The Inquisitor (Thomas Berrington Historical Mystery Book 5)

by David Penny

  “Tell me, do you think the God of Islam could be the same God you and I worship, or is he the Devil incarnate as some of my advisors would have me believe? Lubna is an intelligent woman, but she claims her God is as forgiving and loving as mine.” Isabel leaned forward, eyes bright. “We have discussed the possibility our God is one and the same, only the manner of worship different.”

  “And what have your spiritual advisors said on the matter? What does Talavera say?”

  “I have made no mention of this this to the Friar. Not yet.”

  “Will you?”

  “Lubna and I will discuss the matter further before I sound him out. I need to be sure of the ground I stand on, for he can be a stern tutor, but that is what I need, for there are times my mind moves too fast. He has told me so on several occasions.”

  “You mean you are curious? That is no sin.”

  “Not to you, perhaps. Are the English a curious race?”

  Thomas laughed. “Oh, they are indeed curious, but not in the manner you mean. Lubna has said nothing of this to me.”

  “You have had your mind on other matters, she tells me. Despite my disapproval.”

  “Do I need to follow every command you issue?”

  “I am the Queen of Castile and Aragon, the Queen of Spain. I think obedience is expected, is it not?” The twinkle continued to spark in her eyes.

  “Even from an Englishman?”

  “Ah, yes, you have me there. Do you make progress?”

  “In the matter I am not meant to discuss with you?”

  “Yes, that one. I have been briefed on the issue, and if anyone can stop the deaths it is you. You have done so before and you will do so again. I hear Abbot Mandana is not involved this time.”

  “Not directly, no.” Thomas didn’t want to talk of the killings.

  “And that you are also suspicious of Samuel. Was I wrong to return him to the palace?”

  “I no longer suspect him of anything, if I ever did, but I think he might know something he is not even aware of himself yet.”

  “Are you suspicious of me, Thomas?”

  He smiled. “Should I be? Do I need to interrogate you?”

  Isabel clapped her hands together. “Oh, you are so clever.” She stood, her old self again, sturdy rather than lithe, a rock acting as a beacon to her people. “Come walk with me, there is someone you must meet.”

  Thomas offered his arm and Isabel laid her hand over it as they walked through the palace and into the sun-shattered heat of the morning, and he saw who she had been speaking of. A man less tall than himself, broad shouldered, firm on wide spread feet. He was looking the other way but turned at the sound of their approach on the flagstone path and grinned.

  “Thomas! I hoped you would still be here. I came as soon as I could when I heard my wife was unwell.” He clasped his arm to Thomas’s, gripping tight, and Thomas returned a matching pressure, a silly game between men but he knew Fernando approved. “Is your friend with you, the one lacking balls?”

  “Mind your language,” said Isabel, but her expression showed only indulgence. Her husband had returned from war – at least for a while, for war was a constant in this land.

  “And your wife? Though I hear not wife yet. If I was a Moor not a Christian I would be tempted to take her as another wife myself. You are a fortunate man, Thomas, a fortunate man indeed.”

  “But you are a Christian,” said Isabel to her husband.

  “And want of no woman but you, my love.”

  Thomas wanted to flee but knew it impossible.

  From the side of the gardens came the squeal of children and Will appeared, decked this time as a Roman soldier, a wooden shield in one hand, a tiny sword in the other. He saw Thomas and ran toward him at the same time as Lubna called out for him not to rush.

  “Juan want teach,” Will said.

  “He’s too big for you,” Thomas said.

  “No. Morfar say big man fall harder.”

  “Well, he would know.” Thomas glanced at Fernando. “Do you approve of your son training mine?”

  “They have men with them. Juan asked if it was possible and I said he would need to ask you first, but your son appears to have done so already. We can watch, if you wish.” Fernando laughed. “Do you remember when we fought in that town… what was it called?”

  “Al-Khala.”

  “Yes, that was it. Where you were chasing another killer, as I recall. I don’t know, you call yourself a physician yet death follows wherever you go.” They walked along a path, the edge neatly maintained. Isabel was left behind, already deep in conversation with Lubna, and Fernando stopped and looked back. He sighed. “You are indeed a fortunate man. She is a beauty, is she not? And with child too if my eyes do not deceive me.”

  Thomas noticed Lubna’s belly did indeed show now. The change had been so gradual, and her robes so loose flowing, it had been barely noticeable before.

  “She is, your grace.”

  Fernando punched him on the shoulder. “No more your grace, Thomas, or I will fight you again. It was a draw, as I recall.”

  “Indeed it was. Fernando.”

  “We will both be fathers again before long, Thomas. Fortunate men indeed.” Another punch which Thomas ignored. “Let us go see our sons fight and discover who is the better.”

  “And then I have business to attend to,” Thomas said.

  “So I have been informed. And you will keep me informed in turn.” It was not a request, but an order.

  Thomas and Jorge waited around the corner from al-Haquim’s house, eventually rewarded when Abbot Mandana appeared at the ornate door, looked around and strode away. It was almost noon and Thomas had checked that a religious court was in session. He knew Samuel remained in the palace, skulking when he caught sight of Thomas, no doubt never to forgive him, but it was of no concern. He had liked the man and considered they could be friends, but other needs had overridden any chance of friendship. Thomas had never been one who valued friends, and often wondered what had gone wrong for Jorge to become one. He turned to the man now and nodded for them to follow.

  “I don’t like him,” said Jorge.

  “Neither do I. You are not meant to like him, but you have been too concerned with arranging my marriage and I need your skills now. I could have done with them last night.”

  “So Belia tell me, but you managed, didn’t you?”

  “The man escaped, remember?” Thomas shook his head and started across the square. The guard who had previously nodded him through stepped to block the half open door.

  “I have been told to admit no visitors.”

  “You remember us from the other night. We are old friends of the Governor.” The title slipped free before Thomas was aware of it, but he saw the guard recognised it and wondered if he had accompanied his master from Ronda. “Our business will take a moment, no more, if you can send a message.”

  The guard stood his ground. Thomas believed he could disarm him but wished the man no harm, and he would need, at the least, to knock him unconscious. It was not an act to carry out lightly. He had seen men lose their wits from a single blow and never recover.

  “I owe your master money,” said Jorge, stepping closer, too close as always and the guard shifted back a step. Jorge shuffled three gold coins through long and delicate fingers. “In payment for his courtesy when we stayed in Ronda.”

  Thomas saw the guard knew of what Jorge spoke.

  “There is more than what I have in my hand,” Jorge said. “Take this for your trouble and go tell him we are here.” He held out his hand, waiting.

  The guard looked down to where the three coins lay on Jorge’s palm. Three gold coins, more than he might earn in half a year.

  “I am not–”

  “Of course you are not,” said Jorge, his voice soft. There was something captivating about him at such times. Thomas considered it one of Jorge’s unique skills. He could bend people to his will even as they thought it was they who were doing
the favour. It was a seduction of a kind, little different to what he did with women and, Thomas had not doubt, men too.

  He waited, and when the man raised his own hand Jorge tipped the coins into it.

  “Now go tell him, and be quick.”

  “How do you do that?” Thomas asked when they were alone. “How can you persuade people so easily?”

  “It was the gold did the persuasion,” said Jorge, “I was merely the channel to pass it to him.” He smiled and stepped through the door, not waiting for the guard to return, and Thomas followed. “He will come with a refusal, of course, so I think it best we avoid such unpleasantness. Besides, the man is still richer than he was, so everyone benefits.”

  “Other than al-Haquim,” Thomas said.

  “Ah, well, he is a butcher and a maniac, so I feel no compassion for him. Will you hit him, Thomas? Torture him?”

  “I will ask questions, no more.”

  Jorge smiled. “Then best you tell me what they are so I may ask them on your behalf. You can stand close and glower menacingly. You are good at that.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  They watched the guard stride across the marbled entrance to the doorway and step outside. He was gone only a moment before returning and looking around. Concealed within shade beneath an archway Thomas and Jorge watched, sure they could not be seen. The guard came inside, turned a full circle, then back the other way. It appeared he was satisfied they had gone because he returned to the door, shut and bolted it and disappeared into a niche out of the sun where a chair waited. Still they stayed where they were, sweat trickling down their skin, until the guard’s head began to nod. A little longer then Thomas rose and picked up the boots he had removed earlier and moved barefoot in the direction the guard had come from. He did not expect al-Haquim to be in the scented courtyard where the three of them met, but he was, sitting reading a stack of papers. Thomas put his boots gently on the ground and gestured to Jorge, who crept away toward the arch from the entrance to keep watch. Thomas looked around until he settled on a stout door which led into a room dark with shadow. Then he moved fast, falling on al-Haquim before the man could react. Thomas flung one arm around the man’s waist, the other clapping a hand to his mouth. He dragged him by his heels toward the door and inside, Jorge following almost immediately, closing the door and throwing the bolt. Thomas flung al-Haquim into a chair and put his foot on his chest to hold him there.

  “Hmm, even better than glowering,” said Jorge.

  Al-Haquim opened his mouth to call out. Thomas moved closer and put a finger to his lips.

  “We have questions and you will answer them, every one. This can go easy or it can go hard. Which way is entirely up to you. Do you understand?”

  Al-Haquim’s face had turned dark red and Thomas could see him trying to hold his anger in check. The man had never been able to moderate himself, reacting too fast and too stupidly to every situation. The loss of Ronda had been made harder by his lack of restraint.

  “When Mandana hears of this you are a dead man, Thomas Berrington. You too, you creature.”

  Jorge smiled and looked around. He found a gilded chair and pulled it across, nodded at Thomas to use it, then went for another.

  “It’s a shame we cannot send for wine and some of those tiny cakes you told me of.”

  Despite Jorge’s plan Thomas knew al-Haquim would respond better to threats than soft words. He drew a dagger from his belt.

  “You tried to have me killed in Ronda,” he said, leaning forward, the dagger loose in his hand. “I have executed men for less. Now will you take the sensible course and answer my questions?”

  “I will have you dragged screaming to the fires!” Al-Haquim’s voice shook. “You will wish you never came to Sevilla. Even your Queen will not be able to save you from the Abbot.”

  “He is as powerful as that, is he? Interesting. Or has he only managed to persuade you of such? Now tell me what it is you three are plotting inside these walls. You are not natural bedfellows, but something is going on and I will know what it is.” Thomas leaned closer still. “Why are you killing people in pairs? Is that Mandana’s doing or yours?”

  Al-Haquim tried to push himself back, but the chair was hard and possessed no give. “I have no idea what you are talking of. You are a madman.”

  “And is Samuel your weapon? I do not believe he would kill on his own behalf, but you have some hold over him, don’t you? What is it, money, family, a threat to expose a secret? You will tell me what I want to know and you will hold nothing back.” Thomas’s hand flicked out and the tip of his knife sliced a narrow line along al-Haquim’s cheek. Blood beaded and ran into his beard. The cut barely broke the surface and would heal almost at once, but al-Haquim did not know that and the pain would make him think his face had been laid open.

  “Sufan!” al-Haquim yelled, his voice a scream.

  Jorge rose and went to the window that looked onto the courtyard. After a while he shook his head.

  “Stupid,” Thomas said, and cut the other cheek. This time al-Haquim remained silent. “I know you are a coward, so believe me when I say this, Abraham, I will cut you piece by piece until your skin is flayed and falls from your flesh. I recommend the next time you speak you tell me what I want to know.” Thomas considered tying the man to the chair. He had brought a length of rope for just such a purpose, but believed it was not necessary. Al-Haquim had quieted, his body stilling, the only movement a tremble of his hand as it pressed to his cheek.

  “Ask your questions then, dead man.”

  Thomas smiled. When he saw the effect of it in al-Haquim’s eyes he allowed the smile to grow. A coldness filled him, a coldness that made him capable of killing the man if need be, and al-Haquim saw the same. The pretence was over and Thomas slid the knife back into the scabbard at his belt.

  “What are you plotting, the three of you?”

  “Not the deaths of men,” said al-Haquim.

  “I didn’t ask what you were not doing.”

  Jorge came and retook his chair. He examined the nails of one hand then drew his own knife. Watching al-Haquim Thomas saw the moment of acceptance. For a brave man it might never come, for a coward it was almost instant.

  “The Abbot came to me not long after I arrived in the city with a proposal.”

  “Why you?”

  “I am not without influence, and I brought many followers with me from Ronda.”

  “What did he propose?”

  “He hates the Inquisition. He believes their ideas are wrong. It is not Jews or conversos who are the enemy of Spain but the Moors.” His eyes sparked with a fire as they met Thomas’s. “Your people. He would wipe you from the face of the earth.”

  “Yet he works with the Inquisition, he sits in judgement for them.”

  “To steer them in the wrong direction, he says. And Samuel helps. He knows everyone in this district. He identifies a few to Mandana who are innocent of any crime and Mandana selects them for questioning. The more innocent people who are accused and found to be without guilt the less power the Inquisition will have. Eventually word will reach the Queen – from Samuel himself if no-one else tells her, but a stranger would be better – and she will put an end to their evil work. She is a devout woman who hates those who lie about their religion, but she is also just.”

  Thomas tried to work his mind around what al-Haquim had just told him. It matched some of what Samuel had said, but not all, and he wondered how much Samuel truly knew of Mandana’s motives.

  “So innocent men and women are put to torture to further Mandana’s ambitions?”

  Al-Haquim nodded. “In pursuit of a greater good. There are always casualties of war, and this is a war the Abbot fights, a war against the powers of ignorance.”

  “It is not enough,” Thomas said. “He wants more, does he not? As do you.”

  “He says he will settle for an Archbishopric. Somewhere in Andalucia when it falls.” A smile touched al-Haquim’s lips. “He has m
entioned Granada, which would be a sweet victory for him.”

  “Why Archbishop?”

  “It comes with great power and the means to gather money to the title.”

  Thomas grunted, not sure he believed Mandana’s motives, but reasonably sure al-Haquim did.

  “And you? What do you want?”

  “Power. I tasted it in Ronda and I would like to sip of its sweetness again. Mandana says he can find me a position in the new lands. There will be much confusion, but those who are prepared will reap the rewards. I do not want Granada, but Malaga perhaps, or Almaria would suit. Yes, somewhere along the coast where the summer heat is tempered by the ocean.”

  Thomas drew his knife again and turned it in his fingers. He could scarce believe what he was hearing, but recognised the truth. Al-Haquim was proud of their plan. Soon he might come to believe it had been his idea all along.

  He examined al-Haquim’s chest, looking for a place to strike, coldness welling inside, ice water filling his body.

  “No,” said Jorge, a single word, but enough to break the spell.

  Thomas glanced at him. “Why not?”

  “Because you will regret it if you do.”

  “I am not sure I will. Does he not deserve punishment?”

  “He does, but not from you. There will be another way.”

  Al-Haquim laughed. “What, do you think you can stop us? Mandana is too strong.”

  “And I am physician to Isabel, Queen of Castile and Spain. I can walk into her chamber and tell her everything you have told me and I will be believed.”

  “And if you do a friend will be tossed to the crowd.” Al-Haquim looked from Thomas to Jorge. “Your friend perhaps, eunuch. Stay silent for a few short weeks and no-one need be harmed, man, woman or child.” A faint emphasis on the final word as al-Haquim’s gaze returned to Thomas.

  Who stood fast, knife rising, but Jorge placed himself between Thomas and al-Haquim. “We must find if he speaks the truth before we kill him.”

  “We?” Thomas said. He placed his hand on Jorge’s chest, felt the heart beating hard within, his own matching it. He had come close to ending al-Haquim’s life in this room. He wondered if had Jorge not stepped between would he have struck or not?