A Divided Inheritance

by Deborah Swift

  He heard the portly merchant at the front of the line say, ‘We are members of Don Rodriguez’s confraternity. Here are the papers. Pérez said if we came down early we could have the pick of them.’

  The soldier by the door said, ‘More of you, eh? Ten reales.’

  ‘Hey! Nobody mentioned anything about paying. You should be paying us. We’ve got to keep the vermin, haven’t we?’

  ‘No fee, no entry. It’s a favour we’re doing you.’

  There was much grumbling and fumbling in purses from the assembled men, who had not anticipated being asked for payment.

  Zachary shifted from foot to foot. He wished they would hurry. He still had to get Husain away, and time was passing. Luisa would be wondering where they were, and at the thought of her an intense longing flooded his chest.

  The men were still protesting. It was soon apparent that the man in front of Zachary did not have ten reales. He continued to complain, screwing up his wizened face. Zachary’s purse was full. Alvarez had supplied each of them with enough money to pay passage if it was needed.

  ‘Look, I’ll lend you it,’ Zachary said, anxious to speed up the process. ‘We’ll go in together. Here – enough for the both of us.’ He took the purse from his belt pouch and thrust it into the man’s hand.

  ‘I’ll pay you back,’ the man said. ‘It’s very good of you. My name’s Rincón, by the way.’ Zachary did not volunteer his name. By this time they were at the door and the elderly Rincón handed over the money.

  ‘Twenty, for me and my friend,’ he said. ‘But I still think it’s robbery. Don Rodriguez never said anything about payment.’

  Zachary kept his head low as he passed. He had actually got inside the building. One step nearer. Now they were in the factory, the sound of crying rose and fell.

  Ahead of him in the gloom of the warehouse the would-be buyers were searched and their weapons laid aside on a bench near the door. Damn. He watched as they searched Rincón methodically and removed his tuck to a side table. Zachary thought quickly. Never leave yourself unarmed – the first rule of the streets. He put his elbow up to his face and feigned a sneeze, opening his mouth. His paring knife, folded and sheathed into its bone handle, dropped out of his sleeve to rest on his tongue. He closed his mouth tight.

  He submitted to the search, and the soldier took his buckler and signalled to him to remove his sword-hanger and sword. The soldier felt the front of Zachary’s doublet and his sleeves, before moving to the side to open his pouch and feel under his cloak for concealed weapons. Zachary caught sight of the hilt of a dagger nestled against the soldier’s thigh.

  Very well. If the soldier was to take Zachary’s sword, he would have himself something in exchange. As the soldier patted down his back Zachary coughed and raised his hand to his mouth. The paring knife fell neatly into his hand. In one deft movement he flicked the blade open and with a quick chop relieved the man of his military dagger, complete with its leather scabbard.

  He raised his arm as if to assist the man feeling down his back behind him, and let the dagger slide down his sleeve until it rested under his armpit. Then he clamped down his arm to keep his prize. He re-sleeved his paring knife to its usual place.

  The man had finished searching. ‘Next,’ he called, and slapped Zachary on the back to move him forward.

  Shafts of dim light through the closed shutters and some feebly burning lanterns illuminated air thick with tobacco dust. The children cowered away in the darkest corner of the vast building, behind the gritstone grinding mills, and the packed earth where the horses trod in circles. One of the men who had gone in earlier had already chosen a small boy and was attempting to tie his hands together. The boy howled and twisted and struggled until a soldier helped the merchant to force the boy still by holding him by the hair. Zachary looked around for Husain. He rubbed his hand across his brow. How would he ever find him? There were so many children, all crying or screaming. The air reeked of tobacco and terror.

  He waded his way into the throng of children like a man stepping into the sea. Another man in front of him picked up a babe and examined him for defects before bundling him under his arm like a sack of grain.

  ‘Where are the older ones?’ Zachary asked.

  The man wagged his head behind him. ‘Over there.’

  A touch on his arm made Zachary spin round. ‘Here. You’ll need this.’ Rincón passed him a metal collar with a pin-lock and chain and a leather leash attached.

  ‘Oh, no need,’ he said, feeling the weight of the contraption in his hands with revulsion.

  ‘I insist,’ Rincón said. ‘I’m only after a baby. My wife fancies something to train from the beginning. You’ll have more need of this, if you’re after something older.’

  A hand fastened itself around his wrist. He looked down meaning to shake it off, but suddenly found himself looking into familiar eyes.

  ‘Mr Deane?’ Husain whispered, his bottom lip trembling.

  It was all Zachary could do not to sweep him up and hug him. But he mustn’t arouse suspicion. Zachary put his hand to his lips in a gesture of quiet. Husain’s brown eyes never left his own.

  ‘He doesn’t look very strong,’ Rincón said, approaching, pursing his lips. ‘What about that one over there? He looks more sturdy.’ He pointed to where another thick-set lad was hitting a smaller boy with his fists. Husain’s grip tightened on his wrist.

  ‘No, this is the one for me. I don’t want trouble.’

  ‘Well, if you’re sure. I’ll help you get the collar on him.’

  Rincón showed Zachary how to click the lock closed and turn the key. Husain let them do it without protest. ‘Wait for me outside, my friend,’ Rincón said, handing him his purse. ‘I won’t be long.’

  ‘I will,’ shouted Zachary, but he was already guiding Husain back to the light of the door. At the other end of the warehouse more distraught children were arriving. Husain’s eyes kept straying to where they tipped them off the back of the cart like sheaves of tobacco.

  ‘Husain,’ Zachary whispered, ‘I’ll get you out of here. Just keep quiet, and do as I ask. Your mama is waiting, but you must be good. Understand?’

  He nodded trustingly. Zachary led him by the leash towards the door. Almost there. Zachary resisted the urge to run, and strolled with him towards the light.

  Just before the door a table had been set up where two soldiers were waiting to sign out the Morisco slaves.

  ‘Ten reales,’ said the soldier nearest to him. ‘Name?’ These men were helmetless, fully armed, but in civilian clothes. The nearest one was poised with a quill in his hand.

  ‘But I paid it already, when I came in.’ His heart began to pound in his chest.

  ‘Well, it’s another ten to take him out. The blockade will not let you pass without a valid paper of sale. Even those who are friends of Don Rodriguez.’

  ‘Wait a moment whilst I find change.’

  The sound of the foreign accent made the other soldier turn in curiosity. He frowned as if solving a puzzle, before his mouth opened. ‘Hey!’

  It was Fabian, Don Rodriguez’s man.

  ‘Quick,’ Zachary said, hoisting Husain by his skinny arm towards the door.

  ‘Stop!’ Fabian’s command made a momentary silence.

  The soldier behind the table stood up, hands on the table, but he was not quick enough. The concealed dagger was already finding its way down Zachary’s sleeve to his hand. Zachary flicked the sheath to the ground and thrust the tongue of the blade down hard into the soldier’s sleeve. The soldier was pinned there, slumped over the table.

  ‘Now,’ he shouted, pushing Husain into motion. He swept up his sword and hanger from the table by the door as he passed, yelling, ‘Run!’

  They pelted down the quay, Zachary stumbling after the fleet-footed Husain. Behind them, the thud of footsteps, but he dared not turn. His sword straps trailed on the ground. Past the crowd of indignant merchants, now swelled to about a dozen. One of them put a hand out
to stop them, but it was a half-hearted attempt, they kept on running. The blockade was ahead; a black and silver castle wall, where armed pikemen and arquebusiers were holding back the crowd, preventing children from entering or leaving. A flying stone from the crowd beyond narrowly missed their heads.

  Before Zachary had time to think, the terrified Husain dodged left away from the barriers down a narrow side street. He had no choice but to follow. He sprinted panting after him. Husain veered back and forth, through the pelting rain, looking for a way out, but it was no use. The only way out was on to the main boulevard again and the blockade.

  Hussain stopped in the middle of the street. It was a dead end.

  ‘Get into that doorway,’ shouted Zachary, frantically trying to buckle on his sword. Husain dodged sideways.

  Fabian rounded the corner, sword in hand, and stopped. His eyes scanned the street, and with a sinking sensation Zachary saw the lead trailing from the doorway. Too late. Fabian pounced on it, jerked hard and Husain was dragged trembling into the open.

  ‘Still after a slave boy for nothing. You don’t give up easily, do you? My orders are that those resisting transportation are to be killed. I’m afraid you are about to lose your boy again.’

  Zachary bounded forward, but Fabian made a sudden thrust towards Husain with his sword. Husain screamed with all his might but he was nimble and jumped to the side, out of range. Fabian’s weapon was a slender iron point designed to pierce through armour.

  Fabian looked surprised that it had missed but raised it with both hands to bring the weight of it down on to Husain’s head.

  Zachary sprang at him and let his sword fly to counter it. Fabian prepared to riposte but he was still clinging to the leash with his other hand, and Husain’s screams were distracting as he struggled to pull the leash from his grasp.

  Fabian thrust at Zachary with the lethal point, but Husain jerked him off-balance and the reach of it was just short. Zachary felt the whisper of it brush against the buttons of his doublet. Too close for comfort.

  He made a rapid sweep to Fabian’s legs. He missed, but Fabian was forced to let go of Husain to step away.

  ‘Get out of the way!’ yelled Zachary. Husain ran, head down, to the side.

  Zachary felt all his training come into play. His sword swooped like a swallow but Fabian parried it every time. He forged forwards like a ploughshare.

  ‘Mr Deane!’ Husain’s panicky voice cried out.

  Fabian jabbed hard and strong down his centre line. Zachary was forced to retreat, beaten back until he was almost up against the shuttered windows of the building behind him. Water from the eaves poured down on his head.

  Fabian loomed over him. Zachary saw the glint of triumph in his eyes. Luisa’s serious face flashed into his mind and in the same instant he recalled Alvarez’s training with the cloak. He hooked the tip of his sword through the cord and the wet cloak dropped heavy as a grain sack on to his arm. Holding the collar he cast it out like a net. It curled around Fabian’s throat and twitched him sideways off target.

  Fabian cursed. But Zachary withdrew the cloak and was already flicking it out again just as the bigger man grunted and put his weight behind his sword. The cloak wrapped around Fabian’s neck and tightened, fouling his sword. Fabian’s other hand reached up to free himself, but in that moment Zachary struck.

  Fabian staggered back, blood pouring from his chest.

  Zachary did not wait to see if he was dead. He simply scooped Husain up on to his hip and ran out of the alley, back on to the main thoroughfare. They’d have to risk the barricade.

  He slowed to get his bearings, and Husain whimpered, ‘Where’s Mama? I want Mama.’

  ‘Get down now,’ he said, ‘and keep quiet. She’s waiting further up the road.’

  Husain jumped down, and Zachary caught the end of the leash. It didn’t feel good holding him like a dog, but he didn’t want to lose him. The sun was almost down and dark shadows lay across their path. They walked warily towards the barricade. The ground was wet after the downpour, their feet splashed in the wheel ruts, now filled with water. Husain walked in his one sandal, with his head down as if expecting a blow at any moment.

  ‘Papers, please.’

  Zachary hoped to stall him. He started to search his pouch. ‘They are here somewhere, I had them only a moment ago.’

  The guard paused to listen as a piercing wail rent the air.

  ‘It’s Maghrib,’ Husain whispered, ‘the sunset prayer.’ He dropped to his knees in the mud and touched his forehead to the ground.

  On the other side of the barricade, the belligerent crowd fell silent. Men and women dropped to their knees where they stood. The guards turned to look at the sudden quiet. The sound of the imam was the only sound. ‘Allahu akbar,’ he chanted.

  ‘They did this earlier,’ said the guard. ‘A full quarter bell, it lasted. We threatened to fire on them if they didn’t get up, but Don Rodriguez sent orders that we’re to keep it peaceable.’ He shook his head. ‘Can’t understand it at all, going down into the filth. Best get your boy up. You’ll soon beat that nonsense out of him. You can go through now, it will be easier for us whilst they’re occupied.’

  He did not ask for papers. Zachary forcibly dragged Husain to his feet, and hustled him forward. The guards parted to let them past. When they got to the other side of the barricade he saw the whole street was lined with men and women all kneeling in neat rows facing the same direction.

  Husain stopped, and even though Zachary pulled on his arm he would not move. ‘I want to pray with my papa,’ Husain said. ‘Where is he? You said you’d take me to him.’

  ‘Come on, Husain, we’ve got to get to the sword school. My horse is there, and then we can find your mama.’

  ‘No,’ he said, ‘you said she’d be here. You said. Where is she?’ His voice broke with tears.

  ‘She’s waiting outside the town.’

  ‘Don’t believe you,’ he sobbed. ‘You said she’d be here and I can’t see her.’ He began to shout, ‘Mama! Mama!’

  ‘Be quiet!’

  ‘Mama!’ Husain’s wails reached a crescendo. A guard turned to look. There was nothing else for it. Zachary picked him up and ran with him down the streets. Husain pummelled and screamed for Ayamena all the way. When they got to the sword school Husain calmed a little at the sight of a familiar place, but when he saw no sign of his parents he refused to be put on the horse.

  Zachary tried to lift him up into the saddle, but he screeched and punched and drummed his heels and would not let go of his arms. Finally, Zachary stopped trying.

  ‘For God’s sake, Husain. Help me. It’s hard enough, but you have to help me.’ He held tightly on to him as if swaddling him until the boy seemed to have tired himself out. Time was running out and he did not know if he could make it to Tavira. He sank down against the wall and stroked Husain’s hair.

  ‘Look, Husain,’ he cajoled, ‘you have to trust me. Your mama and papa have gone to the boat. You remember your papa talking about the boat, don’t you? Well, they are waiting for us there. If we get on to the horse we’ll get there quicker. Your mama will be there, and your papa and Señor Alvarez; they have your slate and chalk with them. And your sister Luisa . . .’ He felt a lump come to his throat.

  ‘And if I get on the horse Mama will be there?’

  ‘If we’re quick.’

  ‘Promise?’

  He made the sign of the cross. ‘Please, Husain. If we don’t go soon we might miss them.’

  ‘Mr Deane?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I’m afraid of the horse. And I’m hungry.’

  ‘Well, there’s a bit of bread in my pouch. Will that do, until we get there?’

  He nodded solemnly and held out his hand for the bread.

  ‘There’s a good boy,’ Zachary said, as Husain crammed the bread into his mouth.

  Zachary unlocked the collar and leash and threw it away to the corner of the yard. He squeezed Husain tight and k
issed the top of his head. Pray God they’d be in time.

  Chapter 50

  The arrival of Ayamena without Husain had shaken them all. Nicolao leaned against the wall, one arm around his wife, his hand on Luisa’s head, as if to reassure himself she at least was there. Luisa, in turn, had Nicolao’s wrinkled hand in hers, but stared up at the night sky, at the streaky moon disappearing behind scudding pewter-coloured clouds. Ayamena’s eyes were fixed on the track from the main road.

  Elspet did not know how she could be of comfort, except to stay with them. She did not really think Zachary could find Husain, or that he could do anything at all against the might of the King’s militia. And now she was surprised to find herself concerned for his safety too. He had been family for so long, she could not suddenly think of him as none of her kin.

  The small group waited outside under the awning on the covered porch. There was no room in the derelict cottage with the other refugees anyway. Pedro and Alexander stood out in the road, their pipes lit now that the rain had stopped. Elspet watched Señor Alvarez’s profile, and he turned and caught her eye. It was as if the rest of the world disappeared. To hide her confusion she knelt to speak to Ayamena. ‘Would you like anything? You’ve not eaten, and Luisa and I had soup –’

  ‘No. Nothing at all. Just my son.’ And Ayamena twisted the corner of her robe in her hands. ‘Quiet,’ Ayamena whispered, suddenly still. Everyone listened. A muffled noise of footsteps, whispers, the clanking of metal and wood, the bleat of a kid. The people in the cottages were moving down to the harbour.

  ‘They’re leaving,’ Elspet said.

  ‘I won’t go without him,’ Ayamena said.

  ‘Let’s get ready anyway, my love.’ Nicolao prompted her by struggling to his feet. ‘Then when he comes we won’t miss the tide.’

  ‘Let me carry something,’ Elspet said.

  ‘I’ll manage. Please,’ said Ayamena, ‘won’t one of you go to see if there’s any sign of them?’

  ‘I’ll go,’ Pedro said. ‘Poor old Alexander’s done enough galloping for one day. He can walk down with Señor Alvarez, escort you to the boats.’