by David Penny
It was one final insult, but Abu Abdullah nodded while his mother scowled. Aixa was a handsome woman, but the expression made her ugly.
“Martin will accompany you to ensure you do as the King asks,” said Isabel.
Abu Abdullah stared at her. “I do not want the Alarcón. Can you not send Thomas in his place?”
“Thomas has other duties to perform.”
“Which are not until tomorrow, I hear. I will not have the Alarcón.” He met her eyes, unflinching until Isabel turned to Thomas.
“Are you willing to go? Only until the city is no longer in sight. Fernando is sending men, but they have been told to stay at a distance.”
“I will go if you ask it.” Thomas didn’t want to, but was aware of Abu Abdullah’s reasons.
Their small party followed a winding track up a steep incline, the air growing colder the higher they went until at last they reached a narrow pass and stopped.
Abu Abdullah dismounted and walked back to look down at the city he had ruled and lost. Gharnatah sat among glittering waterways, its pale walls catching the lowering rays of the sun. A year ago, the vega surrounding the city had been verdant and rich with crops. Now it lay blackened and spoiled. Men worked to recover the riches that once grew there. Perhaps in another year, they would restore a little of its former glory.
Thomas stayed back as Aixa stood next to her son.
He saw Abu Abdullah’s chest hitch as he wiped tears from his face.
“Gone,” he said. “All of it gone. God is great!”
“You do well to weep like a woman,” said Aixa, scorn making her voice harsh, “for what you failed to defend like a man.” As she turned away, she caught sight of Thomas and stopped. “As for you, traitor, you can go now you have witnessed this last humiliation.”
It was growing dark as Thomas climbed the slope of the Albayzin to his house. Jorge greeted him as he entered, wrapping his arms around him.
“You almost looked like you belonged there today, my friend. Belia has made us all a fine meal and Olaf has brought Fatima across. They are inside with Will and Amal.” Jorge held Thomas’s shoulders and stared into his eyes.
Thomas expected more words, but was instead shocked when he saw tears in Jorge’s eyes. He pulled the man against him, knowing tears streaked his own cheeks.
“What is to become of us?” he asked.
“You are to be rich and showered with honours, and I will be your loyal companion. However, do not expect any work from me because I am going to be far too busy looking after at least six children.”
Thomas laughed and pushed Jorge away. “Six?”
“At least six.”
“And how do you expect that miracle to happen?”
“I have a friend,” said Jorge. “At least, I hope I still have a friend, if he does not consider himself too important to help me.”
“I will ask when I see him,” Thomas said. “Now, I need to get out of these pompous clothes and dress in something I can breathe in.”
“She will expect you to wear them again in the morning.”
“The morning is a long way off yet.” Thomas embraced Jorge once more, then dragged him inside, both of them laughing.
It was late afternoon before Thomas and Jorge escaped from Isabel and Theresa, who together with at least a dozen other women wanted to see every inch of the palace. Thomas had stood beside Isabel as she stared for long minutes at the bowl of crystal clear water held aloft by six lions. Her hand had briefly reached out and her fingers stroked the back of his hand. Then Jorge had shown them the harem, the narrow chambers where the eunuchs slept, and the baths. There were cries of delight and shock at the hot water, the spouts, the deep pools. Some women, Theresa included, wanted to try them at once, so they sent Thomas and Jorge away.
As they descended the slope, Thomas said he wanted to walk the city for a while to clear his head. Jorge said he would return to his new home.
Thomas made his way towards the southern gate which gave out on to the banks of the Genil River. There were shade trees and the soft music of the water always eased his mind. He was staring into a pool where small fish swam when a figure passed him with his head down.
“Hey!” Thomas called out and ran to catch up with Christof Columb. He recalled Theresa’s words, that the man had been insistent of late and Isabel had grown tired of his pleas for funding.
Columb stopped and turned back. “Thomas. I was told you were with the Queen.”
“I was, but I escaped. Where are you off to?”
“That is a good question and one to which I have no simple answer. Perhaps I will keep on walking until I reach the sea and find a ship to take me away from Castile.”
“What is wrong?”
“I went to the palace to make one last plea and was sent away. I was told she was too busy and could not see me. When I pressed my case, they forcibly ejected me. I have had enough, Thomas. You have always been kind to me and listened even when I know you did not believe in my dream, but you have changed your mind, have you not?”
“You are both right and wrong, but more right than wrong.”
Columb frowned. “The King of England has sent a message to say he will speak with me. I am minded to travel there. It is where you are from, is it not? Do you know the King?”
Thomas laughed. “Why would I know the King of England? I was a boy of thirteen years when I left there.”
“But you are Sir Thomas.”
“A joke, and a bad one at that.”
“And you are a friend to Queen Isabel. I was hoping you might give me an introduction to him. King…”
“Henry,” Thomas said, unsure if he spoke the truth or not. England was far away and news took a long time to reach this far south. “And it was you he sent a message to.” He put a hand on Columb’s shoulder. “Come with me, I will make sure Isabel sees you. I will support you in what you ask.”
Columb smiled. “You will do that for me?”
“And for Castile. If you are right, then you will bring great riches to this country, and if I am right, there will be unknown lands to explore. Come, we will go to her now. She was in a good mood when I left. Let us pray she remains so.”
Chapter Fifty
Thomas was lying in bed when a knock came at the door.
“Ignore it,” said Helena, pulling him back down. She was all silk and heat and need.
The knock came again and Thomas rolled away.
“What!”
The door opened and Will put his head into the room.
“There is someone to see you, Pa.”
“Who is it?”
Will smiled. “She said you would know her.”
“Belia?”
“No, not Belia.”
“Tell whoever it is I’ll be down as soon as I’m finished here.”
“Shall I tell her what you and Ma are doing?”
Thomas threw his boot at Will, who laughed as he ducked away.
“He called me Ma,” said Helena, lying naked on top of the covers. “I think it is the first time he has ever done so.”
“Well, you are his mother. It’s not so unusual, is it?” Thomas began searching for his clothes and pulling them on.
“Can we continue where we left off this afternoon?” Helena asked.
“What do you think?”
“I think I would like to.” She reached out and touched Thomas’s flank. “I would like to very much. Go find out who it is and I will join you soon.”
“I expect it’s Theresa come with some fresh demand from Isabel.”
He hesitated at the door as he bent to pick up the boot he had thrown at Will. He looked at Helena and felt an unfamiliar emotion swell within him. The last few weeks, he had been thinking of asking her to marry him. He didn’t mind if she said no, as long as she continued to share his life, but he felt he owed it to her to ask. Except not now.
When he entered the courtyard, it was to see Will sitting at the table next to Catherine. Their
heads touched as he pointed something out to her in an open book. Thomas hoped it was not one of his medical tomes which showed how bodies worked inside. Or even worse, the one from the east he had shown to Jorge.
Isabel stood with her back to him, dressed in plain clothes, staring up at al-Hamra. She turned as he approached and offered a warm smile.
“It must draw you to look at it all the time, Thomas. It is almost more magnificent from here than it is inside.”
Thomas reached out and put a hand on her brow.
“Are you here because you are unwell, Your Grace?”
She slapped her hand against his chest and laughed.
“I wanted to see where you lived. Your house. Your family.”
“You know my family, you always have.”
“Except it is different now.” She glanced away as Helena came into the courtyard. “I heard she was scarred when Koparsh attacked you. Such a pity.”
“Can you see the scar on her other cheek?” he asked.
“There is no scar on her other cheek.”
“Not anymore. When she first came to me ten years ago, it was as ugly as the one you see now. In a year, this scar will also fade. In ten more years, nobody will ever know it was there.”
“It is what you do best, Thomas, is it not? Heal people. Cure the sick. Like you cured Juan’s leg. He barely limps these days, only when he is tired.”
“He is growing into a fine young man.”
“Yes, he is, thanks to you. And Catherine into a fine young woman, also thanks to you. How can I ever repay you?”
“There is no need. I am yours to command, you know I am.”
Isabel laughed. “Then I command you to show me your house. I want to see where you work. Is it inside?”
“Over there.” Thomas nodded to the workshop that sat at the end of the terrace.
Isabel turned to her daughter and his son.
“Will, go outside and tell the men there they can leave. I will send for them…” She glanced at Thomas. “How long may I stay?”
“As long as you wish, you know you can.”
“If only that were true. Tell them I will send a message when I want to return to the palace.”
When Will came back, Thomas led Isabel into his workshop.
She stood looking around at the shelves, the row upon row of books, the scarred workbench and narrow cot.
“Do you sleep here?”
“I have in the past, but now I sleep in a bed indoors. I have grown civilised and old and need my comforts.”
“As do we all.”
Thomas was aware of a tension between them after what had happened in the farmhouse. A sense of unfinished business lay between them, the tension drawn tighter because they both knew it could never be resolved.
“I was thinking of asking Helena to marry me,” he said. “I might need your permission and a dispensation from the church.”
“Is she not a follower of another God?”
“Not anymore, as well you know. We are all converts now. She is Lubna’s sister and I have a mind marriage to a dead wife’s sister is not sanctioned by your church.”
Isabel waved a hand. “Have you asked her yet?”
“Not yet.”
“Then I will talk to someone and arrange it. You should marry in the new Cathedral.”
“I would rather it be somewhere less grand.”
“In the palace, then, yes? Theresa can be your maid of honour.”
“I think Belia will want that honour, but Theresa will be invited to the night of henna.”
“The night of henna?”
“The bride and her female friends celebrate the coming marriage and paint their hands and feet with dye, as they did for Lubna when we were in Sevilla.”
“Will I be invited?” asked Isabel.
Thomas stared at her. “Do you want to be?”
“I think I do.”
“Then I will ask, but the answer will be yes.” He shook his head and laughed. “The Queen of Castile with henna on her feet and hands. What is the world coming to?”
“I may not go quite that far. And I apologise, this is your life and I must try not to manage it for you.” She moved away, the threads joining them only growing more taut as she did so. Thomas stared at her slimness, the pale red hair now loose about her shoulders, and ached for something he knew he could never possess. It would be easier to be married. One more barrier against the need. He should resign his position, but knew he could never do so, not as long as she needed him. And need him Isabel did, he was aware of that. Fernando was already seeking new battles and spoke of taking an army to Naples.
She pointed at a bottle on a shelf. “What is that, Thomas?” All business again, the ties knotted and tucked away for the moment.
“Distillation of poppy. I use it to stop pain if I have to use a knife. I used it with Helena the first time she was injured, but she came to rely on it too much. This time less so. The years have changed her, as they have us all.”
Isabel pointed again. “And this?”
And so it went on, the two of them standing shoulder to shoulder in the warmth of his workshop. Eventually, she reached out and took his hand.
“Catherine wants to know if she can visit Will now and again.”
“You should ask Will, not me.”
“She is doing that now.”
“It might be better if we stopped them,” Thomas said.
“I had the same thought, but we both know, and I am sure they also both know, that it is a friendship of youth and nothing more.”
“Like we are friends?” Thomas asked.
“Yes.” Isabel looked into his eyes before shaking her head. “No. Are we not more than friends? I think perhaps we are. We think in the same way. We are curious in the same way. We are diligent and loyal.”
“Except you are the Queen of Castile and I am nobody.”
“I will make you somebody. There are dukedoms going spare at the moment. Where would you like?” She laughed and clapped her hands together. “Or I could create a new one. Sir Thomas Berrington, Duke of Granada.”
He pulled a face. “I would prefer to remain a nobody.”
“You can never be that.”
“But I can try.”
Isabel stood close to him now, her face tilted up.
Thomas thought of all the times Jorge had tried to explain love to him. That it was infinite. That one man could love many women, one woman many men. That love had no boundaries. Love was limitless. For the first time, he thought he might be starting to understand what he meant.
“I have made many wrong decisions in my life,” said Isabel, “but you are not one of them. I have a hard decision to make now.”
“I understand.” Thomas knew what she was about to say. He was too close to her and she had a position to maintain.
She stared into his eyes for a long time, her own tracking backwards and forwards, as if seeking something.
She drew a breath and let it go.
“Marry Helena, Thomas. Marry her and have more children, and give Jorge more, but I want you to continue to serve me. Marry so I am not constantly tempted.” She came up on tiptoe and Thomas leaned down to kiss her. It was a lover’s kiss. Their last, they both knew, so they made it worth the while.
“You will serve at my side until my daughter comes of an age and has to leave me to cross the sea to England. When that time comes, I want a man at her side I can trust. A man I know will lay down his life for her if need be. A strong man.”
Thomas laughed. “And where are you going to find such a paragon?”
Isabel slapped him softly on the cheek and turned away.
“Now, show me the rest of your house. All of it. And then have Belia and Helena cook us spiced food, for I miss it so. I want to spend the entire day with your family, for this house is outside of time and space. It will be my refuge, for a few hours at least.”
“For as long as you need it,” Thomas said. “Forever and always.�
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Historical Note
Many of the events leading to the surrender of Granada on 2 January 1492 are well documented. The forces of Castile, together with those who came from other countries to witness and take part in the defeat of Islam in Europe, are historical fact. Most of the events surrounding battles, skirmishes and negotiations recounted in A Tear for the Dead are as accurate as my research allows. However, I have altered some of the timings to more readily accommodate the pacing of a novel. Sometimes history moves exceedingly slowly.
It is known that during the last years, when Abu Abdullah, Muhammed XII, saw the way the conflict was heading, he sought help from other Islamic nations. These included Egypt as well as the Ottoman Empire, both of which refused to offer any aid. In my telling of this last battle, I have inserted a fictional character acting on behalf of the Ottoman Turks (and a nod of thanks to my son for the name of Koparsh Hadryendo). The Ottoman Empire was greedy for new conquests, having already subjugated Albania, Greece, Venice and most of the Adriatic to the west, as well as large tracts east and south of Turkey itself. While my deceit is purely fictional, perhaps it is not beyond the bounds of possibility for a small delegation to have been dispatched to observe events and report back.
If Abu Abdullah, Isabel and Fernando had been removed, Spain would have been thrown into turmoil. A powerful army and navy could have exploited the subsequent confusion. Of course, these events never happened, and most likely never would, but it has been fun to explore the idea. It also gave me a hook on which to hang the mystery plot.
Many of the events described in A Tear for the Dead are taken from historical records, a few are made up, and a few more tailored to avoid repetition or confusion. I have also changed the chronology of a few events to make for a smoother plot-line. For those interested, the following list details some major events recorded during this period.
The fire in the Castilian camp is mentioned in several sources, including my primary ones for this book, The Moor’s Last Stand, by Elizabeth Drayson, and Granada 1492, by David Nicolle, illustrated by Angus McBride.