The Errant Flock (5 page)

Chapter Seven

As David approached the north-east gate, he was struck by the eerie silence. Craning his neck, he tried to see the top of the wall. There was no sign of flaming torches, nor was there the glint of a helmet or spear peeking over merlon blocks. Moving on, he prayed that Garcia had dismissed the watch in this area and that he was waiting for him on the other side of the wall.

The portcullis was only partially down, and no guards looked to be in the gatehouse above it. After slipping underneath, he walked through the archway, which led to a Roman courtyard. This was the duke’s private sanctuary. No townspeople were allowed to enter the castle through this gate. Bordering the tiled square courtyard were Roman pillars, arched alcoves with white granite benches underneath, and Roman statues, some of which were eroded or damaged. Ancient but still beautiful, they stood tall in the darkness, embodying an earlier era, yet ever present, like timeless guardians watching history unfold. He paused for a moment beside a fountain and marvelled at the beauty surrounding him.

He imagined the infant he held in his arms, playing there under the watchful eyes of nurses and guards. The duke’s imposter son was going to have a life of privilege and wealth to look forward to. He’d be raised ignorant of his ancestry, where he came from, and even his given name at birth. Only three people possessed the knowledge of what had happened this night … Only three.

Dark nagging thoughts pounded his mind. Was he to die? Had the physician been murdered because he also knew the truth? Was he to be thrown off the highest part of the wall or stabbed in the back and share the physician’s fate? Why had he not considered this before?

“You’re late!” Sergio Garcia’s voice snapped as he came out of the shadows.

“I was trapped. The processionals blocked my route. I had to find another way up. I’m here now,” David said coldly. He was in no mood to show reverence to the bastard.

“Yes, you are. Well, where is it?”

Flicking his cloak over the back of his shoulders, David  revealed the baby, who stirred as soon as cold air touched his face.

Garcia peeled away the blanket and nightgown covering the tiny body, looking closely at the infant’s genitalia.

David forced himself to remain still, but he was seething with rage at the callous way in which the treasurer was looking at the infant’s sex in the cold air. For the first time tonight, he hated someone else more than he despised himself.

“Yes, it’s a boy,” Garcia said, as though David didn’t already know that. “Show me the infant’s house on the map.”

David covered the baby, pulled out the map, and then tucked the baby underneath his cloak to keep him warm. In the darkness, it was almost impossible to see anything written or marked on the paper, but the black ink cross and lines denoting where the babe had come from were visible.

“Here, in this house,” David said, pointing.

Nodding with approval, Garcia said, “I see it. So we should expect to find three bodies in this home come morning? Tell me about them. How did you kill them?”

David’s stony expression was unwavering. All the way up the hill, he had dreaded this question the most. Now he would lose his pride and honour forever, for the moment he confessed to the murders, the duke and Garcia would own him, body and soul. “I ran my sword through the father’s gut. I silenced the mother with a cut to her neck, and I suffocated the little girl as she slept.”

“Good … That’s good. And you’re sure you weren’t seen or heard?”

“I’m sure.”

“Then we will grieve and pray for three of our citizens tomorrow. The duke appreciates their sacrifice.”

Sacrifice? The duke was a murdering whoreson, David thought. He wasn’t saving the town from some catastrophe. “Only two bodies are in the house,” he said calmly. “I removed the dead child and buried her on the hill. I dug deep, and she will never be found. I give you my word that not even a beast will be able to dig up her bones.”

Garcia’s arm shot out. The palm of his hand connected with David’s cheek with such speed and force that he lost his footing and stumbled backwards. David planted his feet firmly on the ground and instinctively protected the infant by placing both arms around his body. His heavy breathing slowed. Were it not for the baby, he would have had his sword out of its belt and into Garcia’s chest, damning the consequences.

Garcia’s skin reddened. He spread his lips in an ugly scowl, and bearing his teeth, he whispered ferociously. “You’re an idiot peasant! You were told to kill all the occupants and leave them where they lay – leave them where they lay! Who are you to disobey His Grace? He’ll be furious, and he’ll blame me for
your
insubordination.”

Good. Let him blame you, punish you, and kill you
, David wanted to say. “My apologies …”

“You should have left the dead child where it lay, you fool,” Garcia repeated.

Lies didn’t slip easily off David’s tongue, but he’d practiced his explanation on the way up, saying the words aloud until he’d felt comfortable with the sound of them. Straightening his shoulders, he said, “And how is Your Honour to explain one missing child when there were two in the house? Surely it makes more sense to give the impression that both siblings have been abducted. To steal away one and kill another, at such a young age, might bring even more questions as to the reason the boy child was specifically taken. The townspeople will believe this crime to be child abduction for monetary gain, for this is exactly what I made it look like.”

As though feeling David’s thumping heartbeat, the infant stirred and began to wail. David rocked him gently whilst trying to control his mounting rage.

Garcia thought about what had just been said. He did not suffer fools and was a suspicious man by nature. Life and people had taught him that no man could be trusted and that loyalty came at a high price. He disliked Luis Peráto and all the arse lickers that surrounded him. The duke was a dim-witted man with the whims of a petted child. Why was he allowing the militiaman to live? He had asked Peráto that question and had not received an answer. Had it been his decision to make, Sanz would have been killed the moment he’d stepped under the half-drawn portcullis with the infant. He’d served his purpose, and now he was a liability.

The duke was a gullible fool and, like most nobles, was self-centred and unable to understand a common peasant’s mind. Peráto’s views of the world around him were amusing, for the duke believed that his townspeople wanted nothing more from life than to serve him. They were pack mules, born and bred to carry his load, he was fond of saying.

Garcia was a commoner. He understood the common man, his suffering, and his aspirations. He also knew that many Sagratans blamed Peráto for their present misfortunes. Commerce was dwindling under the burden of higher taxations. Work of any kind was hard to come by for even the most gifted tradesmen, yet the duke ignored his people’s misery. He was too busy planning a future as Valencia’s viceroy to turn his mind to the beggars on the street and the growing number of women selling their bodies so that they could feed their children. Luis Peráto sickened him, not because he was unkind to his townspeople but because he was stupid.

Garcia stared at David, trying to decide whether the man was foolish enough to lie. There was no respect in Sanz’s steely gaze. Being struck had not seemed to cow him one whit. If anything, the man was being openly disrespectful. “How can I be sure the girl’s dead unless I see the grave and her body for myself?”

“You can’t.”

“If you’re lying to me, it will be the death of you. You don’t strike me as a man who wishes to lose his life over a mere child,” Garcia said, voicing his thoughts. “Where on the hill did you bury her?”

“Halfway down, at the edge of the crevice, where the soil is deep and the undergrowth is at its thickest. As I said, I took great care to make sure the grave would never be found.”

Garcia nodded begrudgingly. He was not going to waste time searching for a grave. “Your reasoning might be sound. Let the people think that both children were spirited away.” He nodded again but was still outraged that the common pup in front of him had made this decision on his own.

David waited. His fate was in Garcia’s hands now. He either believed the story or didn’t and was veiling his thoughts. He wanted to punch the man until blood spouted from his ears. His disregard for the three lives supposedly taken revolted him.

Thinking about the little girl and unwilling to be in Garcia’s company a moment longer, he asked. “May I take my leave now?”

“Yes, but go straight to your barracks.”

David bowed his head in gratitude.

Garcia held out a purse, heavy with coin. “This is an offering from the duke,” he said with some resentment. “Take it.”

David felt bile rise in his throat. The duke could shove this coin up his noble arse, he thought. “I’m not a paid assassin. I will not accept this blood money.” And he wouldn’t become indebted to the duke, who had just ruined his life and damned his soul to the fires of hell. “I have killed for His Grace this night, but only because I’m afraid for my family. I did what I did because he ordered me to, but make no mistake: I am a murderer. I deserve to go to hell, not receive a reward.”

“You dare to refuse the duke’s kindness?”

“I do.”

“You will insult him.”

“He’ll recover.”

For a moment, Garcia was pensive as he stood watching David gently rock the infant, who was opening his mouth and searching for milk.

“Take the purse or not; it’s up to you. Your refusal won’t ease your conscience, if that’s what’s bothering you.”

“Nothing will ease my conscience, and of course it bothers me!” David hissed at him, and then snapped his mouth shut.

“Sanz, what you did was for the glory of Sagrat. Thanks to you, the duke has an heir. You should be happy that he asked you to serve him.” Spreading his arms, he suggested, “The benefits of your actions this night far outweigh any distastefulness involved … surely?”

David refused to answer.

“I’m sure your family will be grateful to have this money,” Garcia continued. “I wonder why you’re not thinking about their welfare instead of your misguided principles.”

“My family’s well-being is all I think about,” David retorted.

“Then I suggest you take this gift. Life has a habit of giving, only to take away when we least expect it. Fate toys with us. It tricks us into false securities and makes us careless, and then one day it kicks us to the ground. You might have a good life now, but who knows what calamities may befall you and your family in the future. Take the money.”

“Your Honour, I will take nothing from you. I’d rather cut off my hand than accept anything from yours.” Expecting to be struck again, David tightened his grip on the baby. When no slap came, he relaxed his muscles, and said, “The infant needs warmth and milk. I suggest you look after him or you might be the one with a difficult future.”             

Garcia’s eyes narrowed. “Remember this, Sanz: you’re still breathing, but only because the duke ordered me not to kill you,” he said with a voice crackling with anger. “For some reason unbeknown to me, he trusts you. Don’t disappoint him. If you do, he will crush you and your family like ants – and no one will care but God.”

David handed the baby to Garcia. Garcia looked at it for a second and then sneered at David, “You are a murderer. Don’t ever forget that. If you speak of what happened here, I will make sure your mother, father, and brothers are locked away for the rest of their miserable lives. I will be watching you, but for now … get out of my sight.”

David stood alone for a moment, until his racing pulse had returned to normal. He
was
still alive … but for how long?

Chapter Eight

Garcia found Luis staring at his dead son, who was lying in a crib. He coughed awkwardly and approached. His eyes then settled on the tiny body covered from head to foot in white linen, with only its face visible. The infant would have to be buried soon, Garcia thought. Best to take it out of sight, and let it be out of mind.

“Tell me you have it,” Luis said without turning.

“I do, Your Grace. Here is your son.”

With the dead baby forgotten for the moment, Luis turned sharply and gazed upon the infant, who, as though knowing all eyes were upon him, began shrieking loudly. Luis smiled. “The sound of a strong, healthy baby is the sweetest of music to my ears.” Taking the baby from Garcia, he cradled it in his arms and whispered soothing words whilst stroking its face. “You have looked him over?”

Garcia nodded.

“He’s a fine boy,” Luis said.

His eyes watered with happiness. “In the morning, announcements will be made. I want written notices on the church’s walls. Father Bernardo must celebrate the baby’s arrival with a Mass. Bells shall toll, heralding the news of a new heir.”

His worries were over. His father by law, the inquisitor, was going to shower him with gifts and favours. The Peráto line was secure. He could now forget about his mad wife. She could rot in her chambers until she drew her last breath, for all he cared. “Praise be to God. This is a miracle.”

Putting the tip of his finger into the infant’s mouth, he   laughed when he felt soft gums sucking it. “You’re strong, my son. But you must be eager to taste your mother’s milk.” Still smiling, he handed the baby back to Garcia. “Take him to my wife’s ladies. It’s time to see if the duchess has milk or if her scrawny body can’t even produce that. Come straight back. We have other business to attend to.”

Luis looked once more at his dead son. He kissed its forehead and then covered its face. After tonight, he’d erase all memory of the dead infant. It would not be baptised, or receive burial rights. He didn’t know where its un-Christian soul would go, but he was thankful that
he
wouldn’t see it in heaven. He sighed with relief. It had been a difficult and heartbreaking night, but it had ended splendidly.

“So did everything go exactly to plan? I want to know the details,” Luis said to Garcia after he’d returned.

Garcia shrugged and spread his arms. “It went as well as we had hoped. All was taken care of, just as you asked. Sanz assured me that no one saw or heard him entering or leaving the infant’s home. The mother and father are dead, as is their other child.”

“Good.”

Looking uncomfortable, Garcia continued. “Your Grace, there is something you should know …”

“What?”

“Sanz disobeyed your orders. He removed the other child’s body from the house and buried it on the hill. It was a girl.”

“He did what?”

“He thought that two missing children would appear more palatable than one. I’m not fond of the man, but his assumptions have merit.”

Luis slumped angrily in a chair. He had specifically ordered that there be no loose ends. “Is the girl dead beyond doubt? Can you give me that assurance?”

“Yes, Your Grace, without a doubt. The militiaman told me that he buried her deep in the ground.”

“And you believed him?” Luis asked angrily.

“I had no choice but to trust him.”

Looking pensive, Luis said, “We will speak of his disobedience later. Did you give him the coin?”

Garcia shifted his feet nervously. “I urged him to take the purse, but he refused. He’s insolent for one so common. He also appeared weighed down by guilt. I worry he might want to confess what he did, and that could prove disastrous.”

A look of surprise crossed Luis’s face. Sanz had insulted him, shown his disapproval, as though he had a right to have an opinion. “What fool has the gall to refuse my money?” he asked, unable to believe Garcia. “I offered him more ducats than he’s probably seen in his entire lifetime. He has disrespected me … the arrogant swine. Can he be trusted to keep his mouth shut?”

Garcia appeared to be undecided. “You have a son safely delivered to you, and I’m certain there are no witnesses alive to make accusations against you – but no, I’m not sure you should trust him.”

“Christ’s blood!”

“Your Grace, might I suggest you have him killed? It’s the only way to guarantee his silence.”

“No,” Luis answered, albeit reluctantly. He needed the militia and their loyalty. They still adhered to the oaths of the brotherhood, an ancient close-knit family of men-at-arms, sworn to protect each other above all else. Years ago, they had been all-powerful, managing their own criminal courts and dishing up punishments. In Castile, they were still highly respected and feared. Their fealty to each other was well known.

“No, that would not be prudent,” he repeated. “The other militiamen saw Sanz being summoned to my chambers. Even now they will be wondering what I wanted with him. Sanz’s death would raise suspicion. There will be enough chaos in the coming days. He lives.”

“What about the suspicion surrounding your physician? Questions will be asked,” Garcia said.

Luis wagged his index finger. “No. Cabrera was well known and respected, but my militia will not question his death. On the other hand, they will not take kindly to one of their own dying suddenly without proper explanation. I need these men, Garcia. Marauders coming in from the sea are ransacking towns, and there are criminals taking advantage of the monarchs’ lengthy absences from Valencia. Sagrat is well defended against thieves running around the countryside, but only because of my militia’s presence. Sanz lives … for the moment.”

“Maybe we should have used our mercenaries tonight,” Garcia offered.

“And have that thieving scum touching my new son? They’d have the tunic off my back and burn this town were it not for the coin I put in their fat pockets. I could never trust them with such personal matters.

“I specifically used Sanz because he serves me. He is duty-bound to keep his mouth shut. And even if he feels no loyalty to me, he will do what’s necessary to protect his family.” Luis had thought briefly about this. There was no guarantee that Sanz would keep his tongue still. In an unguarded moment, he could blurt out the truth about what he’d done, whether to his family or, God forbid, to Captain Tur. “I want Sanz’s family moved into the town. We need to keep a close eye on them, and Sanz has to know that we are watching them. You must find a way to make this happen.”

“I can’t imagine how they could be persuaded to leave their farm,” Garcia said, “unless their farm were to burn to the ground.”

Luis smiled. That was not a bad idea. “The townspeople will be in an uproar tomorrow when they find out about the infant’s family. Perhaps we should add to their burdens and give them something else to think about – a diversion, perhaps.”

“A diversion?”

“Yes, more tragedies. What could be more tragic than marauders attacking defenceless homes on the plain before stealing into the town to commit murder? They’re known to have ice in their veins. It would not be beyond their dark souls to kill a mother and father and abduct their two children. We need suspects … or did you not think about that?”

Garcia shook his head and spread his lips in a rare genuine smile. “What an excellent idea, Your Grace,” he said.

“Yes, it is. It seems we have need of the mercenaries tonight after all. Make sure they visit Sanz’s family first … but no killings and no wounding. Do you hear me?”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“Are your men close by?”

“Our contact in town is always at hand. I will dispatch him with a message to the mercenary leader immediately.”

Luis nodded. “Call them up. Set them to task. I want this business concluded before dawn. Do you understand?”

Sergio nodded and grinned with pleasure.

Luis picked up his dead child and kissed his forehead one last time. “Take it. Bury it and never mention it to me again. I’m going to spend time with my son … Jaime. He shall be named Jaime.