A Divided Inheritance (61 page)

The arrival of Ayamena without Husain had shaken them all. Nicolao leaned against the wall, one arm around his wife, his hand on Luisa’s head, as if to reassure himself
she at least was there. Luisa, in turn, had Nicolao’s wrinkled hand in hers, but stared up at the night sky, at the streaky moon disappearing behind scudding pewter-coloured clouds.
Ayamena’s eyes were fixed on the track from the main road.

Elspet did not know how she could be of comfort, except to stay with them. She did not really think Zachary could find Husain, or that he could do anything at all against the might of the
King’s militia. And now she was surprised to find herself concerned for his safety too. He had been family for so long, she could not suddenly think of him as none of her kin.

The small group waited outside under the awning on the covered porch. There was no room in the derelict cottage with the other refugees anyway. Pedro and Alexander stood out in the road, their
pipes lit now that the rain had stopped. Elspet watched Señor Alvarez’s profile, and he turned and caught her eye. It was as if the rest of the world disappeared. To hide her confusion
she knelt to speak to Ayamena. ‘Would you like anything? You’ve not eaten, and Luisa and I had soup –’

‘No. Nothing at all. Just my son.’ And Ayamena twisted the corner of her robe in her hands. ‘Quiet,’ Ayamena whispered, suddenly still. Everyone listened. A muffled noise
of footsteps, whispers, the clanking of metal and wood, the bleat of a kid. The people in the cottages were moving down to the harbour.

‘They’re leaving,’ Elspet said.

‘I won’t go without him,’ Ayamena said.

‘Let’s get ready anyway, my love.’ Nicolao prompted her by struggling to his feet. ‘Then when he comes we won’t miss the tide.’

‘Let me carry something,’ Elspet said.

‘I’ll manage. Please,’ said Ayamena, ‘won’t one of you go to see if there’s any sign of them?’

‘I’ll go,’ Pedro said. ‘Poor old Alexander’s done enough galloping for one day. He can walk down with Señor Alvarez, escort you to the boats.’

A man whistled softly from the track below, a penetrating sound like the shriek of an owl. ‘My husband,’ said Señora Quevedo. ‘It’s time.’

‘Thank you,’ Alvarez said and bowed to her. Elspet saw the flash of his scabbard beneath his cloak, and realized that he, too, was armed.

‘God speed,’ whispered Señora Quevedo, crossing herself firmly.

They followed the sound down towards the beach. Señor Alvarez took hold of Nicolao’s arm and Luisa took Ayamena’s.

‘Maybe they’re already waiting at the boat, Mama,’ she heard Luisa whisper. Luisa, too, was pretending that Zachary and Husain would come; how much harder it must be for
her.

They could see nothing for there were no lamps, not a single candle. The wind would have guttered them anyway. But Elspet followed the shuffle of footsteps and the rustle of clothing, the jangle
of coins and the clanking of buckets, in the hope of a moment to say farewell to Señor Alvarez and wish him safe passage.

They followed in the tracks of those in front towards the sea, down a steep stony track ravaged by streams of running water. The moon was just setting, three-quarters full, beneath it the tide
ballooned dark and menacing. Against a makeshift jetty several small rowing boats dipped and swayed, and further out the dark hulks of bigger fishing smacks could just be seen rising and sinking
with the swell. As the group picked their way down the track they were overtaken by more people, all in a hurry to get to the boats, jostling and pushing past with their burdens on their heads.

But Ayamena and Nicolao hung back, looking over their shoulders for any sign of Zachary or Husain. Elspet wished Señor Alvarez and the Ortegas would hurry and get on board. The first
boats had already departed and the others were filling fast.

‘You should go with Señor Alvarez now, Mama,’ Luisa said. ‘Take Papa and get on board. I’ll wait for Zachary and Husain.’

‘Yes, Ayamena, time to go.’ Señor Alvarez pressed her arm.

‘No. Look what happened last time. This time we stay together. We go as a family or not at all.’

‘But señora, look at the jetty. Those rocks couldn’t be seen before. The tide has turned and soon the boats will not be able to take you.’ Alexander pleaded with
Nicolao, ‘Please, señor, I’ll help you into the next boat.’

But Nicolao shook his head. Elspet looked out to sea; two of the rowing boats were halfway out, the others were over-full already and launching perilously from the jetty. The sandy part of the
shore was littered with bags and chattels. The goat was still with them, on its tether, the other end of which was wrapped around the wrist of a lanky youth. Elspet made a count. There were about
twenty more people left on the shore besides the Ortegas. Señor Alvarez and her friends would go in the next boat.

It was time for farewells. She touched Señor Alvarez on the shoulder and he turned. ‘He isn’t coming,’ she said.

‘I know,’ he said.

‘Ayamena will break her heart.’

‘At least he tried. Here,’ he pulled out a rolled parchment from a bag slung over his shoulder and passed it over to her. She made to open it, but he closed his hand over hers.
‘Not now. There’s no time. It is personal. It is for your future – a letter of love.’ His dark eyes were serious but tender.

She blinked back tears; she found she could not speak. He pulled her into his arms and pressed his lips on her forehead. She clung to him, feeling his warm back beneath his cloak.

A volley of shot whisked over the tops of their heads. The blast was deafening. Señor Alvarez unsheathed his sword.

‘Get down!’ he shouted.

Elspet was disorientated, but stowed the parchment in her bodice and turned to look to her right. A company of horsemen had appeared on the cliffs. From here, now a pale flush of dawn light had
appeared, she could just make out their silhouettes. The upright muskets at their shoulders and the shape of their helmets announced they were armed soldiers.

She fought the urge to run. ‘Señor! Get into the boat!’ she shouted. ‘For God’s sake, get into the boat!’

Over to her left she saw another dark rabble of men pouring down the track. Alexander and Pedro had seen them too and had put themselves between the mob and the fleeing Moriscos.

Her two companions were managing to hold the path, but more people edged around them to the sides. It took a moment before Elspet realized that these others were not militia but looters after
the possessions left on the shore. Baskets and bags, sacks and barrels, they were all disappearing into grasping hands, snatched into the blackness. A soft thud behind her. With horror she saw a
woman fall, and the man who had clubbed her drag her bundle from her arms. Elspet drew her sword and ran after him, but he scrambled away, out of the reach of her blade.

When she looked again at the shore the youth was tugging at the goat’s halter, whilst a man with a scarf tied over his face was on the other end trying to wrestle it free.

‘Leave it!’ she cried to the youth. ‘Just get aboard!’ The last rowing boat was now sliding up to the jetty.

‘What’s happening?’ she heard Nicolao cry out. ‘Is it Zachary?’

Señor Alvarez took his shoulder to guide him on to the boat. ‘We are leaving. Don’t worry. Ayamena and Luisa are just behind us.’ The others on the shore panicked as
more looters poured on to the beach, and they began to run for the jetty. A man stumbled to carry his injured wife to the boat. What had been an orderly procession was now all confusion.

Elspet saw Luisa try to drag Ayamena on to the landing stage. ‘Please, Mama,’ Luisa said. ‘Papa’s on the boat. You have to leave now or he’ll be all
alone.’

A dark figure grabbed Luisa’s bag and tried to rip it from her shoulder. Elspet saw him lift a lump of wood as if to strike but she leapt up to him, drew her sword and pushed her blade to
his throat.

‘Leave her,’ she spat. The man slunk away. Elspet shoved Ayamena hard from behind. ‘Now go!’ Luisa used the force of Elspet’s push to drag her mother towards the
jetty.

Señor Alvarez was standing up in the boat. She could see his white hair, he was shouting and gesticulating and pointing. The two men with the oars were about to push off, when he suddenly
dropped down into the boat. Moments later he was back up again pointing.

She heard the clatter of hooves on the path and the looters scattered. Alexander and Pedro pelted down the track towards her.

‘Horses,’ Alexander panted. ‘I think it’s the army. For God’s sake get them on board.’

‘She won’t go,’ shouted Elspet. ‘She’s waiting for Husain.’

‘Then we’ll have to make her. Come on.’ The men helped Luisa drag the protesting Ayamena to the boat.

Luisa climbed in first, and took her father’s arm. ‘Help me, Papa,’ she cried.

Alexander and Pedro lifted her in where Luisa and Nicolao and the señor were ready to receive her. But she was fighting all the way, clawing and beating at them.

When Nicolao and Luisa finally had their arms locked around her, she still struggled. ‘Husain,’ she sobbed, attempting to clamber out, ‘my little one, I haven’t abandoned
you. I’ll make them come back for you.’

The oarsman lifted the oar and pushed against the jetty. The boat slid away slowly. Alvarez had his hand lifted in farewell, his gaze fixed on Elspet’s face. Elspet lifted her hand to her
mouth intending to blow a kiss, but found that she could not; she saw Luisa’s stricken face, and Ayamena, still reaching for the shore, her mouth open in anguish.

Husain’s fingers dug into Zachary’s ribs. The horse was tiring, and Zachary’s hands were numb from riding into the rain and wind. Both were unused to the
saddle and in the end Zachary had to prop Husain between his arms instead of him riding pillion, so he could support him upright.

They lost the route to Tavira and had to double back, but when they finally clattered up to the house and the señora said the boats had left, that they were too late, Husain turned grey
and silent.

‘Don’t give up yet, little soldier,’ Zachary said. He pictured Luisa’s face. He had made a promise. He gritted his teeth and hoisted Husain back up again and galloped
towards the shore. From the cliffs he heard gunfire, and saw its flash light up the sky.

Trouble. He spurred his horse on, only slowing as he came to the steep stony track to the harbour. Below him the lights of large fishing vessels keeled at anchor in the distance, but a fishing
smack nearer to the shore caught his eye. By the jetty a rowing boat was pushing off, rocking on the swell. There were still dark shapes of people on the jetty milling about, some men, and a woman.
He clapped his legs hard against the horse’s sides.

On the way down the horse shied and sidestepped to avoid people running up, carrying bundles and bags, and a man dragging a young goat behind him. He wasn’t sure who these people were and
searched their faces, but they put their heads down and scurried past. As he arrived on the shore with Husain, the horse floundered as the stony surface suddenly gave way to soft sand.

‘Mama!’ Husain’s thin voice cried. He seemed to have come to life.

Zachary tried to hold the squirming boy still. A shot rang out and he lost control of his horse, which bucked and stumbled sideways. From behind him, another shot – this time the retort
too close for comfort. The horse bolted forwards into the sand. Zachary clutched tight to Husain, the reins flapped loose. A jerk, and a foreleg gave way under the horse and it fell, pitching them
both on to the ground. By instinct his body wrapped round Husain as they hit the ground. They rolled over and over. A stone cracked against his ear, dirt and sand filled his mouth. He must shield
Husain; from the timing of the shots, there must be at least two arquebusiers.

But Husain slipped from his grip like a rabbit and ran towards the boat, screaming again, ‘Mama!’ Zachary’s ears were buzzing but he thought he heard someone cry,
‘Husain!’

Husain ran down the sand. A shot exploded in the dirt behind him, but he leapt forward and kept running pell-mell towards the boat, arms flailing.

Zachary scrambled to his feet to look over his shoulder for the source of the shot. Amid a cloud of white smoke, five armed militia men were bearing down on them from the bank. Another ball
slammed into the ground, just at Husain’s heels, sending a shower of sand into the air.

He’d never make it. Zachary launched himself after Husain, ran as if a fuse had been lit inside him. His feet turfed up wedges of sand. He stretched out his hands to scoop up the terrified
boy. He heard another crack and felt a searing pain in his left shoulder. But they were only yards from the jetty. The boat was just off shore. Everyone on board was shouting, he could see their
mouths open and close. His legs were slowing but he was aware of the tall white-haired figure of Alvarez, standing in the stern waving. He fixed his eyes on Ayamena, her arms reaching out for her
son. Her mouth was shouting too, but her words were lost in the wind and the noise of hooves behind him.

‘Help us!’ he yelled, holding the boy beneath the armpits.

The figures on the jetty dived off to take cover. Another shot, and this time he felt the shot graze past his temple as if in some other slower time, the flesh of his ear tearing from his scalp
as the red-hot metal seared its path towards the boat.