A Divided Inheritance (59 page)

‘You must eat,’ said the señora, ‘and then I will take you to join the others.’

‘Others?’ Luisa said. ‘But my family are behind us.’

‘The others who will take the boats. We are all waiting for the early tide. Six boats. My husband’s too. Eat first, then Bento will show you.’

Elspet needed no encouragement to eat and drink for she was hungry and tired and eating seemed a form of normality. The woman served up mutton broth with a kind of sourdough bread. All three
women ate in silence. Afterwards, with the help of the boy, Bento, they unloaded the few bags from the carriage to the covered porch around the front of the building. The señora looked at
Elspet strangely as she buckled on her sword and stowed her daggers in her belt.

‘Do not worry, señora. Señor Alvarez has trained her,’ Luisa said, as if that explained everything.

In the end, restlessness drove them out on to the porch despite the wind. Every small noise made Luisa look up the road, until at last the sound of hoofbeats announced the arrival of Nicolao
Ortega and Señor Alvarez.

‘They’re here! Thanks be to God.’ Luisa ran to embrace her father and ply him with questions as he fumbled to tie up his horse and hand Bento the reins of the mule.
Señor Alvarez sprang down and greeted Señora Quevedo with a peck to each cheek. Elspet suppressed a twinge of jealousy that he could be so easy with her.

After exchanging formalities, the señora said, ‘Come, now the ladies are dry, Bento will take you to the others, and show you where you can wait. There are too many of you for my
small casa.’

Bento went ahead with the little globe of the lantern and pushed open the door of the next cottage.

Elspet drew in her breath. The room was completely full, with not a hair’s breadth of space remaining. Not a floorboard could be seen, except where water trickled through a gash in the
roof to make a dark stain on the floor below. Every stick of broken furniture had a person perched there, people crowded against the walls and people leaned on the windowsills and in the doorways.
Some had strings of shoes hung around their necks, or the tools of their trade. Crammed in every square inch of space were solemn-eyed children, livestock, tied cloth bundles, cages of poultry. The
room smelt of sweat and damp and fear. The people gathered there looked up at the newcomers with silent hostility.

Señor Alvarez was clearly taken aback. He exchanged a look with Elspet and ushered her backwards out of the door. ‘Are all these waiting for the next tide?’ he asked.

‘Yes, sir,’ Bento said.

‘Where have they all come from?’

‘The people from the vineyards in the village. They did not want to leave their children. Christians came in the night with knives to loot their houses. One ran to us for help, and then
another, and then more. So many people.’ He sucked in his lips and shook his head. ‘Word spread somehow. Father can’t turn them away. We’ve sent a few hundred already,
yesterday and the day before.’ He laughed. ‘Mother thought we had finished, but more keep coming. Like you. The people going today, well, some of their husbands or brothers own the
boats you will sail in.’

Alvarez walked past Elspet on to the porch and stood for a moment, deep in thought. Rain dripped from holes in the awning on to his shoulders.

‘What is the matter?’ asked Alexander.

‘Too many of us,’ she heard Señor Alvarez say. ‘A fleet of boats at anchor is an easier target than a single boat. Moving a hundred people to the boats is much more
obvious than moving only a few. And the more people, the more often it has gone on, the greater the chance the authorities will want to stop us. Others in the village might not be as sympathetic as
Señor Quevedo. Did he tell you when the next ebb tide is?’

‘No,’ Elspet said. ‘We haven’t seen him, he is out preparing the boats with the other men. But I guess soon.’

‘I asked the boy,’ Alexander said. ‘It’s at five bells. Only a few hours.’

‘How far behind were Ayamena and Husain?’ Elspet asked.

‘I said to leave it two hours,’ Señor Alvarez said, in a worried tone. ‘We weren’t expecting to go today. It wasn’t what we planned. We planned for next
week; the tide was later then.’

‘Then they’ll be cutting it fine,’ Alexander said.

In the distance, thunder rumbled and Zachary ran down the back streets dragging his trotting horse behind, glad that the buildings were high enough to afford some shelter. He
threw the reins over the fence at the sword school, and sprinted to the quay. A sense of unreality hung over him. How would he find Husain? It would be like looking for a single straw in a thatch.
His only hope would be to intercept him before he reached the holding house.

At the quay it was even worse than he thought. Hundreds of angry people were waiting to embark, caged between ranks of soldiers, like wild dogs ready to turn and bite at any moment. Mercenaries
searched the assembled people for arms and prised their belongings from them with threats and beatings. A scuffle broke out right in front of him, but the soldiers bludgeoned the Morisco man with
the end of a pike until he handed over his gold.

Around the cordon, half of Seville seemed to be there; to barter and haggle over trinkets and coin, and watch the spectacle of the people being driven on to the ships. Further down the road
Moriscos covered their heads as a rain of stones fell on to them from the jeering crowd. He couldn’t see any children.

He approached one of the onlookers politely, trying not to appear desperate. ‘Excuse me, where are these people from?’

‘From Carmona and Estepa, and some from Triana.’

‘Where do they take the children?’ Zachary said.

The man took him in with an appraising look. ‘The tobacco factory. The warehouses of Martin de Vérez. But they’ve blocked the road at both ends. It’s crazy mad with
screaming women. Some are frantic, trying to get their babies and children out, but there’s even more begging them to take their older ones in. There’s a rumour they will all be
–’ He mimed slitting his throat and glanced sideways at Zachary to gauge his reaction. ‘The poor beggars are not sure if they’re all going to be dumped at sea.’ He
sucked in his breath and then whispered, ‘If you’re looking for your child, my son, they will not let you have him. They want the children for servants and slaves. Trained of course, to
be good Christians and hate the race of their fathers and mothers.’

His bitterness was like a canker. And there was some sort of enjoyment in his words too, as though he relished delivering this news.

A crack and a flash, and they both fell to the ground, covering their heads. Another rumble and the sky lit up. But it was only lightning, splitting the sky with its ragged scrawl.

They stood up sheepishly, brushed the wet from their knees as another bolt came from nowhere right overhead. The hot poker of light attached itself to one of the pikemen and they saw him stutter
and fall. A sudden hush, and even from where they stood, they caught the smell of burning. Simultaneously a cheer broke out from the assembled Moriscos and a cry of ‘Allah!’ Everyone
surged forward to see what was happening.

Zachary shuddered. It was a sign from heaven. God’s wrath released on those responsible for these terrible events. He had a feeling of being caught in something momentous.

‘Lord have mercy,’ he cried, and sent up a silent prayer for help as he took advantage of the diversion and set off at a run towards the warehouses by the river.

As the old man had told him, the road was closed off. The street had a barricade of upturned tobacco barrels with pikemen and musketeers lined up behind to keep back the men and women who were
trying to find their children.

He cut round to the other side of the building where the soldiers were bringing in children they had separated from their families at the port. They were escorted in gaggles of five to ten.
Between the great armoured beetles of pikemen, they looked so small and lost. At this side too, women wailed, clamouring for their babies, alongside male elders who hurled insults and shook their
fists. Here too, they were held back by the well-disciplined ranks. In the gathering dark the children’s gazes combed the faces behind the soldiers, searching for someone they knew.

Zachary observed for a moment from a distance. He took a breath to remember his training. All his senses were alert – a deer listening for the hunter. If a chance came to get through he
would be ready. He moved himself in a leisurely walk, down to the part where the troops were most sparse, alongside the river, following a few other well-dressed civilians in wide-brimmed hats. He
scanned the line of troops. There was a gap in the barricade there, guarded by four men.

Zachary joined the tail of the merchant party and saw one of the civilians hold out a paper to the nearest guard. The guard gave it a cursory glance and waved them through. Zachary hurried to
stick close to the moustachioed man in front. As he passed through he let out his breath. He still could not see any children, but he cast his eyes about for a door to the warehouse.

‘Hey! Get back. We were here before you.’

It was only then he realized he was in a queue of about eight men, all well-dressed in Walloon ruffs and with the obligatory long tucks hanging from their belts. Their cloaks and embroidered
hose marked them out as wealthy men. The line ended at a peeling, iron-red door set into the factory wall. He apologized and stepped to the end of the queue, hoping to blend in with the other men
he had come in with, who were just joining the queue. Thunder rumbled again as he craned over the heads of the soldiers in front, to try and catch a glimpse of Husain.

‘I expect there’ll be a bigger queue soon. The terms are not bad, eh? Just give them bed and board and we get twenty-five years of work out of them at least before they have to be
released. The Crown will give a gift of grain and shoes too. My wife wants a girl, for the laundry.’

But Zachary wasn’t listening, he had spotted a line of carts, heavily guarded by pikemen, trundling towards the warehouse. As each one passed he stood on tiptoes to look at the children
inside. The wagons stopped. A bare-headed woman had made it through the barrier and was trying to climb up to reach her child, but a soldier clubbed her over the head and dragged her like a carcass
out of the wagon’s path. The crying children fell solemn and silent, and just at that moment the rain began to pelt from the sky. Great bouncing drops, that made the children bow their heads
and squint against its impact.

There, between two other boys, was Husain, clinging white-faced to the rails. A toddler, grubby tear-stains in vertical stripes down his cheeks, gripped tight on to Husain’s arm as the
cart jerked its way towards the doors. But Husain’s eyes still searched the crowd. Zachary turned his head quickly away. He did not want him to recognize him and shout out.

He moved himself closer to the armed convoy but could see no way through, the soldiers were two deep all around it, the rain splattering off their helmets. The cart set off again towards the
open doors. But just as it did, the iron-red door in the wall opened and the queue of men, shuffling closer to be out of the rain, pressed towards it. Zachary ran to join them. A sharp dry smell of
snuff met his nostrils.

He heard the portly merchant at the front of the line say, ‘We are members of Don Rodriguez’s confraternity. Here are the papers. Pérez said if we came down early we could
have the pick of them.’

The soldier by the door said, ‘More of you, eh? Ten reales.’

‘Hey! Nobody mentioned anything about paying. You should be paying us. We’ve got to keep the vermin, haven’t we?’

‘No fee, no entry. It’s a favour we’re doing you.’

There was much grumbling and fumbling in purses from the assembled men, who had not anticipated being asked for payment.

Zachary shifted from foot to foot. He wished they would hurry. He still had to get Husain away, and time was passing. Luisa would be wondering where they were, and at the thought of her an
intense longing flooded his chest.

The men were still protesting. It was soon apparent that the man in front of Zachary did not have ten reales. He continued to complain, screwing up his wizened face. Zachary’s purse was
full. Alvarez had supplied each of them with enough money to pay passage if it was needed.

‘Look, I’ll lend you it,’ Zachary said, anxious to speed up the process. ‘We’ll go in together. Here – enough for the both of us.’ He took the purse
from his belt pouch and thrust it into the man’s hand.

‘I’ll pay you back,’ the man said. ‘It’s very good of you. My name’s Rincón, by the way.’ Zachary did not volunteer his name. By this time they
were at the door and the elderly Rincón handed over the money.

‘Twenty, for me and my friend,’ he said. ‘But I still think it’s robbery. Don Rodriguez never said anything about payment.’

Zachary kept his head low as he passed. He had actually got inside the building. One step nearer. Now they were in the factory, the sound of crying rose and fell.

Ahead of him in the gloom of the warehouse the would-be buyers were searched and their weapons laid aside on a bench near the door. Damn. He watched as they searched Rincón methodically
and removed his tuck to a side table. Zachary thought quickly. Never leave yourself unarmed – the first rule of the streets. He put his elbow up to his face and feigned a sneeze, opening his
mouth. His paring knife, folded and sheathed into its bone handle, dropped out of his sleeve to rest on his tongue. He closed his mouth tight.