A man whistled softly from the track below, a penetrating sound like the shriek of an owl. ‘My husband,’ said Señora Quevedo. ‘It’s time.’
‘Thank you,’ Alvarez said and bowed to her. Elspet saw the flash of his scabbard beneath his cloak, and realized that he, too, was armed.
‘God speed,’ whispered Señora Quevedo, crossing herself firmly.
They followed the sound down towards the beach. Señor Alvarez took hold of Nicolao’s arm and Luisa took Ayamena’s.
‘Maybe they’re already waiting at the boat, Mama,’ she heard Luisa whisper. Luisa, too, was pretending that Zachary and Husain would come; how much harder it must be for her.
They could see nothing for there were no lamps, not a single candle. The wind would have guttered them anyway. But Elspet followed the shuffle of footsteps and the rustle of clothing, the jangle of coins and the clanking of buckets, in the hope of a moment to say farewell to Señor Alvarez and wish him safe passage.
They followed in the tracks of those in front towards the sea, down a steep stony track ravaged by streams of running water. The moon was just setting, three-quarters full, beneath it the tide ballooned dark and menacing. Against a makeshift jetty several small rowing boats dipped and swayed, and further out the dark hulks of bigger fishing smacks could just be seen rising and sinking with the swell. As the group picked their way down the track they were overtaken by more people, all in a hurry to get to the boats, jostling and pushing past with their burdens on their heads.
But Ayamena and Nicolao hung back, looking over their shoulders for any sign of Zachary or Husain. Elspet wished Señor Alvarez and the Ortegas would hurry and get on board. The first boats had already departed and the others were filling fast.
‘You should go with Señor Alvarez now, Mama,’ Luisa said. ‘Take Papa and get on board. I’ll wait for Zachary and Husain.’
‘Yes, Ayamena, time to go.’ Señor Alvarez pressed her arm.
‘No. Look what happened last time. This time we stay together. We go as a family or not at all.’
‘But señora, look at the jetty. Those rocks couldn’t be seen before. The tide has turned and soon the boats will not be able to take you.’ Alexander pleaded with Nicolao, ‘Please, señor, I’ll help you into the next boat.’
But Nicolao shook his head. Elspet looked out to sea; two of the rowing boats were halfway out, the others were over-full already and launching perilously from the jetty. The sandy part of the shore was littered with bags and chattels. The goat was still with them, on its tether, the other end of which was wrapped around the wrist of a lanky youth. Elspet made a count. There were about twenty more people left on the shore besides the Ortegas. Señor Alvarez and her friends would go in the next boat.
It was time for farewells. She touched Señor Alvarez on the shoulder and he turned. ‘He isn’t coming,’ she said.
‘I know,’ he said.
‘Ayamena will break her heart.’
‘At least he tried. Here,’ he pulled out a rolled parchment from a bag slung over his shoulder and passed it over to her. She made to open it, but he closed his hand over hers. ‘Not now. There’s no time. It is personal. It is for your future – a letter of love.’ His dark eyes were serious but tender.
She blinked back tears; she found she could not speak. He pulled her into his arms and pressed his lips on her forehead. She clung to him, feeling his warm back beneath his cloak.
A volley of shot whisked over the tops of their heads. The blast was deafening. Señor Alvarez unsheathed his sword.
‘Get down!’ he shouted.
Elspet was disorientated, but stowed the parchment in her bodice and turned to look to her right. A company of horsemen had appeared on the cliffs. From here, now a pale flush of dawn light had appeared, she could just make out their silhouettes. The upright muskets at their shoulders and the shape of their helmets announced they were armed soldiers.
She fought the urge to run. ‘Señor! Get into the boat!’ she shouted. ‘For God’s sake, get into the boat!’
Over to her left she saw another dark rabble of men pouring down the track. Alexander and Pedro had seen them too and had put themselves between the mob and the fleeing Moriscos.
Her two companions were managing to hold the path, but more people edged around them to the sides. It took a moment before Elspet realized that these others were not militia but looters after the possessions left on the shore. Baskets and bags, sacks and barrels, they were all disappearing into grasping hands, snatched into the blackness. A soft thud behind her. With horror she saw a woman fall, and the man who had clubbed her drag her bundle from her arms. Elspet drew her sword and ran after him, but he scrambled away, out of the reach of her blade.
When she looked again at the shore the youth was tugging at the goat’s halter, whilst a man with a scarf tied over his face was on the other end trying to wrestle it free.
‘Leave it!’ she cried to the youth. ‘Just get aboard!’ The last rowing boat was now sliding up to the jetty.
‘What’s happening?’ she heard Nicolao cry out. ‘Is it Zachary?’
Señor Alvarez took his shoulder to guide him on to the boat. ‘We are leaving. Don’t worry. Ayamena and Luisa are just behind us.’ The others on the shore panicked as more looters poured on to the beach, and they began to run for the jetty. A man stumbled to carry his injured wife to the boat. What had been an orderly procession was now all confusion.
Elspet saw Luisa try to drag Ayamena on to the landing stage. ‘Please, Mama,’ Luisa said. ‘Papa’s on the boat. You have to leave now or he’ll be all alone.’
A dark figure grabbed Luisa’s bag and tried to rip it from her shoulder. Elspet saw him lift a lump of wood as if to strike but she leapt up to him, drew her sword and pushed her blade to his throat.
‘Leave her,’ she spat. The man slunk away. Elspet shoved Ayamena hard from behind. ‘Now go!’ Luisa used the force of Elspet’s push to drag her mother towards the jetty.
Señor Alvarez was standing up in the boat. She could see his white hair, he was shouting and gesticulating and pointing. The two men with the oars were about to push off, when he suddenly dropped down into the boat. Moments later he was back up again pointing.
She heard the clatter of hooves on the path and the looters scattered. Alexander and Pedro pelted down the track towards her.
‘Horses,’ Alexander panted. ‘I think it’s the army. For God’s sake get them on board.’
‘She won’t go,’ shouted Elspet. ‘She’s waiting for Husain.’
‘Then we’ll have to make her. Come on.’ The men helped Luisa drag the protesting Ayamena to the boat.
Luisa climbed in first, and took her father’s arm. ‘Help me, Papa,’ she cried.
Alexander and Pedro lifted her in where Luisa and Nicolao and the señor were ready to receive her. But she was fighting all the way, clawing and beating at them.
When Nicolao and Luisa finally had their arms locked around her, she still struggled. ‘Husain,’ she sobbed, attempting to clamber out, ‘my little one, I haven’t abandoned you. I’ll make them come back for you.’
The oarsman lifted the oar and pushed against the jetty. The boat slid away slowly. Alvarez had his hand lifted in farewell, his gaze fixed on Elspet’s face. Elspet lifted her hand to her mouth intending to blow a kiss, but found that she could not; she saw Luisa’s stricken face, and Ayamena, still reaching for the shore, her mouth open in anguish.
Chapter 51
Husain’s fingers dug into Zachary’s ribs. The horse was tiring, and Zachary’s hands were numb from riding into the rain and wind. Both were unused to the saddle and in the end Zachary had to prop Husain between his arms instead of him riding pillion, so he could support him upright.
They lost the route to Tavira and had to double back, but when they finally clattered up to the house and the señora said the boats had left, that they were too late, Husain turned grey and silent.
‘Don’t give up yet, l
ittle soldier,’ Zachary said. He pictured Luisa’s face. He had made a promise. He gritted his teeth and hoisted Husain back up again and galloped towards the shore. From the cliffs he heard gunfire, and saw its flash light up the sky.
Trouble. He spurred his horse on, only slowing as he came to the steep stony track to the harbour. Below him the lights of large fishing vessels keeled at anchor in the distance, but a fishing smack nearer to the shore caught his eye. By the jetty a rowing boat was pushing off, rocking on the swell. There were still dark shapes of people on the jetty milling about, some men, and a woman. He clapped his legs hard against the horse’s sides.
On the way down the horse shied and sidestepped to avoid people running up, carrying bundles and bags, and a man dragging a young goat behind him. He wasn’t sure who these people were and searched their faces, but they put their heads down and scurried past. As he arrived on the shore with Husain, the horse floundered as the stony surface suddenly gave way to soft sand.
‘Mama!’ Husain’s thin voice cried. He seemed to have come to life.
Zachary tried to hold the squirming boy still. A shot rang out and he lost control of his horse, which bucked and stumbled sideways. From behind him, another shot – this time the retort too close for comfort. The horse bolted forwards into the sand. Zachary clutched tight to Husain, the reins flapped loose. A jerk, and a foreleg gave way under the horse and it fell, pitching them both on to the ground. By instinct his body wrapped round Husain as they hit the ground. They rolled over and over. A stone cracked against his ear, dirt and sand filled his mouth. He must shield Husain; from the timing of the shots, there must be at least two arquebusiers.
But Husain slipped from his grip like a rabbit and ran towards the boat, screaming again, ‘Mama!’ Zachary’s ears were buzzing but he thought he heard someone cry, ‘Husain!’
Husain ran down the sand. A shot exploded in the dirt behind him, but he leapt forward and kept running pell-mell towards the boat, arms flailing.
Zachary scrambled to his feet to look over his shoulder for the source of the shot. Amid a cloud of white smoke, five armed militia men were bearing down on them from the bank. Another ball slammed into the ground, just at Husain’s heels, sending a shower of sand into the air.
He’d never make it. Zachary launched himself after Husain, ran as if a fuse had been lit inside him. His feet turfed up wedges of sand. He stretched out his hands to scoop up the terrified boy. He heard another crack and felt a searing pain in his left shoulder. But they were only yards from the jetty. The boat was just off shore. Everyone on board was shouting, he could see their mouths open and close. His legs were slowing but he was aware of the tall white-haired figure of Alvarez, standing in the stern waving. He fixed his eyes on Ayamena, her arms reaching out for her son. Her mouth was shouting too, but her words were lost in the wind and the noise of hooves behind him.
‘Help us!’ he yelled, holding the boy beneath the armpits.
The figures on the jetty dived off to take cover. Another shot, and this time he felt the shot graze past his temple as if in some other slower time, the flesh of his ear tearing from his scalp as the red-hot metal seared its path towards the boat.
The force of its passage spun him to his knees. Instinctively, he put his hand to his head and felt blood and bone. A splash. Husain whimpered on the deck before him, his eyes wide with shock. Zachary staggered upright and with the last of his strength lifted Husain to the edge of the jetty. In his blurred vision he saw hands paddling frantically over the edge of the boat. They were coming back for him. The scene before him began to swim.
He made an almighty effort and thrust Husain forward into his mother’s arms. He thought he caught a glimpse of Luisa stretching out to him, when nausea engulfed him. His knees hit the deck with a crack. He rolled off the jetty into the soft sand, and moaned in pain. The sky was black now, the moon eclipsed by clouds. He heard shouting from behind, and the soft plash of oars. He hoped to God they would make it. God speed, Luisa, he thought, I’m sorry I let you down.
He could not fight any more. He was as good as a corpse lying there. And as he watched, the sky slowly turned white as snow.
Elspet felt the thud of her own heart beating. She dared not come out from under cover. Zachary was injured on the planks above, that much she knew. A blast of fire and suddenly he toppled into the sand beside her, groaning in pain. His face was a mass of grazes, the side of his head seemed to be pouring blood. He rolled over and lay still. She scrambled round to see the injury to his shoulder and saw with relief it was only a flesh wound.
‘Zachary.’ She shook him. A hiss through the air and then a splash. So they were still firing at the boat. She sent up a silent prayer.
Another splash, but then silence.
Zachary came to, his face gaunt with pain. ‘Luisa?’
She waited, straining for the sound of another shot. When it did not come she said, ‘They all made the boat, Zachary. You did it.’ She shook him by the shoulder.
‘The whole family?’
‘All on that last boat.’
She turned his head, and saw his ear was mostly gone, from which the dark seep of blood dripped through his hair and on to the grey sand. She remembered Sister Josefa, the Barefoot Beata, and tried to stay calm.
‘The soldiers?’ he managed to say.
‘Hush, I need to listen.’ It fell ominously silent then, except for the suck and swell of the sea. She did not know if the soldiers had gone or not. Somewhere a horse neighed and then she saw it – it was riderless, trotting down the beach, reins flapping. Shock set in. Her teeth chattered with fear. ‘Oh, Mother Mary,’ she said under her breath. ‘Oh, Mother Mary.’ Over and over, as if it would help. She thought she heard another shout, but could not be certain. Her hands shook.
She peered out from under the jetty. A helmeted soldier holding an arquebus out before him approached. Dread enveloped her. He saw her movement and stopped warily in his tracks, paused to reload his weapon.
‘Get under cover,’ she hissed to Zachary, but her words sounded weak and he did not respond. ‘Please, try to move.’ She tried to pull him further under the shelter of the jetty, but he was heavy and she only managed to drag him a few inches. She saw the shaky flare of the flint light up the metal breastplate and the soldier lift the gun to his shoulder to take aim.
A blast and a bright white light. She threw herself to the ground, hands over her head, as shrapnel fell from the sky. The echo ricocheted round the harbour, splinters of metal rained on to the planks above them. When the noise died away she raised her head. In place of the soldier was a standing cloud of foul-smelling smoke.
There was a dark shape lying on the sand surrounded by debris. What was it? She could not see the soldier any more. Just empty space. It was a moment before she realized – his gun must have clogged and exploded.
A second soldier ran towards the body through the smoke, but stopped short, staring. He looked up to the sky, and crossed himself. In a panic in case he should see them, she tried to drag Zachary away from that place, but he was too heavy and he groaned in pain.
‘Leave me,’ he moaned. ‘Hide somewhere. Save yourself.’
The second soldier turned and ran back towards the horses. She tracked his direction and saw that over by the wall Alexander and Pedro had taken on the rest of the militia men, who had abandoned the arquebus, and were fighting on foot. The clash of their weapons reminded her with sudden poignancy of the training yard.
There were three still fighting. Another lay motionless on the ground near the horses. The fifth soldier’s distorted shape was like a boulder in the sand. Beyond him she could see Pedro was struggling against his adversary. He was a smaller man than the soldier, and the soldier wore a metal breastplate. Pedro was tiring, his cuts had little effect on the metal, and now he was backed up against the harbour wall. She took a dagger from her belt. Señor Alvarez was gone. Zachary would probably bleed to death. If Pedro and Alexander were killed, then s
he had no doubt they would kill her too, or worse.
She ran along the edge of the harbour wall, head down, until she was behind the soldier. Pedro saw her approach and she caught his eye. In this small moment of communication they understood each other. He paused in his attack for a fraction. She waited until the soldier raised his arm for his final cut and then she thrust hard and deep under his arm. She retreated; the dagger was still stuck there, its hilt sticking from under his arm.
The soldier blundered backwards, confused, and her sword flew like a bird from her scabbard. He turned to face her, eyes wild as a stuck bull. She engaged his weapon and he relaxed momentarily, seeing a woman standing there. Nimbly, she stepped around his blade and made a strike to the neck.
Taken aback he parried her blade clumsily to the side, before making a swipe for her head. Only now did it occur to her that she was fighting for her life. The thought hit her like an arrow and made her legs buckle under her; her skirts tangled in her feet as she struggled to move away.
The man grinned and raised his sword to smite downwards. Over his shoulder she saw Pedro lunge, bring his blade around from behind and pull sharply back. The sword glinted against his neck as the soldier’s blade faltered in mid-air then dropped from his grasp.
Pedro let the body slump into the sand and sprinted away. Elspet stood over it, unsure what to do. Pedro was running towards Alexander, who was just holding his own against the other two men, by dancing out of their range. Their weapons were shorter and heavier, but there were two of them and they were herding Alexander backwards into a corner. The shorter one heard something and looked behind where Pedro was approaching, but she saw his eyes taken by something behind her.
‘Watch out!’ he yelled to his thick-set companion.
She swivelled to look.
Zachary had rolled over and was hauling himself with his one good arm over the sand to reach an arquebus where it had fallen. The soldier sprang towards them but Pedro was nearer and leapt into his path.
A Divided Inheritance Page 45
