The Errant Flock (4 page)

Chapter Five

David hurried through the south-east gatehouse and stepped onto the castle’s main thoroughfare, which wound its way down the hill, through the town, and towards the open plain, leading to the coast. It was a well-trodden path, uneven with potholes and loose stones, and was treacherous to walk in darkness. But it was the quickest route to his destination.

Feeling nauseated, he rubbed his belly. His legs trembled, causing him to stumble and fall a couple of times before he’d even lost sight of the torchlit watchtower. He cursed inwardly, straightened himself, pulled his cloak’s hood over his head, and walked resolutely downhill towards the centre of Sagrat.

His orders raced through his mind and crushed his heart. He’d stepped into a nightmarish world from which he would never awaken … not tomorrow … not ever. There was no way out, he thought. If he didn’t carry out the duke’s orders, the Sanz family would be arrested by the Inquisition or killed by assassins.

Christ’s blessed blood. He’d been in the wrong place at the wrong time this night. God rest its soul, but had the duke’s baby died one day earlier or one day later, he, David, would not have come to His Grace’s attention. He’d be on his way home right now, looking forward to a wonderful feast, drinking wine, and singing songs with his family, not setting off to steal a child and kill innocent people. He was going to lose his soul to the devil.

Halting in mid-step, he turned to look at the path behind him and then walked on, satisfied that he was not being followed. The duke was a madman, drowning in sorrow but mad all the same. No sane man would ask another to rob a baby from its mother’s arms, let alone kill all those who witnessed the act. No decent man could possibly conceive such an idea. He had no great love for Spanish noblemen, ignorant of poverty and suffering, but even they would detest the duke and send him to hell for this atrocity, he thought.

There was no escape from this situation, he kept thinking as he came upon the first street of houses. He could run, but leaving his family behind to suffer the consequences of his actions was out of the question. He could kill himself, but his family would be despised, and the duke might still kill his parents and brothers out of spite.

His family were the most important people in his life. Because of them, he strived to become a better man, a man of substance. Everything he did was for his family’s benefit.

He stood at a fork in the road. Tightly knitted streets packed with buildings crisscrossed untidily from the south-eastern part of the hill to the most north-eastern point. He was more than halfway down the hill and now in a heavily populated part of the town. The maze of buildings might have been daunting to a stranger, but David knew every corner of every street in the town.

He held the map that Garcia had given him. On it, streets were denoted by a series of lines and squares brushed onto the paper with black ink. There were also writings. The words meant nothing to David, but he had no need of them. He was only interested in the seven crosses that were marked at various points on the map.

He leaned against a building’s uneven wall stones and recalled Garcia’s words. “The crosses represent recent male births, as registered by the town’s priest, Father Bernardo,” he’d said. “It is illegal not to notify him of all deaths and births in the town. It is also against the law not to inform the church and, through it, the duke about any changes in family situations, such as house address or employment. The map integrates Father Bernardo’s most recent census report, and it is accurate. As you can see, there are seven crosses signifying male babies, born within the past three days, and the location of their homes. The small lines next to the crosses symbolize how many occupants are in the house. Do you understand? Are you aware of how important this is to the duke?”

David had nodded grimly. That had been made perfectly clear when Garcia had said, “If you don’t get a male infant, you may as well throw yourself from the highest part of the wall, like the old Jew, for you won’t last longer than a drunk’s piss hard-on.”

He looked once more at the map and chose a house some six streets away from where he stood. Two of the other houses on the map were closer but had more occupants in them. Three lines sat next to the cross he had chosen, meaning three innocent people would die at his hand. His sadness was unbearable and his guilt insurmountable. His mouth was as dry as straw. Life as he knew it was over. He would never be the man he dreamed of becoming or the good husband he aspired to be someday. From now on, the stain of murder would follow him no matter where he went or how he lived his life.

“Enough. Get this done,” he mumbled under his breath. He’d face his conscience later, after he had delivered an infant to the duke.

The street, as well as most of the houses in it, was deserted. By now, the neighbours would be at the town square, in the San Agustin Church, listening to the Mass. Only the infirm, very elderly, and those who had new infants would be at home. It was customary for newborns to remain in quarantine until holy water had been poured over them and they were officially welcomed into the Catholic Church.

He was not sure how much time he had, but when Mass was over, the procession would disperse and the people would hurry home to eat and drink their fill. He would have to make sure he was on his way back to the castle before the rowdy crowd filled the entire area.

He studied the house he’d chosen from the other side of the narrow street. Smoke was billowing from the roof chimney, and an inviting soft glow of light was visible through the numerous cracks on the window shutters. There was a smell of food sifting into the street through the splintered wooden door. The people inside would be just about to eat, were eating, or had just finished their supper.

He pulled the hood from his head and unconsciously ran his fingers through his hair. After crossing the street, he stood for a second in front of the door, listening for a baby’s cry or sign of life on the other side of it. Eventually, he heard a man’s voice and a woman’s soft tinkling laughter.

His knuckles rapped the wood five times. His heart thumped against his chest, and his breathing quickened as he covered his sword and dagger with his cloak and waited.

“Yes?” The young man smiled upon opening the door. “Can I help you?”

David didn’t answer. Instead, he looked past the man and saw a baby’s crib out of the corner of his eye. He cleared his throat and thought for a brief second that his chest was going to explode, and then he forced himself to look at the young man.

“I am here on the duke’s business. Let me pass.” Seeing the man’s expression change from curiosity to fear, he repeated sternly, “Let me pass.”

“What does the duke want from me?” the man asked.

He wants to steal your baby and have you killed,
David thought, but instead he said, “I’ll answer your questions inside. Make way for me.”

“I’ve done nothing wrong … and I’ve never seen you before. How do I know you’re not a thief?”

Hearing a noise, David turned from the man and looked onto the street. There was no one there, thank God. None the less, he couldn’t waste any more time standing on this doorstep, where a neighbour returning early from church might see him. His hand slipped underneath his cloak. He felt the pommel of his sword and drew it from its leather belt with one swift movement, making a loud swishing sound.

“Move back inside,” David said, with the point of his blade touching the man’s belly.

The man’s eyes widened with fear and confusion. He took a few steps backwards, encouraged by the tip of the sword nicking his skin. Stumbling, he halted abruptly as he hit the edge of the bed with the back of his leg. “My wife’s just had a baby … Please don’t hurt her.”

“Be quiet,” David told him. Lifting his leg behind him and without looking, he kicked the door shut with the sole of his boot. His eyes wandered past the man. The home consisted of only one room, which reeked of burning pine and eucalyptus logs. A baby slept in the crib.

The new mother, looking weary after just giving birth, cowered in the bed and was already weeping and mumbling. “Please …no,” she said, as though motherhood had heightened her instincts. David ignored her and scanned the rest of the room.

An ugly brown curtain running along a rope and stretching from one wall to the other formed a partition. A table and two chairs sat by the window, and a small hearth filled the corner wall at the far side of the bed. A chamber pot half filled with piss sat by the door, as though just about to be thrown outside, and next to it were two dirty plates, an empty cooking pot, and a wooden cup.

“Where is the other member of your family?” David asked the man.

“There is no one else. Our other child died recently.”

“Why was its death not registered?”

“She died a couple of days ago, just before my wife gave birth …”

“You registered the birth, did you not?”

“Yes, but …”

“So why did you not register the death?”

“Who are you?” the man demanded. “Why has the duke sent you to my home carrying a sword? What have I done wrong?”

Nothing!
David wanted to scream. The young father and his wife had done nothing wrong. They were sacrificial lambs.

“We’re good Christians,” he heard the man say. “Is this because we weren’t in the procession or at Mass? As you can see, my wife’s not yet ready to leave her birthing bed … and the baby can’t go out. I have nothing to give you but a few maravedis … You won’t find anything much of value here. For God’s sake, tell me what you want.” His words tumbled out in quick succession.

Studying the man for the first time, David guessed he must be about eighteen years old. He was particularly young to have fathered two babies. “Shut up,” he said harshly. “Bring your infant to me and don’t ask any more questions.”

The man hesitated. Confusion and then fear settled in his eyes.

“I said show me the child!” David hissed the words. Had he shouted them, they would not have sounded more fearsome.

The baby was asleep in a crib constructed with both pinewood and tightly weaved straw. The man lifted his infant, wrapped in a patched linen blanket, and then held it in his outstretched arms in front of David.

“Remove the blanket. Show me the babe’s sex.”

The man wept. The mother, who was sobbing quietly, began to pray. “Please don’t harm my child … Oh, holy mother of Jesus, save us …”

David looked at the baby’s tiny body, confirmed the sex, and that it had not been circumcised. He felt his own eyes well up with tears, and drowning in shame and helplessness, he struggled to breathe. If only God would strike him down where he stood.

The point of his sword was still tickling the young father’s belly. He took a step backwards and gestured to the crib. “Put the infant back in there.”

When the young father had laid the baby down, he straightened and turned to face David. His eyes wandered to the corner of the room. David sensed that the man was looking for a weapon. For a second, he wondered whether to let the innocent victim kill him rather than go through with this evil … A thought rushed through his mind. Should he tell the infant’s parents to leave their baby and run for their lives? No, for not only he but the entire Sanz family would be punished if there were no dead bodies discovered in this house. He had to stop thinking and act. There was no saving these people. It was much too late to turn back now.

The young father opened his mouth to speak. His words hung in the air as David thrust the sword into the man’s belly, running it straight through until it stuck out of his back.

Grunting, David pulled the sword out of his victim and watched him sink to his knees between the bed and the crib.

The mother’s piercing scream jolted David’s calm. He had to shut her up. The man on the floor was in his way. He rolled the body aside with the sole of his shoe and then put his knee on top of the bed. Straddling the mother, with his hand covering her mouth, he wondered if he should slit his own throat. That would be easier than slashing hers. For a split second, he was conscious of her flushed, tear-stained face filled with grief. He blinked the image away, threw his sword onto the bed cover, and reached for his long dagger.

For a brief moment, his hand slackened on her lips. When he heard her moan, his heart broke. He wouldn’t look at her again. Reaching out, he felt her face, and then he tipped her head backwards and sliced her throat in a simple circular cut from ear to ear.

His legs still straddled the woman, and his breathing came in short, sharp bursts as he looked dazedly around him in horror. He looked at the dagger, his bloodstained sword, the woman, and finally at the dead man on the floor. He moved to get up, but his legs had become entangled in the bed covers. His frantic efforts to free himself only delayed him further. He stopped moving, looked up, and felt his breath catch in his throat. A crucifix sat on the wall behind the bed. He stared at it for a second and then wept for the first time since childhood.

Chapter Six

David’s hands and legs were trembling, but his mind was calmer and clearer. His only job now was to get the baby out of the house and back to Garcia before every street around there was filled with people.

There had been enough valuable time wasted. He couldn’t stay here all night, weeping and cursing and apologising to the people he had just murdered. He’d not been able to pull himself out of the blackness. He’d drowned in it, unable to breathe or see a spark of light … He hated himself. He was a monster.

After using the bedcover to wipe the bloody dagger and sword clean, he secured them on his belt. Lifting the baby, he covered its head with the blanket and cradled it in his arm, underneath the folds of his cloak. As he reached the door, he stopped abruptly and spun around. His eyes darted to every corner of the room. The sound had been faint, but he’d heard something.

He laid the baby down again, stood perfectly still, and listened. A child was sobbing. At that moment, the infant stirred and began to wail. He lifted it and rocked it in his arms. His eyes were drawn back to the curtained partition at the far end of the room. He had not taken much notice of it before, for most houses hung linen or hemp sheeting to hide clothes, tools, and cooking utensils.

Drawing his dagger, he tiptoed towards it and pulled back the curtain. Sitting on a narrow cot was a child not more than three years old. David moaned at the sight of her. “Oh dear God, no.” Her legs were drawn up to her chest. Her head was downcast, and her small face was partially hidden between the fold of her arms, lying across her knees. He’d been careless in believing the father, who had stated that the child was dead, but at the time, there had been no reason to doubt him. The little girl had not uttered a sound the entire time he’d been here ... Not so much as a whimper.

Tears gathered in his eyes. “No, no,” he repeated in a whisper. “No, I can’t. Not a child … Never!” He knelt down and gently touched the girl’s arm. “Shh, I won’t hurt you. I promise you that everything will be all right. You have to come with me,” he added without thinking.

“No, Papa … Mama …,” she cried. She lifted her head and looked at David’s face, staring kindly into her own. She stared at the baby and then back at David. Teardrops from large brown eyes still sat on her flushed cheeks. Her pouting lips quivered in fear as she continued to gaze at the giant of a man kneeling before her. She sat up, looked past him, and opened her mouth in horror.

Pulling her to his chest, he shielded her eyes from the horrific sight of her parents’ bloodied bodies. Again he panicked. What was he to do with her? He couldn’t leave her here with all this death and blood. He was supposed to kill her, he then thought. He couldn’t take her to the castle or to a neighbour’s house, and if she was left to wander the streets, she would be recognised. The duke and his henchman, Garcia, were bound to find out about her, and they would not forgive his disobedience. Dear God, what was to become of her?

The girl was still staring at him. Her teeth were chattering with fear. She would not go with him willingly. He couldn’t blame her. He must be a terrifying sight.

“What’s your name, little one?” No response. “I’ll tell you my name …”

“Mama … Papa,” she cried louder.

David sighed. His mind was made up. The girl might mean his death, but he wouldn’t take her life to save his own. “We’re going for a walk. Your mama and papa are sleeping. You must be very quiet. We don’t want to wake them up, do we?” He smiled.

As he lifted her from the bed, she kicked out with her legs and struggled to release herself from his grip. Her sobbing had turned into a soft whimpering, the heart-wrenching sound of a child too exhausted or too scared to cry. Her tiny hands pummelled his chest, but when David opened the door, she became still and looked curiously out onto the street.

After fumbling with the doorknob but eventually managing to close the door behind him, he hurried from the area, juggling the two babes in his arms beneath his cloak. His muddled mind was filled with questions he couldn’t answer and thoughts which made no sense. Guilt threatened to overpower his determination but there was no more time to think or to fill his mind with self-hatred. He had streets to manoeuvre, two babies to keep quiet, and a steep hill to climb.

The Mass was over. Torches flickered, guiding the people leaving the church, which was at the base of the hill. David believed that he still had time to avoid a throng of people, but he could see torchlights already flickering on the same road that he had taken from the south-east gate. He swore. He couldn’t go back up the hill the same way he’d come down it. He would meet processionals head-on. The duke had left no time for error, he thought. He must have known this might happen but hadn’t cared. Cursing again, he prayed for a life of torment for Luis Peráto.

Hurrying along a street which had a steep upward incline, he tried to picture the safest route back to the castle. He knew this to be a long street. At the end of it, he would have to climb thirteen stone steps, marking the boundary line for this section of the town. Beyond the steps, the hill looked more like a cliff face covered with large jagged rocks. It would be impossible to climb with two babies in his arms.

He stopped, defeated, sick with shame, and mindful of his stupidity. The initial idea of taking the girl home to the farm now seemed ludicrous. He doubted he could take her anywhere. The only way he could get up to Garcia, waiting for him at the north-east gate, was if he left the child somewhere along the way. He’d just have to pray that she’d still be there when he eventually got back to her.

There was a bitter chill in the air. The infant was well wrapped, but the girl had nothing but a fine blanket and nightgown to cover her, and every time she squirmed, her legs dangled outside of his cloak folds. He had to find her some shelter now.

Upon reaching the top of the steps, he searched for the spot where the next section of the town began. Farther up the hill and heading north was the high wall that separated the Jewry from other areas in Sagrat. Behind the wall lived what was left of the Jewish community. Once a bustling neighbourhood of affluent Jews and thriving businesses, it now stood a sad, dilapidated cluster of streets full of abandoned homes and empty shops. It was a prison in all but name, David thought. Christians were afraid to go anywhere near it, making it seem more like a leper colony than a neighbourhood.

First Jews had been forced to wear special badges on their garments, and then the tall, thick walls had come, segregating them from their Christian friends and neighbours. Shame on Sagrat, David thought, and shame on Spain. “A plague on the duke and his bastard lackey, Garcia,” he mumbled angrily whilst he was at it.

Swinging open a wooden gate, he entered the Jewry. After only a few paces, he came upon an abandoned semi-demolished house and decided that the building would be as good a place as any to leave the girl. As with most doorways, David had to stoop his tall frame to enter. After accustoming his eyes to the darkness, he looked about him. Whoever had lived there had probably stripped the house bare before leaving. All that remained in the room was an old rag lying on a dirt floor, which had once been covered in wooden boards, judging by a few splintered pieces of pinewood that still remained in places. This must have belonged to an affluent family, for only the very best of houses had a wood covering on the ground.

David set the child down in a corner of the room where the stone wall was still intact. She craned her neck and looked up at his great height with an expression of bewilderment, which David found even more pitiful than her crying. After spreading the fine blanket on top of the dirty ground, he laid the girl upon it, and then wrapped it about her body and bare feet as best he could. For a moment, he sat with her, stroking her hair and soothing her with softly spoken words. Her eyes blinked with tiredness and then drooped with exhaustion.

“I’ll come back for you,” he whispered when her eyes finally closed in sleep. “I’ll take you to a nice warm bed and you’ll have some milk … I’m sorry – so sorry for everything.”

Blinded by his tears, he left the house, rocking the infant, whose mouth was open and searching for his mother’s teat. “Please don’t cry,” he begged the baby.

The house’s wooden door was withered, but he managed to close it behind him and click the latch into place. There were no guarantees the girl inside would sleep on or remain quiet until he got back to her, he thought, but she would be safe enough. She was just a baby and wouldn’t be able to leave the house on her own. Leaving the house wasn’t his biggest worry, he then realised. If she screamed loudly enough, she’d be heard, causing an onslaught of questions to arise in this neighbourhood.

He didn’t regret saving her, he kept telling himself as he hurried on. She had multiplied his problems tenfold, but no, he would rather cut off his hands than harm her. He pushed all thoughts of the girl away. He’d done everything he could, and for the moment, she was in God’s hands, not his.

David struggled up an uneven rocky path which began at the very bottom of the hill. From the plain below, this narrow track looked like a piece of white rope wrapped around the entire mound in what seemed like never-ending circles. This was probably the most treacherous route to the north-east gate. He was climbing the steepest part of the hill, right to its crest. It was rarely used by anyone, apart from goat herders.

He set off at a steady pace, but after a while, his breathing quickened and became laboured. He felt as though he were running up the hill instead of walking at a snail’s pace, which was all he could manage to do in the dark. His skin was moist, his tunic damp with perspiration, but there was no time to stop and rest. He thanked God that the town was below him, and he believed that no one else would be stupid enough to walk this road at this time of night. The babe slept on, no doubt comforted by his body heat, and he calculated that in less than an hour, he’d reach the wall and gate, his mission completed and the horrific night almost over.