They all looked to Zachary for an answer.
Zachary floundered, and folded his arms. ‘I don’t know. I suppose it is tempered by heat, and by beating and folding the metal over and over.’
‘So you know about this, yes? We apply heat – this is the training,’ Alvarez said. ‘No, I do not suggest I should beat you.’ Gentle laughter from the men, but Elspet did not like to join in, lest it draw his attention to her.
Alvarez continued, ‘But you need to endure, and you need to repeat. And you need to be awake.’ He handed Zachary back his sword. ‘This is as important as technique. This is what will enable you to see a gap in the other’s defences and press past it.’
Alvarez walked purposefully around the edge of the circle, his heels clacking on the wooden floor. He pointed over to the south side of the circle, and they all moved back a little to get a better look.
He tapped his cane on a painted notch. ‘The first element marked on the circle – fire. You should recognize its quality. This week we will work with fire. Air of fire, water of fire, earth of fire, even fire of fire, and –’ he paused – ‘fire’s quintessence. Then we will practise the techniques that embody these qualities, four techniques in all, sixteen with the other elements, and the quintessence. But first, we need to know what fire is.’
He called for his apprentice who waited by the door. ‘Bring candles please, and tinderboxes.’ The boy grinned and scurried away and Elspet waited, wondering what they needed more light for. When the lad returned he had a basket clinking with iron tinderboxes and beeswax candles.
The apprentice set up the candles on a long side-table. Elspet hung back until the men had taken their places, fearing she might be excluded from the exercise. But there was a place set for her after all, and Señor Alvarez nodded at her to take it. She felt a blush creep up her neck.
For a moment all that could be heard was the scraping of metal on flint. She took the flint from the metal tinderbox and made several futile attempts to strike the flint with the D-shaped firesteel before a spark appeared. But in her hurry she blew too hard on the shredded cloth, so the spark died and the charred cloth scattered on the floor. From the corner of her eye she saw Zachary suppress a smile. She scrabbled to pick up the shreds of cloth.
She repeated the strike until she managed to land a spark on the cloth and it glowed red under her coaxing breath, and a tiny transparent yellow flame sprang up, almost invisible in the light of the day. She fumbled to point a splinter of wood over it until it caught, and finally she was able to light the wick of the candle.
She exhaled. She had done this very rarely. At home the servants always lit the fires or trimmed the wicks, once a flame was in the house. This creating fire from nothing was new, and she had no real experience of handling the tinderbox herself although, of course, she had seen it done countless times. She marvelled at how quickly the flame darted into life. One moment it did not exist, then suddenly it was there leaping in front of her.
The candle burned with a steady heat. A small smile of triumph came to her lips. She turned to see how the men were faring. All held lit candles before them, even Zachary. Zachary glanced over to her, but quickly snapped his eyes back to his candle. Alvarez stood at the end of the row. He was watching her face. She dropped her gaze and paid attention to the flame. It never wavered.
How is it that Alvarez discomfits me so? she wondered; it was as if he saw right through them all. Whenever he was in the room it was as if they all sat on a knife edge.
Chapter 38
Zachary did not see the boy at first, for he was intent on his exercise with Alexander. They’d been at it for an hour or so that evening and were tiring. Both of them had suffered blows to the trunk, and though they were using blunts, they still bruised. Thank goodness, his long-boned friend had softened over the last few months, now that he had seen Zachary was serious about the training. Mind, Alexander was slow as a bear, never quite sprightly enough to catch up with Zachary’s nimble feet.
They were both running with sweat even in the cool of the evening, so Zachary went over to his satchel to fetch a kerchief. As he picked it up out of the bag, there he was, Luisa’s brother, a small boy with enormous brown eyes peeking out from under the shadows of the trellis. Zachary gave him a wink and he did not move, but his body tensed as if he might run away.
He reminded Zachary of that slave boy, the one he got into trouble about, when he had first come to Seville. The thought of that boy made him sad. Where was he now, he wondered. Was he still with Rodriguez? He hoped not. He remembered his bruised eye and the way the boy told him not to come back.
Zachary plucked his leather water bottle from the bag and tipped a draught into his mouth. Funny, but he didn’t seem to want a slave now. He’d like an apprentice, though, like Señor Alvarez had, someone to look up to him; Señor Alvarez’s apprentices worshipped him.
‘Come on,’ shouted Alexander, ‘Alvarez might be watching. What’s taking you so long?’
‘Coming,’ he called, and they set to again. This time he was facing the buildings and Alexander faced the gate to the street. From here he could see the boy watching them still. He had a short stick in his hand and he was copying their movements. Zachary had one eye on Alexander and the other on the boy. He was giving a marvellous mimicry of Alexander’s stance, right down to the slightly stooped shoulders and jutting chin.
Eventually Alexander stopped, and held up his hands. ‘Go on, tell, what’s so interesting behind me?’
‘Hey, you!’ Zachary shouted to the boy. The boy stopped what he was doing and his face filled with apprehension. ‘It’s all right,’ Zachary said in a soothing voice. ‘You fight well. Muy bien,’ he repeated. The boy still stared as if he might turn tail and run.
‘Do you want a lesson?’
The boy nodded and approached warily.
‘Watch out for Alvarez.’ Alexander looked dubious.
‘Oh, come on. It’s just a bit of play. Señor’s gone inside. Look, stand like this, with one foot forward and the other behind it, in line.’ Zachary demonstrated. The boy followed behind him, placing his thin legs one behind the other with serious concentration.
Alexander grinned despite himself and said, ‘Ah good, someone your own size!’
Zachary wagged his head and put up a thumb at him. Alexander put up a thumb back and took the chance to rest. He slumped against the wall and swigged from his bottle. He watched Zachary and his new friend with amusement.
‘So now,’ Zachary said to the boy, ‘you hold the sword out in front like this.’ He held his sword out in the en garde position. The boy did the same, but the swords did not touch – his stick was too short. Wordlessly, Zachary stooped to pick up Alexander’s sword where it had been discarded on the ground. ‘Hey!’ Alexander shouted, but too late; Zachary had put it in the hands of the boy, whose scrawny arm held on to it with a determined grip. Alexander shrugged, and said, ‘Don’t kill him, Deane.’
Zachary grinned at the boy. ‘He’s joking. Now, as you thrust towards me, I step aside, like this, see?’ He leapt sideways. ‘Now thrust.’ The boy tentatively poked the tip in his direction. ‘No! Harder than that!’ The boy tried again.
‘No. Look, you must put your whole body weight behind it. Watch me.’ Zachary made a fearsome yell and mimed skewering somebody and withdrawing the blade to wipe it on his boot. The boy gurgled a laugh, and the sound made Alexander and Zachary laugh too.
‘I’m ready,’ Zachary said, taking up an obvious defensive position. ‘Now give it all you’ve got.’
The boy opened his mouth to roar and, with a sudden plunge, drove the point of the sword at Zachary’s chest; he was only just out of the way in time, and it whistled past his ribs almost overbalancing him. Alexander’s eyebrows shot up in surprise.
‘Husain!’ The voice was sharp and he turned to see Luisa bearing down on them. One look was enough to tell him she was as angry as a hornet. She grabbed the boy by one scrawny arm and said, ‘What i
n God’s name do you think you’re doing? Is there not enough bloodshed in the world, but you must add to it?’ The boy struggled and tried to pull away, but she kept a tight grip of his upper arm and almost hoisted him off the ground.
‘I’m sorry,’ Zachary said, ‘it was my fault. I invited him to try.’
She looked at him coldly. ‘You want to teach him to kill, do you? Men. You are all the same.’ She let Husain off his tiptoes, wrestled the sword from his grasp and flung it down before him into the dust.
Alexander stood up in his defence. ‘Zachary was only entertaining him. He meant no harm by it. The boy was laughing.’
‘You don’t understand, do you? There’ll be time enough for all that when he’s older. Can’t you let him have at least a few years? Teach him those skills and what will he do? Look for a fight to test them. And who’s to say who will come off worst? Let him enjoy a few more years before every day is a war.’ She looked at them both in contempt. ‘Bloodshed looks for places where it’s welcome, doesn’t it? Why send it an invitation?’
‘Sorry, Luisa,’ the boy said, his eyes welling up. ‘I was only—’
She scooped him up and he twined his legs around her waist, buried his head in her shoulder. She cradled his head with her hand, rubbed his black hair and clasped him tight as if she would crush him to her. ‘It’s all right, little hen,’ Zachary heard her say, as if to convince herself, but her voice cracked. ‘Everything is all right.’
She turned on her heel then, without a backward glance, and carried the boy with her into the house. As she went, he felt as though a chasm had opened in his chest. He should be angry, but he was not. He was chastened. She fascinated him, just the way she moved and carried herself, and he had wanted to impress her. Not one day passed where he didn’t look out for her, and he fancied he’d caught her watching him, too. But now she had made him feel as if all his training was for nothing. Whatever the small flower was that was growing between them, he had just trampled it.
In another part of the city Don Rodriguez was receiving his orders from Garbali. The men were relaxing over a glass of port in Garbali’s opulent chambers. Although the stuccoed rooms and carved, gilded furniture did not really belong to Garbali. Formerly they had belonged to a rich textile merchant who had just been found guilty of heresy and executed.
Garbali looked quite at home in his borrowed domain. ‘We were worried we could not transport them all, but I’ve just heard the fleet has been secured. Despite the fact we all know the Duke of Medina Sidonia has little enthusiasm for this expulsion. Too many Morisco servants, I suspect. But he’s agreed at last – I believe he was leaned on a little,’ Garbali said.
‘So the “Invincible Armada” has some use after all.’ They laughed companionably, sharing the joke.
‘Now, Lerma recommends that we tell the Moriscos of Seville that the expulsion only applies to those who live within twenty leagues of the sea. We must do as he requests – a security measure. That way, the inland Moors will believe themselves exempt.’
‘And are they?’
‘Of course not. The King wants a total purge. But we need to keep it peaceable if possible. Quash any rebellion before it has a chance to catch fire. Your district will be in the next wave – Murcia, Andalusia and Granada. Oh, and the troublesome enclave at Hornachos. But that need not concern us. Seville is an embarkation point so it will need proper managing. I want you to seal off the roads, and put troops into the surrounding hills.’
‘I’ve planned to make another base in the Roman ruins of the old city,’ Rodriguez said. ‘No one goes there, it will provide shelter for horses, and a place to despatch troops to the coast with efficiency and speed. Quicker than trying to get in or out of the town.’
‘Lerma wants no more prisoners. If they run, they are to be strung up as examples. There is not enough space in San Jorge or the prisons of Seville, and we cannot afford to feed those who won’t go peaceably.’
‘I saw what happened in Denia. We are well-prepared. Not a single Morisco will be left in Seville, you have my word.’
Chapter 39
It was always warm in the pottery, even though the weather was cooler now and winter skies had begun to appear more and more often. Luisa stepped outside and untied her scarf to shake out her hair. She unwrapped her bread and fruit from the cloth and sat on one of the tattered rush stools at the front to watch the world go by.
This time of the day was full of people hurrying home for their noonday rest, but she often preferred to work more hours and bring home a few more maradinos. Besides, she enjoyed her work, the way the mud turned into something so beautiful and durable. She loved painting the dull glazes on to the leathery clay and seeing them transform to something that shone like water and gold when they emerged from the kiln. Papa called it alchemy.
She took out a fruit knife from her pocket and wiped it on her skirt.
‘Luisa?’ The sound of her name made her look up from stoning the peach.
It was Maria. And she wasn’t alone. The Englishman was with her, Mr Deane, a cloth bag held in his arms. Luisa hurriedly wrapped up her meal again and stood up, flustered.
‘Mr Deane was asking where the pottery was,’ said Maria. He said he wanted to speak with you, so I insisted he come right away.’
Mr Deane looked hot, there were two patches of red flaring on his cheeks.
‘Forgive me interrupting,’ he said, ‘but Maria told me you wouldn’t mind. And I wanted to apologize. About yesterday – your brother.’
Maria was reluctant to go. Luisa raised her eyebrows at her, and she said, ‘Oh well, then. I’ll leave you now. Be sure to call in on the way home.’ Luisa knew this meant so she could tell her all about it. They watched her departing back in awkward silence.
‘I’m sorry, please carry on eating. I only wanted to apologize. I should have asked you or your mother if it was all right to teach him. It was thoughtless. And you were right, I shouldn’t encourage him to get into trouble.’
Luisa was unused to apologies. In her family when people had a disagreement, they just ignored it until it faded away. She could think of nothing to say, and he was looking at her so earnestly. She pointed to the other stool. ‘Since you’ve come, won’t you sit a moment?’
He sat, and together they watched the people pass up and down the street. She felt a little absurd, with him, the gentleman, apologizing. Usually it was the other way around.
‘Here,’ he said, ‘I brought you some fruit.’ He opened the bag.
She smiled to herself. Crafty Maria had persuaded him to buy enough oranges and late pears to make preserves for the whole winter. ‘I’ve had some,’ she said. ‘I always call at the fruiteria on the way.’
‘Oh. Well, do you mind if I do?’ She shook her head. So polite, not like the Spanish men. She watched him from the corners of her eyes as he took out three oranges and tossed them up into practised arcs.
Despite herself, she smiled. He was skilful, and juggling was something she did not see every day. ‘Husain would love that.’
‘If I show him this instead of sword skills, am I forgiven?’
‘Maybe.’
He caught them deftly in one hand, then peeled an orange and scooped out the pips, flicking them into the gutter one by one.
‘Do you want to go somewhere with a better view?’ The words tumbled out before she could stop them.
His eyes looked back steadily at her. ‘The view from here is fine.’
She brushed her hair from her face. Was he complimenting her? It made her heart flutter. ‘No, I meant if you don’t know Seville very well, I can show you somewhere with a magnificent view of the city. I have another hour before I need to be back at my bench. Shall I show you?’ She was suddenly shy again.
‘Me too. I have an hour.’ He smiled and put the bag of fruit in his haversack.
‘Come, then.’ She led him through the narrow wynds to the road that ran along the edge of the Guadalquivir. Here houses were being renova
ted, piles of stone stood in the road, wooden scaffolds rose up from the ground, supporting rickety platforms.
Every now and then she would turn to see if he was still following, and he would smile at her. Her heart was racing. What would Mama say if she knew where she was and who she was with? The thought of her disapproval made Luisa feel even bolder.
She stopped outside one of the grandest, most ornate houses, a tall stone building with curved balconies and a heavy baronial front door.
‘My, what a place!’ he said.
‘Yes, it must have been so grand once. But look at it now.’ She tilted her head at the broken railings, the disintegrating rush blinds, the paint curling away in patches from the shutters. ‘They started to renovate it about eighteen months ago, but nobody’s been near it for months. They must have run out of money. Fortunes are lost just as quickly as they are made in Seville. But we can go in, there’s a grand view from the top floor.’
He was staring at her mouth as she talked. It gave her a bubbling feeling inside.
‘In here,’ she said, pushing on a rusting wrought-iron gate. It opened into a yard overgrown with grass and littered with debris of stone and ship’s timbers. A back door was broken up into planks. She pointed.
‘Señorita Ortega! Who do you think I am? A cat? I can’t crawl through that gap. I need to eat less, I think.’
‘It’s not so bad – it opens.’ She dragged on the door which, to his surprise, creaked outwards on bent hinges. ‘It’s the servants’ stairs. Come up.’
She led him up narrow winding stairs, heard his shoes crunching on the layer of grit before they came to the big chamber, high-ceilinged, with a wooden-beamed roof. From there she bounded up the wider staircase to the top.
She was panting a little, exhilarated from the climb and her own daring.
‘How on earth did you find this place?’ He was not out of breath at all.
A Divided Inheritance Page 32
