The Hermetica of Elysium (Elysium Texts Series) (2 page)

“What did he say!” he demanded angrily.

Nadira met his gaze reluctantly. “He says he will never tell you…ever…he will take the knowledge to his grave…” She did not dare speak the rest, for the injured man had called Massey the vilest word Nadira had ever heard.

It mattered not, for Massey roared on hearing this defiance, his eyes black with fury. He struck her once in the face, knocking her aside before pulling his foot back and savagely kicking the blue-eyed man in the ribs repeatedly.

Sofir pulled Nadira to her feet, moving her safely behind him. He kept hold of her arm as he positioned his bulk between her body and Massey’s swinging legs. Nadira held a shaking hand to her cheek as she peered around Sofir’s shoulders. The light had gone out of the blue eyes, the body lay limp. The brutal assault continued until Massey staggered back, exhausted, but aiming another kick.

“Stop, now, Massey.” Smythe put a hand out and pressed Massey against the wall of the stable. “You’ve killed him. Now we’ll have to get the other one and you know what that means, you stupid cur. Maybe we could have persuaded him later, or softened him up with the pretty girl, but no, you scab-faced son-of-a-whore, you had to go and kill him. Bugger all.” Smythe beckoned to the other men and made for the door.

Massey wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He kicked some straw over the broken man’s chest and said, “He’s your problem now, Sofir.” Massey grabbed his torch from a grinning sailor and strode through the stable doors after Smythe. The other men followed him out. Not one glanced at the still form on the floor.

Master Sofir moved swiftly to the door and leaned out, looking both ways. He backed up and shut the stable door, sliding the heavy timber bolt down between the iron holders. He shook the doors once to test the fasteners then in two large strides returned to the fallen man and knelt beside him. Nadira watched from the wall, still stunned from the blow and the events that had begun and ended so quickly. Sofir felt the man’s body, and then glanced back to Nadira. He beckoned and she came to him.

“Do you think he’s dead?” Sofir’s voice shook, and Nadira knew he was thinking how it would look if this man was found dead in his stable.

Sofir had only taken the converso oath two years before, and there were many besides the Black Friars who looked for any evidence that a Jew had made an insincere conversion to Christianity. She put her hand on his shoulder before kneeling down beside him. Sofir moved the torch closer, the acrid pitch made Nadira’s eyes water, but in its light she could see faint movement on the man’s throat. She put her hand on his chest; after a long moment there was a slight lift.

With relief Nadira answered, “No, he’s not dead, but he’s not much alive either, master.”

“Then let’s get him into the house and see what we can do.”

“Can you hear me?” Nadira called for what seemed the hundredth time. The wounded man had been bathed and his few bloody wounds bound, but Nadira knew the damage to his body was inside, under the skin where no leech could help. Helping to wash his broken body, she had run her cloth over several broken bones, his arm, most of his ribs, some of the small bones of his face, maybe more too difficult to find on the surface.

Inez sat on the other side, both women instructed to call out for the master if he awoke. Nadira thought it unlikely. His breath was shallow and irregular, his color gray and his skin cool and clammy. Large black bruises covered most of his body. Nadira had never seen such massive bruising, and judging from Inez’s pale face, neither had she.

“What will we do if he dies here?” Inez’s voice was thin and weak from fear.

“The master will know what to do.” Nadira did not believe her own words. She had been standing behind Sofir when he examined this man. He had found a tiny gold signet ring embedded in a swollen finger and twisted it grimly in the light. He had looked up at her and said, “There will be trouble from this.”

Inez continued as if she could read Nadira’s thoughts. “No, he will not know what to do. He told me just yesterday that he is thinking of our situation. He seemed very upset.”

Nadira looked up. Inez’s wrinkles appeared deeper in the flickering shadows of the candlelight, her eyes larger. She asked, “What do you mean ‘situation’?”

Inez swallowed and looked away. She brushed her graying hair back from her face with a shaky hand. “Portia and I went to the square this past Friday.” She sat down slowly on the bench by the shuttered window, still not meeting Nadira’s eyes. “The fishmonger was taking down his stall. He told us that everyone was going to the race field to see the burning.” Inez took a deep breath. “He told us it was our duty to witness the justice of the Lord. He told us we should put away our daily tasks and behold the great cleansing of our fair city.”

Inez leaned over and took Nadira’s hand in hers. “Not of rats, lice, or vermin, but people. He wanted us to go to see people being tied to great poles and burned alive for the glory of his god.” Inez whispered the last sentence.

Nadira paled, pulling her hand back and warming it under her arms. Inez’s grasp had turned it to ice. “Who is being burned? I had heard that they are burning criminals.”

“Yes, and who told you that?”

“Juana.”

“And Juana is a simple girl who believes everything she is told without a thought of her own. The Black Friars come in the night and take people away. Not thieves, not brigands, not murderers. Innocent people. Then they are burned at the race field.”

Nadira frowned as Inez continued, “The Black Friars do not seek the truth; they do not hear the cries of the orphans. Just last week I heard that Simon Delacort was taken from his home. His house and all his belongings were seized by the priests to be given to the king and queen. He sits in a cell right now, Rachel and the children turned out of the house. Money and position will not stop these men. They take what they want and imprison who they will and there is no one who will stop them.” Inez slid the bench closer to the bed. “And Nadira, the richer they are the more likely to be selected.” Inez’s eyes circled the fine room meaningfully.

Nadira whispered, “Did you and Portia go to the race field?”

Inez sighed. “Portia did. I could not. I told her that I would go to the vegetable seller’s booth to get something for our supper. She told me about it when she came back. All the sculleries crowded in the kitchen to hear her tell it. I’m glad I stayed away, though it is now said that those who stay away are guilty of the same crimes themselves.” Inez wrung her rheumy knuckles and gazed upward at the ceiling. “Save us.” She whispered to her nameless god.

“What else did you hear in the kitchen?” Nadira asked.

“Only that my lord is nervous. It is said that gold cannot be taken out of the kingdom. My lord wants to leave, but does not wish to leave his goods.” Inez said grimly. “And now this,” Inez nodded towards the dying man. “Master takes a great risk, and for what?”

“Master is a good man. He would not turn someone in need out of doors, no matter the risk.” Nadira turned back to the man on the bed. “Perhaps, should he survive, he will tell others of the master’s good deed. Perhaps it will save us from the eyes of the Black Friars.”

“Does anyone know he is here?”

The two women stared at each other silently. Nadira looked into the senseless face below her on the pillow.
The stable boys know
.

“Can you hear me?” she called again. Her voice sounded dry and flat to her own ears. She took another shaky breath, “Can you...” she choked off the rest of the sentence as the wounded man’s eyelids fluttered.

“Quickly, Inez, get the master!” she cried.

She moved closer and cupped her hand on the gaunt cheek. The eyes fluttered and then opened halfway. She could see the pupils staring up, dark pools in a sea of the bluest blue. His chest rose and fell with a jerk, the air whistling in and out of his nostrils noisily.

Inez was still standing over her, staring.

Nadira looked up. “Get the master now, I think he’s dying. Hurry!” Inez’s eyes widened, but she turned and made for the door, stumbling over the threshold on her way out.

Nadira bent her head over the wounded man’s face. “Can you hear me?” she asked clearly and slowly. The blue eyes flickered. With great effort, she saw them focus on her own. His lips parted and she saw his swollen tongue between his broken teeth.

“Pretty,” he whispered. She could see him attempt a smile with his cracked lips. Nadira put a cool hand on his forehead. “Pretty girl.”

The blue eyes closed and he sighed, his chest falling. Nadira could hear the master climbing the stairs. “Please, sir, please stay awake. He will be here soon.”

Nadira squeezed his shoulder gently. The man did not respond. She shook him sharply.

The blue eyes flew open and he gasped, “Henry!”

She leaned closer. “Is that your name?” she asked.

“Henry.” The wounded man took another painful breath, “Brother. Tell my brother….Henry...has...the...book. My brother. Rob. Little Robin. Robbie.”

“What book?”

Instead of answering the man groaned; his frail body shook, then suddenly stilled. The blue eyes stared up, unfocused. Master Sofir rushed through the doorway just as Nadira passed her fingers over the man’s eyes, closing them.

CHAPTER TWO

T
HE
next morning the body had disappeared. Nadira did not dare ask what had happened to it. Inez’s tight lips and deeper wrinkles warned her off the subject. Instead she spent the day sweeping the floors and wiping the furniture, always with an ear to the street. Her master’s elegant villa was normally busy from dawn until late in the evening, with visitors and tradesmen in the great hall and carts and wagons in the wide yard. All manner of noise accompanied his business every day but Sunday. Today nothing happened. There were no visitors and the wagons stayed away. The change in routine was ominous to her; she ate her bread and was up the stairs to the room above the hall that she shared with three of the chambermaids. She lay awake in the dark, thinking of the fires in the race field.

Long past midnight a scratching from the front door directly beneath her snapped Nadira up from her pallet and sent her to the small window. The three girls did not stir. Below, she could see nothing in the moonlit street, but downstairs she heard the rustling sound of many men in the entry hall and the whispers of a few. Footsteps led away from the door and deeper into the big house. The whispering stopped and padded foot sounds moved to the vestibule and away from Nadira’s ears. She crept from the window, stopped long enough to cover herself with her cloak, and slipped lightly down the chilly stairs. She had to know, she had to be prepared to flee. She would not be taken to the fires.

She heard a small sound behind her. Inez was leaning over the banister from above. Nadira raised her finger to her lips and saw Inez’s form retreat back into the room. Again, after quickly looking to the right and the left, Nadira continued through the darkened hallways. If the visitors had a light, she did not see it. She stepped over the still-sleeping forms of the servants. They were too exhausted from the days’ labors to move or care about the night movements of the household. Nadira pulled the cloak tightly around her to keep the hem from sweeping their faces.

A dull thump caused her to stop and press herself against the wall. The odor of smoldering fires burned her eyes. Someone had opened the door to the kitchen and closed it again. After a brief look around, Nadira changed direction toward the kitchen, which was separated from the house by a small courtyard. The handle was high for her, and the door not easily moved. It was usually kept open to relieve the cooks from the heat of the huge fireplace. She rested her hands on the pull and very slowly leaned her shoulder into the planked door. It gave slightly, but with an exaggerated drag on the stones. It moved scarcely enough for the hinges to creak, when suddenly it reversed direction and was firmly closed again. Now pushing with all her strength did not move the door all.

There was another entry into the kitchen, but it involved going outside and around the stable yard. Nadira did not want to go outside; the stable boys slept lightly for the fear of horse thieves and were often posted on watch all night. If she were found outside at night by the stable boys, it might be seen as an invitation. Other servant girls made trips to the privy by way of the stable.

She was not ready to go back to her pallet. Impulsively she pushed against the door again, moving it a few inches. This time an eye appeared in the crack high up, first narrowed, then opened wide. Nadira recognized the cook’s face right away. Through the crack behind him she glimpsed the glitter of metal and the edge of a brown hauberk. Not a priest. Nadira sagged against the door in relief.

“Let me in” she whispered to the cook.

“No.” was the whispered answer, “Go back to your bed.”

She heard another voice, curiously accented, and then the door shut with a scrape and a clunk.

She waited. After a few moments she thought she heard a voice; she pressed her ear against the crack. There was a faint murmur of whispered voices and the door opened a handbreadth. An eye appeared in the crack again. This time Nadira could see that it was a clear blue, like the dead man’s eyes. The eye narrowed and examined her in the faint light. Softly, the eye’s owner spoke Castilian in a foreign-sounding voice, “Are you Nadira?”