Song Hereafter Read online

  Table of Contents

  Song Hereafter (The Troubadours Quartet, #4)

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Epilogue

  Contact

  Acknowledgements

  Maps

  A map of France in 1154, showing the Angevin Empire

  Historical Note

  Historical Characters appearing in the Troubadours series

  Main Fictional Characters

  About the Author

  My recommendations, if you would like to read another of my books:

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  Book 4 of the award-winning Historical Fiction series The Troubadours Quartet

  Historical Novel Society Editor’s Choice

  Winner of the Global Ebooks Award for Best Historical Fiction

  Finalist in the Wishing Shelf Awards and the Chaucer Awards

  ‘Evocative and thoroughly riveting. A vividly-written, historical saga.’ The Wishing Shelf

  ‘A remarkable achievement. Every character, and that includes the horses, dogs and hawks, is bursting with vitality, and Gill's lush descriptions of Moorish palaces seduce you as they send you on a journey full of treachery, adventure and romance.’ Deborah Swift, Pleasing Mr Pepys

  ‘For those who have read the previous ‘Troubadours’ novels, ‘Song Hereafter’ is a fitting and satisfying conclusion. For those who have not – you should! You will not find any better historical fiction, nor a more powerful evocation of a vivid past than in Gill’s brilliantly written series.’ Paul Trembling, Local Poet

  ‘Brava! Jean Gill's stories are so tightly woven into the tapestry of medieval France and England and their politics that I simply marvel as I read them. Her complex plot lines and immersion in the atmosphere of the regions and the time are wonderful; her use of Occitan lyrics throughout in her troubadors’ songs enhances the authentic flavor.’ Leslie Ficagglia, psychiatrist and artist

  ‘The whole quartet is well written, well plotted and beautifully composed, and is brought to a rounded conclusion in this novel... highly recommended.’ Cristoph Fischer, Ludwika

  ‘Historical Fiction at its best.’ Karen Charlton, the Detective Lavender Mysteries

  ‘A thrilling page-turner and very hard to put down. For me, this book has it all; love, adventure and politics in the twelfth century make for another stunning read from the uber talented Jean Gill. I can see why the Troubadours Quartet has won many awards and highly recommend the whole series. You won’t be disappointed.’ Deb McEwan, Unlikely Soldiers

  ‘Gill’s skill at moving from culture to culture, savoring the distinctive colors of each, is breath taking. Through it all there is the music of the troubadours, Dragonetz and Estela. Their songs, which united them from the beginning, draw them always closer, sealing their bond of love and devotion. Even in the most harrowing moments of this story, there is no doubt of their commitment to one another, of a love that can withstand any trial.’ Elizabeth Horton-Newton, Carved Wooden Heart

  ‘I like a book that makes my heart race and ‘The Troubadours’ did exactly that. It’s a great story.’ Molly Gambiza, A Woman’s Weakness

  ‘Beautifully wraps up the tale. I highly recommend all four books. You will love this historic romance!’ Autumn Birt, The Rise of The Fifth Order

  ‘Fascinating history – the plot was terrific.’ Brian Wilkerson, Trickster Eric Novels blogger

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  Other books by Jean Gill

  Song Hereafter

  1153:Hispania and the Isles of Albion

  Jean Gill

  © Jean Gill 2017

  Ebook Edition

  The 13th Sign

  This book is also available in print at most online retailers.

  First published in 2017

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form without prior permission from the publisher

  Cover design – Jessica Bell.

  ARTWORK © JEAN GILL and Regia Anglorum re-enactment group, Maksym Dykha, Dusan Kostic and Kalen Emsley

  Historical Note

  Historical and Fictional Characters

  Maps

  For John

  who knows where the daggers are hidden

  and who can always disarm me.

  With love, always.

  Chapter 1

  Usually when El Rey Lobo bared his teeth, everyone in his line of sight wondered whether to do likewise and call it smiling, or to wait and pray for invisibility. Men had been killed for doing either. He had earned his nickname ‘the Wolf King’. The men in front of the king today were not, however, his courtiers but his Christian neighbours of Barcelone: Ramon Berenguer and two of his commanders. They were not currying favour but seeking an alliance.

  Ramon was sombre. ‘Without the King of Murcia, we would have the Almohads in our gardens. I hear they make a virtue of killing.’

  ‘And of dying, too. In order to ‘purge’ this land.’ the king replied. At the mention of the Almohads, El Rey Lobo’s face darkened beneath his turban, and his mouth pursed as if accustomed to spit at the name. His swarthy features, oiled beard and flowing robes gave no sign of his Christian ancestry and it had been many generations since his family had converted to the Muslim faith of their overlords.

  He continued, ‘They will not rest until all our people are dead. All of our faith who have made this country our home for generations. We have ‘sinned’, we are ‘unbelievers’ and the penalty is death for me, for our wives, for our children, for men like your commander Malik. They will make slaves of Jews and Christians but us, they will kill.

  They are superstitious barbarians from the hills of Africa! They shave their heads before battle. What pious man would do such a thing? And their black slaves thump on great drums the size of cartwheels. When you hear the beat of their war-drums, you hear your own death. This is what my men must face! Their own hearts beating in fear!’

  Dragonetz listened intently to his Liege and the Wolf King, sifting courtesies from nuggets of information. They were all waiting for the king’s terms.

  El Rey Lobo dismissed the Almohads with a defiant gesture and began the bargaining. ‘The Almohads are not causing me a problem today. If you want to solve the problems I have today, go and find me a mintmaster and an expert in siege warfare.’ He paused for thought, then held up a third finger. ‘And somebody who will repair a paper mill. These are the problems that take up a king’s time! When you take away these headaches, we can talk about protecting boundaries and Almohads!’

  He laughed.

  Each responded to the flashing teeth in his own manner, until the nervous echo died out.

  Then, shocking in the silence, Dragonetz’ laughter rang out, unforced, echoing against the stone walls of the Wolf King’s ante-chamber.
<
br />   ‘You find my problems entertaining, Dragonetz los Pros?’ growled El Rey Lobo. He gave a sarcastic twist to Dragonetz’ nickname los Pros, meaning ‘the brave’ in Occitan.

  Dragonetz looked to his Liege, received a nod of consent, and responded directly to the king. ‘Forgive me, Sire, but you said we would be hard put to respond to your needs unless we were mintmasters, paper producers and siege specialists. I expected your opening requests to be more difficult.’

  ‘And I did not expect the Prince’s man to be a braggart.’

  ‘Show him, Dragonetz.’ Ramon’s voice carried without strain. ‘We offer these skills freely to the kingdom of Murcia, our partner against the invaders, and are confident that we can agree the exact terms to our mutual satisfaction. If you continue to protect our southern boundaries against the Almohads, we can afford to show our gratitude.’

  Dragonetz knew how vital this alliance with El Rey Lobo was to Barcelone. The king had taken the kingdom of Murcia as his own, and forged alliances with his Christian neighbours to hold the Spanish marches against the tide of Almohads. His own practice was supposedly tolerant of both Jews and Christians, meaning that he was equally likely to maim or execute Muslim citizens who defied his law. Such tolerance made him exactly the kind of leader the Almohads intended to eradicate, far more of a threat to ‘the true faith’ than were Christians.

  His hatred of the Almohads made El Rey Lobo a natural ally for all who sought to maintain a Christian foothold in Hispania and his kingdom was already rich from negotiations with Castile and Genoa. Helping with Murcia’s ‘little problems’ would not spare Ramon’s purse but it was a good start to the bargaining.

  ‘We will make ourselves comfortable first.’ El Rey Lobo switched smoothly from Aragonese to Arabic as he gave orders to the servants hovering at the back of the ante-chamber. He gestured to the cushions arranged in front of the dais, where he was already comfortably seated. Malik and Dragonetz settled with practised ease, and Ramon folded himself more awkwardly into position.

  The serving boys returned with goblets, a pitcher of wine and platters of mezze: savoury concoctions of aubergine, olives and rice; sugared almonds and honeyed cakes. Dragonetz took a tray from a bemused boy, set it in front of the King of Murcia and started arranging food.

  ‘Let’s begin with the weapons. Why do you need to know more about siege-towers? Nobody in his right mind would build one outside your wall, though they were camped outside for a year!’ The king’s fortress of Monteagudo was at the peak of a rocky outcrop, dominating the whole northern valley of the Huerta.

  El Rey Lobo nodded. ‘No. Food and water are the only potential weaknesses and we have grain reserves below the castle, enough to feed even the peasants for months, if not a year. And our water supplies run deep with hidden sources. I think we are safe from poison.’

  ‘Nobody is safe from betrayal. We found that out in Damascus,’ Dragonetz pointed out.

  ‘Traitors.’ El Rey Lobo shrugged. ‘We have made enough examples. There won’t be more.’

  All present had heard of such examples. One more fortunate antagonist, El Rey Lobo’s relative, Yusuf ibn Hilal, had merely been blinded and imprisoned. His wife had been given the option of surrender before the second eye was put out, but she refused. Such was the kindness of the Wolf King.

  ‘Our castle’s strength means that my men lack experience of modern weapons and they might need this knowledge to defend – or attack – elsewhere.’

  Dragonetz nodded. ‘Each siege is different, according to the terrain, the weaknesses of the stronghold, even the weather. You would only build a siege-tower if quicker methods have failed.’

  He frowned in concentration and made a row of sugared almonds. ‘Imagine this is the castle wall, the source of enemy fire. We want to get our men into the castle and one method is to breach the wall while protecting men from arrows.’

  The king nodded. This was obvious. ‘So we need a siege-tower. A wooden platform gives the men cover to fire, to put up ladders and swarm the walls.’

  Dragonetz put an aubergine parcel in place. ‘This is a traditional siege-tower, clumsy and static. Once it’s in position, the defenders just concentrate their men at the point of attack.’ He put some extra sugared almonds on the part of the wall by the aubergine parcel.

  ‘But if it’s on wheels, you can take advantage of any place in the wall where there’s weakness.’ He removed one almond further along ‘the wall’, and moved the siege-tower to take advantage of the breach. ‘All siege-towers should be mobile. And with a platform, dropped by ropes.’

  Dragonetz ate the rice filling from a second aubergine parcel. ‘Cinnamon,’ he observed appreciatively as he folded the aubergine and placed it on top of his siege-tower. ‘Now, imagine this is the mobile platform.’ He unfolded the aubergine to rest across the almond beside it.

  El Rey Lobo’s crumpled forehead cleared. ‘A drawbridge across the wall. That might work.’

  Dragonetz made a little pile of cake squares. ‘This is another defence the castle inhabitants might use.’ He tied a strip of aubergine round a date and, holding the other end of his makeshift ‘rope’, swung it along the almond wall, toppling the cakes. There was a polite silence while he ate the debris and licked his fingers.

  Once finished, Dragonetz explained, ‘Grappling irons, or any heavy weight can topple a tower. You can swing such a ready-made weapon along the castle wall but you need to beware deflections. You could make a hole in your own wall. The technique will only work on one siege-tower so if there are several, you have problems.’ A piece of sticky cake had eluded him and he licked his little finger. ‘You have to be inventive, respond to the situation with the material available. And that includes the men you have, not the men you’d like to have.’

  ‘Ah, the men I’d like to have...’ reflected El Rey Lobo. ‘Talk to my engineer! Teach him what you know.’

  Dragonetz glanced to Ramon for consent before giving his own, then spoke. ‘From your words about the Almohads, it seems, my Lord, that you have much to teach us, and I would learn from your men so that we can prepare ours against this enemy.’ Dragonetz’ courtesy drew a grunt of approval from El Rey Lobo, so he continued. ‘Is the same engineer responsible for the paper mill?’

  ‘No.’ This time the royal baring of teeth gave every impression of being a genuine smile. ‘Unlike the Prince of Barcelone we have not found one man who does every job under the sun, so we employ several.’

  Dragonetz flushed. ‘It is not I who can advise for the paper mill but Malik.’

  ‘Then Malik of the Banu Hud is also a skilled engineer. Why am I not surprised! And that must make Ramon Berenguer the Mintmaster if you divide these tasks equally?’

  Ramon had a glint in his eyes as he denied such talents. ‘Fortunately, I think Dragonetz has someone else in mind.’

  Dragonetz did indeed have someone else in mind, and neither he nor Malik hesitated when asked to withdraw, ‘to let your Prince and me agree the details of our alliance’, as El Rey Lobo put it. No doubt Ramon’s coffers would be short of several thousand morabetins when all was agreed.

  Dragonetz would have loved to discuss the workings of the paper mill for in truth he did know rather more on the subject than he’d owned up to, but he could not be in two places at once – three if you counted the commission to find a Mintmaster. And, as Malik pointed out, Murcia’s paper mills were the most advanced on the peninsula, so Dragonetz’ contributions would be less useful than with the King’s Engineer.

  With a sigh, Dragonetz watched Malik saddle up for the ride towards the river, then turned his attention to the camp on the plain, where Ramon’s troops were still setting up their tents and cookfires. A few astute guesses from the right men found the Englishman John Halfpenny, curled up in the back of a wagon, asleep on a sack of grain, and grumpy at being roused to work. Once he discovered that he was needed on a question of coinage, not to hump more sacks from one place to another, he cheered up considerably. Whe
n Dragonetz left him, he was muttering to himself, ‘What can they expect if they work with gold...’

  That left only a lesson in siege tactics to deliver. Starting with a raid in the guard room, Dragonetz replaced almonds with new recruits, and aubergines with freshly washed turbans, rashly left within his reach. Once he was satisfied with rehearsals, he sent a man to invite the King’s Commander and his Engineer to an entertainment in which each was allowed to swing a giggling ‘grappling iron’ along a somewhat vociferous ‘wall’ while the pyramid of five men tottered dangerously.

  The Engineer prodded one of the men’s buttocks. ‘You’d make wooden stairs here,’ he pondered.

  ‘Exactly,’ Dragonetz confirmed.

  The Commander instructed, ‘Morge, stretch your arms out to the wall.’ The fourth man teetered as he gripped the man below with his knees only, touching one somewhat wobbly stone in the wall with his finger-tips.

  ‘Oi! Stop that!’ was Morge’s response to whatever the wall did to the finger-tips.

  The Commander, the Engineer and Dragonetz ignored the somewhat flippant behaviour of their raw material.

  ‘Top man!’ called the Commander. ‘Pretend to shoot! You’re defending the men, who are crossing on Morge’s arms – that’s the drawbridge.’

  Top Man formed a circle with one hand, stuck his finger through it and made a noise that could charitably have been thought of as the whoosh of an arrow, but which induced lethal giggles in Morge. He pulled in the drawbridge and clung on with both hands.

  Then, part of the wall muttered, ‘That sounded more like old Becky at the whorehouse than any arrow.’ The resulting structural damage was beyond repair and the siege tower collapsed.

  The Commander back-handed the nearest man across the head and giggling rippled into suppressed snorts, then the contented silence of men who have had a good training session.

  Dragonetz fired questions at them, praised most of the responses, corrected mistakes and then answered questions. By this time, the Commander and Engineer had questions and no qualms about appearing ignorant. An afternoon swinging recruits by a living wall has that effect.