A Divided Inheritance

by Deborah Swift

  They stood in the bare room, the silence hovering between them. She realized it was the first time she had actually properly looked into Zachary’s face. He appeared strained, his sharp features even sharper.

  ‘I don’t know how I can break this to you after all this time,’ he said, ‘but I feel I must. I will be leaving too, with the Ortegas. I can’t go on deceiving you any longer. I am not your brother. I am no relation to you at all.’

  So he was disowning her completely. She looked at him coldly. ‘I know you dislike me, but you do not need to be so cruel. I suppose you will tell me now that you have decided to sell the business after all. Have I not enough to contend with? I have just lost . . .’ She struggled to compose herself, her voice came out as a croak – ‘everything.’ He started to speak again, but she spoke over him, ‘I have no time for this, if you are going to dredge up our disagreement again. Ayamena needs me. Excuse me.’ She twitched her skirts to the side and rushed headlong towards the door.

  ‘Stop!’ He grabbed her by the shoulder; she twisted away to free herself.

  ‘How dare you!’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ He let go. ‘This wasn’t how I meant it to . . . look, I’m sorry.’ His apology disarmed her. She paused a moment, and he launched in, ‘I’ve lied to you. I need to ask your forgiveness.’

  She turned to face him. She was wary. Why should she trust him? What did he want?

  His face was serious, his hands clasped together before his chest. ‘You’ve got to listen. I meant it. I’m not your brother. I have never been any relation to you at all. I lied to you, and I lied to your father.’ He repeated, ‘Elspet, I’m not your brother.’

  ‘No.’ She refused to countenance it. ‘I don’t believe you. What sort of game is this?’ She put her hands up to her forehead, trying to take it in. ‘Wait,’ she managed, ‘wait whilst I get this straight.’ Her thoughts raced. Zachary stood firm, shoulders hunched, as if expecting a blow to come. A cold realization dawned on her. She stared at him as if she had never seen him before. ‘But if you are not any relation at all . . . then who are you?’

  ‘Nobody. Just myself, the man you see standing here. The man you’ve trained alongside these last months. My mother knew your father. She pretended I was his son because – well, because she had no money to support me. Then your father sought me out, and I—’

  ‘I can’t listen to this any more.’ She backed away towards the stairs. She was almost weeping now with indignation. ‘I don’t understand. Tell me it’s not so.’ But his words had the ring of truth about them. Her hands felt for the support of the wall. She whispered, ‘It’s true. You lying devil, it’s true.’ His face did not deny it. Rage coursed through her. ‘Have you no morals at all? How could you? Pretend all this time, put me through all . . . all of this? And worse, you took my poor father for a fool.’ He was trying to speak, but she cried over him, ‘You know you’ve ruined my life.’

  ‘I’m sorry, I—’

  ‘Your mother was a whore, wasn’t she? That’s what they all said, but I was so naive. I didn’t believe my father could have –’ She couldn’t even finish, it disgusted her.

  ‘She did it for us. For me and my brothers.’ He stepped towards her, his hands in a gesture of open supplication. ‘Your father was a decent man. Out of all of them, he was the only one she trusted, don’t you see?’

  She didn’t see. The past had broken into fragments. ‘All I see is that my father was weak and in thrall to his baser nature. And you and your mother conspired to cheat us. You are a liar and a sham. I can’t believe you could sit at table with us knowing all the time . . .’ Her voice broke with emotion. ‘You deprived me of my father’s company in the last months of his life. For that I cannot forgive you.’ She grabbed her skirts in her fists and hurried down the stairs, and out into the courtyard, where she stopped, eyes streaming.

  She put her hands to her knees and tried to shake away the thoughts that spiralled in her head.

  ‘Mistress Leviston?’ It was Alexander. ‘Is something the matter?’

  ‘No,’ she lied, standing and wiping her eyes with her sleeve. How could she tell him anything? ‘No, I’m just tired, that’s all.’

  He took her arm and led her to the bench in the wall. ‘The way the soldiers came, it was not a pleasant experience. Nicolao and his family did not deserve such treatment.’ Seeing that she was not responding, he pressed her arm and said, ‘Hey, we will all miss our training together, I know. And Señor Alvarez leaving, well, it has been a shock. And I know you will miss him more than most.’

  She winced. Had her feelings for Señor Alvarez been that transparent? She must have looked a complete fool. Alexander continued, ‘He holds you in high regard, that much I know.’ She put on a brave front, and smiled an uncertain smile. ‘That’s better.’ He held out a kerchief and she blew her nose.

  ‘I think I might take a walk,’ she said shakily, ‘to clear my head.’

  ‘Then I’ll accompany you.’

  ‘No, I’d rather go alone, if you don’t mind. I won’t go far, and not into the city.’ She could not wait to get away from under his solicitous gaze.

  He frowned but did not insist further.

  She blundered past the back doors, the scrubby grass where the goats and pigs foraged, along the dusty donkey track in the opposite direction to the city. It was dusk, but the sky smelt of rain. She let herself run like a child, stumbling along the road, pressing her sleeve to her eyes. At the small white-painted church just on the next corner, she pushed open the heavy wooden door and fell into its darkness and shelter. She inhaled the smell of old tallow and limewash and thanked the Lord it was empty.

  A few straw hassocks littered the ground, but when she knelt she found herself unable to pray. Her world was collapsing around her. Her intimations, small though they were, of finding happiness with Señor Alvarez were now as chaff. How stupid she had been to pin her hopes on that. And he was a Muslim. She had never known this most intimate thing about him. It was as though God himself was laughing at her.

  She thought of the sword school, empty of furniture like an abandoned ship, and wondered if she had ever really learned anything there. Whilst she was training every day it seemed to mean something, but now it seemed ludicrous, the thought that she might ever be able to fight like a man. She knew that soon she would have to stand by, and watch helpless as her friend Ayamena, who had only tried to heal and cure, was forced into exile with the rest of the Morisco people.

  She stood and rubbed the dust from her knees. Her mind skittered around Zachary Deane. She did not know now whether to be glad or sorry that he was no kin of hers. How could he have kept up the pretence for so long? It was beyond belief. And yet there had always been something, some inkling that she had known from the beginning. Perhaps it was because of the señor, seeing his confession, his truth about his faith; maybe that had given Zachary the courage to tell the truth. But that did not make it right, what he had done to her, to come into her life like a storm, riding roughshod over them all. And what of Father? It would have broken his heart to know he was not Zachary’s proud parent after all.

  She weighed Zachary’s words, puzzling over them. He said Father had sought him out, and she would like to know more about why her father had done that. The fact was that if she had known he was not her half-brother, she would have contested the will immediately, and she would still be in West View House in England, walking the dogs, and sitting in the evenings with her embroidery. And David Wilmot would even now be sorting the bales in the warehouses and taking a hackney carriage home to his wife. She recalled his white face, the discs on his eyelids. Poor David.

  She walked to the little arched window carved in the wall, and looked out over the bare folds of the landscape. Who would she be if she had never seen Spain? She was a different woman now from the person who left England. She flexed her arms, sinewy now, and interlaced her hands, holding them out before her. They did not feel like embroiderer’s or lace-maker’s
hands. They were strong, the forearms muscled from wielding a sword.

  She felt the raised scar on her cheek. She did not need Wilmot to protect her now, she was as well-versed in the sword as he had ever been. There was nobody she was beholden to either. Not her Father, not Señor Alvarez, not even Zachary Deane. Even if Zachary kept her fortune, at least she would be in control of her own destiny. Señor Alvarez always said that a person was free if they chose to be, no matter what the outside circumstances. That freedom was an inner state, a choice, independent of the world.

  She leaned her elbows on the sill and let her chin rest on her hands; exhaled. She had learned something in her training after all. Nothing more could be taken from her, yet here she was, at home with herself at last. A great peace descended on her. She took out her rosary beads and ran them through her fingers, wonderingly, not in prayer, but in silent gratitude.

  Zachary watched from the back window of the library as Elspet ran out of the back gate, her hands over her face. He cringed. It had not gone well, but then what had he expected? He chided himself. He had not seen her return, and now more signs of unrest were visible all along the city skyline. Plumes of smoke and sudden flashes. The faint sound of shouting and running feet in the streets. He wondered if Elspet had gone back to her lodgings, and what Señor Alvarez would say if she did not come back. Everyone could see he admired her, his eyes lingered on her every time she appeared.

  Señor Alvarez had repaired the wooden bars at the front door to the yard. No one could go out or come in that way. A fine drizzle of freezing rain was falling now, causing the roofs to drip. Alvarez had asked to meet the men in the upstairs room. They sat around on the floor, as there were no chairs. With relief he saw the door creak open and Elspet appear quietly, pale and red-eyed, to join the men in the circle. He moved to one side to make room for her, and she lowered herself down between him and Pedro. He saw Alvarez’s face lighten at her reappearance.

  ‘I’m afraid the training is at an end,’ Señor Alvarez said. ‘I will be leaving Spain with my friends the Ortegas. I do not need to say how much I have valued your commitment to the method of Destreza. But your allegiance to me is finished. You do not have to stay tonight,’ Alvarez said, ‘but if you do, then I have a favour to ask.’

  Alexander looked to Zachary questioningly, but Zachary shrugged.

  ‘You understand, it is not for me,’ he said, ‘but for the Ortegas. Nicolao will not stand a chance on the mercenaries’ galleys. If the Ortegas go to the port then the authorities will take little Husain and put him to slavery in another family, and Luisa . . .’ He paused, unwilling to finish. ‘Please, I understand it would be an act of charity if you do this last thing for me. Help us get to Tavira, tonight, to the boats.’

  Zachary tried to take it in, that they would be leaving so soon.

  ‘I will help. Nothing has changed. I said before, I do not know if I can be of any use, but I will help you,’ Elspet spoke up first.

  ‘Thank you, Mistress Leviston – Elspet – but I’m afraid we cannot do it alone.’

  ‘Did you think I would stay behind?’ Zachary said. Elspet turned and looked openly at him.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said. It was the first sign of approval she had ever shown him. He was surprised how good it felt that she approved of him.

  ‘I’m sorry, señor, but you cannot stop our training now,’ Alexander said. We demand one more night of your instruction.’

  ‘Yes, I haven’t quite got all the moves on paper,’ said Pedro.

  The men laughed.

  ‘You, Etienne?’

  Etienne nodded.

  ‘Good. Then I’ll show you where I have hidden the best weapons.’

  Zachary was sorting and checking the blades, retrieved from the chimney of the upstairs room where they had been wedged tight. Alvarez had had the foresight to hide them well. But Zachary had seen the King’s troops up close now and he was nervous. It was all very well to say he’d volunteer, they were just words. But now the reality was coming closer his mouth was dry as paper. A shiver of apprehension caused him to catch his breath, but if it came to Luisa’s safety, he was ready to fight.

  Etienne Galen seemed nervous too. In the harness room he grumbled to Alexander and Zachary, ‘Why should you put your life at risk for these people? They are servants only, after all. Why do you not refuse? You could leave right now if you wanted.’

  ‘I’m doing it for Señor Alvarez,’ Alexander said, pulling down the bridles from the hooks, ‘because he is my master. If we don’t fight for him as a company, then what was the point of all the training?’

  ‘I paid him, I owe him nothing. The training does not make me his vassal for life.’

  ‘You do what you want,’ Zachary said, ‘but I’m with Señor Alvarez. I admire him. A man should help his friends. And besides, his friends are mine too.’

  Etienne scowled. ‘You are a fool. No Morisco is to be trusted. That is why they expel them. And did not Carranza believe in the purity of the blood?’

  ‘Now just a—’

  ‘We are all Alvarez’s students, not Carranza’s. You lack courage, my friend, that’s all,’ Alexander said.

  Etienne whipped a dagger from his belt, and lunged towards Alexander, but Alexander shot backwards out of reach.

  Zachary grabbed Etienne’s arm. ‘Hey! Hold off now! Either fight on our side, or leave. There’s strife enough outside that gate without having it inside as well. Are you with us or not?’

  At that moment Alvarez reappeared, and Etienne slid out of the stable.

  ‘What’s got into him?’ Zachary whispered.

  ‘Just scared I think,’ said Alexander, ‘like all of us.’

  Zachary strapped the saddlebags on the horses and marvelled at Alvarez’s calm. How had Alvarez anticipated yesterday’s events? He was lucky to have found someone who would loan them a boat. But then Alvarez had that effect on people – only he could have arranged such a thing in this climate of chaos. Even now, he had persuaded Pedro Gutierrez to go out into the city, to bargain with his relations, and quietly replace the essentials they would need for the journey.

  They were to travel in smaller groups rather than in a large obvious convoy. They might slip past the blockades of troops that way. Zachary suspected that it was also so that at least some of the family might make it to the boat alive. He had a bad feeling about this journey. He fingered the lucky piece of Calvary wood that still sat in his pocket, now worn smooth by his fingers.

  Pedro Gutierrez arrived from his home with more provisions and warm blankets. ‘It is all I could bring without causing suspicion,’ he said.

  As they packed the scant bags and rolled blankets, Alvarez gave them all specific roles. The whole party was to dodge the embarkation order by riding out that night to the coast, near Tavira, over the border into what used to be Portugal but was now part of Spain. Señor Alvarez had already written to Señor Quevedo in Tavira at the first sign of trouble. Though Catholics, the Quevedo family, like many Portuguese, were not enamoured of being a part of Spain, nor of their new King Felipe’s methods.

  They were to travel openly on the main thoroughfare, as if they had nothing to hide. The King’s militia would be expecting fleeing Moriscos to avoid the main roads. Etienne Galen was to scout ahead, to look out for trouble on the road, and come back and warn them of troops ahead.

  ‘Why me?’ Etienne asked. ‘Surely Pedro has more local knowledge? I would be better bringing up the rear.’

  Alvarez explained that Pedro was to travel with Ayamena and Husain. He was the least suspicious-looking of them all, being Spanish born and bred, and it would reassure the woman and child to have a true-blood Spaniard with them. Etienne was to do as requested and act as scout. Etienne finally agreed with a surly expression.

  Zachary was nervous that Luisa was to travel first, as Elspet’s lady’s maid, in a carriage and pair. Alexander would accompany the women, riding alongside, with one of the stable lads driving the carriage. Z
achary and Alexander had been sent to procure a carriage and Alvarez had given Zachary coin for the hire of it, and for the journey ahead. He had paid off the driver, telling him he would use his own man, at which Alexander had tipped his hat. Zachary had to suppress a smile. Anyone less like a coachman he could not imagine.

  Now he watched Alexander put the two rangy Spanish bays in traces. It had cost a fine cap of gold, that carriage, but it did look well. Truth be told, he was jealous that Alexander was to go with the ladies. He had not had a moment alone with Luisa all evening, only once, when they passed in the corridor of the stable block. He had grabbed her hand as she passed and pressed his lips to it.

  ‘Don’t forget to wait for me,’ he said.

  ‘I would not go at all, but for you,’ she said, snatching an embrace.

  Alvarez helped Nicolao load the panniers, though Zachary could tell the señor was doing the bulk of the work, and giving Nicolao the easier tasks. He and Nicolao were to travel together, for Alvarez was the best swordsman and Nicolao’s eyesight made him vulnerable. They were to ride on horseback, with a mule carrying small goods and provisions strung behind them. They would wait a few hours after Elspet and Luisa had set off, before departing.

  Zachary himself had been put to bringing up the rear, to check the road behind them, and to gallop on to the party ahead to give warning should anything approach from the rear. It was a role he would usually have relished, the chance to take his own time, to lag a little if he felt like it. But not any more, now he wanted to spend every moment he could in sight of Luisa.

  When Etienne reappeared, Alvarez handed him a roll of parchment. ‘Give this to Señor Quevedo, he knows my signature. We are old friends, and he will give you hospitality until we are all gathered there.’

  Etienne nodded, a slight smile on his lips, and tucked the parchment into his bag. He threw the saddle blanket and saddle over his horse and pushed his sword and buckler to the rear.