The Errant Flock Page 8

  “We must bury our Juanjo here with a fitting Jewish ceremony. My son should go to God hearing words from the Torah. No one will ever find out.”

  “We can’t,” Isa said shakily, tears streaming down her face.

  “We can, and we will. He should be buried next to his grandparents in the Jewish cemetery. That’s where we should take him.”

  “But we’ll be punished as heretics if we take him to the Jewish burial ground,” Isa pointed out.

  “I know that, so I’m asking if you will pray with me now. Will you allow me to give him a Jewish burial?”

  “We have no oils to bathe him or robes to dress him in,” Isa said.

  “Then he’ll go to God with just our words to guide him. These, and our love, are the only comforts we can give him.”

  “We have nothing to dig with, and the soil is caked,” Diego said.

  “We’ll find something to cut through the ground.”

  David had never seen his father look so defeated. Carrying Juanjo to a patch of hardened soil, like deep red clay, he laid him down and then rapped the ground with his knuckles.

  Isa shook her head, horrified. “No, I refuse to bury him here. He’ll be all alone. Can’t we carry him to Sagrat and give him a Christian burial?”

  “No. Christians killed him!” Juan exclaimed to his wife. “He’s staying here. I will not have a Catholic priest pray over him. These Christians accept us and our conversion and then they slaughter us!”

  David, who had been weeping for Juanjo, said, “You’re wrong, Papa. Look around you. Do you not see the other houses burning in the distance? Those are Christian houses. Marauders don’t care about religion. They save their adulation for gold.”

  “I’m not convinced, David. Everything is about religion,” Juan answered. “One of these days, sneezing in the wrong direction will get a man thrown in prison for heresy. You just wait – not one new converso will be safe in Spain … No, this happened because we were Jews.”

  David wouldn’t argue further. His own nagging suspicions were growing louder in his mind.

  “David, go to the hut and look for a pick, axe, or a sickle that’s not burnt to cinders. I don’t care what you come back with. Just find something we can use to dig deep. And, son, after we’ve buried your brother, you will tell us who this girl is and why you brought her to my house.”

  The dying night sky looked even blacker as the bright glowing fire finally dissolved into smouldering waves of smoke hovering above the ground. When Juanjo was laid to rest and prayers had been spoken, the family sat on the ground, shivering with cold and lost in sorrow. For a while, no one spoke. The shock had worn off, leaving only grief. David’s cloak was wrapped around Isa’s slim body. The girl, shielded within its folds, was once again asleep and blissfully unaware of the horrific scenes she had witnessed.

  Diego, dressed only in a nightshirt, did not complain about the biting wind that blew through the thin linen cloth. His eyes were dead, like two black stones, but it seemed that his questions could no longer be contained.

  “David, does this little one have anything to do with what happened here? Did you know those men?”

  “No, this had nothing to do with the little girl, and no, I’ve never seen those men before,” David answered defensively. Looking at his father, mother, and finally Diego, he wondered if they would ever speak to him again with love in their hearts. He suspected they wouldn’t. “I’ve committed terrible crimes tonight,” he began. “I don’t expect your forgiveness, nor do I deserve it, but you have a right to know the truth about me … and this poor child.”

  Chapter Twelve

  When David had finished telling the whole story, he felt strangely calmer. No one interrupted him, although his father and mother’s gasps of disgust had made him stumble over his words a few times. Sharing what he’d done had been a bit like confessing to their priest, Father Bernardo, he thought. He wasn’t cleansed, and he never would be, but at least he had admitted his sins and was now ready to face the consequences.

  “I’ve told you everything. I am a murderer, and I’ve put your lives in danger, just by telling you about what I did. Come morning, the entire town will hear about these killings and the missing babies and you will not be able to breathe a word of this to anyone.”

  Juan’s eyes blazed with anger. “What were their names? Do you even know who you killed?”

  “No, I don’t. I’d never met them before tonight,” David said, unable to look at Juan. “Papa, the treasurer, Garcia, hinted about doing terrible things to this family if I didn’t do as I was ordered. I was forced to do as I was told to keep you all safe.”

  At first, shock and anger sat in Juan’s eyes, but slowly his expression changed to repugnance. “My youngest child is dead. How dare you talk about us being kept safe!” he snapped at David. He was sickened by what his son had done, yet he was even more disgusted at the duke. A man who orders a slaying is just as guilty as the hand that does the slaying, he thought. The Sanz family had never had much in the way of possessions, but they were good, respectable people. The duke, for all his noble blood, was worse than a bloodsucking varlet living off the poor, and now he had killed the poor for their baby!

  “Papa, I’m sorry,” David said again.

  Talking to no one in particular, Juan said, “We Sanzes have always survived by abiding by the law, not making enemies, and keeping our own council. Before me, the Sanz men were indebted to no one, and even when they were Jews, they enjoyed good friendships with Christian neighbours. My father and grandfather were wonderful leather makers. They produced saddles, bridles, leather belts, and dagger sheaths for noblemen from Sagrat to Valencia. I could have carried on the family business had I not had dreams of farming the land. So I’m at fault too, you see ... I have brought you to this.”

  Juan closed his eyes, unable to look at his family. He’d failed miserably. His possessions and tools handed down by his great-grandfather had been sold these past three years. Any money he’d put aside had been spent on rent and supplementing income lost because of bad harvests and wrong decisions. And now his eldest son was a criminal, an assassin, and a marked man.

  Glancing at Isa, Juan thought, Her world has just crumbled. He knew that look on her face. He’d seen it once before, when her parents and sisters left Spain for Portugal. He’d given his solemn oath to her father on that day. “I will care for Isa. She’ll never go hungry or want for anything,” he’d said with the blustering pride of a young pup. Look what he’d done to her … to all of them.

  Finally, Juan stared at David, who was brave enough to return his gaze. “Don’t ask your mother, brother, or me for forgiveness. You’ll have to ask God for that favour.”

  “I won’t ask. I prayed it wouldn’t be necessary to tell you what I did …”

  “Well, you did tell us, and now we are party to a terrible secret.”

  “I had to get the child out of Sagrat, Papa.”

  Isa said meekly, “He did save the little girl, at great risk to himself.”

  “Does that wash away the sin of murder?” Juan asked her.

  “No, of course not, but David would be dead now had he disobeyed the duke.”

  “You can’t know that. Anyway, better David be dead than alive with the stain of murder on his hands!” Juan sneered.

  “Juan Sanz, don’t you dare wish your son dead!” Isa spat at him.

  “I didn’t mean it, my love … My apologies, David.” Ashamed of his words, Juan squeezed Isa’s hand, and then looked tearfully at David. “So what are we supposed to do with the child? We have no home to hide her in. No food to feed her with. We have nothing! We’ll have to seek shelter and beg for alms in Sagrat. Do you expect us to take her with us?”

  David hung his head. “No, of course I don’t. It was never my intention to leave her with you for any length of time. I was going to ask you to look after her until I returned in a day or two. She can’t go back to Sagrat, but I have to be back at the castle and in m
y barracks before my watch begins.”

  “What about us? What should we do – sit here until we freeze or starve to death?” Juan snapped.

  “I’ll keep you safe. I’m a militiaman. The duke will provide you with a house. He has to.”

  “That tick on a donkey’s back won’t do anything for us!” Juan shouted, scorning the idea. “The man has no morals. His heart is a sewer, and he has piss for blood! Why did he order you to kill? Did he see badness in you?”

  “I don’t know,” said David.

  “Juan, how can you say that about your own son? He hasn’t a bad bone in his body!” Isa berated him.

  Juan said. “Isa, I can barely bring myself to look at him. The sight of him makes me feel sick to my stomach.”

  “Papa, please …”

  Juan ignored David. “It galls me to say it, but the real villain is the duke. He ordered the killings and then threatened our family, and that makes him even less of a man than my son is.”

  “Thank you, Father,” David said stupidly.

  “Don’t thank me, and don’t you go thinking he will allow you to parade around like a proud peacock in uniform! He’ll have you killed, lad!” Juan’s eyes flashed dangerously. “You’re a fool if you think he won’t try to silence you.”

  “God forgive you for saying such a terrible thing. The duke would never harm his own soldiers,” Isa sobbed.

  “Isa, are you not listening? Have you not been paying attention. He ordered the slaughter of three of his citizens tonight!”

  “I know … I know. I don’t know what I’m saying. Oh dear God, what’s to become of us?”

  Changing the topic slightly, David said, “The duke’s physician was killed tonight. He was with the duke at the wall. The guards on watch were told to leave, and when we next saw the duke, the physician was dead. I think the duke killed him.”

  “That man is the foulest of turds of the lowest scum,” Juan said. “He’ll burn in hell, but he’ll bask in good fortune until he goes there. You mark my words.”

  Diego who’d been silent until now said, “I’ll be truthful, Papa – had the duke ordered me to kill, I would have if it meant keeping you and Mama safe.”

  “Then shame on you too. We’ll never be safe,” Juan repeated. “David has seen to that.”

  “We have to leave Valencia,” David said quite calmly.

  Juan shook his head violently and threw David a scathing look. “Don’t be stupid, lad. We have no ducats or maravedis between us, unless we miraculously find some lying around in these charred ruins. How far do you think we’d get on foot? We have no blankets, bread, or alms of any kind. We have nothing. Your mother is in her nightgown, for God’s sake. No, we will not run.” He looked then at Diego. “Diego, you are this family’s last hope. I want you to leave now. Get on a ship and don’t get off it until you’re outside this realm.”

  “No, I’m not leaving you and Mama behind.” Diego looked from one face to the other. “No! I’ve lost one brother tonight. I’ll not lose another!”

  “You must,” David said. “Would you rather Peráto used you as a weapon against me? I can’t protect you.”

  “Diego, listen to your brother,” Juan pleaded.

  Isa said, “Son, you should go. I fear you’ll come to harm if you remain here. Don’t worry about Papa and me. We’ll get by.” She then looked at David. “You have committed sins that will stain you forever, but you’re not a bad man. Let the duke believe us ignorant. Your father and I will not breathe a word to anyone about what you did. We’ll take this terrible secret to the grave with us.”

  “Your mother’s right,” Juan agreed.

  “Heed my words, son,” Isa insisted. You must carry on and do whatever it takes to make that unholy monster believe he can trust you. And if you think for one minute that your life is in danger, you must run. Don’t come for Papa or me. Just leave. Give me your word.”

  “You have it,” David told her.

  Diego, who’d been mainly silent, stood nervously and then began to pace up and down. “Maybe I should leave. I’ll be one less worry for David, I suppose.” He nodded, clearly coming to a decision. “I’ll take the little girl with me, and when I get to Valencia, I’ll leave her in a public place.” He looked at David’s shocked face. “It’s the best we can do for her.”

  “You’ll barely make it to the port dressed like that, never mind Valencia,” Juan said.

  “There will be carts travelling along the main road, Papa. There always are. Some kind soul will take us.”

  “My poor children … This poor babe,” Isa said, her lower lip trembling.

  “Going with Diego is her only chance of survival, Mama,” David said.

  Juan’s eyes strained to keep tears at bay. “Go somewhere where the duke’s power can’t reach you.”

  Isa said tearfully, “Your father’s right. The duke cannot be trusted to keep his word to David.”

  “I pray I’d been killed instead of Juanjo,” David said truthfully. “Had I died, Peráto wouldn’t have a reason to threaten your lives.”

  Isa rose to her feet and stood over David, hands on hips and with an angry scowl on her face. “You will stay alive, son, if only to repent and make good of your life!” she commanded.

  Juan gazed at Isa with pride and love. He’d adored her since she was a girl, and at thirty-nine years old, she was still as beautiful to him as she had been on the day he married her. Her dark flowing hair blew around her head, having come loose from its long plait. Her ash-smeared face didn’t completely hide her olive skin or dark blue eyes, almost the same colour as a Spanish summer sky. Her strong cheekbones and defiant pointed chin further enhanced the straight upturned nose and thick lips on a mouth that smiled often. That was a perfect face, he’d always thought.

  He knew she was a strong, determined woman. His children had rarely seen this side of her, but he had, many times. They would leave this place now and never return. He would seek work in Sagrat and protect his family until his last breath. God help them all, he thought. A powerful enemy had pulled them into a web of deceit, and he prayed that at least some of them would survive what lay ahead of them.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Sinfa, Saul Cabrera’s granddaughter, lived in one of the only detached houses in Sagrat’s Jewish quarter. It sat at the end of the street furthest away from the Jewry’s wall and looked onto an open patch of ground filled with shrubs and cacti.

  After being retrieved from the rocks beneath the wall, Saul Cabrera’s body was taken to his home covered in bloodied hemp sheeting. He had lain in the back of a cart driven by two soldiers and pulled by a mule, and his body had travelled through the streets, unnoticed by its neighbours.

  Upon seeing his broken body, Sinfa’s screams had filled the damp air, and her cries for help brought families in night attire running to her aid. Panic spread quickly. The physician was the Jewry’s patriarch, and only Rabbi Rabinovitch held equal power and sway amongst Sagrat’s dwindling Jewish population. His death would be a devastating blow to the already beleaguered community.

  At first, neighbours cried with grief, but when the reality of Cabrera’s suicide had sunk in, many discarded their weeping for harsh, unforgiving words. The mystery surrounding the physician’s fatal fall at a time when he was badly needed by the community was bewildering to some, but it also drew stark disapproval from others. He was a man who had everything in abundance, and his suicide had been a most selfish act, some of the neighbours agreed in angry whispers.

  Rabbi Rabinovitch assembled a small crowd of mourners in the Cabrera house’s spacious hallway. Amongst them were members of the Jewish council, disbanded by order of the duke but still actively meeting in secret on a weekly basis. The council members were worried. Cabrera’s power over the Peráto family had managed to hold a couple of unjust laws against the Jews at bay, but most of the town’s new legislation had seen the demise of Jewish privileges and station in just about every occupation. Now, with Cabrera gone, they
would have no voice and no support within the castle walls. The new duke, they all agreed, would shut his ears to their pleas for equality.

  Rabinovitch called for Guillermo, his son. Guillermo held great promise as a future rabbi. He was going to become a very effective spiritual leader one day; he’d been bred for that role. Though gangly with an uncomfortable looking gait, which gave him the appearance of being timid and a bit of a simpleton, he was not shy with his opinions, nor was he simpleminded. He was cunning, with a brilliant head for economics. The old duke had seen great promise in Guillermo’s talented mind, for figures and economic management. His Guillermo should be the town’s lord treasurer, not that fool, Sergio Garcia, who couldn’t count up to ten without becoming unravelled.

  When Guillermo arrived, the rabbi took him by the arm and led him to an alcove that sat underneath the stairway of the Cabrera’s two-story house. There wasn’t much time to talk in private, but Rabinovitch was determined to resolve a very important matter concerning Saul Cabrera’s granddaughter, Sinfa. She had made it clear various times that she was not keen on the idea of marriage with his Guillermo. She would find the idea much more appealing now, he thought, for without her grandfather’s protection, life in the Jewry would become difficult for her.

  “Look around you, Guillermo. Just about every Jew in Sagrat is here, either outside or inside this house. There are so few of us left in the town, yet we are all here united in grief. I fear that soon only conversos will remain in Aragon, pretending to be good Christians but wishing they were still Jews. I wonder if, in a hundred years from now, Sagrat will remember that we, the Jewish nation, ever existed here.” Rabinovitch grunted angrily. He had watched hundreds of Jews turn their backs on their religion, but whilst some scorned it in public, they continued to practice it in secret.