A Tear for the Dead

by David Penny

  “If I am ever fortunate enough to find out, I will come and tell you.”

  Abu Abdullah scowled. “Then you will have to come to Laujar de Andarax. I should have held out for better.”

  “You are fortunate to get that much. If I had not intervened, I know she intended to give you nothing. She would have demanded you leave the entire peninsula of Spain.”

  “Do not expect my gratitude.”

  “Why would I do that?”

  “I hear you have taken Helena back into your bed, as well as Isabel.”

  “Only Helena, but yes. You changed her.”

  “No need to thank me.”

  “I wasn’t, though it is true she has changed for the better.”

  “Some women need breaking before they can be rebuilt.”

  Thomas had forgotten how much he hated this man, but knew he had to hold his true feelings in check. He noted that Abu Abdullah had finished his goblet of wine, so went to find another bottle and poured more for both of them.

  “Who is the red-haired woman with the Queen?”

  “Theresa.”

  “She is also wonderful.”

  “All those concubines in the harem and you lust after her?”

  Abu Abdullah turned to Thomas. “Is she not beautiful?”

  “She is. Is it the red hair and pale skin you find so attractive? You must have concubines like that. Helena’s sisters are still members of the harem, are they not?”

  “They are, but they are too familiar to me now.” Abu Abdullah rose. He looked down at the wine left in his glass and shook his head. “I may speak with them and see if I can persuade her to visit me later. Perhaps she too lusts after the exotic.”

  Thomas watched the man walk away and wished he had killed him when he had the chance. It was too late now.

  Thomas knew sleep would elude him, so he climbed stone stairs to emerge onto the ramparts of the fort. A full moon seemed pinned to the crags of the mountain tops, its light painting them silver. Uncountable stars sparked the sky to the east, and the town and surrounding land lay quiet. Somewhere out there, Usaden would be awake, Kin at his side, both of them keeping watch. Tonight felt like both a start and an end, but to what, Thomas was unsure. Only that change was becoming normal in his life, for good or ill.

  He leaned on the battlements and gazed without thought, not wanting thought, and slowly his mind stilled until he believed he might sleep. He turned at the sound of footsteps, surprised to see Isabel approach. She still wore the Moorish robes, which clung to her body to reveal more than her usual dresses.

  “I wondered where you had gone, Thomas. I wanted to say goodnight.”

  “Where is Fernando?”

  “Still with his friends, still drinking. I expect they will do so until dawn and then sleep tomorrow away. I believe we have an agreement with Boabdil, do we not?” She stopped beside him and reached for his hand.

  “It seems you do, but I have known him go back on his word a hundred times before. He listens to astrologers and believes in omens. All it takes is for a crow’s shadow to cross him and he will renege on his promises.”

  Isabel tightened her fingers through his. “Then we must ensure matters progress at speed. Give him no time to change his mind.” She stepped away, her hand releasing his only slowly. “Goodnight, Thomas, sleep well. Tomorrow will be a busy day.”

  Thomas watched her walk to the narrow doorway and disappear, then turned back to the mountains. He was wide awake again. He wrapped his cloak around himself and waited for dawn, while his mind fought to find some kind of equilibrium. He was still leaning on the stone battlements as the sky lightened. There had been a shadow at the foot of the hills all night, which he had assumed was woodland. As the light grew, he saw it for what it really was. An army. A large army.

  He turned and ran down the steps three at a time.

  Fernando was slumped in a chair. Other men lay on the floor or crouched in corners. Thomas shook the King’s arm until he came awake with a scowl.

  “What do you want? Are you going to fight me again?”

  “There are men outside. I think it’s the Turks.”

  Fernando made a sound of dismissal. “They were a score, no more.”

  “They are no longer a score. I estimate two hundred, at least.”

  Fernando tried to stand, but staggered, and Thomas gripped his arm to steady him. He looked around the room.

  “Where’s Martin?”

  “In Theresa’s arms, if he has any sense.”

  Fernando put a hand to his head. For a moment, Thomas thought he was about to throw up, but he made an effort and the moment passed. No doubt it would return.

  “Go fetch him and find out what is happening,” said Fernando. “I need to know if they are here for us, or only passing through.”

  Thomas thought it too much of a coincidence, but the idea was worth pursuing.

  After two false attempts, he found Martin de Alarcón in bed with Theresa and told him the news. It took little time for him to dress. They picked up horses from the yard before descending the twisting roadway and riding out through the town.

  “Go to your men, I will talk to Olaf.” Only after Martin had ridden away did Thomas realise what he had said. He had placed himself on the side of the Moors, not Castile. He shook the idea away for examination another time.

  Olaf had already seen the gathered men by the time Thomas dismounted. The big general stood with his arms crossed, staring across the mile of open ground between them.

  “Who are they?” he asked as Thomas stood beside him.

  “I think it’s Koparsh Hadryendo.”

  “I thought he had no more than two score with him.”

  “Clearly not.”

  “Do you think they are looking for a fight?”

  “Fernando is hoping they are passing through on their way home.”

  Olaf gave a snort to show what he thought of the idea.

  “I sent Martin to talk to the Castilian soldiers while I came to you.”

  “Good. I agree.”

  “You don’t know what I’m going to suggest.”

  “That we combine our forces to repel them. That means a hundred against…” Olaf surveyed the army which was gathering itself, putting out fires, mounting horses “…two hundred? Perhaps more.”

  “Not bad odds,” Thomas said, and Olaf looked at him.

  “Normally, I would agree, if it was my men and you and that Gomeres, but we are talking of men who were enemies yesterday and will be enemies again tomorrow. Who will lead?”

  “You are the Sultan’s general and they have nobody like you with them. Martin is their most senior man, but he has nothing like your experience.”

  “What about the King? He is an outstanding leader of men, I have been told.”

  “When he is sober, which is not today. Besides, no doubt that is what Koparsh wants, so he can kill Fernando. Better he stay away from this fight.”

  “Will his men follow me, do as I order?”

  “If Martin puts himself at their head, yes. He has already agreed it.”

  “And you will fight beside me?”

  “Have I not always done so?” Thomas slapped Olaf’s shoulder and the big man’s lips thinned in what might have been a smile.

  Olaf looked up at the sky, blue now, a few clouds hovering over the distant peaks.

  “It is as good a day to die as any.” He looked at the ground between them and the approaching army. “We should join our forces now before they reach us. The Queen and King and Sultan must try to make their escape as best they can. We cannot offer them any guard.”

  “In that case, they are better off staying where they are. The fort is impregnable unless Koparsh has artillery, and I doubt that. I judge we have less than half an hour before they gather themselves to attack. We need to have a plan before then.”

  “Shield wall,” said Olaf. “We stand and resist. We keep discipline and let them throw themselves against us. Will the Spanish un
derstand the concept?”

  “They fight battles too, but it might be best to put your men in the vanguard and let the Spanish protect the flanks.”

  “I am glad you are here, Thomas, your mind works faster than mine. Let us fight.” Olaf grinned. This is what he did. Kill men in service of his master, even if it was a master he no longer respected.

  Chapter Forty-Four

  It was chaos. Despite the planning, despite the organisation, all battles are chaos. It comes down to man against man, sword and axe and pike against an enemy you can barely see. At least there were no cannon or muskets, but the Turks were harsh fighters and threw themselves with wild abandon against Olaf’s rushed shield wall.

  It held … just. The Castilian troops suffered more on the flanks, but they fought well enough. Men died, but as the battle continued, Thomas saw more Turk than Moor or Castilian dead. Slowly, the tables turned.

  Then he saw the group who had held back from the fighting, the group where Koparsh sat, Salma at his side—but no sign of Yves, turn and ride away. For a brief moment, Thomas wondered where his son might be, then the thought was torn from him as a man attacked and Thomas ran him through with his sword.

  Olaf roared, “We have them, Thomas!” He swung his axe and buried the blade into a man’s chest, jerked it free. His new hand worked well.

  Thomas turned to see where Koparsh would flee to, but instead of riding away, he urged his men towards the small town. Thomas stepped back, stepped back again, only then aware of blood on his face and hands and clothes. He sheathed his sword and ran as hard as he could. As he cleared the rear of the combined soldiers, he saw a slim figure approach, going even faster than he was, then Kin darted ahead of Usaden and leapt at Thomas. He bounced off his chest and rolled as he landed, only to run on ahead, mouth wide and tongue lolling.

  “Isabel!” Thomas gasped out the word. “Koparsh is going for Isabel.”

  “Then we had better save her again,” said Usaden, as if this was only a morning stroll.

  “He can’t get in. Gates are closed.” Thomas hoped the gates were closed, but as they reached the town, he discovered them standing open. The body of a man lay slumped to one side, and as they passed, Thomas saw it was the holder of the keys. He wondered what Koparsh had promised for his betrayal. Not death, that was certain.

  As they entered the inner courtyard, they found two score of men. Koparsh stood at the rear, directing them, Salma at his side. They had arrived just as Isabel and Fernando were making their escape. Will and Jorge stood in the wide entrance to the inner chambers of the fort, protecting Catherine, Juan and Theresa. Abu Abdullah cowered to one side. He held a sword in his hand, but the tip dragged on the ground.

  Four men confronted Fernando where he stood to protect his wife and children, a sword in his hand. Under normal circumstances, Thomas might expect him to triumph even against four, but he could see how pale his face was. He wondered if the man could even see straight after what he had drunk the night before. But he was brave and doing what he could.

  Thomas touched Usaden’s shoulder and he went running to the side. Koparsh Hadryendo turned his head at the movement, but appeared to consider him no great danger. He gave an order and another ten men joined the four, changing the odds from small to impossible. Thomas took a breath and drew his sword. He glanced at Koparsh, considering whether he should attack him first to draw his men back in defence, but knew he was only one man. Instead, he followed Usaden, who was already attacking the flank of the Turks. Thomas took the other side, running a man through before edging towards Isabel. He took up position beside Fernando, who offered a nod, and then Usaden was on the other side. Three against fourteen. Still too many men. Then Koparsh sent the rest in and Thomas knew they were all dead. He stepped back and gripped Isabel’s wrist, raised his voice to be heard above the clash of swords.

  “When I release you, you must run. There is space around the edge and I will keep them away from you. Take your children and run as fast as you can. There are horses outside. Take them and ride. Ride for your lives.”

  “And you?”

  “I will fight beside your husband.”

  She stared into his eyes for a moment before turning away. She gathered Theresa to her, then Will, Juan and Catherine. Will looked at Thomas, fear in his eyes, but his face was set firm and he put a hand to his waist where he carried the sword he had insisted on bringing. He stood between Isabel and the fighting men, and Thomas shook his head, but Will shook his own in return. He was too young for this, but the fight was here.

  Thomas searched for Jorge and found him emerging from the fort with a sword in his hand. He caught his eyes and nodded at Isabel, and Jorge understood. Protect the Queen at all costs.

  Thomas turned away and threw himself back into the melee, striking a man about to run Fernando through. The King gave a grunt of acknowledgement before having to defend himself again.

  Thomas waved at Usaden, who darted across to join him, and they fought back to back as Isabel and the others ran. It took a moment before anyone noticed, then Koparsh raised an arm and gave a great shout. His men turned from attacking Fernando and ran after the fleeing Queen.

  Isabel was almost at the open gates when she was caught. Thomas broke away and sprinted towards her, deflecting blows without even thinking, all his attention on Isabel. Then he saw Will draw his sword and stand in front of her. He was the tallest of Isabel’s group other than Jorge, and the strongest, but he was only ten years old. Olaf Torvaldsson’s grandson he might be, but he was not Olaf. Not yet. But the fight had come to him, ready or not. A boy and a eunuch against the Turks.

  Thomas yelled and Will ignored him, as no doubt Usaden had taught him.

  One of the Turks laughed and ran at Isabel. Jorge placed himself in front of her. He looked dangerous, which Thomas hoped would help.

  Will stepped into the path of the attacker and raised his sword. A second man came and swung down at him and Will twisted, ducked and struck out. The man screamed and fell. Will turned again and thrust his sword through the back of the other man just as he raised his own sword to strike down at Jorge. Then Thomas was there and put himself beside his son to confront the others who were coming at them. He bumped into a figure and turned to discover Jorge. His face was set hard, his sword already bloodied.

  “Run!” Thomas shouted at Isabel. He pushed her and she began to move.

  Usaden arrived, then Kin, his jaws stained with the blood of men. The five of them faced a group six times their number, but Thomas saw Isabel reach the gates and pass through, and knew he had done his duty.

  When he glanced at Will, there were tears streaming from his son’s eyes, but his jaw was set, and when the next attack came, he held firm.

  It would have ended badly, Thomas knew, a tale of courage against impossible odds told around firesides, if Martin de Alarcón and Olaf had not appeared ahead of a mixed group of soldiers. Olaf’s axe dripped blood onto the stones, his naked chest and face streaked with the same. Thomas ran at the men in front of him, who had also seen the reinforcements and were falling back. Thomas left them to run and looked around for Koparsh, but he was gone.

  Olaf and Martin advanced on the remaining men, fearsome, ruthless, leaving none standing.

  Thomas turned back, searching for Will. He found him on one knee, head down. He put his arms around him and felt the boy sob as he grasped him in return. Thomas kissed his head and held him while the impact of what he had done coursed through his son like a fire. Thomas remembered the first time he had killed, and what it had been like. Not at the time, but later. He had relived the act over and over in his mind until he had to put it aside, knowing if he let it remain, it would drive him mad.

  “Pa…” Will raised his face and Thomas kissed his tears.

  “It’s all right. You did what you had to do.”

  Will nodded. “I know, Pa, but … but it brought it all back…”

  Thomas frowned, not sure he understood.

 
; “I couldn’t save Ma, but I’m older now and stronger. I saved Isabel, didn’t I?”

  “You did. She will make you a knight or something.”

  “I don’t need honours,” said Will, and Thomas stared into his eyes and saw he meant it, saw how much like him Will was, despite the fact one day he would tower over him.

  “Want them or not, you will get them, so smile when she does and pretend to be pleased.”

  Will looked around. “I killed three men, Pa.” Tears filled his eyes again.

  “So did I. They were three men who would have killed you without a second thought.”

  “You killed more, I saw you did. I want to fight like you one day.”

  “Better you never have to.”

  “Morfar says that to me, but sometimes you have to fight, don’t you? If we hadn’t fought today, Isabel would be dead. And Cat and Juan. And you and me and Jorge. All of us would be dead.” He glanced beyond Thomas. “Perhaps not Usaden.”

  “No, perhaps not Usaden, or Kin.” Thomas wiped fresh tears from his son’s face with his thumb and pulled him to his feet. “You won’t believe me now, but I hope you will later. What you did today is going to change you. Let it make you better, not worse. Grow, be brave, protect those you love. That is all there is in this life, so do it as well as you can.” Thomas smiled as a sudden memory came to him, wondering what had summoned it. He spoke the words a girl he had once loved left him in a message when he was only a little older than Will. “And don’t take any shit from anybody.”

  “I’ll try, Pa.” Will embraced him, then pulled away. He firmed his shoulders and walked away, breaking Thomas’s heart.

  “As soon as Koparsh realised Isabel had escaped, he withdrew his men and ran.” Olaf Torvaldsson sat on a rock while men, Moorish and Castilian alike, tracked across the battlefield. Some administered mercy to those who would linger in agony with no chance of living. Others dragged those already dead to a pile where the bodies would be burned later that day. The Turks wore fine fighting clothes which were stripped from them.