The Inquisitor (Thomas Berrington Historical Mystery Book 5)

by David Penny

  “They have family?”

  Mandana looked toward Samuel. “The administrator, none. The other man?”

  “A wife and three children,” said Samuel. “They should be taken care of.”

  Mandana gave a brief shake of the head. “Abraham might be able to do something, it is no concern of the city.” He returned his gaze to Thomas. “Samuel can provide you the details if they are of interest to you.”

  Thomas looked toward al-Haquim. “Did you see the bodies, Malik?”

  “Of course not, but the Abbot and Samuel have explained everything.” His tone was dismissive, the same as it had been of all criticism when he ruled in Ronda

  Thomas turned back to Mandana. “What business are the killings to the three of you? You have not yet told me what you are plotting, but it is not the chasing down of a murderer. My guess would be something more dangerous.”

  “Which is why I am trusting you,” said Mandana. “What we three do is of more importance than the death of strangers.”

  “But they were not all strangers, were they?”

  “God’s teeth, man, we are fighting for men’s souls here while hundreds die every day of the pestilence.” Mandana leaned forward, all hint of amity draining from his face. “You tracked me down years ago, and you have tracked others since. It is what you do, what you are good at.” A wave of the hand. “Oh, Samuel tells me you have other skills, but this,” Mandana stabbed his finger onto the table, “this is what you do that others cannot.” A glance toward where Jorge sat, examining his fingernails and looking as if he found them wanting. “The pair of you. Even that heathen wife of yours. Do you think I do not know everything you do? You are watched, Thomas Berrington, on behalf of the Queen, but she in turn is watched, and I have sources everywhere. Everywhere.”

  Thomas returned the Abbot’s stare, unwilling to be intimidated. “Once more, why? You have admitted you have other priorities. Why ask me at all? I too have other matters to attend to. Important matters.”

  “I told you, some of the victims are known to us.”

  “I need a name,” Thomas said. “It will be a starting point, at least.”

  “He was the head of an important family.”

  “I still need a name if you want me to help. I can play politics too, if needs must.”

  Samuel glanced toward Jorge.

  “And he revels in them.” Thomas waited as looks were exchanged.

  After a moment Mandana said, “Leave us, we will send for you when we have made a decision. This is not a name we can reveal without discussion.”

  Thomas was tempted to walk away from the table and keep going. He got as far as the main entrance when Jorge caught his arm.

  “They will tell us,” he said.

  “I’m not sure I care anymore. Mandana will have something planned behind whatever he reveals, and I trust none of those men. You saw what al-Haquim was like in Ronda.” He strode into the square, came to a halt in the middle, turning around, taking in the facades of the houses. There was money here, and with money came influence.

  “What did you hear said?” Thomas asked. It was not the words he wanted to hear about but what lay beneath them, the tides of shifting influence between the trio.

  “I don’t know Samuel, but it’s clear you do, and that he respects you. If it is left to him he will tell you everything. Mandana is Mandana. Changed, as you say, but underneath? He is older, wiser perhaps, but also more wily. If he is planning something he will be hard to catch. Even harder than the last time.”

  “I don’t think he is,” Thomas said. “I see no advantage in any of this for him, but there must be some or he wouldn’t be involved. You’re right, he’s not changed much.”

  Jorge laughed. “Perhaps he has and you and I are too cynical to see it. But there is another reason which you will see yourself, given time.”

  “Save me the time,” Thomas said.

  “Many of the victims are men of God. Some in important positions. And this killer, whoever he is, has been working undiscovered and unmolested for a year. A year, Thomas. How can such a thing happen?”

  “You heard them. Pestilence, the Inquisition. I understand it.”

  “As do I. But a killer who takes men of God… I think Mandana fears for his own life. Perhaps al-Haquim too. Two men taken at a time. Two men killed side by side. In most cases a Christian and a Jew. Do you see why they fear?”

  “Do you think Mandana has changed or not?” Thomas looked beyond Jorge to where a tall figure had appeared at the gate of al-Haquim’s house.

  Samuel walked across to them, his steps slow.

  “It is time for me to return to the palace.” He glanced at Thomas. “Thanks to you. I sleep there in case I am needed in the night. You will walk with me?” He ignored Jorge. When he saw Thomas frown his lips thinned in a tight smile. “No, the Queen would call on you, Thomas, but there are the children, and others who might need a physician.” He gave a short laugh. “Perhaps even you at some time.” He started across the square toward a shadowed alley.

  Thomas glanced at Jorge, who shrugged, and they both followed.

  “Do you have a name for us?” Thomas said when they caught up with Samuel.

  “I do. The Abbot was unsure, but I persuaded him you are an honest man and will not spread this name beyond our circle. It is important the details of his death are not known.”

  “Do his family know? I will need to speak with them.”

  “They know he died at another’s hand, but not how. That must be kept from them.”

  “I will do what I can, if I ever find out who the man is.” Thomas was beginning to lose patience. “Was his one of the bodies I saw?”

  “No. He died a month ago.”

  “So why reveal his name now? It would be more use to know who the most recent victims are.”

  “Their names are still being determined. This man is the most recent we have all the details for.” Samuel cast a glance at Jorge. “I hope he can he be trusted. The man is – was – Felipe Tabado.” He hesitated, as if expecting some recognition, but the name meant nothing to Thomas. “The Archdeacon of Sevilla,” said Samuel.

  “Are we allowed to talk with the Archbishop?” Thomas might not follow his old religion anymore but was familiar with the hierarchy of Catholicism.

  “The Archbishop is no longer in the city. He was moved to Jaén after Tabado’s death.”

  “Is there a connection?”

  “None that I can discern. I believe it was considered wise he be moved. And the current Archbishop had been pressing for the position for some time. He is from an influential family, and considered the position his by right.”

  They emerged into the Cathedral square, a gibbous moon hanging above the dome.

  “Is he under suspicion for the death of Tabado?”

  “No. And you are not to go digging anywhere near him. Archbishop Mendoza is untouchable.”

  “Even if he killed someone?”

  Samuel’s voice was sharp. “Mendoza killed nobody. Do not let your imagination run away with you.”

  “It often does,” said Jorge, looking away as if he had not been listening at all. “I will need to leave you now if you are going to the palace. Belia is waiting for me.”

  “I want to talk to you,” Thomas said. “Tonight if I can.”

  “Then come find me, but don’t leave it too late.”

  “Where will you be?”

  “The new house, of course.” Jorge started across the square, drawing stares. Even dressed in ordinary clothing his difference made him stand out from everyone else.

  Samuel started to walk away but Thomas stayed where he was and after a moment the other man stopped and turned back. “Are you coming?”

  Thomas started walking. “Is there anything else you can tell me?”

  “Are he and Belia together?”

  “You might call it such. What they call it I don’t know.”

  “So long as he treats her well.”

>   Thomas smiled. “Jorge always treats his women well. What else do I need to know about this Tabado, Samuel?”

  “One thing, perhaps. Whether it is relevant or not I do not know, but you might. He was married and lived in a fine house near the river, not far from the one your friend is in now. A rich man often takes lovers. It is expected.”

  “Who?”

  “Theresa,” said Samuel. “His lover was Theresa.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Thomas went first to his rooms only to find Lubna and Will absent once more. He could scarce believe they were still with the Queen, but did not know where else they might be.

  The wing of the palace housing Isabel’s quarters was a hive of activity, servants coming and going, some carrying food, others staggering beneath the weight of wooden chests etched with the royal seal. The door to the royal quarters stood open, two soldiers guarding it. As Thomas approached he saw a few words pass between them before they nodded and stepped aside to allow him entry. Theresa’s small room was set near the entrance and he turned in that direction even as he doubted he would find her there, but was surprised when she opened the door to his knock.

  “Your wife is with the Queen,” she said, blocking the door.

  “It is not the Queen I came to see.” Thomas took a step closer, but for once Theresa held her ground. She had let her hair loose and it fell in red waves to her shoulders. The air drifting from the room smelled of her. “It is you I want to speak with.”

  “There is nothing we have to speak of, not anymore. Once, perhaps, but not now.”

  Thomas put his hands on her shoulders and pushed her into the room, kicked the door shut with his heel.

  “If you force yourself on me I will scream,” Theresa said, but there was little strength to her words or resistance in her body. Thomas pushed until she had no option but to sit on the narrow bed. One other chair was set beneath a small table and he pulled it close.

  “I want to know about Felipe Tabado.” Watching as her expression changed. “There is no point in pretending you don’t recognise the name. I know you were his lover.”

  “He is dead.” A tear gathered in the corner of her eye, clung there for a moment before trailing along her cheek. Theresa wiped it away as if angered at her own weakness.

  “I know he is dead, which is why we must talk. Others have died, and their deaths are linked to his. Did you see his body afterward?”

  “I was his mistress,” said Theresa. “A mistress has no rights. A mistress does not even exist.”

  “Did you try?”

  “How could I? I did not even know where he was taken, or how he died, only that he was. I went to the house as usual. There was a small door to the cellar always left open for me. We would meet there, in the cool and the dark, but when I tried the door it was locked, even though it was a Wednesday.”

  “You went to him every week?”

  “More. Monday, Wednesday and Friday. Saturday too if he sent for me. He was a vigorous man, with strong appetites.”

  “A churchman with strong appetites,” Thomas said. “Now there is a surprise.” And Theresa laughed, though there was no humour to it.

  “Churchmen are the worst. Some of the things they ask you to do… but no, that has nothing to do with the matter you want to speak of.” Theresa squared her shoulders and straightened her back. “Ask we what you will, Thomas. You have captured evil men before and if you unmask whoever killed Felipe then I will be in your debt.”

  “Did you love him?” It had nothing to do with his investigation, but he was curious.

  “I liked him well enough, but I knew what I was to him.”

  “Did he give you things? Money?”

  “What do you think I am? Not money, but he had influence, and as I say he had vigour. I am far from home and, well, I think you know I am a woman who has strong desires.”

  “There has to be more than that.”

  “Why? Oh, for a man it is all well and good, he can use whores if he wants and nobody casts any blame, even if he is a man of the church. But a woman? Do we not also want? Is it only men who wish for someone to lie beside? Felipe was kind.”

  “Did his wife know?”

  “And had no objection. I suspect she was pleased he had someone else to direct his passion toward.”

  “So she would not have wanted him killed out of jealousy?”

  Theresa shook her head. “If she had wanted anyone killed it would have been me.”

  “When you went to him, what, on Monday, did he seem different?”

  “He sent a note I was not to go that day, not until I heard from him. I had not seen him for a week so was looking forward to our assignation. I imagined he would be too.”

  “When did you hear he was dead?”

  “The following day, Tuesday, but not directly. I went to the house and watched for some sign. I wanted to see if he was there, to see what had changed between us. I thought he had grown tired of me and found someone else, though I know I would not see her there. I suppose it was him I wanted to see, even if only at a distance.”

  “What happened?”

  “A man came, a priest. He knocked at the door and was granted admittance, and then I heard a scream, his wife wailing. The priest must have brought the news.”

  “And this was Tuesday morning?”

  “In the afternoon. The streets were quiet, so the priest was unusual.”

  “And you had not seen Tabado since the Wednesday before.”

  Theresa gave a nod.

  Thomas stared at the stone wall behind her. The room had a single small window, additional light coming from a candle burning on the table and a second in a small ledge above the bed. It was a sparse place to live, and Thomas could not blame Theresa for seeking comfort elsewhere. She was right that women were judged by different rules to men, but not by him. For a moment he recalled what had almost occurred between them in Qurtuba and regretted his own stupidity. He had no longer been living with Helena, and at that time Lubna was nothing to him but a vain longing. Jorge had the right idea. Women were to be loved in all their variety, loved without regret or recrimination. Thomas knew Jorge had recognised the same in Belia, which is why he had tumbled into her bed immediately. As he himself should have done with Theresa.

  He reached out and took her hands, cradling them between his, feeling something for this woman even if it confused him.

  “Did he ever say anything to you about enemies?”

  Theresa laughed, her fingers clutching at his. “Oddly enough we rarely spoke of such things.”

  “What did you speak of?”

  This time the laugh was stronger. “Do you need me to tell you? Even you, Thomas Berrington, must know of what lovers speak, and enemies are rarely mentioned.”

  “Anything unusual, then. Did he seem distracted when last you saw him?”

  A shake of the head.

  “Do you know who was his mistress before yourself?”

  “No.”

  “Would his wife?”

  “Most likely, but is it relevant?”

  “I don’t know what is relevant and what is not, so I have to ask all the questions and winnow out good answer from bad.” He released her hands and stood, towering over her slight frame, which seemed even more shrunken after he had brought back memories of what she had lost. “I am sorry, truly sorry, to have caused you pain. But…” He hesitated, wondering if he should simply walk away, knowing he could not. “Give some thought to his final weeks and see if anything seems odd to you, anything strange or different.”

  Thomas turned and left the room, closing the door behind him, leaving Theresa to nurse her misery in her lonely cell.

  As he reached the end of the corridor he heard laughter, two women together, and he stopped. His mood was soured after talking with Theresa and he did not want to impose himself on Isabel or Lubna, so instead turned and walked to his own rooms and lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling as he shuffled the pebbles of reason around in hi
s mind, trying to make sense of them. From beyond the windows a peacock shattered the night. A little while later came the sound of many feet, the changing of the watch on the parade ground, the chatter and laughter as the old guard returned to their barracks. Thomas wondered why Lubna had not yet returned.

  He laid what he knew out in a scatter of knowledge with many missing parts, trying not to make connections yet because he knew to do so might lead him wrong. Here, here and here were nuggets of information that wanted to be drawn together and he deliberately kept them apart.

  There were gaps, but he could fill them with a little imagination.

  Two killings at a time. The evidence was scant, but the latest death backed the idea and he would question Samuel in the morning to see if he could fill in any of the gaps. He must know more about the earlier deaths. And if they were connected, the taking of two individuals, why were both needed? Thomas made a mental note, a picture in his mind of paper and ink, to ask if the victims had all been men. It was another factor if true.

  Why were the bodies being displayed now, when before they had not? What had changed in the killer’s mind? Did he want recognition now? And if so, why not before? Because he had not perfected his technique, but now had?

  Thomas needed to know who the victims were. Ixbilya was a sprawling city, dwellings extending well beyond the city walls as they did in many Spanish cities where fear of attack was a distant memory. It was impossible to go door to door asking if someone was missing. Particularly when disease had taken one in twenty of the population. The plague carts continued to trundle through the streets. Every day more houses were marked with a red scrawl. But the disease was a distraction, one Thomas set aside as irrelevant.

  And then, the most tangled skein of all, Mandana, Samuel and al-Haquim. Exactly what was it they were up to? Perhaps Samuel would let something slip if pressed hard enough, otherwise Thomas planned to return to that house and demand answers. He was working in the dark. Whoever was doing the killing, whatever their motive, he believed it was connected to what the three men were plotting.

  The more he lay still the faster his mind worked, and Thomas knew he could not let matters lie until morning. He had just decided to approach Samuel now when a door opened and closed and a moment later Lubna entered the room.