The Promise of Pain Page 17

  “I wonder which way they went, and when?” said Usaden.

  “They must have broken camp as soon as Guerrero and Mandana left for Gharnatah.” Thomas looked east along the valley, then west in the direction Guerrero had gone to meet Muhammed. He rose and started east, the ground rising. Grey snow-melt foamed around rocks in the small river, ice cold as they crossed it. They had gone no more than half a mile before he stopped, frowning. He saw no sign of a large force travelling this way, and yet this was where he would have expected them to go—away from Gharnatah and toward al-Marrilla.

  He turned and started back the way they had come, moving faster, wanting to make up for his mistake. Usaden kept pace, saying nothing because he never wasted words in idle conversation. They passed the place where the men had camped and went on. Now there were indications a large force had passed this way, and Thomas cursed himself for a fool not to have seen his mistake sooner.

  The river turned sharply, as did the valley, and before long they came out on a broad shoulder of the Sholayr with the land falling away in waves of peaked hillsides to a distant glimpse of a haze-covered sea.

  “I know where they’re going,” Thomas said when they came to a distinct roadway, made more distinct by men’s feet and horses’ hoofs. “This road will also take them to al-Marilla, but turn off it and you will be in Pampaneira in a day’s ride.”

  “I thought they were attacking al-Zagal. Why would they go to Pampaneira? They have no idea you sent the others there.”

  Thomas started to say something, then stopped as the pieces fell into place in his mind.

  “They are a thousand men, but more than half have been stolen from their homes. How do you make reluctant men fight?”

  “All men will fight when they stare their own death in the face.”

  “Or when those they love are threatened. Pampaneira is where the families of the captured men are held. Guerrero is leading them there so they will see their loved ones, and then he’ll leave enough men to kill them if they refuse to fight.” Thomas turned and looked at the flank of the Sholayr. Cloud clung to the peaks. “We need to find Olaf and reach Pampaneira before they do.”

  “We have already had this conversation,” said Usaden. “We can sting their hides, but not hurt enough of them. They are too many.”

  “But we can take the people away from there, if we can persuade them to come.”

  “And if they refuse?”

  “Then we take our own people and leave the rest.” Thomas cursed. “I thought I was sending them to safety—instead I have placed them in the wolf’s lair.”

  Usaden studied the roadway, his eyes following it until it disappeared in the distance.

  “You go ahead, I will fetch Olaf. It will take too long if we both go. Try to get ahead of them and warn your friends, take them somewhere safe if you can.”

  Thomas looked around as if some insight would come to him, but nothing did. “There is nowhere safe.”

  “Does the town have walls?”

  “Some.”

  “What is the point in only having some walls?”

  “The ground is precipitous, so it doesn’t need a full set.”

  “Can it be closed up, made safe?”

  “I have only been there the once, but I believe so.”

  “Then go a second time now. I will bring Olaf as fast as we can travel. Watch for us, but do not wait.”

  Usaden turned and began to lope across the ground. Thomas watched him, aware how much the man had been holding back so as not to tire him. Then he began to jog along the roadway, pushing his body hard. There was no evidence Guerrero’s men were heading for Pampaneira, but Thomas had a bad feeling about the situation. It was as if everything was slipping away from him, his uncertain grasp on a new life already fading. Will and Amal would be in Pampaneira by now. Helena, Belia and Jorge, too. Thomas pushed himself harder, ignoring the pain that racked his body, knowing pain would make him stronger.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Thomas could have travelled faster on the roadway, which had widened as he came ever closer to Pampaneira, but had been forced to leave it when he almost caught up to the tail of Guerrero’s column of men. Their detritus had become ever more evident until, on a low rise, he saw in the distance the rear rank and stopped. He crouched in the shade of a boulder in case someone thought to check behind. The head of the column was hidden from sight where the land dropped into a valley. Thomas wasn’t exactly sure where he was, but thought Pampaneira lay no more than two hours ahead. He checked the position of the sun. Three hours of daylight remained. With the town gates open and the walls unmanned, Guerrero would be able to ride in without opposition. Thomas turned aside and climbed a low ridge to the north until he was on the far side, then began to move as fast as he could, running when he was able, cursing his own lack of fitness and promising never to allow himself to grow so weak again. If he lived long enough to fulfil the promise.

  As the sun crept toward the rock shattered western horizon he climbed a narrow goat trail until he caught sight of Guerrero’s soldiers again, pleased to find he had managed to get ahead of them. He lay on his belly for a moment while his breath grew easier, and judged their numbers. Not the thousand that was claimed—less than half that—but still more than enough to take Pampaneira if such was the intention. He watched a little longer, noting that the trained soldiers stayed on the flanks of the column, herding the captured men between them.

  As shadows filled the valley a commotion broke out to one side, and a dozen men made a break through their guards. Why there, in that place, wasn’t clear. Perhaps some had been taken from this area and familiarity sparked a flare of courage. Perhaps it was no more than the constant strike of sticks, the snap of words Thomas couldn’t hear. He saw it in the way the guards moved, how the men flinched in their presence. Whatever had triggered the move, a dozen men broke free and began to run. Had they stayed together they might have stood a chance, but each took their own path, spreading out like ripples across a pond.

  Men on horseback came after them. One was Pedro Guerrero, his height and manner distinctive even across the distance. He struck out at a running figure, his sword cutting into a shoulder, and the man fell to the ground and lay still. Guerrero used the weight of his horse to gather the others, until seven of them were surrounded by mounted soldiers. The other escapees bled the last of their lives into the poor soil.

  Only once the captured men were made safe did Mandana ride out to join his son. They exchanged words, heads almost touching, then Guerrero issued an order. Helena had convinced Thomas that Guerrero was now the leader of this army, but what he witnessed told him that Mandana might still hold some power over his son—at least for now.

  Thomas held his position, knowing what was about to happen but unable to turn away. The conversation between Mandana and Guerrero came to an end and the two made their way back to the head of the column. The small group of captives remained surrounded by the mounted men. Thomas expected the column to start moving again, knowing he had wasted time in observing them, but was surprised when they began to spread out. Men were sent out in search of something. Four came close to Thomas but made no attempt to climb to the crest where he lay. He saw them gather meagre scraps of wood from the hillside, cuttings from almond and olive trees that had been discarded during winter pruning. They and the others carried the wood back to the camp and began to build fires, unlit for the moment. Only when Thomas saw what was going to happen did he slide back and move away. He had no wish to witness more of Guerrero’s cruelty. Shadows gathered around him, both without and within, as he hurried toward the hidden town. Darkness fell, broken only by starlight. As Thomas emerged from a side valley and saw the rising jumble of white houses of Pampaneira he heard a sound from behind. He spun around, drawing his knife. He feared some of Guerrero’s men had been sent to scout ahead for any resistance, but instead he saw a dark shape within the greater darkness and went to one knee as Kin approached, his tail c
ircling madly. Thomas stroked the soft fur, smelled the rough scent of the dog, and smiled. Here was one creature who never judged, never doubted, never turned aside. He wondered how long he had been out here, and why. He had already witnessed how Kin could follow a trail, however faint, and believed he might have caught his scent and come in search of him. He looked beyond the dog, wondering if Luis was somewhere nearby, but there was no sign. Nothing moved, the night as still as if it held its breath. There was no sign of Guerrero’s men, and Thomas thought it possible they had stopped for the night and would enter Pampaneira in the morning. Would more lessons be inflicted then?

  “Where are the others?” Thomas whispered to Kin, as if the dog could understand. He hoped Olaf and Usaden were close, because it would be better if they entered the town together. He moved away from the track, wider here where it was used by men going to tend their precipitous terraces. Thomas found a comfortable rock, or as comfortable as a rock could ever be, and sat to wait.

  Other men would have announced themselves with their conversation, but if Olaf had not been so tall, his hair not so blond, Thomas would have missed them. Even as he followed Olaf’s silent progress he was unable to make out Usaden and wondered if the Gomeres hadn’t come. Then he felt a tap on his shoulder and laughed as Usaden sat beside him, pushing him across with his hip to make space.

  Usaden reached out and scratched Kin’s ears, surprising Thomas. “He’s a good dog. Never barked once—he must have known it was me. I can see the point of a dog if it is like this one, but they are still filthy creatures.”

  When Thomas looked up Olaf stood in front of him. Thomas rose to his feet and snapped his fingers, not expecting Kin to follow, but pleased when the animal trotted to fall in step beside him.

  At the town gate Thomas looked around for a guard but found none. He made a mental note to send someone to stand on the wall and watch for Guerrero’s men. Meanwhile the three of them swung the heavy gate shut and dropped a wooden bar inside. Olaf held the bar and shook the structure.

  “This will not hold determined men for long.”

  “We’ll have to hope there are some here willing to fight,” Thomas said.

  “Will they?” asked Olaf. “Do they have something to fight for?”

  “Their families, their homes, their town. Is that enough? We need to find out tonight before Guerrero arrives. If they won’t fight we’ll need to leave here.”

  “Do you have somewhere to go?”

  Thomas thought about it as they began to climb the steep hillside between white walls. They couldn’t flee to Jamila’s village—it was too open, and the explosion would have destroyed at least some of the houses. They might be able to go south in hope of reaching al-Marilla and the forces of al-Zagal, but he doubted they would receive any warmer a welcome there than they would from Guerrero. And besides, a battle would be fought there before long. A germ of an idea came to him, but Thomas kept it to himself for the moment. It was irrational, dangerous, and he wasn’t sure if Olaf would agree to it.

  Thomas knew Guerrero’s men must have made camp by now or they would be at the walls. It occurred to him that just as the women and children in the town were held hostage against their menfolk’s good behaviour, so it worked the other way. The people of Pampaneira would put up no resistance because to do so would endanger those outside the walls as well as within. The realisation made it even more important a decision was made quickly. Stay or go? Fight or flee?

  They saw few people as they climbed to the central square. Thomas considered sending the others ahead while he went to talk with Don Domingo, but he was tired, his body ached, and an hour or two wasn’t going to make much difference.

  There were more people in the square, some returning from worship in the mosque, others sitting at tables, eating and drinking, wrapped against the cold. Nobody paid any notice of the three men as they crossed the square and started up another steep climb to the house. Thomas hoped Jamila and the others still remained there, though he knew with the arrival of Belia, Jorge, Helena and Luis space would be in short supply. He supposed Helena and Belia could share with Jamila and Dana, and Luis with Aban. Olaf and Usaden would just have to squeeze in with Thomas and Jorge somehow. Not that he intended them to remain in the town long.

  As the alley finally began to level out Kin let out a single bark and ran ahead.

  “He must be keen to return to his master,” said Usaden.

  They were almost at the house when Thomas caught sight of Kin again. He was standing stiff-legged, the fur on his neck raised and a deep rumble sounding in his chest. Two figures faced each other close to the opening of an alley: Luis and Aban. Their posture made it obvious they were arguing, and that the argument was about to escalate into violence.

  Thomas started forward, leaving Olaf and Usaden behind. Something glinted, catching what little light was cast by the occasional burning torch, then the two figures lunged at each other. Kin sped across the ground, leaping at them. Thomas expected to see the dog attack Aban, but instead his strong jaws closed around Luis’s wrist and a knife clattered to the cobbles. Aban struck out at the pinned Luis, but Thomas was close enough now to wrap his arms around the youth and drag him away.

  “What’s going on here!” he demanded.

  “I told him Dana wants to be with me,” said Aban.

  Thomas turned to Luis, who was massaging his wrist. The dog sat looking up at Luis, loyalty to its master returned now the danger had passed.

  “Give me your side of the story,” Thomas said.

  “He wants to break the three of us apart. The child is as likely mine as his. He doesn’t own her, no more than I do.”

  Thomas looked between them, finally working out the relationship between the three, and wondering which of the two had instigated such a thing. Or could it have been Dana herself? He knew he would have to ask Jorge.

  “You can’t just turn up and think everything will go back to the way it was.” Aban took a pace forward, but Luis stood his ground. Thomas knew if it came to a fight which of them would win. What he didn’t understand was if the relationship involved them all, why the sudden falling out? Unless Dana believed Luis was never going to return and had made a promise to Aban.

  “Let’s go inside to talk about this. I’m tired and I’m hungry, and my friends are the same. Is Jorge in there?”

  “And the ice woman,” said Luis, a strange expression on his face that Thomas put down to either lust or fear. Helena was different enough to confuse men who had never seen her like before. He had witnessed it many times over the years, and knew Helena took pleasure in encouraging both the lust and uncertainty she could spark in men.

  Thomas turned away, thinking of distant times when, like these two, he had been caught up in the heat of youth—though he had never been involved in the manner of relationship they appeared to share.

  He nodded to Olaf, who had watched the brief encounter with a faint smile. As Thomas reached Usaden he heard a cry from behind and spun around, ready to strike out. Luis had one hand around Aban’s throat. The other at his waist was dangerously close to the hilt of a second knife. Thomas moved fast. He reached Luis and punched his wrist so his hand fell away from Aban’s neck.

  Luis turned fast, a rictus of anger on his face. He pushed at Thomas, who pushed back even harder. He laid his forearm across Luis’s chest and slammed him against the wall, even as he did so recognising the youth was stronger than him.

  “Go now, while you can,” he said to Aban, then turned back to Luis. “What is wrong with you? Have you been with Guerrero too long? Aban is your friend. More than a friend.”

  Thomas expected Luis to wilt, to back down, but all he saw in the youth’s eyes was an anger that threatened to swamp all rationality. Thomas stopped pushing but kept a hand on Luis’s chest. He opened his mouth to speak again when he was suddenly thrust away. For a moment he thought Aban had returned, but then as he staggered, he saw Usaden had taken his place and grasped Luis’s wrist where
a knife was held in his hand.

  “He was about to stick you,” said Usaden, without looking away. “What do you want me to do with him?” He twisted Luis’s wrist until he had no choice but to release the knife.

  “Let him go.”

  “He was going to kill you.”

  “Better men have tried and failed.” Even as Thomas spoke the words he was aware of how much his life had changed. Half a year ago he would never have allowed someone to draw a knife on him. He would have handled the entire situation himself. Now he didn’t know if he was doing the right thing by asking Usaden to release Luis, but the Gomeres obeyed his order and stepped back out of immediate range of another attack.

  Thomas saw Olaf hadn’t moved an inch, trusting Usaden to take care of the situation. Luis looked between the three of them. His expression changed, losing the anger that had been present for the last minutes. Thomas saw him make an effort to appear less hostile, but a fire remained in his eyes that was at odds with his forced demeanour. He picked up the knife and pushed past Thomas with it still in his hand, but both he and Usaden watched him carefully.

  “Guerrero has changed him,” said Olaf. “Where is this food you promised? And a bed. I would like to sleep in a bed tonight.”

  “That may not be possible. I have to go talk to someone before deciding how long we stay here.”

  “If we do leave, perhaps we should not take that boy with us,” said Olaf.

  “He claims to be father to the child Dana carries.”

  Olaf waved a hand in dismissal. “You worry too much about people who are not your family.” Olaf shook his head and stalked away. Thomas watched him go, not knowing what was wrong with everyone. He glanced at Usaden, who stood patient, emotionless, but whether such was better or not Thomas didn’t know.