The Inquisitor (Thomas Berrington Historical Mystery Book 5)

by David Penny

  “There is no need for violence,” Thomas said, and held the cloth to the man’s face. He gripped him with his other arm until the body slackened.

  “I must get some of that,” said Olaf.

  “Find somewhere to hide him. He’ll sleep an hour at least. There has been enough killing done.”

  Thomas handed him his burden then entered the outer corridor. He waited, listening, but the only sounds were distant and came from prisoners moaning or crying out.

  “Where?” said Jorge.

  Thomas pointed rather than speaking, and put a finger to his lips to remind the others, before leading the way deep into the heart of the enemy stronghold.

  The cries of the prisoners grew louder as they descended to the lower level, the stink of the river tainting the air here. Locked doors appeared to either side and they split up, each looking inside before moving on. Chains rattled as those held within tried to reason, believing them their captors.

  “How many rooms are there?” asked Jorge, glancing into the next and moving on.

  “No more than three score.”

  “And all these will die?” said Olaf with a scowl.

  “Not all. Some will be released, though not unharmed. Their bodies will be broken, sometimes beyond repair. And then–” He stopped as a lone gaoler turned the corner ahead of them, tying the cord at the waist of his trousers. He came to a halt, then turned to flee.

  Olaf sprinted, faster than a big man had any right to. He caught the gaoler just as he started to call out and grasped his head. Thomas expected to hear a snap, but then he saw Olaf was waiting. He crossed the distance and used the liquor again.

  “I am surprised we have not seen more,” he said as Olaf dragged the man away.

  “They do not expect casual visitors at this time of night.”

  “Which is good for us. I think we need to look along the way he came from, in case there are others.”

  Thomas nodded.

  They discovered Belia crouched on the floor of a chamber no more than fifty paces away. It was not the place Mandana had shown Thomas all those weeks before. Not the killing room. The door was locked, but Thomas allowed Jorge to pick the lock, knowing he was the more skilled of them.

  Belia looked up from where she was crouched in a corner, her arms wrapped tight around, as though if she could make herself small enough her captors would not be able to see her. Jorge went to his knees and clutched her to his chest, stroking the hair from her face, whispering words meant only for the two of them.

  “That was disappointingly easy,” said Olaf, and Thomas cuffed him on the back of the head, ducking as the big man tried to return the compliment before asking, “Do we go out the way we came in?”

  “If we can. But I’ve a mind to wait around and see if Ramon is somewhere here. If Belia was his first victim he may have gone in search of the second.” He glanced at Belia. There were questions he wanted to ask but even he knew now was not the time. And he knew the safety of his companions overrode his wish to capture Ramon.

  “With luck we will meet a dozen men. A dozen would be a good number, don’t you think?”

  “I would prefer none. Now be quiet.” Thomas checked that Jorge and Belia were ready, then started forward.

  They were a third of the way to freedom when they came to a crossing of corridors running in four directions. Thomas knew they should take the left-hand turn, but there was something wrong. Not wrong, not exactly, but there was something different that had not been there when they came this way before. He heard a voice, rational but arguing with itself. It came from the opposite direction, and he wanted to follow its siren call.

  He glanced at the others, made a decision.

  “Go, you know the way. There is something I must do here.”

  “We do not leave you,” said Olaf.

  “I will be right behind. I brought us in, I can find my way out. Take Belia as fast as you can and trust me to follow.”

  Olaf hesitated, then nodded. If Thomas insisted on this madness it made sense the rest of them should not also put themselves in danger. Olaf took one of Belia’s arms and moved away fast, dragging her between him and Jorge as they disappeared around a turn.

  Thomas stood, listening as the voice gathered in pace, slackened. He knew exactly what it was, and who spoke the words. Friar Ramon Braso had started his work.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  “No, no, wrong… it must be here… or here… this has to be the one, a true convert, but does that mean his soul is as strong as a child born into Christ? Does not our saviour say a man brought to God is better than one who has always known God? He does, yes, I am sure he does… so where is it? Not here, not here at all. I need… I need a better subject, one I can be sure of. The Archdeacon, yes, he should have been the one and was not. He was weak, like all men… yes, yes, like all men…”

  Thomas peered around an open doorway into a small chamber. A lamp hung from a chain, swinging gently. Ramon stood beside a table where a single body lay stripped and tied down. Only one body, which offered a clue to how Ramon undertook his task. Was this man a Christian then, with Belia being kept for later? And this the way each pair of deaths occurred – one body dissected while the other was kept apart? It made sense, for the second victim would cry out, would scream at the fate awaiting them. Only when he was finished with this subject would Ramon go for Belia.

  When the man tied to the table rolled his head and opened his eyes Thomas almost cried out, and then when a figure moved in a shadowed corner he could not help himself. From the darkness where he had been hidden Samuel stepped out, a finger held to his lips. Ramon’s back was to him, his concentration focused entirely on the man he was killing.

  Some sense made Ramon glance up, not toward Thomas but to where Samuel had taken another step, a dozen feet still separating them. His hand snapped up, a glitter of lamplight against the blade.

  “Why did you bring him here?”

  Samuel moved more quickly, stopping suddenly as Ramon slashed at him. While he was distracted Thomas moved fast, throwing his arms around Ramon, twisting his wrist so the blade clattered to the floor. Then Samuel was there, a linen rag in his hand, and the acrid stink of Thomas’s liquor filled the air as he pressed it across Ramon’s face. Within moments Ramon’s body passed from rigid to slack. Thomas waited a moment then released his grip, letting the man fall to crack his head on the stone floor. Samuel stepped close and kicked Ramon in the face, over and over until Thomas pulled him away.

  “What are you doing? You will kill him.”

  “No more than he deserves. I came looking for Belia. I haven’t found her yet, but I did find him.” He glanced at the figure lying on the table, who had gone still.

  Thomas leaned over and placed a hand on the blood-slicked chest, but whatever life the man had clung hard to was gone. For a moment he studied the cuts, seeing that Ramon had started to look in a fresh location.

  “Jorge has Belia,” Thomas said. “With luck they will be outside the castle by now.” A quick glance to Ramon, but he remained comatose, blood dripping from a ruined nose. “What do we do with him now?”

  “If it was up to me we would kill him here,” said Samuel. “But it is not. We will hand him over to the Hermandos.”

  Thomas looked around, found what he had hoped was there. The heavy wooden door had a key inserted on the inside and he went to retrieve it.

  “Or we lock him in here with his handiwork and bring them to him. There can be no doubt of his guilt then.”

  “What if he takes his own life?” said Samuel. “He will wake sooner or later and realise he is trapped.” He stared at Ramon. “He was my friend once. A good friend. Loyal. Brave. I would not have him commit such a sin.”

  Thomas shook his head, failing to understand Samuel. A moment before he had been ready to kick Ramon into oblivion, now he was worried about his soul. He took the blade Ramon had dropped and cut through the knots tying his solitary victim to the table. He rolled Ramo
n onto his front and tied his hands behind him, lifted his feet and tied them too, then drew a rope between them so he would be unable to stand. He glanced up at Samuel to find him staring at him.

  “Satisfied? Good enough?”

  Samuel offered a nod.

  “Then let’s lock him in and leave this place before we are found.”

  “What has happened to Belia?” asked Samuel.

  “I told you, we found her. She’ll be beyond the bridge by now, safe.”

  “Not safe. None of you are safe. Not even me anymore. I went to Mandana. He is the only man who could set her free, and I pled her case. He made me argue. It was not easy, but the argument was a ploy. Had he given in too easily he knew I would have been suspicious”

  “Who is the man on the table?”

  “I know not. Some unfortunate.”

  “Mandana wants me dead,” Thomas said. “Jorge too for what we did against him all those years ago. That is why he would not help you, knowing we would mount some foolish raid to save her.”

  Samuel finally moved, dropping the linen cloth to the floor and striding to the door. He swung it hard in anger, and Thomas placed his hand against it to prevent himself being locked in as well.

  “Take care!”

  Samuel shook his head, as if his mind had been elsewhere. “I am sorry. I wanted to ensure he could not escape. I apologise.”

  Thomas stepped through the door then allowed Samuel to close and lock it. He held his hand out for the key, but Samuel smiled and slid it into a pocket of his robe. “Would you allow me to take a little credit for my work this night, Thomas? Or do you want it all for yourself?”

  Thomas had no care if the man wanted to garner the honours. “How did you find him?”

  “The same way I suspect you did,” Samuel said as they started along the corridor. He smiled. “Ramon always maintained a commentary as he worked, for as long as I have known him. At one time the physicians in Malaga would come to watch him, to listen and learn. He made sense then.”

  “You showed bravery to come here.” And then, because the question had to be asked. “Mandana and al-Haquim, the plotting you were part of, were you convinced of the rightness of their cause?”

  “I believe they wanted to stop the Inquisition. Or if not stop it then change the direction. But now I am convinced I was lied to. As was al-Haquim. I half believe Mandana might have encouraged Ramon, for he knew the man, I think I even introduced them over a year ago.”

  “It would not surprise me,” Thomas said. “Mandana is as mad as he has always been.”

  “Mad? You think me mad?”

  Thomas stopped abruptly. He had been too involved in their conversation, searching for more truth, as if truth might make a difference. He knew he should have learned better long since.

  When he raised his head Abbot Mandana stood in the corridor, more than a dozen armed men blocking their route to escape. An escape that was so close. Beyond, Thomas could see the heavy wooden gate, the first misted grey light of dawn washing across the road behind.

  Mandana glanced at Samuel. “I will make it quick for you.” Turned toward Thomas. “As for you…”

  Thomas spat on the ground between them.

  “As I would expect.” He looked past Thomas. “What did you do with Ramon? He is dead, I assume?”

  “Living when I left him, but there is always hope.”

  “Except for you.” Mandana turned aside and spoke to one of the soldiers. “Take another man and go fetch him. You know the chamber he works in.”

  The soldier nodded to another and they trotted along the corridor without even a glance at Thomas.

  Only thirteen men now, Thomas thought, as if it might make a difference. Thirteen men plus Mandana, a man who could never be underestimated.

  “How many?” Thomas said. “How many has he taken at your command, how many has he killed in his fruitless search?”

  Mandana lifted a shoulder, as if it was no matter to him. “Not at my command, Berrington. He was a zealot. I admit he came to me thinking I might sympathise with his aims, and perhaps I did, but you can never trust a madman.”

  “As you would well know.” Thomas slipped the long blade Ramon had been using into Samuel’s hand.

  Then he drew his own sword and kept it loose at his side, letting his body and mind still, shedding all thought. The odds were poor, but he had fought worse odds in the past and come out the victor.

  Thomas took a step forward, saw a flicker of something in Mandana’s eyes, but what he could not tell. Amusement, perhaps. “You care not for man or God or anyone but yourself and your own insane ideas. Fernando knows not what he has allowed back into the nest.”

  “Oh, he knows full well what he has done,” said Mandana.

  Thomas looked beyond the men to the gate, a hunger for freedom threatening to distract him from what must be done, and saw something that gave him hope. Emerging from the mist that had risen from the river stepped a man, tall and broad of shoulder. In one hand he carried a heavy axe, in the other a sword.

  “I wish you had not come here,” said Mandana, “for now I am uncertain what to do with you.” He stepped to one side where a passage offered some protection. “Do not allow them to leave,” he said to his men. “If he tries you can kill him if you must, but I would rather him captured.” He glanced at Thomas, his expression cold.

  From the edge of his vision Thomas saw Samuel fall back, take a pace and then another, distancing himself as he slid into a narrow corridor. Mandana made no move to stop him, knowing Samuel had nowhere to go. The only exit from Triana lay ahead.

  Thomas forgot him almost at once. There was nothing to be done if the man was a coward, nothing at all, and he had a fight to win. He rolled his shoulders, raised his sword and took a step toward the men in the front rank. Beyond he saw Olaf approach from the rear and held up a hand to stop him. The liquor would do him no good here, but talk might. He was tired of killing.

  “Look behind you,” he said. “Look and see that I am not alone. Look and see the nature of the man opposing you.” He saw some of the men turn their heads and knew the sight of Olaf would weaken their knees. “Mandana told you not to kill me. Well, I would prefer that as well, but not if it means I cannot walk out of this place now.” He took a step, another. “We can fight, or you can pretend I used some trick to make my escape.” Another glance across faces which no longer showed certainty. Thomas held his arms out to his sides, moving slowly along the front rank of men, expecting an attack but still nothing came, and he knew that was Olaf’s doing.

  Thomas was half way to freedom when a man on the left made a move. He raised his sword and ran at Thomas, but too slow. Olaf took him with a vicious blow that almost severed his head. Thomas tensed, waiting for the others to attack, but they only looked at their fallen comrade and then away. Thomas made a motion with his fingers. Go. And they did, slowly at first then all at once together.

  Thomas shook his head and turned to look into the dim tunnel where Samuel had disappeared. Was he still working with Mandana? Had they escaped together to continue plotting against the King and Queen? Was that what Mandana had meant all that time ago at their first meeting, when he said Samuel was his spy in the palace?

  He wanted to pursue them both, extract a justice of some kind even if it meant the justice a sword brought. But Olaf tapped him on the shoulder, a tap that would have felled most men.

  “Come on, let’s get out of here before the bastards come back with reinforcements.”

  Chapter Forty-Four

  “Finish it now” said Olaf as he crossed the Barcas bridge beside Thomas. “Leave him alive and he will come for you again.”

  “He came for Martin, not me,” Thomas said.

  “No, he came for you. That man wanted you dead back there, whatever he said.” Olaf glanced at Thomas, the bridge swaying beneath the weight of him. “And if I had not come you would be lying in a pool of your own blood. Oh, you would have taken several with you, b
ut one man against a dozen? Not even you could have prevailed, and I know how fast and skilled you are.”

  “Not even me?” Thomas smiled. “And you?”

  “Oh, of course I would have killed them all, with or without your help.”

  “I’m sure you would.”

  As they emerged from the bridge onto the dockside Thomas slowed, thinking of what Olaf has said, not sure if Mandana did want him dead. He looked north, but Jorge’s house was hidden beyond the curve of the city wall, and he knew it was not where he was headed, not yet.

  “You can go back to the house,” he said.

  “Not if you intend to do what I think,” said Olaf. “What if you meet another dozen soldiers?”

  “This is not your battle.”

  “You are married to my daughter. Of course this is my battle.”

  Thomas knew it was pointless arguing with Olaf so led the way into the city, following streets grown familiar, until they stood outside al-Haquim’s house. The double door was thrown wide and the expected guard was not to be seen.

  “Have they fled?” asked Olaf.

  “Why would they? Mandana is not afraid of me.”

  “Perhaps he should be.”

  Thomas stepped into the courtyard. When he turned toward the inner rooms he saw why the guard was not at the gate. He sprawled half in the small pool, his head beneath the surface, the water coloured with blood.

  “He’s trying up loose ends,” Thomas said, ignoring the dead man and going to the courtyard where Mandana, al-Haquim and Samuel spent their time. He expected to find it empty, to find the entire house empty of anyone still alive, and in that last he was correct.

  Al-Haquim reclined on gilded cushions. A low table held a plate of the small cakes that were too sweet, and a pot of coffee. When Thomas touched the pot it was still hot. Al-Haquim too was warm to the touch, but all life had fled. Thomas knelt and examined his wounds. One to the throat, deep, exposing cartilage and muscle, several more to his chest and flanks, but they had come after the killing strike. He reached out and closed the man’s eyes, rose slowly, suddenly tired. Tired of death. Tired of intrigue. Wondering what secrets al-Haquim had held that meant he could not continue living. Thomas had detested the man, found nothing of humanity within him, but men could change however little chance there appeared they would do so.