A Divided Inheritance (49 page)

He snapped his fingers and she blinked, as if suddenly brought back from a long dream. Around her the men looked dazed.

‘Dawn tomorrow, as usual,’ the señor said, and Elspet put her hands to her hot cheeks, took up her cape and stumbled away into the dark.

Zachary looked up at the stars peppering the sky, the formation of the cross of Cygnus in the vast black above reminding him somehow of the design he had just painted.

‘Better get a good night’s rest,’ Etienne said. ‘We’ll be put through it again tomorrow.’ He peered back through the gate.

‘Come on, then,’ said Girard, slapping Etienne on the back. ‘What are you hanging about for?’

‘Just checking the señor is coming to bar the gate.’ He dragged it closed behind him.

Outside the gate, they heard the scrape and clunk of the bar before parting to go their separate ways, except for Alexander and Zachary, who were walking the same route home. They waved to
Girard, Pedro and Etienne as they crossed the road to go in the other direction. Zachary was about halfway down the street when he realized he had left his bag behind.

‘Hey, Alexander, I’ve left something. I’ll have to go back for it.’

‘Can’t it wait until tomorrow? We’ll be back there in a few hours.’

‘It’s got my whetstone and peening iron, and my leather polishing cloth in it. I’ll need them to grind my sword-edge ready for tomorrow.’

‘Can’t you do it in the morning?’

‘I’ll only be a few minutes. Just hang fire whilst I nip back for it.’

Alexander sighed, and leaned himself up against the wall with a resigned expression. Zachary dumped his arms case at his feet, and sprinted back up the street. He was going to knock at the back
gate and hope the señor would let him in, but as he pushed he realized it was open, Alvarez couldn’t have locked it yet. He loped up the stairs in the yard two at a time. The
Ortegas’ quarters were in darkness, and he hoped Ayamena and Nicolao were fast asleep. It was then he saw a light from the training hall. A light passing the window and briefly shining into
the yard. The señor must still be in there.

He hesitated, wondering whether to disturb him. But then there were more noises, sounds like paper tearing, the thud of something being dropped, and low muffled voices, people talking. He crept
up to the door and peeped through the crack. There were men in the room, but none of them Señor Alvarez, he would recognize his rangy form anywhere. It was dark, though, and there was only
one lantern lit and he could just make out legs and boots silhouetted by the whiteness of the painted floor.

At first he could not grasp what was going on; a pool of black reached like a dark glove across the white paint. One of the men scuffed his boot in it, dragging it all over the floor. Someone
stifled a laugh.

‘Oy!’ Zachary shouted, thrusting open the door.

The men turned. All of them had bandanas tied round their faces and their eyes were shadowed by their broad-brimmed hats. One of them dangled the pot of gall upside down. Liquid dribbled out on
to his boot, but he flung the pot insolently down on to the floor where it span in a spatter of ink and then rolled slowly away.

‘It’s all right. He’s on his own.’

The words spurred Zachary into action. His sword flew out of its scabbard like lightning. It disconcerted the biggest man who stepped back out of range.

‘It’s that Englishman,’ he said, ‘the one we pissed on.’

‘Bastards!’ he yelled. He shouted over his shoulder, ‘Señor Alvarez! Quick!’

Zachary wielded his rapier just inside the doorway, so none of the intruders could pass, but still Alvarez did not come. Where was he? Zachary would be no match for three of Rodriguez’s
men. He drew his blade side to side, threatening, to keep them at a distance, but one blundered at him, his cloak flapping. The tip of his sword shot out towards Zachary’s face.

Breathless, Zachary stepped to the side and his attacker’s thrust met empty air – enough to unbalance him. He toppled past, his hat bowling away down the stairs. A second man
cannoned at him with his metal buckler as Zachary turned to watch him fall. The force of the buckler thudding into his solar plexus sent Zachary flying down the stairs after him.

His head cracked against the stone step but he leapt up, too afire to heed it. Besides, the boots of the third man were running down the steps towards him, and he knew he was in trouble. Zachary
backed off, his sword at arm’s length. He was panting. All his swordplay lessons streamed through his head in a succession of images – angles, techniques, footwork, the criss-cross of
lines of the swordsman’s seal, but none of them stuck. Fear gripped his heart as he was corralled to the wall by all three men.

‘Finish him,’ growled the biggest man.

A man with a dark bandana, who smelt of sweat, moved in before him. Zachary read the intent behind his eyes and saw that his opponent was a much heavier man than he. The fear rose up in him and
the world began to move very slowly. The man curled his arm from the shoulder and raised it up, the tip of the sword struck a light from the rising moon. He smelt the stench of the man’s
armpit as he leaned away before putting his weight and both hands behind the blade. Zachary heard himself gasp.

A sound, the clash of metal on metal. His attacker’s sword whirled out of his hand and skittered across the yard. The man’s eyes registered complete astonishment over his
bandana.

Señor Alvarez had appeared from the darkness, his sword pressed to the man’s throat, his shock of white hair bright in the dark. The third man was flat on his back in the dirt, his
sword lying useless on the ground.

One of them yelled and made a run for the back gates, clutching a wrist dripping blood. The man on the ground leapt up and fled after his friends.

‘Stop them!’ shouted Señor Alvarez, but Zachary was too late. He could barely see. His head throbbed and the gates were a blur as he stumbled through the door after them. They
ran out into the dark, but although he could hear their running boots, the men had soon disappeared into the shadows beyond.

‘Leave them be,’ Señor Alvarez said, sheathing his sword.

Just then Alexander arrived. ‘Hey! I was coming to find you. Some men just ran out of here. They nearly knocked me down. What’s going on?’

‘Just thugs . . . They’ve been in the hall. The seal – they’ve ruined it,’ Zachary said.

‘No – you jest.’

‘Would that he did,’ Señor Alvarez sighed. ‘They’ve made a proper mess. We’ll get a better idea of the damage in the morning. Did you see who they
were?’

‘No, they pelted past with their cloaks flapping, and nearly knocked me down. I thought they might be opportunists, thieves.’

‘Zachary, did you recognize anyone?’

‘No. Of course not.’ He was on the defensive straight away, but then realized that Señor Alvarez knew nothing of his history, and tempered it. ‘I’ve never seen any
of them before. I just came back for my bag. Alexander will tell you. But look, one of them’s left his weapon behind.’ He retrieved it from the ground and held it up before him.

Alvarez handled it. ‘It’s as I thought. Don Rodriguez’s men. Of course I cannot be certain, but they train with heavy two-handed swords like these.’

‘But why?’ Alexander asked. ‘Why would they want to do this?’

‘Who knows?’ said Señor Alvarez. ‘Perhaps Don Rodriguez perceives me as a threat. Though I don’t understand why – he has many more students than I do, after
all.’

‘It is because you are the better swordsman and he cannot bear it, that someone is better than he is.’ Alexander spoke with passion. ‘And he knows Carranza favoured you more
than he did him.’

‘Is that so?’ said Señor Alvarez. ‘And how would you know that? Were you there?’

‘No.’ Alexander was sheepish. ‘But everyone says so.’

Alvarez sighed. ‘Remember your training, never just accept what people say. Test it for yourself.’ Alexander looked chastened, and Zachary tried to catch his eye in sympathy.
‘Now,’ Señor Alvarez said, ‘get on home to your beds. Zachary, go and get some attention for your head.’ He paused. ‘You know, I can’t understand it, I
could have sworn I’d bolted that door. Still, what’s done is done. It’s too dark to see much now, we’ll deal with it in the morning.’

They heard the bolts shunt behind them as they stepped outside. Zachary paused there; the back of his head throbbed and his backside and hip were stiff from his tumble down the steps. It was as
if there was gunpowder running in his veins. He wondered if the intruders came because of him, because they had heard he was still in Seville.

‘Are you all right?’ Alexander asked.

‘Bastards,’ he said. ‘Do you think we should go after them?’

Alexander gave him a look that plainly said he had no intention of doing any such thing. ‘Come on.’ Alexander set off, and he had to half-run to keep up. He was striding towards the
town.

‘Wait,’ Zachary said, shouldering his bag. ‘I don’t want to go home yet, I need to walk a while. I’ll see you tomorrow.’

‘Shall I walk with you?’

‘No, I’d rather go on my own.’ He could not tell Alexander he’d promised to meet Luisa again at the old house, and she would already be waiting. ‘Sorry, my friend,
but I’ll just take a brief stroll. I’m too tired to talk.’

‘Well, if you go out past the city gates, make sure you’re armed.’

Zachary patted his sword hanger.

‘See you tomorrow, then.’ Alexander strode off towards the bridge.

When Elspet arrived at her lodgings after marking up the seal, Gaxa was waiting for her in the hall.

‘Martha’s gone,’ she said, looking her up and down disdainfully with her large eyes. Elspet saw how her attention stuck on her cheek where the scar made a long dark line.

‘Gone where?’

‘Back to England. She say to tell you.’

‘What? What did she say? Where is she? How can she have gone back to England?’

Gaxa planted her bare feet more firmly apart. ‘She sold them fancy clothes, to pay for her passage. She can’t stand no more of Spain, she say. She missed home so bad. A carrier took
her to the port. She took Arif from the kitchen to be her serving boy. She say to tell you, sorry.’

The thought flashed through her mind that she had given Martha the gown because she coveted it so much. She should have been grateful, not thrown her gift back in her face.

Gaxa’s eyes gave her a sideways look, and she went on, ‘She say it’s not right, it looks like you the maid now, and she the mistress.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘You don’t act like a lady. She only want to work for a lady, she say.’

She was not sure now if it was Gaxa talking, or Martha. ‘Did she say that?’

Gaxa pressed her mouth together in a stubborn line.

‘Did she say that I wasn’t a lady?’ She put her hand on to Gaxa’s shoulder but Gaxa flinched and backed away.

Elspet pushed past her and went into Martha’s room. Empty. Nothing on the hooks in the closet, no dusty shoes standing under the bed. The wicker shopping basket was gone from its usual
place behind the door. She had even taken the candle stub from the candlestick on the chair by the bed.

Gaxa had followed and was standing by the door.

‘Gaxa, just tell me when she went.’

‘Soon as you left at sun up. She’s long gone now. The sailing was noon – I asked yesternight at the harbour front.’

Elspet sighed in frustration. And she was hurt that Gaxa had been a part of this whole plan, conspiring with Martha to ask the sailing times. She thought they had become friends after that night
when she helped her fetch Ayamena. But she could see that perhaps a maid and a slave might have more allegiance to each other than they would to her. And now Martha even had a serving boy.

There was nothing more to be done. Martha was gone, and no amount of complaining would bring her back.

‘Where was she going in England?’ she asked, fearful in case she was going home to her closed-up house in London.

‘Her mother’s place.’

‘All right, Gaxa,’ Elspet said, in a tone that reasserted her authority. ‘You may go.’

Gaxa’s expression showed she knew it to be an order, and was glad.

That night Elspet slept alone in the huge apartment. She remembered Martha’s sickness on the ship from England and imagined her now, keeling over the side, seeing the
ocean flash past in the darkness with the smell of brine catching the back of her throat. And she remembered Mr Wilmot’s wife, Dorothy, standing on the quay to wish them well, the ribbons of
her bonnet blowing round her face, and the way she had stood on her toes to kiss her husband’s lips as he left.

Tears formed in her eyes but she held them at bay. Señor Alvarez set great store by the power of determination and steady thinking, and she would heed his training. Weeping would do no
good. What she needed now was strength and willpower.

When she left the house it was early, the sun barely a tinge of pink behind the façades of the buildings and the crenellated city walls. But she woke with the chill of
the dawn and could not stay abed a moment longer. It was as if the fencing school was the centre of her world now.