A Divided Inheritance (62 page)

The force of its passage spun him to his knees. Instinctively, he put his hand to his head and felt blood and bone. A splash. Husain whimpered on the deck before him, his eyes wide with shock.
Zachary staggered upright and with the last of his strength lifted Husain to the edge of the jetty. In his blurred vision he saw hands paddling frantically over the edge of the boat. They were
coming back for him. The scene before him began to swim.

He made an almighty effort and thrust Husain forward into his mother’s arms. He thought he caught a glimpse of Luisa stretching out to him, when nausea engulfed him. His knees hit the deck
with a crack. He rolled off the jetty into the soft sand, and moaned in pain. The sky was black now, the moon eclipsed by clouds. He heard shouting from behind, and the soft plash of oars. He hoped
to God they would make it
.
God speed, Luisa, he thought, I’m sorry I let you down.

He could not fight any more. He was as good as a corpse lying there. And as he watched, the sky slowly turned white as snow.

Elspet felt the thud of her own heart beating. She dared not come out from under cover. Zachary was injured on the planks above, that much she knew. A blast of fire and
suddenly he toppled into the sand beside her, groaning in pain. His face was a mass of grazes, the side of his head seemed to be pouring blood. He rolled over and lay still. She scrambled round to
see the injury to his shoulder and saw with relief it was only a flesh wound.

‘Zachary.’ She shook him. A hiss through the air and then a splash. So they were still firing at the boat. She sent up a silent prayer.

Another splash, but then silence.

Zachary came to, his face gaunt with pain. ‘Luisa?’

She waited, straining for the sound of another shot. When it did not come she said, ‘They all made the boat, Zachary. You did it.’ She shook him by the shoulder.

‘The whole family?’

‘All on that last boat.’

She turned his head, and saw his ear was mostly gone, from which the dark seep of blood dripped through his hair and on to the grey sand. She remembered Sister Josefa, the Barefoot Beata, and
tried to stay calm.

‘The soldiers?’ he managed to say.

‘Hush, I need to listen.’ It fell ominously silent then, except for the suck and swell of the sea. She did not know if the soldiers had gone or not. Somewhere a horse neighed and
then she saw it – it was riderless, trotting down the beach, reins flapping. Shock set in. Her teeth chattered with fear. ‘Oh, Mother Mary,’ she said under her breath. ‘Oh,
Mother Mary.’ Over and over, as if it would help. She thought she heard another shout, but could not be certain. Her hands shook.

She peered out from under the jetty. A helmeted soldier holding an arquebus out before him approached. Dread enveloped her. He saw her movement and stopped warily in his tracks, paused to reload
his weapon.

‘Get under cover,’ she hissed to Zachary, but her words sounded weak and he did not respond. ‘Please, try to move.’ She tried to pull him further under the shelter of the
jetty, but he was heavy and she only managed to drag him a few inches. She saw the shaky flare of the flint light up the metal breastplate and the soldier lift the gun to his shoulder to take
aim.

A blast and a bright white light. She threw herself to the ground, hands over her head, as shrapnel fell from the sky. The echo ricocheted round the harbour, splinters of metal rained on to the
planks above them. When the noise died away she raised her head. In place of the soldier was a standing cloud of foul-smelling smoke.

There was a dark shape lying on the sand surrounded by debris. What was it? She could not see the soldier any more. Just empty space. It was a moment before she realized – his gun must
have clogged and exploded.

A second soldier ran towards the body through the smoke, but stopped short, staring. He looked up to the sky, and crossed himself. In a panic in case he should see them, she tried to drag
Zachary away from that place, but he was too heavy and he groaned in pain.

‘Leave me,’ he moaned. ‘Hide somewhere. Save yourself.’

The second soldier turned and ran back towards the horses. She tracked his direction and saw that over by the wall Alexander and Pedro had taken on the rest of the militia men, who had abandoned
the arquebus, and were fighting on foot. The clash of their weapons reminded her with sudden poignancy of the training yard.

There were three still fighting. Another lay motionless on the ground near the horses. The fifth soldier’s distorted shape was like a boulder in the sand. Beyond him she could see Pedro
was struggling against his adversary. He was a smaller man than the soldier, and the soldier wore a metal breastplate. Pedro was tiring, his cuts had little effect on the metal, and now he was
backed up against the harbour wall. She took a dagger from her belt. Señor Alvarez was gone. Zachary would probably bleed to death. If Pedro and Alexander were killed, then she had no doubt
they would kill her too, or worse.

She ran along the edge of the harbour wall, head down, until she was behind the soldier. Pedro saw her approach and she caught his eye. In this small moment of communication they understood each
other. He paused in his attack for a fraction. She waited until the soldier raised his arm for his final cut and then she thrust hard and deep under his arm. She retreated; the dagger was still
stuck there, its hilt sticking from under his arm.

The soldier blundered backwards, confused, and her sword flew like a bird from her scabbard. He turned to face her, eyes wild as a stuck bull. She engaged his weapon and he relaxed momentarily,
seeing a woman standing there. Nimbly, she stepped around his blade and made a strike to the neck.

Taken aback he parried her blade clumsily to the side, before making a swipe for her head. Only now did it occur to her that she was fighting for her life. The thought hit her like an arrow and
made her legs buckle under her; her skirts tangled in her feet as she struggled to move away.

The man grinned and raised his sword to smite downwards. Over his shoulder she saw Pedro lunge, bring his blade around from behind and pull sharply back. The sword glinted against his neck as
the soldier’s blade faltered in mid-air then dropped from his grasp.

Pedro let the body slump into the sand and sprinted away. Elspet stood over it, unsure what to do. Pedro was running towards Alexander, who was just holding his own against the other two men, by
dancing out of their range. Their weapons were shorter and heavier, but there were two of them and they were herding Alexander backwards into a corner. The shorter one heard something and looked
behind where Pedro was approaching, but she saw his eyes taken by something behind her.

‘Watch out!’ he yelled to his thick-set companion.

She swivelled to look.

Zachary had rolled over and was hauling himself with his one good arm over the sand to reach an arquebus where it had fallen. The soldier sprang towards them but Pedro was nearer and leapt into
his path.

The man was heavily built and powerful. He fought off Pedro’s blows until Pedro was forced to back away.

‘Pedro!’ Even as she shouted, she knew she was too late. The beach was still littered with the remnants of Morisco possessions. Pedro stepped back into a misshapen bundle and
toppled. She saw his legs fly up, heard the thud as his back hit the sand, the rattle of his sword belt. He grunted as he fell, but the soldier did not pause. He thrust his blade hard down,
straight into Pedro’s chest.

Elspet backed away. It was so quick. Pedro did not even cry out. She knew with certainty her friend would never stand again. The thought incensed her. The soldier was still coming towards her;
she ran for the gun but as she picked it up, she realized she did not know how to use it. She threw it towards Zachary, but he was too weak to handle it. He was on his knees, trying to stand, his
sword in his left hand. The soldier saw Zachary and laughed.

‘The piss-pants Englishman who can’t fight,’ he said, ‘in the dirt again.’ It was only then that Elspet remembered she’d seen this man before. The day the
soldiers looted the yard.

‘Rodriguez,’ Zachary said, rising shakily to his feet.

But Rodriguez had already drawn back his sword and made to thrust it into Zachary’s chest.

‘Don’t you dare touch him!’ Elspet leapt in from the side and engaged his blade with hers.

‘Get out of my way,’ he growled, trying to move her blade.

She stood firm despite his pressure. ‘I said, don’t touch him.’

He stabbed at her then, and the speed of his attack gave her no time to think. Her blade slid around his like water. Her edge cut upwards into his cheek. He swore and stepped back out of range.
His hand came up to his cheek, and he felt the blood, slick between his fingers and thumb, his expression amazed.

‘Vixen,’ he said, as he drew back to launch another thrust to Zachary’s chest.

You will have to kill me first
, Elspet thought, lunging forward with the tip of her sword.

Rodriguez parried her easily, laughing. ‘Come on, little lady. He’s finished anyway. Why bother? What’s he to you?’

‘He’s my brother.’ She pressed her blade towards him. ‘Keep away.’

He clashed hard against it to force her away. She imagined the circle. Felt it live inside her. It calmed her. She extended all her senses, reaching out in her heart to the señor.
Rodriguez stood with his sword outstretched, his breath rang in her ears. She looked into his face and a slight narrowing of his eyes gave away his moment of attack. He propelled his sword forward
and she stepped round the circle to the side. But he was too quick, his weapon shot round after her and she felt hers fly upwards from her grasp. She let out a cry, but kept her eyes fixed on her
adversary.

Before her sword even hit the ground Zachary was waving his. She grabbed it. Just in time she rolled away to the side in a flurry of sand and the big man’s blade missed her by a
flea’s width. It pierced her skirts and stuck into the ground.

The slight delay as he struggled to withdraw it was all the time she needed. Zachary’s sword was light and strong and familiar in her hand. She deflected easily as Rodriguez made another
strike and slid it upwards to his wrist. I have you, she thought, but then just in time he turned his guard and pushed her away.

She saw the change in him.

He paused too, gathered himself. That she was a danger had just penetrated his awareness. He ignored Zachary, who had sunk back gasping to his knees and was no threat to him. He walked towards
her, eyes like a snake about to strike.

His slow approach made her stomach curdle. If she did not prevail then Zachary would stand no chance. She backed away and leapt up on to the jetty to give herself more height. With both hands
she brought the blade slicing fast towards his neck. He saw it and leapt to the side. A powerful spring and he was on the jetty with her, pressing forward with a series of shattering blows. His
force vibrated up her arm.

She tried to stave him off. He was bigger and stronger and relentless. But her mind was agile and as he made a last cut towards her face she sprang sideways off the edge like a cat into the
shallows. She turned quickly at a sound behind her. Alexander was running to help her. She angled a penetrating strike upwards and succeeded in making a deep cut to the soldier’s knee. He let
out a groan of pain and Alexander ran up the jetty and pounced, about to engage him.

‘Curse you!’ Rodriguez yelled, hobbling, staggering back. Alexander followed him and drove in his blade. She saw Rodriguez lose balance, and the panic in his eyes as he fought to
regain it, arms flailing.

Slowly, so slowly, he fell into nothingness. A splash.

Alexander and Elspet moved cautiously along the jetty to see what had become of him. He thrashed in the water, his face gasping at the surface, struggling for air, his weighty armour dragging
him under. ‘He can’t swim,’ said Alexander.

Elspet looked away She could not watch.

When she looked back he floated face-up, a pale blurred outline just under the water, like a lump of wreckage moving back and forth with the waves.

A noise of galloping hooves told them that the remaining soldier was leaving. Elspet let Zachary’s sword drop from her grasp.

She cast her eyes out to sea. In the distance she made out the small black dot of the boat still moving against the light of the sky, and further still a fishing smack waiting at anchor in the
deeps.

Alexander followed her gaze, before turning to look at the fallen figure of Pedro. ‘So they made it. Lucky for some,’ he said sadly.

It was strange to be back in Seville. It looked like a different place, a city bereaved. The stones in the city walls must have been witness to so many conquests, so many lives
lived and lost, every empire built on the ruins of another. Elspet took out the letter from Señor Alvarez, and sat at one of the taverns at the side of the road. It was the first private
moment she had taken for herself since she had gone to Tavira. After the night the Moriscos left, Alexander had begged Señora Quevedo for help, and she had mustered men from the village to
help carry the dead from the beach, and then sent them on to another safe house.