by David Penny
The rider looked around. “I see no danger. Unless it comes from you, Thomas Berrington.”
Thomas wondered if there were any of the guards who didn’t know his name.
“The danger comes not from us, but I will talk of it only to the Sultan.”
The man looked between them, ignoring Usaden, which if it came to a fight would be a stupid thing to do.
“Wait here.” The man spun his horse around and rode off with as great a show as when he arrived.
Thomas watched as he drew up next to Muhammed, saw his head turn, but the distance was too great to see his expression. Then the rider came back.
“The Sultan needs to know what this danger concerns. He knows of no danger. Besides which, we are all skilled men—the General knows that, for he trained most of us himself.”
Thomas considered his response, knowing if he judged wrong Muhammed would simply ride back to the palace, or send his men to kill them.
“Tell him it concerns an Abbot, and betrayal.”
The rider stared at Thomas for a while, his face showing nothing, then once more he turned and slapped his horse into a gallop. This time when he received the message, Muhammed turned and began to ride toward them. Half his men came ahead, the others behind, protecting their master. Thomas wondered if it came to a fight where the guards’ loyalties would lie—with Muhammed or Olaf?
Muhammed came at a slow pace and remained in the saddle when he arrived, but a nod sent the front guards to either side so nothing stood between him and the three men.
“I was told it was you, Thomas Berrington, but could not believe it. Do you want to die so badly you come to stand in front of me this way?”
Thomas raised a shoulder. “You will have heard of my loss.”
Muhammed offered a brief nod, but no sympathy.
“It makes a man consider life and death in a new light. Some things matter less, others more.”
“I assume your cryptic message concerns Abbot Mandana?”
Thomas glanced at the soldiers accompanying Muhammed. “If we are to talk honestly you need to send your men away. Not far, just out of earshot.”
“So you can kill me? I think not.”
“I guarantee your safety, Sultan,” said Olaf.
“I believe you are no longer my General.”
“That may be true, but I am still loyal, and neither of these men will harm you. Even after what you did to my daughter.”
Muhammed leaned forward in his saddle, his face showing the first sign of anger. “I had nothing to do with your daughter’s death.”
“I was not referring to that one,” said Olaf.
“Helena came to me willingly.”
“If you say so.”
Muhammed examined each of them in turn.
“Why should I believe you?” The question was addressed to Thomas.
“Because in the back of your mind you already wonder what those two want of you,” Thomas said. “I know what they have told you, but what is the advantage to them if al-Zagal is banished or killed? He is no danger to you or Spain.”
“I sit where he sat. He will always be a danger to me while he lives.” It was clear Muhammed’s concern extended only as far as himself. It had not occurred to him why Guerrero and Mandana were offering help.
“Your uncle is a broken man,” said Olaf. “I was there when he was defeated. He never suffered such a loss before. It changed him.”
“Changed or not, he continues to sit in al-Marilla, and continues to pose a threat to me.”
“Which is what I want to talk to you about.” Thomas saw an opportunity, grateful Muhammed had steered the conversation this way himself.
“About my uncle?”
“And the men who promise to help you defeat him.”
Thomas stood easy, arms loose at his sides as he waited for life or death, knowing the decision would come soon. He glanced at Muhammed’s men. Good soldiers, there was no doubt of it, for they were his personal guard—but Thomas, Olaf and Usaden had fought harder men, and more of them, and triumphed. So perhaps not death. Not yet.
Then Muhammed came to a decision, and it was the right one. He turned to the three guards closest to him. “Dismount. Give your horses to these men.” He turned toward Thomas. “We cannot talk out here. Follow me to the palace.” With that he turned and urged his horse into a gallop.
Thomas took the reins from the nearest unmounted guard and swung into the saddle of his horse, ignoring the look on his face. It was a long walk back to the palace. He kicked his heels, knowing the others would be close behind. He expected Usaden to come flying past, but he didn’t.
Muhammed was already dismounted and waiting for them when Thomas entered the wide barracks yard that lay alongside the stables. Olaf’s living quarters were set on one side, and Thomas wondered if Fatima was still there, and if so whether she would see her husband enter the palace beside the Sultan.
They followed Muhammed, Thomas aware that the deeper they went the more guards lay between them and freedom. He wished Jorge had been well enough to attend this meeting, because he understood persuasion far better than the rest of them.
Muhammed turned into a courtyard flooded with light, the sound of birds a constant backdrop, a whisper of water underlying it. He turned to face them, offering neither refreshment nor comfort. A dozen guards entered and took up places at each exit, swords already drawn. Thomas was sure others stood just beyond. If Muhammed wanted to kill them, now was his opportunity because their weapons had been taken as they entered the palace.
“So, what is this message that is so important you risk your life to bring it to me?” As he spoke, his eyes flickered toward Olaf before returning to Thomas.
“You are talking to Abbot Mandana and his son,” Thomas said. With someone else he might have eased into the subject, but he knew Muhammed lacked patience and was likely to eject them before they got to the heart of the matter.
“How would you know such information?” Muhammed smiled. “Ah, I see. Helena. Of course. What if I am? It is no business of yours.” His gaze shifted. “Nor of yours, Olaf Torvaldsson. You should be out there training my soldiers, had you not turned your back on me.”
“Training them for an attack on your uncle?” Thomas asked.
“Of course an attack on my uncle. I have already told you he is a danger to me, and he has many men. Too many men for me to risk my own troops. I would not have half of them slaughtered unless victory can be assured. And Guerrero can assure that.”
“I am glad you care so much for those who were once under my command,” said Olaf.
Muhammed’s eyes didn’t shift from Thomas.
“They offer to bring two thousand well-trained fighters, doubling my forces. How many does my uncle have? Do you know the answer to that, Thomas?” He waited a moment. “No, of course not. But my spies do. He has between one and two thousand, the remnant of those he led from Gharnatah against the Spanish and lacked the skill to use effectively. It is only a shame he did not die alongside the others.”
“Whatever he claims, Guerrero doesn’t have even a thousand trained men,” Thomas said.
“Then my agreement with him will be void. I am not fool enough to take his word for anything without confirmation. I will see his army before I commit my own.”
“It may be too late by then. Guerrero and Mandana spoke together when Helena was with them. They–”
“Men do not usually speak much when they are with Helena.” A knowing smile showed on Muhammed’s face. “It is why I made them a gift of her. It amused me to do so. It amuses me even more that she told you of it. I hope she did not spare you any of the details.”
“They didn’t know she understood Spanish, and she feigned sleep so they spoke freely. They don’t care about al-Zagal, and never have. They have a far richer prize in mind. Gharnatah itself. And your place as its ruler.”
“I considered that as well, of course I did. I would have been a fool not to do so. But you have j
ust told me Guerrero has less than a thousand men, not all of them as well-trained as he claims. What danger is he to me?”
“He will take your soldiers toward al-Marilla in the belief they will fight al-Zagal, but Helena told me it is only a distraction. They intend to lure your soldiers away from Gharnatah and then ambush them. It is a bold plan, and not without danger, but the element of surprise will give them an advantage. And then, once your army is destroyed, they will march on Gharnatah.”
“Where I will still have other men,” said Muhammed, but he sounded less sure than he had.
“Indeed. But another army waits for the signal that your forces have been diminished. You know that Fernando remains in Malaka, together with half his army. Six thousand at the last count. Once word reaches them they will march north and attack Gharnatah from the east.”
Muhammed shook his head. “It sounds far too complex to achieve success. Battles are simple things, not won by guile. Ask Olaf, he will agree with me.” Muhammed’s attention switched to Olaf. “In fact, I would talk with you alone, General, without the distraction of this man.” He turned his head. “Guards!”
Six men came forward, as if the move was already pre-arranged.
“Take these two away.”
Muhammed turned aside, uninterested. He snapped his fingers, and a slim female servant trotted to him and he leaned close, issuing more commands
A guard took Thomas’s arm, another Usaden’s, who glanced at Thomas and raised an eyebrow. Thomas shook his head. Now was not the time. He would have to trust in Olaf.
Usaden in turn lifted a shoulder, and Thomas smiled, sure the man was confident they could escape at any time they wanted. It was best to allow him his delusion for the moment.
Chapter Thirty-One
Thomas had been held in the palace dungeons several years before, when Muhammed’s father had been Sultan. This time it felt different—both better and worse. The dungeon was relatively comfortable in comparison to that first one, which had been dank and cold. This one even contained a pair of cots, and Thomas stretched out on one. He knew the problem now was Muhammed and his capricious decisions. His father, the old Sultan Abu al-Hasan Ali, would either kill a man or spare him, and Thomas had always been confident of being spared. Now, he could no longer be sure. His only hope was that Olaf could persuade Muhammed of the sense of their plan.
Usaden paced the small space for a while, before deciding he too might as well save his energy, though he still didn’t sit.
“When they come, I will conceal myself behind the door. I’ll pull the first man in, grab his sword, and we fight our way out.”
Thomas nodded. “All the way past a hundred guards?”
“I did not see a hundred as we came in. We will deal with them one at a time, as always. Best not to consider odds, don’t you think?”
“Muhammed would love us to fight. It will give him all the excuse he needs to execute us. Execute me. I’m sorry, he doesn’t even know who you are, but you will share the same fate.”
“So we do nothing?”
Thomas dropped his feet to the floor and leaned his elbows on his knees. “Muhammed is trying to scare us, except he doesn’t know you can’t be scared.”
“He knows you can?”
Thomas smiled. “No, he knows I can’t. He might be Sultan now, but I have known him since he was a baby in his mother’s arms—or rather, in his wet-nurse’s arms. I don’t think his mother wanted all that much to do with him until he attained adulthood.”
“And Yusuf?” asked Usaden. “I liked Yusuf.”
“As did I. He was such a sweet boy, nothing like his brother. But they had different mothers. Aixa—Muhammed’s mother—is an evil, scheming bitch. I’m only glad she wasn’t in that courtyard or my head would be on a spike already, though no doubt she will hear all about our conversation from her spies.”
“How can you live in a place such as this? My life is simple—I sell my sword to whoever will pay, and I kill men in battle.”
“Much like Olaf.”
“Except he has a loyalty to his master that I lack.”
Thomas glanced at Usaden, knowing the man didn’t speak entirely honestly. Otherwise, why was he still with them? Something had sparked between them all in Malaka which perhaps Usaden had never experienced before.
As if reading his thoughts, Usaden said, “You pay me well for training your son.”
“And if I stop paying you?”
“I like Will,” said Usaden, and Thomas knew it was the only answer he would get.
After a time, Thomas rose and stalked the walls, tapping on stones.
“I am trying to sleep,” said Usaden, who had finally stretched out on the other cot.
“And I am looking for a way out.”
“The door is the way out. We have already agreed a plan. Now we should rest until we can carry it out.”
Thomas rapped on another stone, cocked his head. Did it sound a little different to the others, or not?
“Did I ever tell you about the tunnels in the palace?”
Usaden sighed and sat up. “No. But I expect you are going to.”
“Most of them will have been filled in by now, but I know at least some remain. We used one to get Helena out.” He tapped the stone again and shook his head. No, the sound was the same as all the others. Tunnels might remain, but if so none of them offered a means of escape from the dungeon.
“The last time I was locked in the palace a friend opened a tunnel and spirited us away.” He smiled. “You would have liked her.”
“Was she pretty, like Helena?”
“No, not like Helena. No-one is like Helena—but pretty, yes, though too young for you.” A sadness washed through Thomas. “Though she would be old enough by now if she had lived. She would be…” He calculated in his head, surprised at how many years had passed since he had crept through dark tunnels beside the girl. “Prea would have twenty years now.”
“She is dead?”
Thomas nodded. “And it was my doing.”
“You killed her?”
“As good as. I didn’t listen to her, didn’t warn her well enough, and she was killed by the man we sought.” Thomas sat on the bed again, a sense of despair filling him. There had been so many deaths over the years, both before and after Prea—too many to count anymore—and he had lost too many people he liked, and some he loved. Just as he had lost Lubna. At the thought of her his despair deepened, so that when the door opened without warning he barely noticed Usaden rise, but by then it was too late to do anything.
Six guards entered, each with a sword drawn. They motioned Thomas and Usaden to follow them from the cell. Outside, another six waited.
Thomas glanced at Usaden, saw a tension in him that was well hidden, and gave a shake of the head. No sense trying anything until they knew what Muhammed’s intentions were.
He was surprised when the guards led them through the palace to the outer gate, handed them their weapons, and allowed them to walk free.
“Does this mean Olaf was more persuasive than you were?” asked Usaden.
“Or Muhammed trusts him more than he does me. We are men who follow different paths. Muhammed has never taken to me, not even when I repaired him after battle and allowed him to fight again.”
“You have fixed many men over the years, have you not?”
“And lost a great many as well. Battle is a poor place for a physician to work, but it is work that must be done.”
“You do it well. I have seen you at work, and if I am ever injured I hope you are beside me.”
Thomas laughed, the sound surprising him, an indication that something had changed inside, something he was unsure whether to welcome or not if it meant he would forget Lubna. Except he knew that could never happen. In his grief he had turned his back on life, but life still had much to offer—even if he had less time left than he had already lived. Maybe far less if the plan he proposed ended in disaster. He knew that neither Guerrero nor Man
dana would hesitate even a moment if they had the chance to kill him. Nor he them.
When they reached Thomas’s house on the Albayzin the day was tipping into night. The big main room was filled with talk and the rich smell of cooking. Will rose from playing with Kin and ran to Thomas, who lifted him against his chest while he walked to the table.
“How long have you been here?” he asked Olaf.
“Several hours. Have you only now been released?”
“Muhammed,” Thomas said, shaking his head. “He was always one for petty punishments. What did you talk of?”
“You have persuaded him.” Olaf reached out to take Amal from Belia. Thomas’s seven-month-old daughter had woken in a bad mood and Olaf always seemed able to comfort her when others could not. Perhaps it was his strength. His love.
“It didn’t feel as if we had.” Thomas accepted a mug of wine from Jamila and emptied half of it in one long swallow. “I have no doubt you helped him make his decision.”
“You know how he is,” said Olaf. “Too afraid to act, too afraid not to. Today, for once, he made the right decision. But who knows—come morning he might have changed his mind again.”
“Is there a plan?”
“The one you hinted at. I am to lead a cohort of five hundred rather than the thousand asked for, supposedly to add to Guerrero’s number, but as soon as we are close we turn on them.”
It didn’t surprise Thomas that Muhammed was sending only half the promised men. He only hoped it would be enough to achieve victory.
“When?”
“Not anytime soon. Guerrero claims not to be ready yet, and Muhammed is happy to sit on his hands until the end of time if it means he doesn’t have to act.”
“Was Aixa there after we left?” Thomas was interested to know if Muhammed’s mother had made an appearance, for he was sure it was she who ruled on the hill rather than her son.
“No, but she will hear of what happened soon enough.”
“Will she approve? It will be she who decides, after all.”
“She approves of whatever presents Muhammed in a good light, and this would do so. They can pretend they launched an attack against a band of Spanish renegades and defeated them.”
