The Inquisitor (Thomas Berrington Historical Mystery Book 5)

by David Penny

  “I… no, nothing more important. But I must be back by nightfall.”

  “If she decides she doesn’t want you, catch us up, we will not be going fast, not with all of this to carry. Helena has purchased many clothes in the Spanish fashion. She says they will prove useful.”

  “Not for many years, I hope,” Thomas said.

  “We shall see. Come in, we are about to share a meal before leaving. Lubna was asking where you were.”

  “How is Belia? Is there any permanent damage, do you know?”

  “You ask me? I take it you are not going to eat with us, then?”

  “I have something to do. I’ll be back before you leave.”

  “At least go to see Lubna,” said Olaf, his tone cold. “Your wife, Lubna, in case it has slipped your mind.”

  “I will–” Thomas was about to make another excuse, but knew it would be one too far even for himself to accept. He nodded and walked inside, his arm brushing Helena, who refused to move out of the way.

  In the wide ground floor room the scent of fine spices filled the air. Belia was at the fire and Thomas went to her first, touched her shoulder so she started before recognising him.

  “Sorry, I didn’t think,” he said.

  A smile. “It is all right. It will take time, but I know these things I feel now will fade eventually. You are staying to eat, aren’t you?”

  Thomas shook his head. “I wanted to know how you were.”

  “I am well.” Her eyes flickered away from his.

  “Did they…” He sighed, wondering why this could be so hard when he had had the same conversation a thousand times before. “Did they hurt you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Badly?”

  “Yes.”

  “When you feel up to it, and she too, you must ask Lubna to examine you.”

  “She has already done so, and applied some salve. She says I am bruised, and there is some bleeding, but it will pass. It is not my body that will remember what they did.”

  “And Jorge?”

  She touched Thomas’s face with the palm of her hand, smiled. “Jorge loves me still. Did you think he might not?”

  “No, not for a moment.”

  Belia lifted on her toes and kissed Thomas on the cheek. “Join us soon. He is not complete without you, nor you without him.”

  Thomas nodded and turned to find Jorge staring at them.

  “If you have quite finished kissing my woman, you have your own trying to descend the stairs.”

  Thomas moved quickly, catching Lubna at the top step as she tried to decide on the best approach. He avoided her having to make a decision by scooping her up and descending with her giggling against his chest. He carried her all the way into the big room and set her on her preferred cushions, kneeling beside her.

  “You are not coming, are you,” she said.

  “I cannot. Not yet.”

  She touched his face. “I understand. You must do what you have to. Catch this man and finish it for good.”

  “The Queen demands my presence,” Thomas said.

  “Then use that as your excuse. I will wait for you in our home, and by the time you return my body will be healed and we can try again.” She leaned her forehead against his. “I await that day with much impatience, for I am feeling stronger every day, and I miss your touch on me.”

  “As do I.”

  “Really? You like touching me? Where?”

  Thomas kissed her and rose to help the others.

  Thomas sat on the edge of the lead cart beside Lubna, her hand in his. Olaf urged the mules through crowds which had thickened. Jorge sat on the cart behind with Belia beside him. Helena, as scented and perfect as ever, sat with Will on her lap, the two of them talking softly together, the sight of them stirring something both tender and worrying within Thomas.

  He sat beside Olaf, his eyes scanning every face that came toward them, but Ramon was not among them. No doubt he would be selecting his next set of victims after being interrupted.

  Eventually the San Roque gate appeared and they passed through to a near empty roadway that snaked away north-east. Thomas was tempted to stay where he was on the cart but knew such a dream impossible. When the carts reached a ford across the river Guadaria he touched Lubna’s cheek and jumped to the ground, his feet sinking into mud hidden by long grass. He moved to a higher tump and watched as the carts rocked through the crossing, waiting as they climbed the shallow slope beyond. Only when he could see them no more did he turn and re-enter the city.

  Noon had come and gone, but sunset was several hours away yet, and Thomas wanted to walk the streets in search of Friar Ramon Braso. Not that he expected to stumble across him. Sevilla was a large city and the crowds were dense that afternoon, the stink of them tainting the air. The only respite came when a plague cart trundled along causing everyone to draw back into side streets.

  There were more carts now, and had been for several days. The plague had peaked in the Spring and then waned, but never left completely. There was always the danger it would return, and it had. Thomas considered demanding every cart man remove his peaked hood so he could ensure Ramon did not hide beneath, but a lethargy filled him and he began to wonder if he cared anymore. Unless it was that he was alone again, as he had been when he arrived. Every moment took his friends further away. Every moment stretched into an empty future before he would see them again. He smiled at Lubna’s returning sense of fun, smiled at himself for not seeing it when she first came to his house. She had been an assistant then, a servant to her sister Helena, who still shared his roof and his bed. It had been so long ago, with so many deaths between then and now, it might have been someone else’s life.

  Thomas slapped his own face, drawing looks from the people flowing along the main thoroughfare, and firmed his shoulders. There would be time for rest later, after Ramon was caught. Which it did not appear would be today.

  In the palace courtyard carts were drawn up on two sides, their beds being loaded with provisions. An enclosed carriage sat ready for horses to be hitched and men moved around, each with a job to do. Thomas started along the corridor, intending to speak with Samuel if he could find him, but a passing servant stopped and told him the Queen wanted him. The Queen wanted him now.

  Thomas had been hoping to catch up on some sleep before he was called for, but knew the request could not be ignored. In the royal quarters more servants carried trunks through the rooms, no doubt destined for one of the carts outside.

  Fernando stared out of a window toward the gardens. When Thomas went to his side he saw three peacocks displaying.

  “There must be a lesson in those birds,” said Fernando. “All that beauty and they make such terrible eating. I would prefer a more modest appearance and a tastier meat.” He glanced at Thomas. “What have you done with your day? Did you speak with Mandana? When he asked for you he did not sound angry. Have the pair of you made your peace? It would please us both, for we are becoming used to your presence.”

  “I should have visited Isabel by now.”

  “She is expecting you in the next room. A servant came to say you were on your way.”

  Thomas turned, surprised when Fernando stayed where he was.

  Isabel sat at a desk reading papers, but set them aside when she saw Thomas and rose to her feet. She came and stood before him, looking up, her eyes tracking his face. Thomas reached out and touched her neck, feeling the strong, slow beat of her heart.

  “What is all the loading of carts?” He asked. “Are you leaving?”

  “We are all leaving, Thomas. Events have changed. The pestilence grows more gruesome by the day and Fernando insists we leave Sevilla for somewhere safer.”

  “There is no escaping the plague.”

  “You have.”

  “As have you. And I did not escape it. I fell ill as a boy but recovered. I believe it is that which protects me now. And keeping myself clean. Plague is spread by dirt, I am sure.”

  “Then I w
ill also keep myself clean.”

  “And away from your subjects.”

  “That I cannot promise.”

  “Where do you go?”

  “North, where it is cooler.”

  “It will be cooler in Sevilla in a few months.”

  “Where we feel safer, then. You have an answer for me?”

  Thomas looked toward the window, wanting to say one thing, knowing he must say another. “You will have me until your child is delivered safe.”

  Isabel smiled. “So, the rest of the year?”

  “Yes. You can have the balance of the year. Then I must return to my family.”

  “Or they to you.”

  Thomas frowned. “Luba is banned from your presence, and it is she I will be with more than anyone else.”

  “I may have been hasty, Thomas. I apologise. My reaction was… intemperate, and foolish. I have sought advice and been assured the loss of a child in one woman cannot be transmitted to another. Is she still in the city?”

  “They left this morning,” Thomas said.

  “But could be caught up with?”

  The idea was tempting, but Thomas wanted Lubna away from Sevilla and this Catholic King and Queen as much as the Queen wanted to leave Sevilla behind. Three months. He could manage three months alone. And he still had unfinished business.

  “When does your party depart?”

  “In the morning.”

  “A man continues to walk these streets, and I would see him behind bars before I leave.”

  “You have tonight then, Thomas, for when we go you come with us, whether he is caught or not. I have sent a note telling Mandana the man is to be captured if he shows his face in the castle. I can do no more.”

  “My thanks, your grace.” It was not enough, but Thomas knew he could not say so.

  Isabel made a moue of distaste but let his use of formality pass on this occasion.

  I walk on egg shells, Thomas thought, one moment best friend to this couple, the next a vassal to be ordered at their whim. It was the way of power, he knew, glad he had never had such bestowed upon him.

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Had Thomas ridden alone he could have gone north from the city and reached their destination of Alcala de Henares within a week, but of course he could not. Instead he travelled in the company of a train of carts and coaches which would take a circuitous route so that the population of towns and cities might witness the glory of their rulers.

  For the first two days Thomas roamed several miles in advance, following the ridges and high ground, his head turned south to where the mighty Guadalquivir was a constant companion. His eyes tracked the undulating land beyond the river in search of another party of travellers. There had been a time or two he thought he could make something out, but there was no certainty. Plumes of dust marked where horses rode, but distance made individuals impossible to see. The only evidence was the dust hanging in the air, drifting east in a steady wind. By the third day he knew Lubna and the others would be half way to their destination and fell back to ride among the others, Martin de Alarcón and Fernando, at least a hundred soldiers and half that number of priests, many regaled in red robes. Thomas had hoped to leave the Inquisition behind, but it appeared at least a goodly portion of the Inquisition had decided to travel with them, no doubt sure that wickedness existed throughout Spain. Each evening he ate in the tent erected for Isabel and Fernando, ensuring that the rigours of the journey were not too much for her, before unrolling his own bedsheet and staring up at the sky until sleep came as a blessed relief from his misery. Samuel accompanied the party but was rarely seen, there only as insurance should something befall Thomas.

  On the fourth night, half a day from Qurtuba where they would stay a week, Theresa came to him. She drew back his blanket and slipped beneath. When Thomas startled awake with her hands already on him he pushed her away, discovered her nakedness and recoiled.

  “Get out!”

  “I know you want me.”

  “Go to Martin, he is a man who might welcome your advances, for I do not.”

  “I do not love Martin.”

  “You do not love me. God’s teeth, you will be with your husband tomorrow.”

  “Which is why I am here tonight. I may never have the chance again. Once, Thomas, once is all I ask.” Her hands grew busy again, tugging at the ties on his clothing, and he rolled away and stalked into the darkness. In the morning she glanced at him form within her coach, a knowing smile on her face.

  On the third night after their arrival in Qurtuba, as he slept in the room assigned him in the palace, she came to him again, but this time she had no designs on his body.

  “There is something you have to see,” she said, leaning over him, fully dressed this time.

  “What hour is it?”

  “It will soon be dawn, but this cannot wait.”

  Thomas washed hands across his face. “Turn your back, then.”

  Theresa laughed but did as requested. Thomas dressed quickly, and it was only as he pulled on his boots he saw the darkened glass of the window created a perfect mirror where Theresa had been able to watch the entire proceedings.

  “Is it far?”

  “It is within the cathedral.”

  So not far then. The city was familiar to Thomas from his visit three years before, and it was a matter of moments to cross to the cathedral that was a mosque in all but name. Theresa said nothing as she walked beside him, which was unusual enough in itself to draw his notice. Not that conversation was easy. The cacophony of the wooden water mills straddling the rapids of the Guadalquivir was loud in the growing light of the coming dawn. They would normally be stilled overnight if the Queen was in residence, but on this occasion she had not been expected.

  “Along here,” said Theresa, as they entered the vast space, stone columns rising to form a confusion of perspective. She led the way to a small side chapel, brighter than the rest of the interior, and Thomas saw why he had been called for and cursed, punching his fist against the wall. He should have known when he was called in the small hours, for that was the time Ramon struck.

  “It is him, isn’t it?” said Theresa.

  “It can be no other.” He went to the table – no, not table, an altar than had been dragged in here – and leaned over the pair of bodies. The faint scent of the liquor used to steal their wits still hung above their faces. This time the victims were both female, the first he had seen Ramon take. Was that a sign he had less knowledge of this city, or was he growing more desperate? And how had he obtained a fresh supply of the liquor so soon, or had he always had it hidden away somewhere, ready to be called on?

  Thomas touched the neck of one to find it still warm, blood draining from an opening in her flank, but when he felt for a pulse he found none. He checked the other body, expecting nothing different, and was not disappointed.

  “I have already checked for signs of life,” said Theresa. “I was sent for first, in case they still lived.”

  “Who came for you?”

  “A priest. He acts as night watchman.”

  “Did he not think to find Samuel? He could confirm the death as surely as me.”

  “I think he went to him first, but he was away from his room, so then he came to me, and I to you. It is you would be called in any case if this is the work of the Ghost.”

  “Where is this night watchman?”

  “In the sacristy at the far end of the cathedral.”

  Thomas went into the main chamber, looked around.

  “That way,” said Theresa, pointing. “I assume you want me to take care of the bodies before anyone finds them? Unless you need to study them further?”

  “No, I am finished. I know who does this now and their wounds tell us nothing. But see if you can discover who they are, it might offer a clue to where Ramon is hiding.”

  “Oh, I know who they are. The night watchman recognised both.”

  Thomas started away through the echoing space, his boot
heels loud. The priest was expecting him and came out to meet him part way, a short, plump man with a bald head revealed by a cowl which was thrown back.

  “Have you been here all night?” Thomas asked.

  “Since midnight mass, yes.”

  “Did you hear anything?”

  The man shook his head. “Nothing. But I may have dozed once or twice.”

  Thomas pictured Ramon cutting the women, their screams piercing the air. Nobody would be able to doze through that.

  “And you are sure you did not leave at any time?”

  “I walked to the bridge to stretch my legs. It was quiet and it helps with the boredom.”

  “You are here in the Cathedral every night?”

  A nod. “It is work I can do. I am not a good priest, I have been told, but this task allows me to maintain the cloth. And I help elsewhere.”

  “Do you walk to the bridge every night?”

  “Unless it is raining.”

  Thomas almost laughed, stifling the sound into a cough. “And when did it last rain? Two, three months since?”

  “Something like that.”

  Three nights, Thomas thought, was the time they had been in Qurtuba. Had Ramon followed their party from Sevilla? Not a difficult task, for their number ensured passage was slow, that same number making them hard to miss. But if he had, Thomas wanted to know why. The man had made his escape and was free to kill anywhere he liked. Why follow the man who knew most about him, who most wanted him captured? And was three nights long enough for Ramon to observe, to choose his victims, to learn when the cathedral would lie abandoned?

  “Do you go to the bridge always at the same time?” Thomas said to the night watchman.

  “An hour after mass,” said the priest. “It is when my eyes begin to grow heavy so I take myself into the fresh air.”

  “How long were you away?”

  “Not long. I walked to the other side of the river, sat on the stones and listened to the water and those damnable creaking wheels, then walked back. Less than an hour.”

  More than long enough. And the timing fitted with the evidence.