The Errant Flock (10 page)

Chapter Seventeen

Luis stood in front of the blazing fireplace in his chambers, rubbed his hands together, and smiled with satisfaction. After spending an hour with his new son, he had concluded that being a father was the greatest achievement a man could attain. The baby was everything Luis could have wished for. He had drunk his fill of a noblewoman’s milk, and he was no longer a peasant’s son but a true Peráto of noble lineage and rightful heir to the dukedom.

Luis had not been able to get the physician’s words out of his mind. “Your wife is not strong enough to nourish a baby,” the Jew had stated. Well, the old man had been wrong, for one of Josefa’s ladies had informed him that the duchess’s breasts flowed with milk and that she had successfully satisfied the baby’s hunger on her first attempt. His wife had become a valuable cow, but her worth to him ended with her ability to feed the baby and breed more sons.

He tried unsuccessfully to push Josefa from his mind. A frustrated sigh left his mouth, and he grumbled as the first tinge of annoyance blighted his perfect morning. God’s grief in heaven, the woman irked him to distraction. She was a mother, for God’s sake, and had no need of dolls when she had a living baby. He had pointed this out to her after she had roughly discarded Jaime Gaspar in favour of a wooden effigy lying on top of the bed. In response, she had screamed at him to remove the baby from her sight.

Her ability to care for the infant was doubtful. She obviously didn’t like him, but that mattered not. No, the less the mad creature had to do with the baby, the better. He would send for two wet nurses. They would nourish him and keep him safe.

God never gave his people overflowing cups of joy, he thought. Instead, he gave sips, leaving his worshipers with a perpetual thirst for contentment. If the Almighty had provided him with a sane wife and good mother for his son, he would be satisfied and would ask for nothing more. After all, he was not a greedy man.

Shrugging, he cast all thoughts of Josefa aside. Today was going to be pivotal for the town and for his leadership. There were loose ends to tie up regarding the infant, and his arrival would not be fully celebrated until the previous night’s acts of violence had been put to rest and were forgotten.

Luis nodded to Garcia, who was skulking at the office door, and gestured to him to enter. When seated, he looked briefly at the treasurer’s face, and seeing his grandiose smirk, he relaxed his muscles. “I take it by your satisfied expression that all went well this morning,” he said. “I hope so, Garcia. I’m unwilling to hear bad tidings of any kind today.”

“I believe Your Grace will be pleased. As you said last night, it’s not important what the townspeople think. What matters is your militia’s loyalty.”

“Do I have it?”

“You do, Your Grace. If anything, their respect for you has grown. The cavalry has been dispatched to hunt for marauders, and there is not a man amongst them who’s not seeking revenge.”

“Where are your elusive mercenaries? Where do they hide?”

“That I don’t know. Our man inside the town won’t tell me where their hideout is situated. They’re like ghosts. They disappear once they get paid and reappear when I summon them,” Garcia said, handing Luis a document to sign. “Here is the payment order for the mercenaries’ activities last night.”

Luis, grumbling impatiently, snatched the document from Garcia’s hand. “Why do you insist in giving me these accounts when only you and I know about my personal funds? The money is not coming from the treasury, is it?”

“No Your Grace.”

“Then I don’t need to see any more figures. I trust you. If I didn’t you would not be standing in front of me.”

It was probably better if Garcia didn’t admit to knowing where the marauders hid, Luis thought as he casually scanned the document. He’d never been comfortable discussing them with his treasurer. “I have shamefully come to rely on the mercenaries’ talents,” he said absently.

In the past six months, they had successfully managed to rob two heavy-laden caravans headed for Valencia, carrying coin and gold. One of those caravans had come from Sagrat with tax revenue earmarked for the monarchs’ coffers. Two militiamen had been killed in that ambush, but their deaths had been worthwhile sacrifices for the good of the town’s finances … He’d felt no guilt then, and he still didn’t. Why should the king and queen have the bulk of what the town earned? He had much more need of the money, and after all, it was his to begin with.

He wasn’t sure if he liked Garcia having so much influence over the marauders. They obviously thought highly of him. Why else would they come running every time he summoned them?

Sitting at his desk, he realised that there was a lot about Garcia he didn’t know. He’d been scribe to a noble family in Valencia. That was true, for Count Javier Castro Ortega, a Valencia noble, had recommended Garcia for his present position. Yet the man was still a riddle to be solved.

“There must be no doubt in my soldiers’ minds that marauders killed the couple and abducted their children. I will not tolerate a single rumour or theory that doesn’t point to the bandits. Can you assure me that this will be the case?” he asked Garcia.

“I can, Your Grace.”

“And what of Sanz? Does he pose a threat or not?”

“He might.” Garcia cleared his throat and then nervously scratched his head. “Your Grace, unfortunately there was a small setback at the Sanzs’ farm. One of the sons, Sanz’s younger brother, was killed as a result of the attack.”

“What! Died, you say? I said no killings!”

“I can assure you that the marauders didn’t touch a hair on the lad’s head. Father Bernardo told me that the boy was kicked by the family’s mule and died of injuries to his face. It was an unfortunate accident.”

“What do the marauders say?”

“I have not spoken to them. I thought it best not to seek them out until the dust settles.”

“Christ’s blood! I want Sanz’s loyalty, not his hatred, you fool. Tell me, does he or doesn’t he suspect us of the raid?”

“I believe he does … No, I’m convinced of it. I gave him reason to suppose it could have been us, just as you asked.”

“Good, then we will have his silence. He’ll be shitting fear until the day he dies.” Luis   looked at Garcia’s frowning face. “You disagree?”

“I still don’t trust him. Last night I saw insolence in him. This morning I saw anger. When I told him about the attack on his home, he went for his sword. His hand rested on its pommel for just a second, but I saw the hatred in his eyes when he touched it. He’s not a meek man, and I strongly suspect he’s not as loyal as Your Grace believes him to be … Forgive my outspokenness.”

“Carry on.”

“These tragedies will not be forgotten. The townspeople will grieve but they will eventually get on with their lives, of course. But I suspect that David Sanz will continue to be a problem. If he loosens his tongue and speaks out about this, only a handful of people will believe him, but it will only take one other person to begin a rumour about your son’s origins to spark flames of accusations … It will not be easy to silence tongues once this fire is lit. The effects could be disastrous.”

“What do you suggest?” Luis asked.

“You must have Sanz killed – and soon. You’ll be making a big mistake if you don’t get rid of him.”

              Luis closed his eyes in contemplation. He knew Garcia was right, but his father’s words of advice sprang to mind every time he thought about getting rid of the militiaman: “Remember, son, your militia will protect you. They will fight for you and be loyal to their last breath. But harm one of your men and you will lose them all.” He opened his eyes and found Garcia’s beady eyes staring at him. The man revolted him at times. He needed to be put in his place.

“I pay you well for your services, do I not?” Luis asked.

Garcia’s eyes widened with surprise. “You do, You Grace.”

“Then why do you insult me?”

“Insult you? Never!”

“I disagree. My son’s baptism ceremony should be my only concern, yet you’ve given me other worries to deal with. You have neglected to carry out my orders. You failed to dispatch messengers to Valencia with invitations to the infant’s celebrations. The inquisitor will arrive at any moment, and I have still to receive your estimate of how much the prison’s extension has cost me.

“I told you to deal with the physician’s granddaughter, yet she still lives in that grand house with hidden money, which should belong to me! I have mourning townspeople to care for. My people will want answers and justice for the murders and abductions, and they will need my support and my promise to keep them safe. Yet I cannot send anyone to burn at the stake for last night’s crimes … Tell me, Garcia, why must I have the troubles of the world on my shoulders whilst the only thought you seem to have in your head is your desire to kill David Sanz? Do you think I’m a soft-bellied simpleton?”

“No Your Grace …”

“Don’t interrupt me! Look at you, a wax-nosed commoner daring to tell me who I must kill and what I must do instead of solving my problems, which are many!”

“I have not had time to attend to the town’s affairs. I’ve been busy with other business of late … I brought you the infant,” Garcia responded, throwing Luis a look of sullen defiance.

Luis grabbed the edge of the desk and then punched it with his fist. If only he didn’t need the man, he thought. He’d been impulsive getting rid of his father’s allies on the town council. He’d been tired of old men continually telling him, “This is not how your father conducted his business.” He had wanted a fresh face, someone who would be loyal to him and not to his father’s ghost. Garcia was unscrupulous and his criminal mind was exactly what was needed.

Rising from his chair, he strode angrily towards Garcia. His open palm shot out so fast that it caused Garcia to stagger backwards when it connected with his cheek. Luis looked at his stinging palm, walked back to his desk, and sat down. He felt better. Garcia would now think twice before answering. Who did he think he was, an equal?

Garcia lifted his hand and massaged his wounded face, and then he lowered his eyes. “My apologies, Your Grace,” he mumbled.

“You will never again mention my son’s origins. If you so much as speak his name to me I will have your tongue cut out, your hands bathed in boiling oil, and your testicles fed to the pigs. Are we clear?”

“Yes.”

Nodding with satisfaction, Luis said, “My business with Sanz and his family is over. He proved his loyalty, and he and his parents
will
be left in peace. I will hear no more about your petty desire to end his life or your opinion on this matter. My people will demand justice for these murders, and I need you to make sure they get it, without pointing your finger of blame at Sanz.”

“But how will they get justice, Your Grace?”

“Find a way to give it to them! Do your job! Remember, Garcia, there are many men in this town who are more capable than you are and more willing to serve me. You are not infallible, and I would sooner run you through with a sword than any one of the soldiers, who guard me well.”

Garcia bowed his head

Luis gave him a scathing look and then dismissed him with a wave of his hand. “Get out. Go do my bidding.”

“Juan Sanz owes rent and taxes to Your Grace. What should I do?” Garcia asked tentatively as he was leaving.

“Forgive him his debts. Let him love me.”

Chapter Eighteen

Soldiers were dispatched to the Jewry. David lagged behind the others, not wanting to accept their condolences or listen to what they’d like to do with the whoresons who had killed innocent townspeople. As they marched in a two-by-two formation through the streets that led to the Jewish quarter, David questioned the need to demolish the perfectly good house that had belonged to the now-dead physician. Throughout the town, entire families lived, ate, and slept in one room. Destroying a property was wasteful and foolish.

His eyes were glazed with tiredness, but as the men picked their way through the narrow streets, they didn’t miss the throng of people who had gathered in and around the area where he had murdered the couple and stolen the children. David stared at the grief-stricken frightened faces and wondered if the victims’ family were amongst the crowd. He would like to throw himself at their feet and beg their forgiveness, he found himself thinking. Instead, he peeled his eyes away and concentrated on his footing and the duty he was about to perform.

At the very front of the line, Garcia sat like a proud cock on his horse, and every now and then, he turned to the soldiers with a portentous glare and gave them a telling-off for walking too slowly behind him.

Paco, who was a few steps in front of David, slowed down until David was in earshot. “You need to pick up the pace, my lad, or he’ll have your hide.”

“Let him try.”

“David, I could weep for your loss, but I’m sure the lord treasurer cares not a whit.” As though a thought had just struck him, Paco then asked, “Why is he coming with us? He doesn’t usually get his hands dirty when we’re evicting people.”

“I don’t know. I’ve never been to a Jewish eviction,” said David.

“Did you see what happened to the old physician last night?”

“No, I was with you,” David reminded him. “I heard what you heard and saw what you saw.”

“Do you think he jumped? You know, killed himself?”

David shrugged. The duke’s rage the previous evening had not been missed by anyone, David believed, but no one would dare speak of it aloud, nor would his men want to believe that he had killed his own physician. “We don’t get paid to think or to ask questions that don’t concern us. Anyway, what does it matter? If he jumped, he’s dead, and if he was pushed, he’s still dead.” The previous night, David had thought about the old physician on the way back to the town with his parents. The duke killed the Jew, he had concluded. He pushed Cabrera from the top of the wall.

Paco asked one hurried question after another. “Why did the duke summon you last night? What did he have to say to you? He  looked angry about something or other. Do you know what? Was it you?”

Looking horrified, David retorted, “No! Why should he be angry with me? He didn’t even know my name until last night. God only knows what goes on in a duke’s mind. I doubt Luis Peráto has a care in the world compared to those of us less fortunate. He wouldn’t know real worries unless they jumped up and bit his noble arse,” David said, becoming irritated.

“But why did he order you to follow him? What did he want from you?”

“Paco, can you not still your tongue? Do I not have enough to think about without your interrogation? Leave that to the inquisitor when he arrives. The duke welcomed me to the militia – that’s all.” Though David regretted his harsh words, he didn’t offer an apology. Instead, he wondered how many more times people would ask the same questions of him today.

              “You shouldn’t be here,” Paco said, interrupting David’s thoughts again. “You should be with your family … My condolences. Tur’s a swine for making you march up and down this hill today – and so is that arrogant Jew sitting on the horse.”

“What Jew?” David asked.

“Garcia.”

“He’s not a Jew,” David said.

“He might not be now, but he must have been at one time. Look at him. You can tell a league away just by his hooked nose and shifty eyes. Anyway, as I said, you shouldn’t have to be here. You should be getting ready for your brother’s burial.”

David managed to stifle a sardonic snigger which would have been hard to explain away had it emerged from his mouth. He wanted to tell Paco that he’d tramped up and down this hill so many times in the past twelve hours that he was having difficulty marching with blistered feet. He’d also like to break the news that his brother was already in an unmarked grave on the plain and that he, David, had recited Jewish prayers before putting Juanjo in the ground. Imagine, David thought, if he were to tell Paco that.

He glanced at Paco, who was waving to a friend. When they had passed the man, he said, “I’m a converso. I was a Jew, and I don’t have a hooked nose or shifty eyes.”

“I won’t hold that against you,” Paco said with a grin. “You’re a handsome lad, Sanz.” And with that, they marched on in companionable silence.

David’s axe struck the house’s wooden floor with more force than any other tool being used by the soldiers to destroy Saul Cabrera’s house. In his imagination, he saw every blow strike the duke, Garcia, and the scar-faced marauder.

Glancing every so often at Garcia, he was disconcerted to see the treasurer staring back at him. Paco’s question surfaced. Why
was
the treasurer here? And why was he intent on having every single wooden plank in every room raised from the ground?

The soldiers had begun their work in the opulent family room, removing or destroying every piece of furniture, decoration, and ornament beyond recognition. David had noticed the rich tapestries, glass and gold goblets, fine lace curtains, silk cushions, and luxurious couches the minute he’d set foot inside the home. He had never seen such wealth, not even in the duke’s private chamber.

Beside him, soldiers looted what they could carry. They hid small objects underneath chain mail vests and tucked them inside their tight red hose. Larger items were thrown into the cart which had followed them from the castle, carrying tools. Paco, who was fervently thieving alongside the rest of his comrades, laughed at David’s shocked face and then told him off for being a naive, raw recruit who had much to learn.

“If we don’t take the stuff, the neighbours will, and why should they have anything when we’re doing all the hard work?” Paco explained.

David grimaced with the effort it was taking to wield the axe. His muscles were aching, his mood was as black as the inside of a wolf’s mouth, and his thoughts were constantly returning to his homeless parents and his dead brother. “All we’re doing here is destroying lives. I wouldn’t call that worthwhile work or a mission deserving of this treasure,” he said bad-humouredly.