The Devils of Cardona (38 page)

“I was cleaning the oven.”

“In your nightshirt with no shoes on? When your wife said you weren't feeling well? Get your clothes on. You're under arrest. Tomorrow we'll search the house and take a look down below. I think we'll find the rope soon enough.”

“I work for the Inquisition!” Romero protested. “You can't arrest me!”

“Constable Necker, please keep an eye on the prisoner while he dresses.”

Romero's three children were peering out of the adjoining doorway now, and his wife shooed them back into their room.

“Shame on you, Licenciado Mendoza, depriving three children of their father!” cried Romero's wife.

“You should have thought about that when you allowed your husband to bring in assassins to try to kill me, señora,” Mendoza replied. “And you should hold your tongue unless you want to join him.”

Señora Romero hastily retreated into her children's room. She did not even come out when they led her husband back to the dispensary, where Segura and some of the Moriscos had lined up the six bodies in the street.

“Take a good look, baker,” Mendoza said. “This is your handiwork.”

“The bailiff is still inside, sir,” Agustín Segura said. “We didn't have the key to his chains.”

“Leave him where he is.” Mendoza glared at Romero. “He can keep our new guest company.”

he country house at Aceca was only a short ride from Madrid, and from his vantage point on the banks of the Tagus the Marquis of Villareal watched the royal hunt unfold. He heard the sounds of trumpets, dogs and beating drums coming through the trees, and he could see the royal carriages that were drawn up in a semicircle in a wide clearing between the forest and the river. Immediately behind him the rowboats and sailing ships were lined up along the bank, waiting to take the king and his entourage back downriver to Aranjuez later that day, their sails, flags and ornate canopies rippling gently in the light summer breeze. To the west, beyond the hunters and woods, he saw the great house where Philip and his family had spent the last two days.

Although the woodlands fell within the boundaries of the Royal Forest of Aranjuez, the hunt had been
organized by the majordomo at Aceca, who stood waiting anxiously a short distance away from the king's own carriage to see the results of his meticulous preparations. There were forty carriages altogether, with those of the king, his sister María the Holy Roman empress, and his three children at the center; followed by the members of their respective households; the gentleman of the king's bedchamber; the infante Philip's tutor; the maidservants and bodyguards of the empress; the servants and maidservants of the two princesses; and assorted bodyguards, pages, cupbearers, coachmen, dwarves and fools.

Standing on foot around the carriages were various soldiers, hunters and gamekeepers whose task was to prevent the animals from slipping through the gaps and keep the royal family equipped with a constant flow of weapons, arrows and ammunition. Only members of the family were permitted to shoot, but the entire party waited with tense excitement as the noise of dogs and beaters grew louder and flocks of startled birds flew up out of the trees. The king was sitting next to the Catalina, with one pistol pointed toward the forest and another waiting on the seat beside him while his daughter leaned out of the window with the stock of the light hunting rifle pressed against her cheek. In the adjoining carriage, her older sister, the infanta Isabel, was also resting against a light hunting rifle with a long, thin barrel and a beautifully carved fishhook stock, while her sickly six-year-old brother, Philip, sat opposite her with the king's sister and his tutor, who attempted to ensure that the boy fired his little crossbow at the forest and not at the waiting servants.

There were few activities that King Philip enjoyed more than hunting with his family, and the knowledge that this would be the last summer that Catalina hunted at Aceca gave this particular hunt a bittersweet poignancy. In less than six months, the court would set out for Aragon, and before the following spring Catalina would already be in Savoy. Philip regarded both events with almost equal dread, and he tried not to think
about them now as the first terrified animals burst through the clearing and ran toward them.

Catalina fired first and missed, and her servant immediately handed her a pistol while another reloaded the rifle. The other members of the family fired off their guns and crossbows until the forest echoed with shots, horses' hooves and barking dogs as the gamesmen tried to cut off the animals' headlong flight. By the time the fusillade was over, the clearing was scattered with dead and wounded beasts. In total two boar, three deer and thirteen rabbits had been killed, and the gamesmen and beaters now gathered up the carcasses as the royal party withdrew to the boats to eat a picnic lunch.

As was his custom, the king remained alone in his carriage a short distance away and opened his document bag. A servant brought him a quill, ink and his portable desk, and once again he began to work through the interminable flow of letters, council minutes, reports and ciphered dispatches that poured in from every corner of his empire. There had been a time, at the beginning of his reign, when he'd been able to keep up with the paperwork and even derive some satisfaction from it. Now it constantly threatened to overwhelm him, flowing into every spare moment of the day in such quantities that he could not keep up even if he replicated himself ten times over. He saw himself as Tantalus of Tartarus, perpetually reaching for fruit that was always out of reach, or Sisyphus, pushing a rock that continually rolled back a little farther despite his efforts.

It was true that his rock was only made of paper, but there were times when his gout made the task of administration no less grueling and exhausting, regardless of whether he wrote sitting or standing. After forty minutes he was feeling about ready for lunch when Secretary Vázquez told him that the Marquis of Villareal was waiting to see him on a matter of urgency. It was only then that Philip noticed the marquis lurking by the boats with the large entourage that he took with him everywhere. The sight did
not please him. The only business Villareal could have brought with him was the business of Aragon, which was never good, and the fact that the man had come all the way from Madrid to see him suggested that it was likely to be even worse than usual.

These suspicions were immediately confirmed when Villareal approached his carriage and bowed before him.

“Your Majesty, I apologize for this intrusion, but I have received grave news from Cardona, which I believe requires an immediate response.”

Philip said nothing and listened solemnly as the counselor informed him that Inquisitor Mercader of the Zaragoza Inquisition, together with Commissioner Herrero of the Huesca Inquisition and seven members of their party, had been murdered by the Moriscos of Belamar de la Sierra and members of the Countess of Cardona's militia.

“But this is an outrage,” he said.

“Indeed, sire. Corregidor Calvo believes that they were murdered on the orders of the Morisco who calls himself the Redeemer, in revenge for the arrest of the mayor of Belamar, the Morisco Dr. Segura. And now the
montañeses
have taken matters into their own hands and attacked Belamar. Corregidor Calvo believes that Licenciado Mendoza and his men have been killed. He has asked Your Majesty to send troops immediately to Cardona to restore order and prevent further bloodshed. I have the corregidor's report here.”

He handed Philip the letter and stood by as the king scanned it quickly. Philip's face, as always, showed no emotion, but his somber expression and long silence made it clear that the letter had not been without impact.

“This is . . . unacceptable,” he said finally.

“It is. And I believe—and Your Majesty's ministers also believe—that we must act with all the urgency that this matter requires. We must send troops and place Cardona in the royal domain. The authority of the Inquisition and the Crown must be restored. If this is not done, the disorder will
certainly spread. It may not be possible for Your Majesty and the court to travel safely to Aragon in January. It may even be necessary to postpone the wedding in March.”

Philip considered this for a moment. “And what makes you think that the lords will accept the measures you propose?”

“Your Majesty, the Aragonese Cortes will not oppose a royal intervention so close to the infanta's wedding. They will accept whatever is necessary to restore order in Cardona, and they will not oppose His Majesty's claims in the absence of any obvious heir, because dividing her estates up would cause too much conflict between the lords. Most would prefer to see the countess's estates managed by the Crown. Any objections can be addressed by Your Majesty in person when you visit Aragon next year. Sire, I cannot emphasize enough the gravity of the situation, but I also believe that if we act quickly, we can turn it to the Crown's advantage.”

“How many troops do you think will be necessary to achieve this?”

“The corregidor believes that two thousand will be sufficient.”

Philip stared out the window for a long time at the servants carrying trays to the canopies on the boats while Villareal remained as motionless as a statue. It was impossible to know what the king was thinking or even if he was thinking at all, but the marquis knew that it was now incumbent upon him to remain absolutely still and silent, even if the Prudent King said nothing for the next hour.

“Very well,” said Philip finally. “Let the Council of Castile muster the necessary troops and have them ready. But they are not to leave Madrid until I give the order. I wish to consult the viceroy first.”

Villareal bowed obediently, and the king turned away without a word and prepared to dictate a letter to his secretary. It was not quite the outcome the marquis had wanted, but he saw no reason that Sástago should oppose his recommendations. As he walked back to his waiting servants, he told himself that it had been worth making the journey and that considering the
way things were done in Spain, the business of Aragon was going as well as it could.

•   •   •

I
N
THE
MORNING
Necker went out onto the ledge beneath the baker's house and retrieved the rope that Romero had dropped there. Ventura and Mendoza brought it with them when they opened the stable door and found Romero standing near the window with his hands tied behind his back, as if seeking solace in the daylight from the bloodied corpse that was still sitting peacefully among the goats behind him. He was trembling despite the heat, and his fat moon face was dripping with sweat. Mendoza looked at him without sympathy. “Good morning, Señor Romero. I trust you slept well?”

Romero glanced down at Sánchez's corpse with terror and revulsion. “How could I sleep, with him lying there?” he asked.

“I'm sorry that he disturbed you,” Mendoza said. “But you have more pressing things to think about. After all, you actively colluded with his assassins. And the same men also killed my special constable, and they also tried to kill one of His Majesty's judges. I have hanged men for much less than that, and I will hang you unless you can give me any reason to save your worthless life.”

Romero stared at the rope in Ventura's hands. “Why have you brought that?”

“It's the rope that your assassins used to enter your house and which you untied before we got there,” Mendoza replied as Ventura dangled it over a beam. “But it has other uses.”

“It's not my fault!” the baker wailed. “Pachuca swore he'd kill my children if I didn't do what he said.”

“How did he tell you?”

“He sent a messenger two nights ago. The messenger woke me up and
told me to go into the woods yesterday afternoon and gather as much wood as possible. Pachuca was waiting for me and gave me the rope. He said I had to be ready to lower it when he asked for it. I didn't know they were going to try to kill you!”

“What did you think they were going to do—sing to us? You didn't have to go to the woods to meet him. All you had to do was cross the street and tell me, but you didn't do that. Why did they kill Sánchez? Who sent them?”

“I don't know! I swear on the most holy sacraments! All I ever did was report on the Moriscos.”

“Or make things up,” Mendoza suggested.

“Panalles did the same! And just because I didn't see things happen doesn't mean they didn't happen. But I didn't murder anyone! Look at these hands, Your Honor, they're only good for making bread!”

Mendoza looked at the baker's face but not his hands. “Strange. I actually think you're telling the truth. Clearly as novel an experience for you as it is for me to hear it.”

“Can I go home now?” Romero asked hopefully.

“You aren't going anywhere. And I'm going to take you to Zaragoza and charge you with conspiracy to murder. We'll see if the Inquisition wants to intervene on your behalf. But I will take the bailiff away. I can see you're beginning to tire of his company.”

Necker summoned the Morisco stretcher-bearers to carry the bailiff's body down to the ravine. No sooner had they left the dispensary than the trumpet in the church tower sounded once again. Mendoza and Gabriel immediately went down to the main entrance, where Ventura and the Morisco sentries were watching a line of mounted men moving rapidly across the valley floor toward them. It was not until the first riders appeared above the hill that Mendoza recognized the corpulent figure of Pelagio Calvo, and he realized that the countess had finally gotten a messenger through to Jaca.