The Errant Flock (19 page)

Chapter Thirty-Five

De Amo nodded to his magistrate and then to the defence advocate, who looked almost as terrified as the men he was there to defend.

“Magistrate, present your evidence and accusers’ statements,” the inquisitor ordered.

Vicent Arguti stood, bowed to the inquisitor, and then picked up one of the many documents lying on his tabletop. He cleared his throat. “My lord inquisitor …” Then addressing Luis, he said, “Your Grace, Miguel Ferrer and Ignacio Ruíz are accused of murder, kidnapping, and fire-raising. The deceased persons in this case – Adolfo Marsal and his wife, Alma Casellas – were found brutally stabbed to death in their house. Upon hearing the victims’ terrified screams, three neighbours were awakened, and they took it upon themselves to investigate. In the street, all three neighbours saw the aforementioned men running out of the victims’ house with an infant and a small child in their arms. The witnesses have since formally identified the accused.

“Furthermore, on that same night, three smallholdings were burnt to the ground on the plain lying east of Sagrat. A boy, Juanjo Sanz, was killed during one of the raids. Witnesses have come forward, and all, without fail, have identified the two present suspects as being the perpetrators of these horrific crimes.

“On the morning following the vicious attacks and murders, His Grace’s militia were dispatched to hunt and capture the murderers. When Miguel Ferrer and Ignacio Ruiz were eventually seized, they were found to be in possession of an infant’s blanket.” Arguti held up the blanket covered in blood.

All those in attendance crossed themselves and gasped in horror.

The two accused men shook their heads. Tears ran down the cheeks of one, whilst the other grunted incoherently at the magistrate.

“Reliable witnesses have testified that this is the blanket belonging to the murdered infant, Matias Marsal Casellas. Unfortunately, the militia were unable to find the infant’s body or that of his sister, Angelita, Marsal Casellas.

With a wave of his hand, the inquisitor gestured to the magistrate to sit back down. Looking at both of the accused, he said, “I don’t want to prolong this trial. It is quite clear that multiple witnesses have identified you both and that you are guilty of these atrocities. I could stand here all day and read witness accounts, but for your sake, I would much rather forego this lengthy process and hear your confessions now. Taking a step closer, he added, “I cannot save your souls, for they are beyond redemption, but I can show you mercy with a prompt death.”

Miguel hung his head. Ignacio grunted and shook his head violently. The inquisitor raised an arm and then snapped his fingers. The masked torturer, who until now had stood behind Inquisition men-at-arms, stepped forward. Knowing what was required of him, he gripped Ignacio by the arm with his gloved hand and dragged him to his feet.

“Ignacio, are you ready to confess to your terrible crimes against man and God?” De Amo asked Ignacio, not unkindly.

Ignacio groaned like a whimpering wounded beast and shook his head.

“You killed five people. We have proof,” De Amo told him. Your advocate sits here unable to defend you against the barrage of evidence that we have presented. Why do you prolong your suffering? Surely no physical torture can compare to the anguish of a tormented soul. God cannot show you mercy if you don’t unburden yourself of these terrible sins. You understand that it is my sacred duty to hear your confession and bring you back to the faith?”

Ignacio’s glassy eyes stared at him; he looked like a small child not understanding a word that he was hearing.

“You need only nod your head and this will be over.”

Ignacio let out a desperate moan. Saliva dribbled down his chin, and his head drooped. The inquisitor gestured to the torturer, who tilted Ignacio’s head back, forcing him to look up.

Bending down, the inquisitor looked into Ignacio’s eyes and said patiently, “Would it not be better for you to get this over with? You have caused great suffering, yet I am giving you the opportunity to find rest.”  

Ignacio shook his head and then bowed it again until it hung limply.

De Amo had seen this gesture of defeat many times. It usually meant that the prisoner was ready to make a confession. He didn’t want to torture these men. They would not survive any of the inquisition’s methods, and there would be no justice for the townspeople if he burned dead bodies. “You killed five people. You murdered them! You took the lives of innocent babes … You must confess before you face the eternal flames of hell!”

Ignacio looked at each face in the room as though searching for one single ally. Raising his eyes, he stared now with terror at the masked torturer. Tears poured down his face. Mucous dripped from his nostrils. His lips trembled, but he couldn’t seem to open them. He could only manage to whimper.

“Will you now confess to God?” De Amo asked him again.

Ignacio nodded.

There was no point in going through any more Inquisition requisites, the inquisitor thought. He would have a just confession as long as the accused nodded his head at the right time and the scribe noted the gesture in the records.

“Did you, Ignacio Ruiz, murder five innocent people and set unlawful fires that resulted in the destruction of properties?”

Ignacio stared into De Amo’s eyes and then nodded his head.

“Are you confessing?” the inquisitor asked once more, to make sure everyone else could see Ignacio nodding in answer.

Ignacio nodded.

“Is the confession recorded?” the inquisitor asked his scribe.

The scribe said, “Yes Your Excellency, every gesture.”

Miguel was pulled to his feet. He was in an even weaker state than Ignacio, and the torturer had to hold him up with both arms wrapped around his chest.

“Miguel Ferrer, are you ready to confess to the murders?” the inquisitor asked.

Miguel gasped for air and then released a loud sob.

“Nod your head. Did you kill those people?” the inquisitor urged him.

Miguel tried desperately to open his mouth.

“Don’t try to speak. You’ll only cause yourself more pain.”

Miguel nodded.

“Are you confessing?”

Miguel nodded again.

The inquisitor sighed with relief. He did not normally conduct his business this way, and he had found it distasteful. “Did you all see their confessions?” he asked the seated men.

“I did,” Luis answered. “They are both guilty.”

The others nodded in agreement, and then each man said, “Yes, guilty.”

De Amo sat down. In capital offence cases, the Inquisition generally handed convicted prisoners to the civilian authorities for sentencing. The Holy Office did not involve itself with the issuing of death sentences. “As we are all agreed, I will now abandon the prisoners to the secular arm. The Inquisition has done its duty,” he said, and then he sat down.

For a moment, there was a silent pause as each man in the chamber came to terms with the verdict. David stood rigidly to attention, eyes boring into the prisoners. Paco inadvertently shook his head in a gesture of disgust. Captain Tur continued to stare at the ground as though daydreaming. But the council members, clergy, and Garcia nodded their heads in satisfaction whilst looking at the duke, who would now decide the convicted prisoners’ fate.

Luis stood and then went to stand next to De Amo’s chair. Facing the council, he said, “The sentence must be death for both men. What does my council say?”

“I agree, Your Grace,” the town magistrate said with enthusiasm.

“They must be executed immediately,” Garcia said. “If we don’t carry out the sentences this night, we will have civil unrest. All hell will break loose.”

The other councilmen agreed. The monks nodded. Father Bernardo, the only other clergyman present, had not yet spoken.

“What say you, Padre?” Luis asked him.

“They have been convicted of such evil crimes that I cannot even think of a suitable punishment. They have inflicted injury on so many lives in this town, and in my opinion, they should be mutilated and their parts fed to the pigs.”

“No, not mutilation,” Luis said hurriedly. “These men will suffer the agonies of fire. They will be burnt alive. There will be no garrotting beforehand. I want the townspeople to hear their screams when the flames lick their skin. Every last man, woman, and child will attend, without exception,” Luis said enthusiastically.

The council nodded in agreement, and Father Bernardo asked, “May I give them God’s forgiveness before they die?”

“You may, although I don’t think God will listen to your absolutions,” Luis told him.

Chapter Thirty-Six

Darkness had fallen, and the rain had stopped. The streets, with a thick layer of mud still wet and slushy, were lined by a crowd of people carrying lit torches all the way from the prison walls to the town square.

Inquisition men-at-arms and the duke’s militia, stationed along the route from the prison to the edge of the town’s plaza, formed a barrier between the thoroughfare and the throng of people waiting expectantly for their first glimpse of the condemned men.

Two soldiers, pounding heavy drums with their fists, led the execution procession. Father Bernardo and two other priests from San Agustin carried crucifixes and were followed by two Dominican monks from the nearby monastery. The prisoners, lying in the back of a cart, were chained together by iron links attached to neck collars. Their wrists and feet were also shackled, and every time the cart hit a stone or bump in the road, the men groaned in pain. Two knights flanked the cart, and behind it marched the duke, Captain Tur, and the town council members in a solemn line.

Over centuries, executions had taken place on the outskirts of town. But such was the ferocity of these crimes that the council elected that it should be held in Sagrat’s centre so that people would always remember it whenever they passed by the church or sat gossiping on the steps of the municipal palace.

When the procession reached the town square, La Placa Del Rey, two militiamen took up positions on top of each pyre, which was almost as tall as an average man. The stakes, wedged in the centre of the pyres, had been hastily erected and were visible from every corner of the square and surrounding streets.

There had not been a burning in Sagrat for over ten years. The people, mesmerised by the sombre beat of the drums, the sight of the stakes, and then the arrival of the prisoners, stood in morbid stillness, until some gasped with shock when Miguel and Ignacio were pulled off the cart and dragged across the muddy ground on their bellies towards the pyres.

A few of the duke’s soldiers, holding lit torches which would ignite the fires, watched in silence, but some of them couldn’t resist throwing a disapproving look the duke’s way.

Miguel and Ignacio reached the foot of the stakes. At most burnings, the condemned prisoner was tied and bound to a high ladder lying on the ground. After the heretic had been secured to it, it was lifted by ropes until it stood vertically. With the prisoner facing the fire, the ladder was then lowered again onto the mountain of burning kindling, where the prisoner died almost instantly. Not so this night. It seemed that Miguel and Ignacio were to be given a slower and more painful death.

Standing on top of the pyres, militiamen holding the chains connected to Miguel and Ignacio’s iron neck collars tugged continuously, until the condemned men began climbing over the wood pile. Like a couple of reluctant mules, they tried to take steps backwards instead of forward, with their heads jerking against the collars around their necks.

Both prisoners fell and, unable to stand up again, were dragged the rest of the way on their stomachs, groaning in agony as their bodies became entangled in the jagged twigs. The crowd watched as the men’s skin was ripped, scratched, and stabbed. But inch by inch, they continued to move upwards towards the wooden stakes.

Some of the onlookers looked away. A few people with weak bellies tried to leave the town square, but soldiers blocked their way and ordered them to remain. Only the murdered victims’ family, given a place right at the front of the crowd, openly displayed exuberance for the proceedings.

A stone flew through the air, hitting Miguel on the back of the head, and then another and another, until both men were pelted on every part of their bodies. Angry voices from within the crowd rose above the sound of beating drums. Captain Tur called for order, but the shouts of the people grew even louder, until a man’s anguished scream shocked the crowd into silence.

“Where are our grandbabies? Give us peace!” Eduardo, the missing children’s grandfather, sobbed. “Tell us where you buried them!”

Surrounded by the people’s fury, David felt his gut wrench. He stood at the foot of the stake, light-headed and convinced he was going to vomit. Desperate to tell Eduardo where the babies were and scream his sins aloud, he forced his eyes to close and set his lips into a tight line. He could save these men, his scrambled mind screamed. All he had to do was confess. He was going to hell and would suffer all its agonies, but before that, he could do at least one good thing before the devil took him. He could return the babies to their family and bring the duke and Garcia to justice. He could do those things were he not a coward, unable to even let himself imagine the horror of flames engulfing his body …

His eyes snapped open at a lull in the shouting. Turning to face the stake, he watched his fellow militiamen unshackle the prisoners and shuddered at the sight of their almost naked bodies and torn skin. Thick ropes being coiled around Miguel and Ignacio’s foreheads, necks, and bodies left them standing rigid, like soldiers to attention, against the smooth poles. God help them. God help them! his mind screamed.

Jumping at a sharp pain coursing up and down his wounded arm, he looked down to see fingers digging deep into the linen bandage and the emergence of fresh blood surrounding the  open wound. Tugging his arm free, he looked back up, and scowled at Garcia, smirking with pleasure at the pain he was causing.

“You should be up there, Sanz. I’d pay with my own coin to watch you burn.” Garcia tilted his head and whispered into David’s ear, “It would give me pleasure to watch you squirm in agony.”

“And it would give me even greater satisfaction to see you standing up there next to me,” David hissed back.

“You are not long for this world.” Garcia grinned maliciously and then walked away.

Father Bernardo and two other priests from the church of San Agustin went to each pyre in turn, holding crucifixes in the air. After making the sign of the cross and uttering prayers that no one could hear, Father Bernardo turned his back on the prisoners and then walked towards the church, followed by the duke, Garcia, and the town’s civil authorities.

“Empty the buckets of pig fat onto the pyres,” Captain Tur ordered his soldiers. The logs and kindling were wet from recent rains and the pig fat would help ignite them.

After the pyres had been doused, David was ordered to put the flame to Ignacio’s pyre. Frozen with dread, he hesitated. His mind scrambled to think of a way out of the horrific nightmare he’d found himself in. For a second he envisaged the two prisoners getting loose from the ropes and running to safety. Gripping the lit torch so tightly that he thought the wood would snap, he found he couldn’t move his arm or take a step forward. It was as though some invisible hand were holding him back. His teeth were chattering. His ears heard the sound of drums and people’s voices shouting at him to hurry up and light the fire, yet he still couldn’t do his captain’s bidding.

“In the name of God, man, give it to me!” Tur’s gruff voice snapped.

David, dazed, handed Tur the torch and then hung his head, lest anyone see his tears.

“Lift your head and behave like a soldier. Every man in this cursed town is looking at you,” Tur said.

Slowly David raised himself to his full height, stood to attention, and nodded. His head was pounding as though it were being struck with hammers. Tur shouldn’t have to light the fire and damage his good conscience, David thought, ashamed. “My apologies, Captain,” he said.

“Are you ready to follow orders, Sanz?” Tur asked, not unkindly.

David nodded again. “Yes, Captain.” Looking up at Ignacio’s terror-stricken face, he mouthed,
Forgive me
. Then he lit the kindling.