by David Penny
“Why? Did you?”
Thomas snorted a laugh and stroked Lubna’s face. “ I am sorry to disappoint you, my love, but I was never nobility.”
“You told me your father was a … what did you call him?”
“Oh, an important man in Lemster, sure enough, but no more than a Squire, not a Sire.”
“Ah well,” said Lubna, “I still love you even if you are not important.”
“I am relieved to hear it.” Thomas stared at the ring, flat on the palm of his hand. “Knowing what it says doesn’t help us find the man though, does it?”
Will came running into the room, his feet skidding wildly on marble tiles.
“Someone coming!” He careened into the table, bounced off it, and slid against Lubna, who rubbed his arm where he had banged it.
“It’s too late for visitors.” Thomas stood and made his way to the terrace where Diego still remained, staring out at the darkening track that led to the house.
A single man plodded up the slope, an unlit lantern swinging from his hand. Thomas watched him for a moment then went to the door, opened it and stepped outside. He wondered if he should have brought a weapon then dismissed the idea. This was not the first unexpected visitor to come to the house. Every week or so someone would make the journey in search either of him or Lubna, sent from the Infirmary to seek advice or treatment.
The man was close before he noticed Thomas waiting for him in the growing shadows, and he stopped ten paces away.
“Are you lost, sir?”
“Are you Thomas Berrington?”
“I am. And you are?”
A shake of the head. “It does not matter who I am, only my message. I come from Ali Durdush, Master of the Malaka Guilds. He requests your presence at the Antequera gate at first light tomorrow.”
“On what business?”
“I am only a messenger. My master will inform you of the purpose in the morning.” The man started down the track before stopping and turning back. “Any message in return?”
Thomas shook his head. “No, no mess—” But the man had gone. Thomas watched, waiting until he saw a spark of light from the lantern as the day faded too far to allow a safe passage of the twisting path.
Lubna snaked her arms around him, pressing the swell of her belly against his back. “Who was that? Do they want one of us at the Infirmary?”
“It was a message from Ali Durdush. He wants me to meet him tomorrow.”
“And Jorge?”
“He didn’t say, but I expect he’ll want to come. He always does.”
Fourteen
“Why are we doing what Durdush wants without question?” said Jorge. “Remind me again, if you would. Oh, no, of course, because you can’t, can you?”
“You were there at the gate,” Thomas said. “We ride to talk with the Spanish. It’s not as if we were offered much in the way of choice. Besides, do this for him and I might get some help from his clerks if not Durdush himself.”
Ahead of them a line of twenty men wound their way along a stony track raised above a river bed. It would normally be dry at this time of year but now ran with foaming water.
“Will Fernando be there, do you think?”
“I doubt it. He won’t want to talk directly. I hope he isn’t.”
Jorge laughed. “Durdush considers himself an important man, at least worthy enough to meet a king even if it is not his king. And Fernando likes you.”
“I doubt he ever gives me a moment’s thought.” Thomas leaned forward, searching for Ali Durdush, picking him out by his girth and the richness of his robe. A knot of soldiers surrounded him.
“Ah, but his wife,” said Jorge. “The delightful Isabel. I suspect she thinks of you often. You should bed her, you know. Everyone assumes you already have. Why deny yourself a pleasure you have already been judged guilty of?”
“She is Queen of Castile.”
“Do queens also not enjoy a tumble with a handsome man?” Jorge glanced across. “Or even with you.”
“I am married.”
“I know.” Jorge smiled. “We heard you last night. My thanks. The noises you made were most encouraging.”
Thomas tried not to smile. “I didn’t think you needed much encouragement.”
“I thought you had grown more relaxed this last year, but you are still wound tighter than a crossbow.”
Thomas watched one of Durdush’s companions steer his horse to one side. He hoped the man was not waiting for them but suspected the hope was in vain.
The man fell in alongside them, almost the last members of the party. To right and left, taller peaks rose and the river channel narrowed. In places enormous rocks littered the ground, and from the pink 7freshness of the cracked sides, Thomas believed some must have been loosened by the shaking of the earth. The man rode in silence for a time, staring ahead. No doubt he had been picked for a task no-one else wanted.
Eventually Thomas grew tired of the wait. “Get it out, then. What does he want of us?”
The man glanced aside, as if surprised to see the pair of them.
“Master Durdush requests your presence in the front ranks when the meeting starts.”
Thomas said nothing, staring at the man until he kicked at the sides of his horse and cantered back to his companions.
“You lack every social grace known to man, do you know that?”
“Why would I want social graces? Besides, he was an idiot. Durdush even more so if he thinks my presence is going to help. It is the only reason we are here, because he has heard I know the King.”
“It would not kill you to act like a normal person once in a while.”
Thomas ignored the comment, as he ignored much of what Jorge said. He loved the man like a brother, in fact far better than he ever had his own brother. Jorge was as easy to live with as the silk he wore, but Thomas knew he could never be like him.
“I do hope Fernando isn’t there,” he said.
Thomas ignored Ali Durdush’s request and stood as far back in the courtyard as he could. There were two score men from Malaka, not enough to form much of a barrier, and Fernando’s eyes discovered him almost at once. The King tried not to show anything, but a faint smile lifted one corner of his mouth. That, or a scowl — it was often difficult to tell with the man.
Durdush had been introduced as Master of the Malaka Guilds but took no part in the negotiations which were conducted by al-Tagri’s vizier and proceeded at a slow pace. Fernando also said nothing, sitting in an ornate chair raised on a platform so he could look across the meagre gathering. This was how negotiations proceeded, Thomas knew, slowly and with no prospect of victory. The real work would be done outside this chamber, man facing man, deals struck on a whim and a handshake.
They had come to the supposed castle, which looked more like a fort down on its luck. The courtyard made up at least a third of the area, with the rest of the building rising to more than a single story only on one side. Auta Castle was the name given to the edifice, but castle it most certainly was not. However, it did boast a fine position on a hill above the Moorish town of Aprisco al-Majianza, though no doubt that name would change now it lay in the hands of the Spanish. A small settlement surrounded by rich farmland, no different to many of the other small towns that had fallen beneath the continual advance of Spain.
“Why are these proceedings always so dull?” asked Jorge.
“Because everyone knows nothing will be decided here. No-one is allowed to state such, but there must be seen to be great deal of talk.”
“Do you think anyone would miss us if we slipped away?”
“Fernando would. He looks our way constantly.”
“He’s pleased to see an old friend.”
“I’m not so sure. Surprised, perhaps, and old friend may be stating it too strongly. His wife, yes. Fernando likes me well enough, but I don’t think he regards me as a friend.”
“Then it must be me he looks at,” said Jorge.
“Yes, that
will be it.” Thomas twisted, easing an ache in the small of his back. Too long standing on hard cobbles while foolish men spoke foolish words.
“Durdush has noticed you are here at the back,” said Jorge.
“He will also have noticed Fernando is aware of my presence, which is what he wanted. The man’s a fool if he thinks that will sway anyone.”
“So our job here is done and we can leave?”
Thomas was about to offer a retort when he realised Jorge was right, as he often was, though he would never tell him such. Instead he stepped aside and half turned away from the proceedings. Nobody appeared to notice other than Fernando, whose eyes had locked onto the movement. Fernando offered a faint smile and the briefest of nods. Thomas took it as permission, whether that was the meaning or not, turned fully and walked through the gates that had been thrown wide in welcome.
Outside he surveyed the tethered horses and the two men who had been left to care for them. Mounting their own steeds would raise no question, but instead Thomas turned aside and followed a stone wall to a rough turret and moved past it.
“Ah,” said Jorge.
“Ah what?”
“So you intend to do Ali Durdush’s job for him after all.”
Thomas laughed, a sound containing little humour. “There will be no agreement here. Or if there is it will not be one that survives the first skirmish. Malaka is doomed. Not tomorrow, not next week, but within a month, do not doubt it.”
“I love your optimism,” said Jorge.
“I know. There are times I almost believe the world to be a wonderful place, just as you do.”
“But not often?”
“No … not often.” Thomas wandered away to the side, following a track that might have been made by human feet but more likely goats. Yellow-headed weeds grew dense here, nourished by the recent rainfall, making the most of their brief moment. He stopped and knelt, snapped off four stalks, and handed one to Jorge.
“What am I meant to do with this?”
“Asparagus,” Thomas said. “It’s good. Good for you, as well.” He smiled. “It makes your piss smell, though.”
“And you want me to eat it?”
Thomas stripped the hard nodules from the sides of one of his stalks and bit into it. “You know, a man could live off this land.”
“Except everyone would know where he went by the smell of his piss.”
“True. But look, the almonds are in blossom. In a few months there will be nuts.” He stepped aside to stand beneath the gnarled branches of one of the trees, its trunk almost black, the branches thick with grey-pink flowers just beginning to fade. Thomas kicked his feet, unearthing several dark, stained husks. “See? These are probably still edible.”
“For goats, maybe.” Jorge looked around, but it was obvious he didn’t see the bounty that lay all around. “How do you know all these things, Thomas? Are they in those books you’re always reading?”
“Some, certainly. But if a man asks questions he will get answers.”
“Just like you got answers from Durdush.”
“He’s hiding something, and I will get it out of him before we’re done.”
They reached a low rise. Beyond, the land undulated away to the base of peaks formed of grey rock. One ridge resembled a sleeping giant, his head resting on an arm, his belly fat from eating birds that nested on the slopes. To the west the land was softer. A group of a dozen men had made camp near a small stream, and a fire spiralled smoke into the air. Thomas wondered who they were — part of Fernando’s army, or simply men passing through? The fact they were camped so close to Auta indicated they were likely not strangers.
Thomas sat on a rock and chewed on another twig of asparagus, used a stone to crack one of the almonds. The fruit within was dark brown, but the thin covering peeled away beneath his nail to reveal pale flesh. He held the kernel up to show Jorge.
“They are better fresh, but these will keep you alive if you get lost in the wilds.”
“Then I’ll have to remember never to do so. Look,” Jorge pointed, “the meeting is over.”
Thomas watched as men drifted from within the castle. Some mounted their horses and rode off, others stood around in discussion. Thomas narrowed his eyes but could see no Spaniards. He glanced toward the small group of men, but they showed no sign of moving. Not with Durdush, then.
“They’ve been sent away with their tail between their legs.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“There’s no-one to see them off, and see, that’s Durdush in the first group heading back to the river. If the talks were successful he’d still be inside with the others, talking to Fernando. Al-Tagri might have sent his vizier, but everyone knows it’s Durdush and the Guild that rules in Malaka.”
“So it will be war?”
“It will be war.”
Jorge thought about it for a moment. “Do we need to move elsewhere?”
“Nowhere will be safe until this war is done. Even then …” Thomas didn’t finish, not sure what might happen after the defeat of al-Andalus. He dismissed the idea, judging he would no doubt be dead by then, caught up in the fighting. But he hoped Will would live, and Lubna and Jorge and Belia.
Jorge laughed, but not at anything Thomas had said.
“I take it that’s who we’re waiting for?”
Thomas looked up from his thoughts, glad of the distraction.
Fernando rode out from the rear of the castle. Thomas looked aside, saw that the last of the party from Malaka were well down the hill and would not have spotted the King of Aragon and Castile. Fernando saw the two of them on the ridge and steered his horse in their direction. The four soldiers accompanying him followed their master.
Fernando rode fast, pulling up in a scatter of stones. The man could always be trusted to show off; it was in his nature. So was killing. Fernando was known as a skilled general and soldier, equally at home killing Moors and issuing orders to kill even more.
He swung from the saddle and offered his hand to the sitting Thomas, who took it, allowing himself to be drawn to his feet and into an embrace that might have cracked a rib in a less strong man.
“I could not believe it was you at first,” said Fernando, “but then I saw this one behind you and knew it had to be.” He turned to Jorge and embraced him also. “It’s good to see you’re both still getting involved in matters that are none of your business.”
“How do you know it is none of my business?”
Fernando laughed and slapped Thomas on the shoulder, a habit of his that was becoming increasingly tiresome. “Because I know you too well. That excuse for a governor thinks me a fool. It is the fat one who will do the deal, but it will have to be soon. I take it you know him?”
Thomas looked away, but the Moorish party had disappeared completely. He wondered if they would note the lack of him and Jorge. He knew he had a decision to make but wanted to put it off. There would be time later, and he would know more by then.
“Ali Durdush is no governor,” he said, happy to admit such, “but he is Master of the Malaka Guild, which might be regarded as a more important position. I assume you sent them all away disappointed.”
“I didn’t agree to what they wanted, if that’s what you mean, but I left a chink of light they can believe offers something in the future. Why were you here with them, Thomas?”
“My presence was requested.”
“But you are no diplomat.”
Jorge laughed, making Fernando smile. “No, he is no diplomat, you are right in that.”
“And yet he always succeeds in what he sets out to do.” The smile left Fernando’s face. “You know we are here for Malaka and will take it before summer comes.” His eyes caught Thomas’s. “Does Durdush really hold power? Should I be talking to him or this governor who sent a deputy instead of facing me? Al-Tigri, that is his name, isn’t it?”
So he had known all along, Thomas thought, even if he had mispronounced the name.
“H
amad al-Tagri. A fearsome warrior by all accounts. I have not met him, but Olaf speaks of him with admiration.”
Fernando knew the Sultan’s general, Olaf Torvaldsson, from when he had visited Ixbilya over a year and a half before to attend Thomas and Lubna’s wedding. The unlikely pair had struck up a mutual respect, coloured by the knowledge they might have to kill each other one day.
“Do I have to deal with both of them?” Fernando stepped closer to Thomas, too close, but he was used to such from the man. “What is the sentiment in Malaka? Will they surrender without a fight?”
Thomas shrugged. Fernando was placing him in a difficult position. They might be friends, but Thomas lived in Malaka, thought of himself as belonging to al-Andalus. There was a possibility he could lessen the impact on the city if he gave away information on who truly ruled there, but could he do that? Would it feel too much like a betrayal?
He decided to keep any information he had to himself, for now.
“The city doesn’t even know you’re at its gates. As for surrender, you have already pointed out I’m no diplomat.”
“I’m not so sure about that anymore.” Another slap on the shoulder, which made Thomas wince. “You will ride with me, and stay to eat? There is someone you will want to meet.”
“You bring Isabel with you?” Thomas knew Fernando’s soldiers remained far enough away not to overhear their conversation, otherwise he would have used her full title.
“Juan and Isabel, too.”
Thomas knew he referred to their only son and heir to the crown, and eldest daughter. A serious girl of near seventeen years who had been betrothed to a prince of Portugal for over ten years without any marriage taking place. Thomas supposed such a condition was reason enough to dampen the spirit of a pretty girl on the cusp of womanhood.
“You bring your family to war?”
Another slap and this time Thomas almost retaliated. He and Fernando had fought in the past, supposedly in fun, but there had been something beneath the fun that made Thomas wary.
“We are safe enough here,” said Fernando. “Is it not a fine place to set our camp?”
