A Tear for the Dead
A Tear for the Dead
David Penny
Copyright © 2020 David Penny
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.
20201023.1220
Contents
Granada, Andalusia
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Historical Note
The Thomas Berrington Historical Mysteries
About the Author
Granada, Andalusia
1491-92
Chapter One
Thomas Berrington was making scant progress on the list of demands sent by Christof Columb. There were several obstacles associated with the task. First was the rain. It had woken him during the night as it hammered against the canvas roof and sides of his tent. Second was the handwriting of whoever had created the list. It was awful. Scrawled and scratched on a sheet of reused vellum with parts of the original document showing through. Then there were the items, half of which Thomas had never heard of. The note would have been better evaluated by another mariner, but Isabel, Queen of Castile, had demanded Thomas make a judgement on it. Columb wanted to procure supplies, on the expectation Isabel would recommend funding for his voyage to discover a new passage to the Indies. Thomas saw him as misguided, but he was also starting to believe there might be some merit in the mariner’s plans.
Thomas glanced at the entrance to the tent, grateful at least Isabel had given him one for his exclusive use. There was a desk of sorts, and a bed, also of a sorts. His clothes, what few there were, hung from a rope attached between two of the posts keeping the canvas roof up. Thomas had rearranged the furniture that morning to move it away from water pouring through gaps in the roof. The rain showed no sign of ending, and he was glad of the meagre shelter. For most of the soldiers and hangers-on arrayed across the sodden ground circling the unimportant town of Ojos de Huescar, scarcely a league south of the Moorish city of Gharnatah, there was no refuge at all.
As Thomas looked out at the rain, he noticed a slim figure running towards the tent, a makeshift cape draped over her head. It did little to protect Theresa, or her clothes.
She dashed into the shelter and shook herself, spraying water from her hair.
“Watch the documents!” Thomas tried to cover them with a hand.
“Is this rain ever going to stop?” Theresa came closer, too close as she always did. “Are they important?”
“Some might consider them so. And this is al-Andalus, so yes, the rain will cease, and then it will be too hot. This land offers extremes and little else.” Thomas glanced up at her. “Do you need something, or have you come only to spoil my work?”
“She says she needs you. She wants us to share her midday meal.” There was no need for Theresa to mention who. She had been in Isabel’s service all her adult life, Thomas for the last year and a half. He was still trying to determine if accepting Isabel’s invitation to be at her side had been a sound decision or not. On balance, he believed it was. Staying in Gharnatah would have been more precarious with the unpredictable Abu Abdullah on the throne in al-Hamra.
Thomas looked out from the tent to where Isabel’s quarters sat two hundred paces away. They comprised of a grouping of larger tents, plus a farmhouse requisitioned from the previous owner in exchange for allowing him and his family to live. That had been Fernando’s doing.
“Will the children be joining us?” Thomas asked.
“I don’t think so. Juan is walking among the men—he likes to let them see he is willing to share their hardship—and the others are playing house. Juana claims she is too old, as does the young Isabel, but Catherine is happy enough playing on her own while the others pretend. You should have brought your children, Thomas. I think Catherine has set her heart on your son.”
“If only he was a prince.”
“Princesses and queens can take lovers from common stock, they do it all the time. Kings even more so.” She touched Thomas’s wrist. “Even serious men take lovers.” Her teasing had become a comfortable constant. Theresa was a handsome woman with a fine figure and luxurious red-brown hair. There were times Thomas wondered whether her words carried any deeper meaning.
“We are going to get wet,” he said, stepping towards the door as he sought distraction from his thoughts.
“Then come under here with me.” Theresa offered the meagre shelter of the length of cotton she had used. Thomas gripped one side and she the other as they dashed out into the rain, laughing so hard several of the soldiers sheltering as well as they could stared at their flight.
When they entered the farmhouse, they found Isabel looking out at the rain from beneath a substantial awning raised on solid wooden piers. It had been erected to the rear of the house, now used by Isabel and her children. Thomas shook the soaked cotton before stepping beneath its shelter. He expected Isabel to turn, but she remained where she was. No doubt the hammering of the rain masked the sound of their arrival. She only noticed their presence as Theresa approached from the side. Isabel reached out and touched her hand, then looked beyond her to Thomas and offered a smile of welcome. Thomas had grown used to her presence the last year and a half, but her smile still touched something in him that had been dormant since he had lost his wife, Lubna. He tried to push thoughts of her aside as he crossed the flagstones, aware he was leaving a trail of water. Lubna had been gone for over four years, but there was never a day he did not think of her. Even in the presence of the Queen of Castile. Thomas kissed Isabel’s hand when it was offered. She indicated a table laid ready for their meal. Fine silvered glasses awaited the pouring of wine, and no doubt that too would be fine.
“Will Fernando be joining us?” Thomas asked.
“He rode out at dawn with Perez de Pulgar and two hundred men,” said Isabel. “He intends to destroy the fields east of Granada. He said he might be gone a week or more.�
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Fernando, King of Aragon and Castile, was a man who believed in destroying perfectly good crops. It was a habit that had come back to haunt the army on more than one occasion. Now a caravan of carts carried supplies from Córdoba and Sevilla, a journey of three or four days.
“He’ll be lucky to set fire to anything in this rain,” Thomas said.
“I told him I disapproved, but he does not listen to me these days. He says the war is ending and I should be pleased at whatever he does to hasten that day.” Isabel took a seat on one side of the table. “I would ask your opinion, Thomas, but know there is little point. He does not listen to reason. Did you read those papers Columb sent?”
Thomas sat across from her as Theresa took a seat at the end of the table. “For what good they did me. I don’t understand half of what is written there even when I can read it. I need a mariner. I do not understand what abaft or abeam mean, or even if they mean the same thing.”
Isabel glanced at Theresa. “Can you send a message among the troops? There are bound to be mariners in their number. Find one to assist Thomas in this matter.”
Theresa gave a nod, knowing the instruction could wait until they had eaten. The servants must have been waiting for them to settle because almost at once, food was carried in on platters. The servants disappeared, leaving them to select whatever they wished. Looking across the table, Thomas saw there was enough food for ten people. No doubt the staff would eat well on what they left.
Theresa poured wine for each of them, starting with Isabel, who gave a nod of thanks. She reached for her glass almost at once and drained it, holding it out to be refilled. When Thomas studied her face, he saw a tension there. It had been present for some time, ever since Thomas had tracked down a killer in Qurtuba and uncovered the extent of Fernando’s infidelities. A king was not expected to be faithful to his queen, but Fernando had shown poor judgement in the women he chose. Including one Thomas had once loved many years before. At least he believed he had. Meeting the grown woman, he knew he had been too young to judge her true nature.
“What are you thinking?” asked Isabel. “You look a thousand leagues away.”
Thomas forced a smile. “Only Columb and his foolishness.”
“Is it foolishness, Thomas? If you believe so, you must tell me. He asks a great deal of us, and his plans may lead good men to their deaths.”
Thomas dragged his thoughts back to the present. “I mis-spoke. I thought him foolish once, but no longer. I am minded to recommend you fund his expedition.”
Isabel stared at Thomas as Theresa picked at small items of food. Most of it was familiar, but it was not the food of Castile. The dishes were of Moorish design, containing both more spice and more sweetness than the bland food usually served at Isabel’s table when her husband was present. Fernando believed in meat, and a great deal of it.
“Can you make a case my men of God might agree to?” asked Isabel. “You know it is they who have the final say.”
Thomas smiled. “Yes, I believe I can make a case.”
“Explain it to me.” Isabel reached for a round pastry sprinkled white with ground sugar. She popped it whole into her mouth and chewed. “Oh, Theresa, try this one, it is exquisite.”
“I will explain it as soon as I have decided what that case might be.” Thomas also reached for one of the tiny pastries. Isabel was right, the balance of sweetness and spice was perfect, the meaty texture of fresh mushrooms sitting in a tart sauce. “I need to think of how to couch my recommendations in terms they will understand.”
Isabel tried to hide a smile. “I am not sure you know words short enough for that.” Despite her devoutness, Thomas was aware of her opinion on the lack of open-mindedness of most of the Cardinals who made up her advisory court.
“I will see what I can do.”
Thomas watched Theresa select another sweetmeat. Her glass was empty and he reached across to refill it. Theresa stroked the back of his hand before he could withdraw it. Thomas saw Isabel observe the gesture, her face expressionless. A sense of intimacy had settled throughout the chamber, which unsettled him. He knew Isabel was aware of how he loved her, both as a woman and a queen, but he also knew neither of them would ever act on any feelings they might share. She was exalted, and he was … Thomas was no longer sure what he was. Everything he had once known lay in the past, and only an uncertain future remained.
“I need you with me in the morning,” Isabel said. “A party of Turks arrived a few days ago and their leader claims he has a proposal to make me.” She drank more wine, waited for Thomas to refill her glass. “I suspect they would prefer to talk with Fernando, but they will have to make do with a mere woman.”
“No mere woman,” Thomas said.
“We shall see. I heard they speak a little Castilian, but some form of Arabic is what they normally use in negotiations. I sent them a message saying I have someone fluent in that language.”
“And who would that be?”
Isabel swatted a hand at him.
“I think their language differs from that of al-Andalus, but I will do what I can. Are they in the camp already, or—” Thomas broke off as Theresa gave a loud laugh. Both he and Isabel turned to stare at her.
A coarse grin sat on Theresa’s face and her eyes were wide, the pupils dilated.
“I like the sound of Arabic.” She reached out, trying to touch Thomas’s hand again, but he did nothing to assist her. “I would like someone to whisper it into my ear as we lie—”
“Are you all right?” Isabel asked before Theresa could say exactly what she might like.
“I feel wonderful.” Theresa rose and spun around, teetering as her balance failed.
Thomas glanced at Isabel before rising and going to stand beside Theresa. He gripped her wrists as she tried to wrap her arms around him. Turned his face aside when she tried to kiss him. And then, in a moment, Theresa changed from wanton to despairing. Her face paled, and she tugged free of his grip and ran to the edge of the terrace. She was doubled over by the time Thomas reached her and took her arm.
“What is it?”
“Sick.”
Thomas pulled her upright and gripped her chin. He stared into her dark eyes, then touched the pulse in her neck. It beat too fast, too unsteadily for his liking.
He turned back to Isabel. “Do not eat another scrap of food, Theresa has been poisoned.” He tried to examine how he felt, but believed there were no symptoms. He wondered which of the items Theresa had eaten was to blame, but suspected he knew.
Isabel rose to her feet and came across on small steps. “How ill is she?”
“I don’t know, not yet.”
“Can you help her?”
“I don’t know that either.” He glanced at the table. “Leave everything where it is. Allow nobody to clear anything away. I want it all left as it is until I come back.” He turned and led Theresa out into the rain, then stopped. “And send one of your women to assist me.”
Isabel stared at Thomas, her mouth open. “Who shall I send?”
“It doesn’t matter. Anyone. Send them to my tent. Do it now.”
Chapter Two
By the time Thomas had carried Theresa to his tent, she was barely conscious. He laid her on his bed and felt the pulse in her neck. Still too rapid, still stuttering, and he feared he might be too late. As he stood in indecision, a slim woman stepped beneath the shelter of the canvas. She glanced at Theresa, a frown troubling her brow.
“The Queen said you need me for some task.”
Thomas had seen her before but didn’t know her name or what her role was, not that either mattered at that moment.
“I have to go out. I want you to remove Theresa’s clothes and cover her in a blanket.”
The woman stared at Thomas with the same expression Isabel had shown and he shook his head.
“She is sick. Poisoned. I need charcoal to treat her, and someone must be here when I examine her body. I will do the work, but you must ensure prop
riety.”
The woman continued to stare at him as Thomas walked out into the rain. He ran, the growl of thunder following him. The smiths worked beyond the main camp. Their braziers were covered with piecemeal arrangements of canvas and leather which allowed water to pour through the gaps. Thomas ignored the fires and went to the rear of the sheltered area and picked up two handfuls of charcoal.
“Hey, what are you doing?” One smith blocked Thomas’s path, but he pushed past without comment and ran back to his tent.
As he entered, he saw the woman Isabel had sent had done as asked. Theresa lay with eyes closed, a coarse blanket covering her to the chin.
“Sit at the table and wait.” Thomas did not soften his voice, uncaring whether the woman did as instructed. He glanced around until he found what he needed. Not what he would have chosen if he was in his own house perched on the slopes of the Albayzin, but better than nothing. He tipped an assortment of fresh nuts from a metal plate and laid two pieces of charcoal on it. He searched again and came up with a short dagger. He used the hilt to break the charcoal into small pieces, continuing to work until it was a fine dust.
“Wine,” he said. “I need wine.” He looked at the woman. “Go fetch some.”