Men of Bone, page 30
part #1 of Thomas Berrington Tudor Mystery Series
When Thomas saw Will give a great bellow and run at the circle, his axe swinging free, he did the same on the other side. His sword flashed. His knife struck out. Men were injured or died.
Thomas pulled back, his attack lasting only a few seconds, too fast for the defenders to react. On the far side, he saw Will do the same and his son offered a nod.
The next time Usaden ran in beside Will, even more deadly. Jorge joined Thomas, and they injured another two before drawing back. Kin prowled the edge of the defensive circle, darting in now and again to savage legs and feet.
The circle of men grew tighter. Their defence was sound, but they had never come up against the likes of Will or Usaden before and did not know how to deal with them.
Other men of Ludlow gathered. Edmund Brickenden punched Thomas on the shoulder, a grin on his broad face.
“I killed three, Tom,” he said.
“How do you feel about killing three more, and then another three?”
“Sounds fine to me.”
The next time Thomas ran at the defensive line, Edmund was with him on one side, James and Michael on the other, and a sense of rightness settled through him. These were the boys of a girl he had once loved above all others, and they were defending what was theirs. Had life taken a different turn they might have been his sons. They were only average fighters, but Thomas deflected two or three blows that might have struck them, and their own blades did damage. The attackers had become defenders, and as the night progressed their number grew less.
Thomas made his way around to Will, whose face was blood-spattered so only the whites of his eyes showed, together with his pale hair.
“We should offer them a chance to surrender,” Thomas said. “To retreat and scurry back to Wales.”
“No—we kill them all.”
“We could do that, yes, but it will mean men of Ludlow will die as well. You have seen they are not skilled fighters. Already a dozen will never see the dawn, and twice that number will need my attention before then. How many attackers still roam the town?”
“There are a few left,” said Usaden. “This group is the bravest of them. Most of the others fled when they had the chance. We can take them all, Thomas.”
“I am tired of killing men for the sake of it,” Thomas said. Usaden did nothing but stare at him. Killing is what Usaden did. But he also respected those who employed him, and those he liked. Thomas was relieved he was one of that tiny number. Will was another. So was Amal. Thomas hoped if Usaden stayed in England he might add a few more to his list.
“Do we talk, then?” asked Will.
“They are watching the three of us. You have scared them and they believe you our commander. It should be you.”
“You are better with words, Pa. You do it.”
“Then stand beside me so I can pretend I am following your orders.”
Will walked a little behind Thomas as he made his way to the gathered attackers. Thomas had watched them as the fight progressed and estimated he knew who their leader was. A man no taller than the others but better dressed, still wearing a green hat, unlike most of the Welsh. He stood unprotected by the others in the front rank, and it was to him that Thomas strode.
The man raised his sword, ready for an attack, but none came.
“Do you speak English?” Thomas asked.
“Better than you by the sound of it. What is it you want?” The man spoke to Thomas, but his eyes were on Will, a judgement in them.
“You were sent here on a false errand, but we have no wish to punish you for following the orders of an evil man. We offer you this one chance. We will withdraw to the edge of the square. Linney Gate remains open. Leave England and return to Wales and you can die old men in your beds.”
“You make it sound so attractive,” said the man.
“Then die with a beautiful woman riding you, but die you will, the same as us all. The difference is you can choose whether it is tonight, or in your homeland many years from now.”
“I need to speak to the others.”
“Then do it.”
Thomas withdrew at Will’s side.
“If they refuse, we attack hard and fast,” he said. “No mercy. None. Send men out to call everyone here. Get the archers to circle the square, swordsmen closer in.”
Will offered a nod and went to speak with Edmund, Michael and James, who ran off into the dark. When he returned he stood at Thomas’s side as the Welsh leader spoke to his men in their own language. There was some argument, but as time passed Thomas saw there would be no more fighting. When the man returned to the edge of the defensive circle Thomas walked across with Will and stood in front of him. He lowered his sword and slid it back into the sheath at his waist. It was not much, but it was something.
The man did the same.
“No archers to pick us off as we go?”
“No archers.”
“We can take our dead with us?”
“Those you can carry. Any left when dawn comes will be given a Christian burial here.”
The man gave a nod. “Then it is agreed.” He took a step out from the circle, spat in his hand and held it out.
Thomas was about to do the same when Will came past him and shook the hand.
“You fight well,” said the man.
“So do you.”
“What is your name?”
“Will Berrington.”
“I am Llewelyn ap Gwyrdd. May we hope to never face each other in battle again.”
“Stay on your own side of the border, then,” said Will.
The men of Ludlow stood back against the edge of Market Square and watched as the Welshmen gathered into cohorts before marching away through the streets and out through Linney Gate, where they had come from.
“That will need fixing come morning.” Will stared at the shattered wood of the gate.
“I am sure there are fine workmen in Ludlow.” Thomas slapped his son on the back. “Come on, I need to eat, and I need to sleep. I also need to talk to Ami about what happened to her tonight. It fills her head to the exclusion of all else.”
“Let Jorge do it,” said Will as they started back towards the castle. “He is better at that kind of thing.”
As they passed Agnes's bakery the door opened and she emerged from inside. She ran to Thomas and embraced him so tightly he could hardly breathe, then she kissed his face.
“Thank you, brother. You have saved me all over again.” She wiped tears from her face.
“I wish the fight had never come.”
“But it did, and you were ready. You too, Will. We watched you from the windows upstairs. The girls wanted to come out and fight but I stopped them.” She kissed Thomas again. “Come to see us tomorrow. Or today, I expect it is now. Ludlow owes you a great debt.”
Except, as Thomas walked back to the castle, he wondered if she spoke the truth. He knew matters were not yet concluded. This battle was just the beginning. And the head of the enemy remained to poison England.
THIRTY-EIGHT
Once inside the walls of Ludlow Castle, Thomas looked around to ensure everyone had returned safely, but he could not see Will or Usaden.
“Did you see where Will went?” he asked Jorge, who looked as if he could barely stand. “He was with us at Agnes's house and I assumed he had come ahead.”
“I think he went with Usaden and Kin to follow the Welshmen. He said something about wanting to make sure they kept to their side of the bargain and did not sneak back.”
“They were beaten,” Thomas said. “And their leader gave us his word.”
Jorge laughed and shook his head. “Despite all you have been through over the years, you are still too quick to trust the word of others—even that of your enemies.”
“They were mercenaries, not enemies. There is a difference. Usaden was a mercenary when he came to the siege of Málaga. I still recall watching him walk off the galley that brought him and his companions from Africa.”
“And?”
Thomas tried to remember if he had been trying to make a point, but was too exhausted to follow his own thread. Then it came to him. “Usaden was loyal to those who recruited him, but he had no enmity for those he fought. It was a transaction, nothing more.”
“Except he has changed,” said Jorge. “His loyalty is now to you, to Will and Amal.”
“You also,” Thomas said.
“Belia and me and our children, yes, but it is you he follows without question.”
“More so Will these days.”
“As it should be, perhaps. Our children grow up and, if we have done the work of raising them right, then they are better than we are. Now, I am going to find somewhere to bathe the stink of death from me and then I intend to sleep until noon.” Jorge slapped Thomas on the back. “I suggest you try to do the same.”
“Soon.”
When Jorge had gone Thomas stood in the courtyard, swaying a little, his mind failing to gain traction. He knew he should take Jorge’s advice and sleep, but there were things he needed to do first. Once he remembered what they were.
He found Amal sitting at the table when he returned to the room he had left her. Belia was curled on the bed with her children, sound asleep. A single lamp burned where Amal studied the documents from the hessian sack. Thomas watched her, head bowed, a frown of concentration on her brow. Only when he crossed the room towards her did she look up.
“You are still alive, Pa. Good. And Will?”
“We all survived the night. Even Jorge. He has gone to bathe, so we will need to move to my room when he arrives. No doubt he will be naked when he gets here.”
Amal laughed. “I think I have seen him naked more times than I have seen myself.” For a moment she was the old Amal; carefree, positive, a little wicked. And then, watching his daughter, Thomas saw the moment when the memory of what had been done to her returned.
He reached across the table and took her hand, enclosing it in both of his. She offered a smile, but it came and went too fast.
“It will get better,” he said. “I thought losing your mother would scar my soul forever, but now when I think of her, which is every single day, the pain recedes little by little and I recall more of the good times, of which there were many. The pain of her loss will never leave me, but we make accommodations.”
“Am I like her? Will tells me I am, but you never say so.”
Thomas stared at his daughter, and in doing so, it was as if he was looking at her mother, Lubna.
“You could be her reborn. She was only three or four years older than you when she came to my house in the Albayzin. It is as if she has been returned to me. And you are like her in more than just how you look. You are like her inside as well.” Thomas gave a smile. “Like her, but like yourself as well.”
“Are you like your father, Pa? You never talk about him.”
“I am nothing like my father. Nothing at all. I never speak of him because he was a bully and a coward. I recall nothing good about the man. Nothing at all.”
“Then you are not like him. Will is like you, isn’t he?”
“Some of him, yes, but he is more like Olaf than me.”
Amal shook her head, her dark hair covering her face, so she had to push it back. “You always say that, but you are wrong. Will is more like you than morfar .” Amal used the northern word for her grandfather, as she always did.
“Do you miss him?”
Amal frowned. “Will?”
“Olaf.”
“Of course, but I know the life we led in Granada would end. Morfar transferred his loyalty to Isabel, but he was never used in the same way as he was under the Sultan. I don’t think Fernando trusted him, even if Isabel did. Now we are gone, he told me he will travel north to his homeland. There is nothing to keep him in Spain since Fatima passed.” Amal raised her eyes to stare into Thomas’s. “He told me he feels his age these days. That he never thought he would, but the years accumulate and take their toll. His life has been hard, just as yours has, Pa. Do you feel your age?”
“Tonight more than ever.”
“Are we to stay in England now?”
“I gave my word to Isabel to protect her daughter, so yes, we stay as long as Catherine needs us.”
“I used to think Cat would rather marry Will, but I know that is impossible. Just as I used to dream something would happen to Fernando and you could marry Isabel. Even if he had died, you would not have been allowed to, though I know it is what you both wanted. What you both deserved. Each other.”
Thomas smiled. “Why are you so clever, Ami?”
She shrugged. “My father does not allow me to be anything else, and I never want to be anything other than his daughter. Even now.”
Jorge came in. He was naked and damp. He stopped and stared at them until Amal laughed and gathered the papers together.
“Am I so funny, Ami?”
“You know you are, tio , but I love you anyway. We will be gone in less than a minute.”
“Not on my behalf. I am too tired to ravish Belia, and besides, I would not want to shock my children.”
Amal laughed again and rose to her feet. “I think it is a little late for that, don’t you?” She clutched twenty or thirty pieces of paper. The rest remained scattered across the table.
“These are the ones you need to read for yourself, Pa, the others are of no importance.”
Thomas heaved himself to his feet and followed her to the door. He trusted her word.
When they entered his room Amal asked, “Is this where you and she slept?”
“It is.”
“I don’t really know her, but I assume you must have trusted her to sleep with her, to share this room.”
“I did.”
“And she betrayed you.”
“She did.” Thomas lit a candle and set it on the small table near the window. Beyond the glass, night continued to hold hard to the dark. “Now show me what you found, and then we can sleep.”
“Can I stay with you, Pa? I cannot sleep alone, not tonight.”
“Of course you can.” Thomas thought of all the other nights they had slept three to a bed, Will, Amal and him. It had been some years since they had done so. Will was too big now, and Amal was growing into a woman. But tonight he would allow her to sleep in his room because his protection would be important to her. Even if he had failed in his duty and allowed her to be defiled by Hugh Clement. For a moment, anger surged through him and he had to fight the urge to rush to the room where the man slept alongside Philippa Gale and kill them both. Tomorrow, he would think of a suitable punishment. Tonight, he would read the papers Amal had selected, and then he would sleep.
Before Thomas could start, Amal reached for the papers and re-arranged them into a stack.
“Start at the top and work your way to the bottom. They tell a story, and you will not see it unless you read them in order.”
“So how did you see it?”
“You already said it—I am clever. Now, if I can, I am going to lie on your bed and go to sleep.”
Thomas started with the top sheet, as instructed. It related to a land transaction in London. The location appeared to be in the middle of the river Thames, but when he set it aside he saw the next sheet held a drawing of London Bridge with a building circled. The name on both sheets of paper were the same.
Four sheets further down, he came across the first mention of the name Galib Uziel. It related not to any transaction in England but in Spain. The document was written in Spanish, which Thomas could read well enough. The man had sold his extensive holdings in Málaga for a tenth of what they were worth. However, even a tenth proved to be a considerable sum, and Thomas knew many conversos and moriscos had been forced to sell for much less.
The next sheet identified where a portion of the money had gone. The house in London used some, but much of the rest went on recruiting men. It puzzled Thomas why anyone would record the details of such transactions, which would prove their guilt. He could only suppose these papers were never meant to be found. Which raised another question: why did such an inept man as Hugh Clement have them in his possession?
The next was a personal letter from Galib Uziel to his daughter, also written in Spanish. The letter was addressed to Philippa by name and assigned her the deeds of a house just off Cheapside in London. Thomas looked across the room, wondering if that was where she had been living when he first met her. The date of the transaction was fifteen years before.
He set the sheet to one side with the others and continued.
Eventually he sat back, then stood and stretched to ease the ache in his body, knowing only a bath and twelve hours of sleep might cure him. Amal was right. The papers told a story. A story of corruption, of bribery, and murder.
What puzzled Thomas was that they contained nothing to directly link Hugh Clement to the bonemen in London. Yet there should be. It was beyond belief two such organisations could spring up by accident. Only the man’s name on a few documents made a loose link, but nothing mentioned both Hugh Clement and Galib Uziel.
The man was a fool to keep the papers, but no doubt he never expected them to be found. The trail to his involvement was clear and all the proof King Henry would need to have him removed from his position. More than removed—there was enough here to hang the man.
There was nothing about the recruitment of the Welshmen, but it was possible they had missed some more recent documents. What did interest Thomas was how the trail implicated Wigmore Abbey. The connections hinted at by the last pages were less clear, but reading them, Thomas saw the Abbey was involved in some manner. Abbot John was beholden to Hugh Clement. He was named on the documents. He had allocated Abbey lands to the man. More than likely it was he who had sent a monk to take Philippa to Hugh Clement’s manor house. What was not clear was why the Abbot had done so. It made no sense, but it might once Thomas talked to him. Except he knew he could not do so alone. He needed someone the Abbot trusted, someone closer to the church, and Thomas knew exactly who that was. He glanced at the bed where Amal slept then left the room.
