cups to each of them when Olaf was poisoned. It is why he lost his hand. Where is she now?”
Thomas started to rise, but a wave of dizziness ran through him and he gripped the edge of the table. His lips, which had burned with the spice, no longer did so. They were numb, and it was harder to draw air into his lungs. When he looked at Isabel, the flush that had a moment before coloured her cheeks was gone. She was deathly pale, trying to draw breath, but it seemed she could not.
Thomas rose and ran to the edge of the terrace. He thrust two fingers into the back of his throat until he retched and brought up the food he had eaten. When he turned, intending to do the same for Isabel, she had tipped from her chair and was lying on her back with one arm splayed out. Her chest was no longer rising and falling.
Thomas shouted at the top of his voice, “Help! Help the Queen!” And when the first servant ran in, “Go find Theresa. Fetch her. Fetch her now!”
Chapter Thirty-Six
Thomas rolled Isabel on her side and stuck his fingers down her throat, but she didn’t react. He cursed and tried again, then knew there was only one chance. He had used the technique before when nothing else would work, but had only ever had success once.
He put Isabel on her back again, then leaned over her. He laid a hand flat on her chest, searching for a heartbeat and finding one, faint, but at least it continued to beat. He leaned close and gripped Isabel’s chin and nose, placed his mouth over hers and breathed into her. He felt her chest rise as he sat up. He took five deep breaths, then repeated the process. He was still doing so when Theresa came in.
“Thomas, what are you doing?”
“I am breathing for her. Help me.”
He was relieved when Theresa made no protest.
“Watch what I am doing.” He showed her several times. His own head spun, but he thought it was only because of having to breathe too fast to fill his lungs. The poison that paralysed Isabel no doubt still flowed through his blood, but he had eaten less, and ejected what remained in his stomach.
After a dozen breaths into Isabel, he sat up and looked at Theresa.
“Do you think you can do this?”
“I think so.” She leaned forward as he had done and took a deep breath.
“Don’t use too much force, it requires only a little. Keep your hand flat on her chest. Count to twenty after you breathe into her, then press down to force the air from her lungs. Then repeat. Over and over.”
He watched as Theresa copied what he had done, pleased she had taken in everything he had said.
After a while, Theresa stopped and he took over again.
“Should we not move her to a bed?”
“The harder the surface beneath her, the better.�
� Thomas glanced up, aware three servants were watching. “But privacy would be good. I would like to loosen her clothes so her chest moves more easily. These skirts you wear have too much whalebone in them. I’m surprised you can breathe at all.”
“She dresses to impress.”
“Exactly.”
Thomas breathed again for Isabel.
“We can take her to my room,” said Theresa. “It is nearby and we can close the door. Is it safe to move her?”
“How long to carry her there between us?” Thomas shook his head. “No, I can carry her, it will be quicker. How far?”
“It is…” Theresa stopped to think “…only fifty paces, perhaps sixty.”
A minute at most. Less if he ran.
“Get the servants to clear a way, I don’t want anyone slowing us down. And tell them to leave everything here exactly as it is. Nothing is to be moved. Then have them send a message to Fernando, if anyone can find him. He needs to know what has happened. Then send another message to Belia to come, I need her help.”
“Will she live?”
“I don’t know. Go tell the servants what to do.”
Thomas turned back to his task, barely aware how much time passed before Theresa returned.
“Now?” he asked, and she nodded.
He breathed into Isabel three more times, then scooped her into his arms.
“Go. Show me the way.”
He ran after Theresa, almost losing his footing as he turned into the corridor. It seemed over sixty steps, but he knew it was only panic that made it feel that way. Theresa crashed through a door and Thomas followed. There was a narrow bed, a table, a chair and a space on the floor where Thomas laid Isabel. Once more, he leaned close and breathed into her mouth. When he laid his hand on her chest, he felt no heartbeat and a sense of despair flooded him. Then he moved his hand and found it. Slower now, almost normal. He breathed again, again, then glanced across to where Theresa stood with her back to the closed door.
“She needs to get out of this dress and any corsets she is wearing. If I stand outside, can you do it?”
“I can, but not breathe for her as well. Stay. I will tell no one.”