The Errant Flock Page 16

  The prisoner inside the cell was slumped against the wall as though he’d not moved since being thrown there. David lifted his torch to get a better look at the man, who raised his arm and shielded his eyes from the sudden burst of brightness. The suspect was elderly, feeble with age and skin hanging over raised bones. His tunic, in rags, hung loosely on his frame, barely covering his ribs, looking like waves on his chest. His bald head was lined with deep gashes. Dried blood stained his skin, and the first sign of yellow pus seeping from the wounds was already visible.

  The man’s frailty should leave no sensible person in doubt of his innocence, David thought, for he was not physically capable of carrying out the crimes he’d been accused of. The duke probably wouldn’t care about such details, however. The people demanded justice for the young family’s killers, and Peráto, it seemed, was determined to give it to them by the foulest of means. Unless God granted a miracle, the poor creature in the cell would be sentenced as quickly as the law allowed and, along with his companion, who was locked up farther down the passageway, would be brutally executed in a grand public exhibition.

  When the men had been brought in, both had borne the marks of heavy fists on their bodies. Broken jaws, eyes swollen tightly shut, and plumped-up lips had given their faces a grotesque appearance. The bones in their cheeks were shattered. They would not be able to utter a word in their own defence, such was the extent of their injuries. This was not the work of the militia, David thought. It was not their way to beat up suspects … The men had been deliberately and viciously silenced.

  He thought back to the previous night. Captain Tur and two other militiamen had brought the prisoners in. After they’d been locked up, Tur had deposited the arrest warrants, signed by the duke. He’d said very little about the men’s capture, but before leaving, he’d been emphatic in his condemnation. “These are the murdering turds who killed an entire family and your brother, Sanz. Never have I arrested such repugnant scum.”

  David’s thoughts were grim. He was the repugnant scum, not the broken man he was looking at. He didn’t want to serve in the militia anymore. He’d sooner kill the duke than serve him. His dreams had been soured and his ambitions sunk in a sea of guilt.

  From within the passageway’s shadows, Paco watched David looking fixedly through the opening in the cell door. He had noticed a drastic change in the young militiaman. He was not the same enthusiastic man with dreams of becoming a knight. His eyes were haunted, as though all he saw reminded him of some terrible occurrence. David had every right to grieve for his brother, Paco thought, and to be furious at the attack on his family’s farm, but his expression was not one of sorrow or anger, and his mood was not so much sombre as tense. No, there was more than just Juanjo’s death on David’s mind … Perhaps the Jewish girl had put some spell on him. He seemed taken by her.

  Paco had served Sagrat’s dukes for over twenty years. He’d been but a lad of twelve and, unlike David, had begun his soldiering life as the militia’s lackey. He’d been no more than a messenger, a barracks boy who had emptied the soldiers’ piss and shit buckets and seen to the disposal of the waste. He’d never been happier than the day the garderobe had been built. The antechamber, with its long sitting bench with holes where men could shit and pee until their hearts were content, and not have to get rid the waste themselves, had been a glorious sight to him.

  In the early days, he’d not been given a sword but a broom, a polishing rag, and a few clips around the ear when he’d not cleaned a pair of boots properly. Those days had been hard, but now he had a wealth of experience and keen instincts that only years of service could provide.

  He’d only ever known Valencia. He had fought in no major battles and had never travelled outside the kingdom. His mind had not been weighed down with grand ambitions or dreams of adventure. Marriage to his childhood love and a flock of six children, arriving one after another before he’d reached his twenty-fifth year, had been fulfilling enough for him. He loved Sagrat and its people. He never grew tired of gazing at its mountains and fertile plains or walking along its busy streets, which were vibrating with vegetable traders, urchins, fish sellers, gossiping wives, and artisans. But he was now seeing his town becoming mired in ugliness and evil and those around him complicit in dark secrets and lies.

  Paco’s eyes narrowed in contemplation. He didn’t believe in coincidences. All the events in the past few days were connected. He didn’t know how or why, but he was convinced that David Sanz, Captain Tur, and the duke had a lot to do with what had happened in Sagrat.

  The duke killed the physician. He and every other soldier who’d been on watch that night knew it was no suicide. The Jew’s granddaughter had been unjustly treated – this he also knew. David had not returned after the duke summoned him. Where did he go? Why would he not talk about his audience with Peráto? Why was his farm raided only hours later? Tur had lied about the capture of the two murder suspects. He would never have allowed his men to beat prisoners to a pulp, nor would he scream a suspect’s guilt so profusely. But if Tur didn’t seize the two men, who did?

  Lies and secrets surrounded him, Paco thought again, but he would keep his suspicions to himself. Fear kept men’s tongues silent, and he was no different from other common men, afraid of the nobleman they served and the religion they worshipped. His lips would be sealed, but his eyes would be wide open and his mind would stay keen. He would feign ignorance, but he’d dig a spoonful of dirt at a time until he uncovered the truth. He’d do this because he loved his town.

  “I’d kill them myself if I got half a chance,” Paco said, startling David. “Move away from the door. Don’t give him light from your torch. Let him squat in darkness.”

  “They haven’t been found guilty yet,” David complained. “The magistrate hasn’t even been to see them.”

  “You’ve got a lot to learn, my lad. We live in an age where guilt or innocence is determined by public opinion and the Inquisition’s whims,” Paco said. “They’re as good as dead. They’ll be lucky if they see another night. Can you not hear that mob outside? They’ve been at it since last night, crying out for blood and demanding public executions.”

  “There will be a trial, won’t there?” David asked.

  “Probably, although I doubt it’ll take the magistrate long to deliver a verdict. There’s a powerful thirst for revenge in this town. There are men outside from the port protesting the prisoners’ innocence, but they might as well complain to the boil in the crevice of my arse. The duke wants this over with, and he’s not going to listen to anything that might delay a burning. You keep your mouth shut, David – do you hear me? If Tur comes back here, don’t mention the prisoners’ injuries or even speak the word innocent. All we’ve got to do is make sure those murdering whoresons stay alive until it’s time for their execution.”

  Paco pushed David out of the way and looked at the prisoner. This man didn’t murder anyone, but he would keep that thought to himself too.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Gaspar de Amo stood at his daughter’s bedside, masterfully hiding his disappointment and sadness in front of her ladies. His beautiful daughter had succumbed to the same brain disease that had struck her mother down when Josefa was just a child. He knew this to be true, for it was startlingly apparent not only in her gaze, for the most part lacking in emotion, but also in her childish manner. She was incapable of grasping the reality of adulthood, he thought miserably. At eighteen, she had not matured in the three years since he’d last seen her. In fact, if anything, her condition had worsened. She barely recognised him and seemed to have forgotten the first fifteen years of her life, when he had cared for her, doted on her, and groomed her for marriage. It was as though he had never existed in her life.

  Her brain was being infected, eaten away by God only knew what, and the sickness would eventually kill her, just as it had her mother at a young age. Gaspar shook his head in dismay as he rocked his grandson in his arms and watched his daughter pull the
comb through the horsehair wig on a doll’s head. He gestured to the infant and, with his arms outstretched, said, “You have to feed him, Josefa. He needs his mother’s milk.”

  The duchess, who was sitting up in bed, pulled the covers up to her chin, pouted moodily, and glared at her infant son. “I don’t want to feed that baby. He bites me, and it hurts. Let someone else feed his greedy mouth. I have things to do. I have to finish brushing my dolly’s hair, and then I have to dress her in her finery.”

  The inquisitor looked around the chamber, shocked at the sight of so many wooden and alabaster effigies dressed in the finest garments made from the best of materials. He wished he could throw them all into the fire, shake sense into his daughter, and snap her out of this malaise. But she would scream if he touched her roughly, and she wouldn’t stop screaming until she exhausted her voice.

  He tried again. “Daughter, you finally have a child, but he’ll not grow strong unless you care for him. Look at him. Is he not wonderful?”

  “He’s not mine. He’s a boy child. I like playing with my pretty dollies. And he has no hair. I hate him … I’m going to sew a new dress for Isabella.” She lifted one of the dolls lying on top of the bedclothes and gave her father a radiant smile.

  “I wish to begin my mission as soon as possible. There is not a day to waste,” the inquisitor told Luis later in Luis’s office. “I am ready to use all my talents and guide your lost sheep back into the fold.”

  “My lord inquisitor, it pleases me to hear that. My builders have worked hard to ready the prison. I’m sure you’ll be satisfied with their progress. You will have my complete cooperation.”

  “I have already presumed that. But before we discuss the Inquisition, I want to talk to you about my grandson’s baptism. Having heard of the evil infecting your town, I took the liberty of cancelling the grand occasion you had planned.” De Amo watched Luis’s face redden with anger, but his mind was set. His daughter was much too fragile to be seen in public. People would laugh at her, and she would embarrass him in front of men he might have to interrogate one day.

  “But I have invited half of Valencia’s nobles,” Luis said angrily.

  “And I have sent a messenger informing the invitees of your noble sacrifice. I believe a more private ceremony in your private chapel would be in order, in light of the town’s sombre mood … Come now, Luis, surely you don’t want to appear insensitive?”

  “No, of course not,” Luis said, apparently seeing reason but unable to hide his resentment. “However, I do believe my son’s baptism would have brought much-needed joy to the town. The people deserve to meet their duke’s heir. What will they think if I don’t celebrate?”

  “It matters not what peasants and commoners think. This town is a black pit of sin. This is a time for pious reflection and mourning for your congregation, and you must lead by example.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  Nodding his approval, De Amo said. “There’s one more matter to do with your son. He shall be called Gaspar Luis Peráto De Amo.”

  Luis’s face turned purple. “I am his father. I have named him, Jaime.”

  “And I am the inquisitor, and it pleases me to give him my name.”

  “It will be an honour to give my son your name, my lord inquisitor,” Luis said like a sullen child.

  In part, Gaspar was disappointed in Luis’s answer. Peráto was a weak leader, just as he’d always suspected. Had the infant been his son, he would not have given in so easily to the question of baptism and name.

  Turning his thoughts to other matters, he said, “After my grandson’s baptism, I will expect your townspeople to come forward with the names of suspected heretics. News of your physician’s suicide, murders, houses being burnt, and children going missing, has been running rampant in Valencia. The evil one is present here, and I intend to strike him down before he desecrates Sagrat … and you along with it.”

  “God will praise you.”

  “God praises all pure souls and those poor misguided errant sheep who find their way back to Him through His Holy Inquisition.”

  “Praise be to God,” Luis added.

  During an uncomfortable silence, Luis poured them each a goblet of wine. When he sat back down, De Amo said, “I have other news. I have chosen your town to represent the very greatest of events. There’s no town in the realm of Aragon and Valencia more in need of a public cleansing, don’t you think?” The inquisitor gleefully watched Luis’s eyes widen with fear. It would probably take the fear of God to make Luis the competent duke, he was supposed to be, he thought.

  “I have been given permission to hold an auto-de-fé here in Sagrat. Thousands will attend. They’ll come south from Zaragoza and north from Alicante to witness God’s hand at work. I’ve invited every nobleman from here to the borders of Castile. I plan to bring over one hundred tried and convicted heretics from across this realm to Sagrat. After Mass, they shall be sentenced in your town square in front of the multitude, performed by Bishop Hernandez, a friend of mine.

  “But you, Luis, must not expect your own people to go unpunished for their heretic acts. Should sinners not come forth voluntarily, their punishments will be harsh. Those found to be wanting in faith will not be spared. I will not display favouritism towards you. You do understand this?”

  “I do.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Not entirely,” Luis said honestly. “I don’t have experience in these matters, but I imagine people might be afraid to come forward voluntarily.”

  De Amo laughed. “My boy, you are missing the point. The Inquisition is designed to cause fear. The purpose of the trial and execution is not to save the soul of the accused but to achieve the public good and put fear into others. Fear is a most useful deterrent.” Noticing Luis’s nervous ringing of hands and shifting feet, he asked. “Is there something wrong?”

  “Forgive me for asking, but who will pay for this grand spectacle? Sagrat may not be the best choice.”

  Gaspar lifted an eyebrow. Insolent pup, he thought. Who did he think was going to pay? “Why, you will pay, of course. Your money will be used to entertain nobles and clergy after the ceremony and sentencing. You don’t want to shame the house of Peráto, do you?” Unmoved, he watched the colour drain from Luis’s face. Sagrat was a wealthy town. The duke just didn’t want to spend his money. “You can’t expect the Inquisition to pay? We spend more than our coffers receive. This is a great honour for your town.”

  “Yes, and I am truly indebted to you. But the Jews are leaving, we’ve lost trade, and then there’s the drought and a war that’s draining my treasury …,” Luis hurriedly tried to explain before being interrupted.

  “You don’t think the king and queen’s holy war in Granada deserves your coin and the offerings of every noble in the kingdoms of Aragon and Valencia?” The inquisitor blurted out, shocked at Luis’s complaints. “For ten long years, they have fought the Moors and their Nasrid dynasty, who have kept us out of our rightful territories. Ferdinand and Isabella are about to take the Alhambra and Granada. At last, all of Castile will belong to God and his true worshipers. I also have it on good authority that every last Jew in Spain will be expelled within months. Soon all of Spain will be united in one faith. Our monarchs are doing God’s work, and to criticize their demands for money is heresy!”

  “Yes, it is indeed a g-glorious mission … set by God himself. I will, of course, support the Holy Father in Rome and Spain’s monarchs,” Luis stuttered. “You will have a magnificent show of faith in my town. It will be a day never to be forgotten. The Holy Inquisition and its guests will have every facility at its disposal. I won’t … I will not disappoint you.”

  Gaspar watched Luis grapple for words. He was a transparent man, not clever or cunning like his late father. He didn’t possess ambition, apart from his need to be admired and respected by his peers, but he was Josefa’s protector and had the good grace not to mention her illness. “Your offer is graciously accepted,” he said.<
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  “Lord Inquisitor, there is another matter which may require an urgent response from the Inquisition.”

  “You may speak freely,” the inquisitor said. “We are family, after all.”

  Luis nodded. “As you know, a great evil has been done in my town.”

  “Yes, the family with the children.”

  “That’s right. My men have arrested two suspects connected with the murders. It was fortuitous that they were caught whilst trying to flee the port by boat. Witnesses have come forward to testify to seeing these men with the two missing children. Unfortunately, since being spotted, they seem to have killed the poor babes and buried them somewhere. They deny all involvement with the crimes, as of course they would, but the evidence against them is overwhelming.”

  “And what is your problem?”

  “The magistrate insists on a public trial, but that could take weeks,” Luis told him.

  No, De Amo thought, a trial that went on for weeks would not suit his plans. “The townspeople cannot set their minds to confessions of heresy when they are filled with terror and rage. I would hate this matter to interfere with my auto-de-fé. Perhaps if the Inquisition were to preside over this trial, we could avoid prolonging its agonies?”

  “My thoughts exactly,” Luis said.

  “In which case the Holy Office would bemost pleased to attend to this matter. There’s no sin greater in the eyes of God than murder …Are you convinced of their guilt?”

  “I am.”

  “Then I expect these men to confess by the end of the day, and if they are found guilty, there will be no mercy.”

  “And might I expect a speedy resolution … for the sake of the people?”

  “If my magistrate believes the witness statements to be in order, you can expect a swift verdict from me. But you and your magistrates will determine the sentence. Is that clear?”

  “They will be executed as soon as possible, of course,” Luis said resolutely.