by David Penny
He looked around but al-Haquim was the only occupant. Even so Thomas prowled the rooms in search of Samuel, expecting to discover his body too.
“We should go before someone else comes and thinks we did this,” said Olaf.
Thomas nodded, distracted. Did Mandana believe himself so above the law he could kill at will?
“Yes, we should go.” He glanced at Olaf, glad the man had insisted on coming even if he had not been needed. “You to Jorge’s house and me to the palace. You should prepare some carts and pack trunks for leaving as soon as possible.”
Olaf nodded, knowing the reason. If Mandana had done this, had ordered them killed in Triana, there would be nowhere safe in Ixbilya for either of them, nor their friends.
“No,” said Isabel. “I forbid you to leave.”
Thomas bit back a retort before it could escape his lips. Only days before this woman had banned him from her presence and now, when he requested to be allowed to go, she was denying him that, too. Exactly what did she want? Isabel was pale, dark shadows beneath her eyes, and Thomas felt a moment’s guilt at not attending her more closely. He wondered if he should find Samuel and ask him to examine the Queen.
He turned to Fernando. “I need to talk with you about Mandana.” He glanced toward the door. “We could walk the garden together.”
Fernando shook his head. “You are obsessed with that man. He has changed, I tell you.”
“We cannot discuss him here,” Thomas said, aware of Isabel’s presence. There was news to impart to Fernando but he did not want his wife to hear it. She was still delicate and he would protect her from what must be done. A glance at Isabel and Thomas started for the door, made his way to the terrace where stacked arches were constructed of small clay bricks. The early morning sun still lay below the surrounding walls, but its rays caught the upper balconies and painted them red. In the distance a man sat on a stone bench, turned away as if in contemplation of the beauty of the trees.
Fernando was a long time arriving but eventually he came, as Thomas knew he would.
“She wanted to come too,” he said, stopping beside Thomas, a scowl on his face. “She was insistent, and I had to be so in return. This had best be important.”
“Mandana tried to kill me this morning.”
Fernando turned to him. “He…” He stopped, frowning. He glanced away toward the lone figure still sitting on the bench and Thomas all at once knew who the man was.
“He came to you, didn’t he? What was his excuse?” And then Thomas saw it. “He told you I was dead and wanted to break the news. What was his reason?”
“He told me you lived,” said Fernando. “And that the attack on you was not of his doing.”
“Al-Haquim is dead,” Thomas said.
“Who is al-Haquim?”
“The Governor of Ronda.” And when Fernando frowned. “The ex-Governor of Ronda.”
“Ah, the old Jew. He had many years.”
“He was murdered. By Mandana.” Thomas nodded at the still figure.
“Impossible. Mandana came here directly from Triana. He had me woken so he could bring the news without delay. He told me you had captured the killer, this Ghost, is that what they call him? That you had captured and lost him.”
“Lost him? He was not lost when last I saw him.”
“Did you really take that Moorish General into Triana, Thomas? What did you think you were trying to achieve? All he knows is how to kill.”
“Then it was lucky I took him, wasn’t it.”
Fernando sighed and washed a hand across his face. “I am in a sour mood. Too little sleep and too much incident. Sometimes I think life would be easier if I had never known you, God help me.” He crossed himself, as his wife frequently did, but for him it was a gesture with little meaning. “Mandana wants to talk to you, to explain what you think you saw.”
“I didn’t think I saw anything, I did see it. He wanted me captured. If Olaf had not been there I would be locked in a dungeon and you and Isabel would never know what happened to me.”
“If you were that might make my life simpler.” Fernando waved a hand. “No, I didn’t mean that, forgive me.” He glanced up, his eyes on the distant figure. “He wants to talk to you. Alone. The two of you, without my presence. For which, to be honest, I am glad.”
“We have nothing to talk of.”
“Then I must take his word for everything that has happened. You know the big Swede must leave today, and all those who came with him. I would send you away too, but Isabel insists she needs you.”
“Samuel is a good physician.”
“I believe it if you tell me, but she wants you with us. Samuel will come as insurance, but what insurance you need is beyond me for you appear to be impossible to kill.” He punched Thomas on the shoulder. “Now go talk with Mandana, then tell your friends to leave the city. If they are discovered here beyond sunset I will send the Inquisition for them, sins or not.”
The sun had reached the corner of the garden by the time Thomas reached the bench. Mandana did not look up, but he did pat the stone beside him. Thomas looked at the hand, old, mottled, and wondered how many more days the man had left to him. He chose not to sit.
“You have caused me a great deal of trouble, Thomas Berrington,” Mandana said. “And a considerable loss of income.”
“How much was Muhammed going to pay you for Martin’s head?”
“His heart, actually. As proof of the deed.”
“How would he know it was Martin’s heart?”
“He must trust me.”
Thomas laughed. He closed his eyes and turned his face up to the sun, orange light flooding his senses before he turned away and looked at Mandana.
“A scarce few hours since you would have seen me tossed to the Inquisition or worse? Was it you killed al-Haquim?”
Mandana turned sharply. “Abraham is dead?”
“Murdered. His guard and most likely that boy who shared his bed, too.”
“It is a shame. We had work unfinished. You had help to escape, I assume. The big man?”
“Yes, the big man.”
“I would have preferred it had he not killed one of my men. Keeping the deaths quiet will cause me aggravation.”
“Why would you want it kept quiet?”
“Because if I tell Fernando that giant killed one of his soldiers he might take your heads, and I do not want to see that happen.”
“I thought that is exactly what you would want,” Thomas said. “Besides, it appears Fernando knows what happened.”
Mandana shook his head as if disappointed in one of his monks. “I bear you no ill will, Thomas Berrington, not anymore. Once, perhaps. For this.” He held up the stump of his left arm. The sleeve of his robe fell back to reveal red flesh pitted with weeping sores.
Thomas stared at it for a long moment before saying anything, and when he did the words came hard. “You are in danger of losing more than a hand without treatment.”
“It aches, nothing more. Samuel has done what he can, he says. Ointments and oils and washing. As if washing helped anything, but I do as he asks because I have work unfinished.”
“Can I?” Thomas reached out a hand but waited.
“You can do better, I suppose,” said Mandana, the smile on his lips almost hidden beneath his beard.
“Better than Samuel, certainly.”
“Look then, if it pleases you.”
Thomas cupped the stump. The skin was warm, damp with perspiration. He squeezed once, watched as Mandana winced.
“It pains you.”
“I told you, a little, no more.”
“There is infection.”
“Can you do anything for that? I think not. Samuel says it must be suffered. The body will heal itself… or not.”
“I know someone who makes better salves than Samuel.” He released the stump and looked into Mandana’s eyes. “But why should I help you?”
“And why should I trust you?” Mandana sighed
and covered his arm, held it across his chest as if the examination had seated a hurt deep in the bone. “We have a history, do we not? But it is old history. Three years is a long time to hold hatred close, and I have let mine go. You should do the same. What is the alternative, if you refuse to help me?”
“I am not refusing to help. Neither am I offering it. But you may be right about it being time to let what lies between us go. If you can be trusted. And the alternative if you ignore the infection will be to remove your arm at the elbow. Higher if you continue to pretend it is nothing. And removing it is not without its own dangers.”
Mandana reached awkwardly across himself and patted the bench with his right hand.
“Sit, Thomas. I am getting an ache in my neck staring up at you.”
“Why should I believe your words? I have heard other things you have said, harsh words.”
“Sometimes what a man says is meant only for the audience he speaks to. Like the words I spoke with Abraham. But there are other words in a man’s heart that hold the truth. Believe me when I say I am a changed man. I do not plot against the King and Queen, but for them against this Inquisition which threatens to tear Spain apart.” He sighed. “Yes, I hated you, but I have seen how they both admire you, and I see how you protect them. Isabel from what ails her. Fernando from his own ignorance. You and I share a common ambition.”
“No.” Thomas shook his head, remaining on his feet. “Your ambition is the destruction of al-Andalus.”
“The destruction of the Moorish caliphate, not the land. That fool Boabdil is no leader. You cannot put your trust in him.”
“There are others,” Thomas said.
“If you mean the Sultan and his brother, they are old men tainted by their own corruption. Spain could wait for al-Andalus to fall apart on its own, which it will, but that would take time, and Isabel and Fernando want see Spain reunited in their lifetimes.”
“So we do not share the same ambition, for I would see al-Andalus continue.”
“Al-Andalus is a land, not a ruler, surely you can see that. The land will remain. Man cannot tear down the mountains nor block the mighty rivers. Under Spain al-Andalus will thrive. Under a different God, that is all.”
“And the people?”
“If the people bend the knee to Spain they will be accepted, can remain in their homes and farm their lands.”
Thomas walked away, needing space to think. Mandana’s argument carried a logic he had not heard from the man before, and it worried him because he was tempted to believe he had changed. And yet… past experience would indicate otherwise, that Mandana was evil to the core. But men did change. Thomas was aware he had changed himself, was not as rigid as he had once been, and he thanked Lubna for that, for unlocking the chains he had wrapped around his heart. What might have changed Mandana? What chains did he carry? He turned back, stared at the man on the bench, saw him for what he was - old and sick. Yes, such things could change a man.
“What were you plotting in that house?” Thomas said.
“Not plotting. Protecting.” He patted the bench again, the same awkward gesture, and this time Thomas walked to it and sat. “This man you pursue,” a smile, “this Ghost. Can you accept a truth if I tell it?” He waited until Thomas offered a brief nod. “Good. That truth is Abraham knew him and believed in his madness, that the human soul can be uncovered, displayed for all to see.”
“Samuel too?” Though Thomas was not sure whether to believe the words yet.
“No, not Samuel. At least I do not think so. Though it was Samuel who introduced the two of them to each other. Abraham was more circumspect with him, but I think he believed I would share his obsession.”
Thomas leaned forward, arms across his knees. It would explain why al-Haquim lay dead. Ramon had gone back for him after his escape from Triana. He was removing anyone who could betray him. Did that put Samuel in danger as well?
“We left Ramon unconscious and locked in a dungeon. Was it you who freed him?”
“Why would I do such a thing?”
“You knew where he worked, you showed me that chamber yourself. Is this no more than a twisted tale you are spinning me? Is it you who is behind what Ramon does? It is convenient al-Haquim is dead and cannot defend himself.”
“The guards in Triana know Ramon,” said Mandana. “He is familiar to them all. One of them will have heard his cries. They would have no reason to keep him captive.”
“Do they know what he does?”
“They believe he does God’s work, as they believe all who work within those walls do. Abraham was a bitter man. Some of that was your doing, he told me. He wanted you killed when he knew you were in Sevilla and I told him you were to be left unharmed, but I believe he talked with Ramon about you.”
“I still don’t see it. Al-Haquim had too much to lose.”
“No, you are wrong. He had much to gain if Ramon’s mad theories were right. Suppose he is right, Thomas? That a man’s soul can be uncovered and proven? Abraham wanted it to be the truth because then, he was convinced, Jews could be seen to possess a soul as well as Moors, everyone in the world, and this madness would cease.”
“It is not religion that drives it,” Thomas said.
“Perhaps not. But it would be a strong argument, would it not?”
Thomas straightened, shook his head. “Except Ramon is mad. I have cut into bodies more than anyone, bodies both living and dead, and if the soul nestled some place within, however obscure, I would have found it by now. If man possesses a soul it is not physical.”
“I would agree, for is that not what the Bible tells us? But Abraham was not a reader of the Bible.”
“He always looked for the simple solution, the one that meant less effort for him, and it got him killed in the end. Ramon went there and cut the ties that bound them together. He is out there now, a free man. A free madman killing whatever friends he had.” Thomas stared into space as connections formed. He stood, started away walking. When Mandana called after him he came to a halt and turned back. “If Ramon is killing his friends, does he regard you as one?”
Mandana shook his head. “I never met him.”
“But Samuel did,” Thomas said. “According to him they were the best of friends. And then there is Talavera – a man who claims to be like a father to him.”
Chapter Forty-Five
Thomas was uneasy as he walked through the streets from the palace to Jorge’s house, his route too easy to predict. But if Ramon had laid a trap for him it was not to be sprung today. He had found Samuel and warned him to take care, then left a message to be passed to Talavera, but whether the priest would take any notice was a question Thomas could not answer.
At the house two carts were drawn up outside, four mules tethered between the harnesses, and Olaf was carrying trunks and bundles of clothing to stack in the back. He stopped when he saw Thomas and stretched, showing the first sign of weakness Thomas had ever seen.
“Are you sure Lubna is well enough to travel?” asked Olaf.
“She heals fast, and Belia will be with you as well as Helena. They will ensure nothing ill befalls her. As will you.”
“And you cannot come with us?” Olaf looked around at the now busy street. “Come away with us, Thomas, leave this place of evil and return to where you belong.”
Thomas smiled. “If only I could, but I must keep in good favour with the Queen. We will need her before long, all of us. That man is not yet caught and events have changed. I think he has passed some tipping point and I expect more deaths.”
“Forget him. What he does here is not your business. Do what you have to and stay within the palace walls where you are safe. Ignore everything else. For my daughter, Thomas, and my grandson. Stay alive and come back to them.”
“I am not dead yet.”
“No, you are a hard man to kill, I will give you that.” He turned as Jorge came from the house, staggering beneath the weight of a trunk. Will followed behind with a small box of
little weight, but he copied Jorge’s effort.
“I told you I would bring that,” said Olaf. “It is too heavy for you.”
“It is mine,” said Jorge, as if that was explanation enough. He glanced at Thomas. “You are staying, I take it?”
“She wants my decision tonight.”
“But you have already made it, haven’t you?”
Olaf went inside to fetch more supplies. Helena came and stood in the doorway, one hand on the stone. She watched Thomas and Jorge without expression.
“I’m thinking it over.”
“Damn you, Thomas Berrington. I want to leave with Belia, but you know I cannot if you insist on this foolishness.”
“Go. I don’t need you.” He saw the words hurt Jorge but did not attempt to soften them, even though he would have welcomed the man at his side. There was something about the two of them together that added to more than the natural sum, but he couldn’t allow Jorge to abandon Belia, and he wanted him beside Lubna and Will on the journey, almost trusting him more than Olaf.
“You must leave by the San Roque gate,” he said. “It will take you an hour longer, but better than crossing the river and passing Triana. Bear a little south once you’re beyond the city wall. There is a tributary, but you can wade it if you can’t find a bridge. There is one, somewhere, we crossed it when I arrived.” The thought of coming into the city seemed strange to Thomas, as if the memory belonged to someone else, no more than a tale overheard.
“You will come with us that far, won’t you?” said Olaf. “Unless you have something more important than your friends and your wife?”
“I… no, nothing more important. But I must be back by nightfall.”
