The Promise of Pain Read online

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Thomas was relieved to discover everyone had made it safely to Pampaneira. He embraced Belia and Jorge, ignored Helena even though he was aware of her eyes on him. He knew she had an expectation of something he refused to offer. Despite her beauty she held no attraction to him, if she ever had. Sometimes he wondered how he had allowed her to seduce him, astonished at how much he had changed since those days—those nights. So close in years, so distant in the way he felt about her.

  Jamila busied herself preparing food for them all. Thomas watched Aban, who sat beside Dana. A foot of space lay between them, but both were clearly tense with the need to close it. Another thing that had changed since Thomas had seen them last, and he wondered if the change was in Dana or Aban. Had the boy finally discovered his courage?

  Thomas wondered how Aban felt at the prospect of raising someone else’s child—if indeed the child Dana carried was Luis’s—and if not, how they could tell. The two young men looked similar enough to make any distinction difficult. Thomas was aware Helena had never offered him the comfort he was Will’s father. Not that it concerned him anymore, if it ever had. As far as he was concerned Will was his, and he knew that for Will Thomas was his father and always would be. He saw his son now, sitting on Olaf’s lap while the big general cradled Amal to his chest. Olaf’s face had lost all trace of sternness. Usaden remained outside and Thomas knew he would be watching, protecting them all, and there was nobody better to perform the task.

  Thomas approached Jamila, uneasy at the knowledge she would submit to him if he made the slightest gesture toward her. He laid his hand on her shoulder, knowing he did it to spite Helena despite her not even being in the room, but was surprised at the warmth the touch brought.

  “How long before the food is ready?”

  “We are working as fast as we can. Go and talk to the others.” She didn’t push him away but he felt her tense beneath his hand.

  “I didn’t mean to press you. There is something I need to do and thought I could do it now if there is time.”

  “It will be an hour yet,” she said, her voice cool. “Helena is asleep in your room if you want to go to her. I will call you down when the food is ready.”

  Thomas gave up the effort as futile, wondering who Jamila had been talking to but aware it might have been any of them—or more likely Helena herself, talking of how they had once been. He turned away and went to Olaf.

  “I need to visit someone in the town. Can you protect them while I’m gone?”

  Olaf looked up but said nothing, no doubt sure Thomas knew the answer.

  Outside Thomas had reached the top of the steps leading to the square when Usaden appeared at his side and fell into step.

  “I will be perfectly safe on my own,” Thomas said. “I go to visit an old friend, someone who might be willing to help.”

  Usaden nodded and turned back. Thomas wondered how long the three of them would have to be in each other’s company before either Olaf or Usaden uttered another word. He suspected he might grow old waiting.

  The town governor’s house appeared the same as the first time Thomas had seen it, a torch burning either side of the wide door, a dimmer light showing within. He knocked and waited, turning to study the street, seeing nothing. There was no boar to disturb the stillness tonight. The inn where he and Jorge had drunk foul wine was dark, its shutters closed. When Thomas heard the door open, he turned. Don Domingo’s servant stood watching him, a faint smile on her lips.

  “He is not expecting you,” she said.

  “I’m not sure I’m expecting myself. He is at home though, isn’t he? And he will see me?”

  She moved aside to let him pass. As she did so, Thomas wondered why he had never seen any other servants. The house was large enough, and Don Domingo’s position important enough to warrant a staff of more than one, however beautiful that one was.

  Don Domingo was in the wide room that looked across the dark terrace where they had last spoken. He appeared unsurprised at Thomas’s entrance, rose and offered his hand.

  “I wondered if you would return. I hear you have sent some of your own people here. Are you sure it is wise?”

  “It seemed so at the time, but no longer. I need to both ask you and tell you something, and for you to make a decision.”

  Don Domingo indicated a chair. “Sit. Ask what you will, though I may be unable to provide answers.”

  “That in itself may be enough for me to make a decision.” Thomas took the chair. It was well-upholstered, and the comfort of it made his body relax for what felt like the first time in days. “Has Mandana or his son been to see you since I was here last?”

  Don Domingo shook his head. “Did you achieve what you went to do?”

  “I’m not sure. I freed Helena, but may have stirred up a hornet’s nest in turn.” Thomas stared at Don Domingo. “Did you know Muhammed, Guerrero and Mandana are planning to work together?”

  Any answer Don Domingo might have had was interrupted by the servant, who entered with a tray holding coffee and a plate of small delicacies. She set the tray on the low table between them, made a small bow and left, leaving her perfume behind.

  “Help yourself, I have already eaten.”

  Thomas reached out, trying not to stuff two of the tiny bites into his mouth at once.

  Don Domingo smiled, then his expression lost all trace of humour. “Of course I know they are working together. It is one of the reasons I am here in this sad excuse for a town, but beggars have little choice, and it is a beggar I am.”

  “You don’t like your situation, do you?” Thomas spoke around a mouthful of soft meat encased in pastry, reached for another before he had swallowed it.

  “Of course not, but it is better than the alternative. If I do as I am asked, then a better position might be found for me.”

  “Muhammed has little time left to rule, you must know that.”

  Don Domingo acknowledged the words with a soft nod.

  “Then I may be of use to the Spanish. Ask what you came here for. Do you want me to send for more food?”

  Thomas glanced down to where a small delicacy lay in each hand, then shook his head. “I have not eaten in some time.”

  “As I can see. So, what is it you want?”

  “Guerrero and Mandana will be at the town walls by mid-morning. Or did you know that, too?”

  Don Domingo sat straighter. “No, I did not. Mandana calls on me every four or five weeks, but is not due yet—as you should know well because you saw him here recently.”

  “This time he has over five hundred men with him. There is going to be trouble. I believe they come to make an example, to encourage those they have stolen from their families. He will want to consult your records, no doubt. Has he done so before?”

  Don Domingo sank back into his chair. “Once only.”

  Thomas stared at him, knowing there was no need to ask what had happened. He could see it clearly in the expression on Don Domingo’s face.

  “Was it someone who ran?” he asked.

  Don Domingo nodded. “That is what I was told. They took a woman and two children away. I was not brave enough to ask the reason, and they would not have told me in any case. I was told to cross their names from the record.” He raised his eyes to meet Thomas’s. “Unless you have brought an army with you there is nothing can be done. When they come I will give up the names they ask for.”

  “This time they might be taking everyone,” Thomas said, and Don Domingo made a noise. “And no, I have no army, but Pampaneira is protected by strong walls and steep hillsides. A small force could hold the town for a long time. Longer than Guerrero would want to besiege it.”

  “They have men inside the walls,” said Don Domingo.

  “How many? I have seen no more than two dozen. Women and children do not need many to keep them controlled. My friends and I can take care of two dozen. Are there any others? Would the old men fight?”

  “We have bee
n spared the fate inflicted on other towns. Nobody would believe you if you said they are under threat now.”

  “I want you to ask them in any case,” Thomas said. “They won’t listen to me.”

  “Nor me. I am sure they consider me a joke. The governor before me was a farmer who worked his own land here. He was one of them. Spoke their bastard language, born within a mile of where we sit. I am an outsider and will not be missed when I leave. So no, they will not fight if I ask, nor will they obey. How many men do you have, Thomas? Can you offer any resistance at all?”

  “We are six, but only four of those I can trust to fight.”

  “Six? Gods, then you have already lost, but there is still time for you to leave. I like you, Thomas Berrington, I always have, but your habit of helping people has finally gotten you into more trouble than you can handle.”

  “What will you do when they come?”

  “Whatever they ask.”

  “Will you tell them I was here?”

  Don Domingo offered a smile. “Were you? I do not recall such.”

  As Thomas passed through the central square, he noticed the men set to guard the inhabitants. They stood in doorways, or sat outside small establishments serving the means to obtain oblivion or dreams. He saw only two women, both of whom kept scarves over their heads and walked quickly, ignoring the shouted insults.

  In the house the scent of cooking brought a pain to Thomas’s stomach. The sweetmeats offered by Don Domingo had done little more than sharpen his hunger, and he sat at the table across from Olaf waiting for the food to be served. Will tried to climb across the table to him, but Olaf made him go around. Thomas lifted his son onto his lap, surprised at how heavy he had become. Taller than when he had left him in Jorge and Belia’s care after the death of Lubna, stronger from Usaden’s training. Thomas knew he had failed as a father, abandoning both Will and Amal to the care of others.

  “Where have you been, Pa?” Will asked.

  “Out.”

  “Take me next time. This house is full of women.”

  Thomas tried not to laugh. “I expect they spoil you, don’t they?”

  “I’m too old to be spoiled.”

  Thomas looked around, but couldn’t see who he wanted. “Do you know where Jorge is?”

  “Sleeping. He sleeps all the time. Sleeps and tumbles with Belia.”

  “You are too young to know such things,” Thomas said.

  “Why?”

  “You just are.” He lifted Will down. “Go find him and tell him we need to talk.”

  “What if they are tumbling?”

  Thomas tried to hide a smile. “Knock on the door first.”

  “Can I talk too? And can I play with Kin?”

  “Of course, to both. But go get Jorge first.”

  Thomas watched Will run off then turned back to Olaf. “Once we have eaten we need to make a decision.”

  “Your friend turned you down, did he?”

  “He can’t help us, and I understand his reasons why.” Thomas glanced up as Belia and Jamila brought clay platters heavy with spiced stew. Dana followed with flatbread. Thomas studied her for a moment. Her waist was still slim, with little sign of the child she carried. He wondered how far along she was, his old training sparking a clutch of questions he pushed to one side. Her birthing was months away yet, and no doubt none of his business. He reached for the bread and piled stew into a pocket he made with his thumbnail. The food was good, and for a time he lost himself in the simple pleasure of filling his belly. Jorge came down, seeming to be wide awake. Will went across the room to Kin, who allowed himself to be hand-fed small nuggets of meat and pigeon.

  Jamila took a place at the head of the table near to Thomas and nodded toward Helena, who had come down and now sat at the far end, eating without raising her eyes. “Is it true what Jorge told me, that she was once your woman? I would understand if she becomes so again. She is very beautiful.”

  “A beauty that is only surface deep,” Thomas said. “And no, not my woman, not anymore. Not in a long time, and I wish she never had been.” He wondered why he had to qualify his answer when a simple no would have been sufficient.

  When the table was cleared, the men gathered at one end while the women took Amal away. But when they tried to lead Will to bed he resisted, and Thomas said it was all right if he stayed.

  “We have a choice,” Thomas said. “The town walls are strong, but they need men to protect them. I’m also worried about the men that control the streets here. Even if we can find enough others willing to help, those Guerrero left behind will try to stop us.”

  “How many are there?” asked Usaden. “I have seen them, but their number is small. A score, possibly one or two more.” He looked around at them, at Thomas, Olaf, Jorge, Luis and Aban. “We are enough to kill that number, particularly if they don’t expect an attack.”

  “We could disable some of them, but not all. And we would have to find them first. I think we should leave before Guerrero and Mandana arrive.”

  “Olaf Torvaldsson does not run away from a fight,” said Olaf.

  “We will not be running away. We will be making a sensible retreat. I still mean to kill them both, but how can the five of us fight a hundred times that many?”

  “One at a time, of course,” said Olaf.

  “I agree with Thomas,” said Jorge. “Now isn’t the time to throw our lives away. Leave, plan, return.”

  “It will still be only the five of us,” said Olaf. “I say confront them now. Send the women and children away. The rest of us stay. This is a good place to defend once we have killed the traitors.”

  “What if there are others we haven’t seen?” Thomas said. “Half the menfolk in the town might be under the control of Guerrero. All it takes is a few of them to open the town gates and his army will stream in to kill everyone they find.”

  Olaf shook his head, but said nothing.

  “We need a show of hands,” Thomas said. “Who thinks we should leave?”

  “No show of hands,” said Olaf. He lifted his gaze and stared at Thomas. “You are our leader. The decision is yours. Tell us what you want and we will obey.” He looked around at the others, waiting for any objections, but none came. The women had come to sit with them, and each of them nodded, even Helena, who usually objected to everything.

  Thomas didn’t feel like a leader, and he certainly didn’t want the responsibility. He wondered why Olaf had not taken that role for himself. He was the Sultan’s general—a true leader of men, and far more suited to it. Even when Thomas had been strong he would have let Olaf lead him. And then he knew why the statement had been made. If this was Olaf’s decision he would order them to fight, order them to sacrifice themselves in a final blaze of pointless bravery. It was his nature. Olaf was born a Northman, and saw dying with honour as part of his destiny, so his children and grandchildren could tell his saga around firesides long into the future. Except none of his children, all girls, would do such. Lubna would have, but Lubna was no more. Thomas realised the task would now fall to him, to Will, and to Amal.

  Thomas raised his gaze and studied each of them in turn until he was looking once more at Olaf. “We leave as soon as we can. Jamila, you and the other women prepare food to take, something that will last a few days at least. The rest of us will go out and warn who we can that Mandana is coming. What they do with the information is up to them.”

  Luis stood, pushing his chair back. “I want to fight. If you won’t, then I will stay and fight alone.” He turned and left the room.

  When he was gone, making a lot of noise on the stairs, Jamila touched Thomas’s arm. “He grieves for his parents. You must make allowances for him.”

  “We all grieve for someone.” Thomas brushed past Jamila and followed Luis upstairs. He had a proposal to make. It would be dangerous, but it might appeal to the youth’s frustrations.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Thomas climbed through darkness to the highest point of the
town, then onward to the highest point of the wall. He stared south until he found what he knew lay there. It was not exactly where he expected, because this land was so twisted it was hard to work out what lay in which direction, but at last he glimpsed the glow of fires in the distance where Guerrero’s camp lay. The sight reinforced his decision to leave. They were too many of them, and he had witnessed their brutality in action, both during the fall of Malaka and since. Well-trained, lacking all mercy, caring little for their own lives if it meant they could take the lives of others. It was time to leave even if he had no destination in mind, only an unformed idea, and an even less well-formed plan.

  When he returned to the house the others were ready, makeshift packs waiting to set on their shoulders. Luis stood apart, perhaps still thinking about the conversation Thomas had had with him. All faces turned toward Thomas except for his daughter’s, who was cradled against Belia’s breast in a linen sling. For a brief moment Thomas wondered if he was doing the right thing taking all of them with him. There would be hardship and danger, but he knew it was impossible to leave anyone behind, not with Guerrero and Mandana coming. He had done that once before, and the pain of the consequence would remain with him forever.

  The town was quiet as they made their way to the northern gate. Dawn was a few hours off yet, but a quarter moon provided enough light to travel by. There was a good roadway that led across the flank of the Sholayr through two higher towns, beyond which lay only small villages such as Jamila’s, and bare mountainside.

  Thomas stayed at the rear of the group, Will’s hand in his, taking comfort from the touch. Now and again as they climbed he slowed to look back, the spread of Mandana’s troops growing clearer each time. They passed through the silent, single street of Bubion and then, shortly after, Campaneira. When the road twisted back on itself Jamila showed them a track that would lead them west. Thomas wondered where they might find themselves before the end of the day that was barely started. They needed a place of refuge, somewhere safe, dry and warm. As they walked he tried to think of where, but his mind was fogged with exhaustion, and he kept finding himself drifting into a state devoid of all thought, one foot moving in front of the other—Will’s hand clasped in his, the backs of his friends ahead. The first grey light of coming dawn cast shadows, caught silver against the snow-capped peaks of the Sholayr, and still Thomas’s mind remained vacant. And then a voice came to him, as clear as if Lubna lay with her mouth against his ear.