by David Penny
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Thomas sat on the edge of the wide bed and held Lubna’s hand, staring at the dried blood which still stained his own. She continued to sleep, kept unconscious by a mixture of poppy and herbs Belia had made up.
“I have to offer you an apology,” said Samuel. He stood at a table beneath the window, washing his hands in a bowl of water. Only the three of them remained. Theresa had been here but had left to take care of Will, who must be in fear his mother was dead. It had been a close call.
“You need offer me nothing,” Thomas said without moving his gaze from Lubna. “She would not have made it without your help.”
“That is not true, and you know it. I told you, Ramon was the better surgeon, but you have demonstrated my words a lie today. I know of nobody who could have done what you did.”
“I could not save my child,” Thomas said, hearing the catch in his voice and not caring. His soul was rasped raw with grief. The child had been a girl. A tiny, perfect girl.
“You had a choice. It was one or the other. And you chose right. Lubna can give you more children, God willing.”
“Perhaps, perhaps not. There was damage, and I am sure I inflicted more when I stemmed the bleeding. We won’t know, not for a while.”
“Women lose babies all the time,” said Samuel. “And it was not so far along.”
“She lived,” Thomas said. “For a while my daughter lived!”
“You know it was impossible,” said Samuel. He stood at the table, awkward, and Thomas knew the man wanted to leave but could find no excuse to do so. “You saved Lubna’s life today. Hold that close and carry it forward. Her life continues. Cherish her soul.”
“I do. You can go if you want, she is out of danger now.”
“Send for me if you need anything, anything at all.”
Thomas heard Samuel’s footsteps fade. He leaned over and kissed Lubna’s brow, her lips. He wanted to wash his hands but dare not release her for fear she would slip away if he did. He wondered if he could ever release her, and knew he did not want to.
“Wife,” he whispered, his forehead against hers.
“Husband,” she replied, her voice a breath against his cheek, so light he wondered had he heard right. And then footsteps approached and he had to let go, knowing what was to come. He steeled himself to show no weakness.
A paige entered the room, his eyes avoiding the woman on the bed, skittering away from the tiny linen wrapped bundle set in a corner. “I have a message from the Queen.” He held out a parchment, a red wax seal on one side and Thomas walked to him and took it. The paige turned and scuttled away as rapidly as he could without losing face.
Thomas broke the seal and opened the parchment, wondering how Isabel would frame it. He read the words then tossed the letter to one side and returned to Lubna. The letter said nothing he had not expected. He knew as soon as Isabel screamed to get Lubna away from her. Isabel carried a child of her own, a future prince or princess, and she feared being tainted by the child Lubna had lost. It was foolish superstition, but Thomas had seen it before. The rearing of children was considered a matter of God and luck, but mostly luck. Anything that tainted that luck was to be shunned. As he and Lubna were to be shunned.
When more steps sounded he wiped tears away from where they had fallen on Lubna’s face, rose and firmed his shoulders. But it was no party of soldiers arriving to escort him from the palace. Instead it was all the people he loved most in the world come for him and Lubna, and his chest hitched as Jorge embraced him. Despite the letter it was the Queen, he knew, who had allowed this, who had sent for them all.
“Where is she?” said Olaf, and at first Thomas thought he meant Lubna, who lay in plain sight, then it came to him and he nodded at the linen-wrapped bundle in the corner.
Olaf went across, hesitated. “Is she…?”
“She is beautiful,” Thomas said, and Olaf nodded, as if that was only to be expected.
Olaf knelt and unwrapped the linen, stared for a long time at what it contained. Theresa, Thomas knew, had washed the tiny infant before wrapping her.
“A girl,” Olaf said. “I would have liked to be morfar to a girl. She looks like Lubna.”
“Yes,” Thomas said, “she does.”
“Did you give her a name?”
“No.”
“You must. Wherever her soul is bound she will need a name to be called by.”
“Then Lubna must name her.”
“She must be named now,” said Olaf, “you know she must. She cannot be left like this. She will need to be…” He frowned.
“In the way of Islam,” Thomas said. “I have no God, but Lubna does. We will take her outside the city and make a pyre for her. You and I, Olaf, for it should be us.”
“And me,” said Jorge.
“And me,” said Belia.
Thomas nodded. It was as he expected. “And I will think of a name, a Moorish name. Now we have to leave, for I am banned from the palace.” He glanced at Jorge. “I assume not from your house?”
“What do you think?”
Olaf re-wrapped the still, tiny infant in the linen and picked her up. He brought the burden to Thomas and held it out.
“I will carry Lubna,” Thomas said.
“Don’t be a fool. Take your daughter and let us get out of this place.”
Thomas took the bundle. Olaf leaned over and picked up his own daughter as though she weighed nothing at all.
“Will you ever return to the palace?”
Thomas glanced at Jorge as he sipped at the Portuguese wine, sweet in his mouth. Columb had been right, it was delicious.
“If she needs me, yes, but Isabel is recovered now. She is no fool though, she knows who is the best physician in Spain.”
“And failing his presence she will send for you?”
Thomas pulled a face and glanced to where Lubna slept on a makeshift bed in the wide terrace room because he could not bear to think of her alone upstairs. And he needed company, a reminder life would continue for those remaining. They had walked together through the city to the Macarena gate and beyond, paying a boatman to carry them across to the far bank. Thomas chose the spot, and Lubna, carried by her father because she could not be left behind even if she dozed for most of the journey, nodded her assent.
They settled on a small clearing in a stand of mixed pine and oak. Olaf laid Lubna on the ground so she could lean against a tree, her dead daughter beside her on one side, Belia on the other, while the men went to gather wood.
Afterward, when it was done, they waited while the ashes cooled, then scraped them together into a leather sack. Part way across the river Thomas tipped the contents into the Guadalquivir, ignoring the protests of the boatman.
“Goodbye, Bahja,” he said. It was a good name, a name chosen by Lubna, to mean beauty. Thomas kissed his fingers and dipped them into the water. Lubna had fallen into a doze again, cradled against Olaf’s broad chest, but he woke her so she could watch the final journey of their daughter who would now never be, never grow to giggle in her father’s arms or fall in love or raise children of her own. An entire future, gone.
“Bye bye,” said Will, cradled by Jorge, as much a father to him as Thomas.
Now the day beyond the terrace was fading, lamps being lit on ships’ rigging. One of the caravel’s slipped its moorings and set a small sail, men pushing it out from the dock with long poles until the relentless current of the river caught and carried the ship south to the sea. Thomas wondered if it was Columb, but was not curious enough to follow the thought or rise and shade his eyes from the setting sun to see.
“Go to her.” A faint voice. Lubna. And this time Thomas did care.
He rose and went to kneel beside her, took her hand in his. Her eyes were closed but as he waited they opened, the effort almost too much. “Go to Isabel and tell her I will stay away. Explain to her what you know and ask for help. Ask Fernando if she will not, for he will offer it. Finish this thing, Thomas.
I am not going to die, but I will be of no help for some time, so go, do what you are good at and find that man. For me. For Bahja. I want no more death and you are the only man who can stop it.” Her eyes closed, the speech exhausting her, and within moments she had fallen asleep.
Thomas stayed where he was, unwilling to release her, but he knew she was right. He could not brood around the house for a week or more while she recovered. Life had to go on. Work too. And this was another kind of work he was good at. He had been reluctant to accept such when four years before the Sultan had asked him to find another killer, but as time passed Thomas came to recognise an ability within himself. Only when he accepted it could he learn the skills needed. He would never stop learning, he knew, and that was just and proper, but he could end this thing if he set his mind to it. That he also knew.
He rose and returned to the table, pushed the remaining half bottle of wine across to Jorge, who pushed it back.
“When do we start?” he asked.
“Today.”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Isabel would not see them, which came as no surprise. The sight of Fernando striding from the palace was. A half dozen soldiers accompanied him, but he waved them back and walked to where Thomas and Jorge stood in the soft dark of evening.
“She will come around,” he said. “She fears for the child she carries. It is superstition, I know, but I will not go against her wishes, Thomas.”
“I understand. Has she spoken to you of the other matter I pursue?”
“The deaths? Yes.” Fernando gave a tight smile. “It seems to me that death is your constant companion,” and then, aware of what he had said held up a hand. “I apologise. I did not mean it to sound as it does. Forgive me, Thomas.” He stepped close and embraced him, the King of Spain standing in a cobbled square with his subjects passing by, unaware of what was happening within feet of them, and as he returned the embrace Thomas knew that both Isabel and Fernando were as Gods to the population, who saw only the pomp and glory but not the person hidden behind it. Now, here, dressed as a common soldier, Fernando went unnoticed.
“There is nothing to forgive, your grace.”
Fernando scowled. “Not here, Thomas. Not now.” He clapped Jorge on the back. “Does your big friend know of somewhere we can get food and wine, preferably with pretty women to serve it?”
“I am sure he does.”
“You know me so well,” said Jorge, leading the way across the square, but not far. Even Jorge knew he could not take Fernando to some of the places they had visited.
“So,” said Fernando, once they were settled with cups of wine and food on its way, “what would you have discussed with my wife?” He took a swallow of the wine and made a face.
“It gets better with practice,” said Jorge, sampling his own and also finding it lacking.
“First, I want your generosity to my friends extended until Lubna recovers. She needs her father beside her, and I give my word on Olaf’s good behaviour.”
Fernando smiled. “I like the big man. I may have to kill him one day but I will do so with regret.”
“He said the same about you,” Thomas said.
“It is agreed,” said Fernando. “He has safe passage in Spain for as long as he needs. The others who came with him, too. I hear Martin has grown besotted with one of them.”
“People do,” Thomas said.
“That was too easy. What else?”
“The killings.” Thomas leaned over the table, then had to sit back as a serving girl put bowls of meat, rice and sauce on the table. “I have discovered the name of the culprit. He is protected from me for the moment, but not from you. Two dozen good men will flush him out and we can all get on with our lives.”
“Two dozen? Are you sure he is the one you seek?”
“He admitted as much.”
“Why is he doing it?” asked Fernando as he reached for a slice of pork. He dipped it into the spiced sauce and popped it into his mouth.
“That I don’t know, not yet. He cuts the bodies with care, not anger. I suspect he is looking for something, but what it is I have no idea. No two cuttings are the same.”
“Has Samuel seen the bodies?”
“He has not. Would it help if he did?”
Fernando shook his head. “I don’t know, but he is a good physician and may have an opinion.”
“Then it is a pity the bodies are gone,” Thomas said.
“You lost them?”
“Olaf disposed of them while we were chasing the suspect. He did not know. It was–” Thomas broke off. He had been about to mention the attack on the house, but was sure Fernando knew nothing of it, and it might only cause more trouble if he did.
“That was foolish of him,” said Fernando, his fingers trying to decide between a piece of lamb and a tiny songbird steeped in wine. “Yes, I can give you soldiers. Three dozen might be better than two, but why so many? Do you have a name for the man?”
“We do. Friar Ramon Braso. He lives in the heart of a district of shacks beyond the eastern wall. Jorge and I followed him there. We barely escaped with our lives. Yes, three dozen will do it. My thanks.” When Thomas looked up from selecting a chunk of beef Fernando was staring at him.
“Friar Ramon?”
Thomas nodded. Beside him Jorge had fallen into conversation with the serving girl.
“I know him. Are you sure he is your killer? Samuel recommended him to us as a second physician for the palace and I met the man. It was over a year ago now, but there was something unsettling about him I didn’t like. Even so he did not strike me as someone who would kill in cold blood.”
“You have heard the city talk of the Ghost, have you not?”
“I have. Are you saying Friar Ramon is this mythic Ghost?”
Thomas pushed down the frustration that threatened to spill from him. Fernando led a life detached from his people however much he tried to make it appear otherwise. He had not experienced the terror on the streets at the mention of that word, a terror even greater than that wrought by the plague.
“Not mythic, and he has as good as admitted the acts to us.”
“Then you should speak with Isabel’s confessor. He and Ramon were close at one time and for all I know may still be.”
“When we have captured him he will tell us his true purpose,” Thomas said. “If not I will talk with Talavera then. That is who you mean, is it not? We have exchanged words before.”
“My wife consults him on all religious matters. I’ll arrange it for tomorrow evening if you do not catch your man.”
“We will catch him,” Thomas said, “with the help of your soldiers. This time he will not escape justice.”
“So, what now?” Jorge stood beside Thomas on the edge of the city as Fernando’s soldiers passed them, some muttering about a waste of time, others grinning because they had managed to ferment a little trouble. “Has he fled the city?”
“His work here is not concluded,” Thomas said. “But he’ll be more careful now.”
“Then we’ve lost him. I may go back to Gharnatah with Olaf and Helena. This town stinks, and every day I wake healthy and sane comes as a surprise.”
“If Lubna is sufficiently healed I will send her with you. Fernando has left his invitation open-ended for now. Stay, help me catch the man, and we can all go home together. I’ll even ask Columb if we can sail with him to Malaka, it’s only half the distance to travel from there, and the scenery is better. We will be in al-Andalus the entire way.”
“I’ll think on it.”
“Has Belia told you her decision yet?”
“No, but she will come.”
“I tried to offer her some encouragement,” Thomas said.
“And despite that I still think she will come.”
“What will you do with the Nubians?”
“Belia is open minded,” said Jorge.
“Do you fuck them all?” Thomas asked.
“Not at the same time, but yes, I have f
ucked them all.” He glanced at Thomas. “Is there anything wrong with that? I do not force myself on them, they come to me willingly, but I would give them all up if Belia asks.”
“You fall in love too easily.”
“You say that as if it is a bad thing, Thomas. What do we do now?”
“You go back to the house. I come with you to check on Lubna. Then I visit Isabel’s confessor. If he is still in contact with Ramon then he might know where the man has gone to ground.”
“Will he tell you if he does? I suspect they share a common fanaticism.”
They turned and entered the city gate. Ahead the soldiers maintained their discipline as they headed toward the barracks.
At Jorge’s house Lubna was sitting up sipping at a bowl of broth. When she had taken enough Thomas carried her to another room and examined her. The bleeding had stopped, and the weals from Thomas’s application of hot iron were healing. Lubna was young, her body capable of miracles. Whether she could carry another child was something they would have to wait and see about, but she was already talking of wanting to try again. “Just not for a week or two,” she said with a smile, and Thomas knew she truly was getting better.
“Where is Belia?” he asked, taking her weight on his arm. She had insisted on walking back to the large room.
“She said she needed to go to her house. She wants to make up some tinctures to speed my recovery. She also said she must visit the market now all these people are in the house.”
“And Olaf eats enough for three men,” Thomas said.
“I am pleased he came, even if he did have to witness our loss.”
“His too,” Thomas said. “Will loves his morfar a great deal, but I fear Olaf will turn him into a berserker yet.”
“No, he is his father’s son, too,” said Lubna, and Thomas wondered whether she spoke the truth or not, still uncertain. There were times when he watched Will and saw a gesture that could have been made by him, others when he seemed a stranger. But Thomas gave little thought anymore to whether he was Will’s true father or not. The boy was his son.
